Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The classic and enormously popular Pac-Man video game came out in Japan on May 21, 1972, and by October of that year, it was released in the United States of America spreading through the arcade scene like a deadly virus.

The adorably yellow, pie-shaped Pac-Man character, who travels around a maze trying to eat dots and avoid four hunting ghosts, quickly became Pietro Maximoff's hyper-fixation for fucking months. Months of staring at the flashing screen of the yellow Pac-Man machine that he legally did not steal from the Arcade shop downtown owned by a peeping Tom with a swastika tattoo.

There are 256 stages in PAC-MAN and Pietro refuses to leave the house until he clears all of them. At least that’s what he tells his mother who thinks he won’t leave the house because he’s depressed, which is untrue. He’s completely fine.

So he can’t compete in track anymore. No freaks allowed. Whatever, no big deal. It’s completely unrelated to the eyebags under his eyes. They took all his trophies and medals and scrubbed his name off all the records. No stress. No problem. Now he has more room in his basement-turned-bedroom for all the junk food in the world. Plenty of space for the ping pong machine, the ho hos, and the awesome pac machine where his trophies used to be mounted on the wall.

It’s completely fine. He’s completely fine. Totally.

He shoves a chocolate fudge muffin in his mouth and is seconds away from beating level 255 when he hears a car pull up in his driveway.

Which is super weird.

His mother is home upstairs disassociating from the TV, Wanda is at school till 3:30 pm and the Maximoff’s do not own a single working vehicle. The baby blue Corvette that belongs to David, Pietro's goy stepfather, has been gathering dust in the driveway since before Wanda was even born and is there more for show than for actual functional use. David is still in jail for another 8 months so Pietro doubts he would’ve miraculously made it start working just in time for Pietro's mental breakdown. Not that he was having one. Not at all.

Pietro was out of his room for the first time in three months. In less than a millisecond, he skirted next to the parked car. Three grown men came out of it. The buff one in the driver's seat had a leather jacket that Pietro was gonna snatch as soon as he could. The one stepping out of the passenger seat wore a comfy orange shirt and squared-off glasses and the guy cruising in the back was someone they could’ve picked up for drunken disorderly conduct if they had been cops. If they had been cops. Which they aren’t. This is a rental car, Pietro spots the company's name on the bumper sticker. Curiously he checks the registration agreement and it’s not from Washington DC.

He super speeds back into the house after memorizing the license plate number.
He pauses the Pac-Man game he was on so he doesn’t lose his place and sits on the couch.
He sits and he hears the knock on the door ages later. He waits. He kind of got bored of waiting so he started playing ping pong. Why are they so slow?

“Peter the cops are here. Again!” His mom shouts and usually, she only calls him Peter when people she doesn’t know are around.

Not friends of hers then. Not that she has any besides the moms from the synagogue and they never make surprise visits.

He sees them come down the stairs and he briefly considers not using super speed but his legs are already getting shaky from standing still and he’s getting increasingly bored by the millisecond.

“What do you guys want?” He switches Pattles “I didn’t do anything.” His wrist is starting to hurt actually.

“I’ve been here all day.” He zooms past them, takes out a popsicle from the upstairs fridge, and runs back downstairs to sit on the couch.

The leather man had pointy hair, like horns, which Pietro thought was kind of hilarious considering how serious-looking he seemed.

“Just relax Peter. We’re not cops,” he says and Pietro looks at him funny, hands clasped behind his head, popsicle vanished “Of course you’re not cops. If you were cops, you wouldn’t be driving a rental car.”

His mother says he tends to word vomit when he’s nervous.

The long-haired hipster glares at him suspiciously behind his chunky sunglasses “How’d you know we’ve got a rental car?” Pietro sits up straighter swallowing something in his throat.
The man is drunk. He’s a different kind of drunk than his mother.

“I checked your registration when you were walking to the door. I also had some time to kill so I went through your rental agreement and saw you’re from out of town.” Pietro doesn’t dare look at anyone but him. This guy reminds him too much of his step-father and he’s smart enough to know danger when he sees it.

“Are you FBI?” Just to make sure Pietro checks David’s wallet. No-not David. Some other random drunk. Not David. “Nope, you’re not cops.” He flips through his card. He has a lot. “Hey, what's with this gifted youngster place?” He drops the Wallet on the ping pong table. A bit further down so the man doesn’t have to come close to him to get it back.

He picks it up from the table with barely contained frustration “That’s an…old card.” he shoves it in his pocket.

Pietro runs around him and up the stairs to get his extra ping pong ball from the kitchen cabinet.

“Why, he’s fascinating.” The tall nerdy-looking one says and that particular phrase makes Pietro's stomach turn. He is starting to not want these people here. He wants them gone.

“He’s a pain in the ass.” The drunk days meanly. Rude. He’s the one breaking and entering into his house under false pretenses.

“What, a teleporter?” That’s not the first time he’s been asked that. But actually, he’s not asking him. In fact, this nerd is talking like he’s not even in the damn room. Which he is, so that’s super rude.

“No, he’s just fast.” The leather jacket clarifies which spooks Pietro a bit. How does he know that? Did he read about him in the newspaper? Pietro was certain they’d scrubbed his name off of everything. Any evidence that Pietro Maximoff was ever part of athletic society was erased utterly from all records. “and when I knew him he wasn’t so…young.”

“Young? you’re just old.” He likes watching their heads jerk back and forth left and right every time he moves from one place to the other. It’s funny.

“So you're not afraid to show your powers?” It’s honestly weird that he automatically assumed I had powers and wasn’t jumping to “possessed by the devil” as his elderly neighbors would say or that it wasn’t some trick of light or trippy mass hallucination. All things that people have assumed before landing on superpowers.

“Powers? What powers? What are you talking about? Do you see something strange here?” Pietro loves the gaslighting part. It’s his favorite little bit of dialogue.

“Nothing anybody would believe if you told them.” His face stretches into a grin.

He’s made people check themselves into mental hospitals. People have lost their literal livelihoods trying to prove he’s a freak. Which really shouldn’t be that hard. He’s a teenager with gray hair and an unhealthy habit of stealing.
He zooms past them and starts playing the Pac-Man again, resuming his game eagerly.

“So who are you and what do you want?” He gets to the point, eating a banana in the game and advancing further into the maze.

“We need your help, Peter.”

“For what?”

“To break into a highly secured facility.” Oh shit? “And get someone out.” Not fucking cops then. Not that that was ever in doubt but elohim these guys are nuts. Walking into his mom's house and asking some random kid to commit crimes.

“Prison break?” He grins to himself. “That’s illegal, you know.” He continues playing on his legally purchased Pac-Man machine.

“Uh…well only if you get caught.”

“So what’s in it for me?” Pietro has already decided he is gonna do this.

“You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the pentagon.” Not David says.
Holy fucking shit. He stops playing his game, his pac man dies, and he still has two lives left. Pietro turns to look at them suspiciously “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Cause we’re just like you.” Scruffy leathered man says and Pietro can’t help it when he looks over at not-David and his drunkenness. And the skinny scientist is already examining him like a run-over dog on the side of the road.
I’m not like these guys.
“Show him.” The drunk tells the big buff guy as if he could read the uncertainty in Pietro's mind. He “shows him” by making bone claws come out of his knuckles like chopsticks.

Pietro isn’t trying to be insensitive but “That’s cool but it’s disgusting.” The man shrugs like he’s heard it a million times.
He’d never met someone like him before. Well, he’s never met an adult mutant. He had a classmate in grade school whose ears were a little too pointed, nails a little too long, and eyes a little too big. He didn’t know for sure if she was like him but he had his suspicions. At the time he didn’t say anything. His hair was still brown and becoming streaks of silver that he covered up with a beanie or hair dye. His speed wasn’t in full effect, covered up as a learning deficiency. They put him in special classes. They put her in special classes too. One day she stopped showing up to those classes. None of the teachers reported it. They stopped calling her name in attendance.
Pietro didn’t last much longer in school either.

When his powers first came he had a severe panic attack that shook the entire house. Not that he could remember exactly why. That whole day was a blur. He was a freak. Like that girl in class. He was going to disappear. His mother in drunken comfort soothing him and reassurance in her voice. She told him about a man she knew. A foreigner with kind eyes and a knack for bending metal. She told Pietro he wasn’t the only one that was special in this world. She told him he wasn’t alone. Pietro believed her.
Pietro agrees to help them. He makes sure to steal the shotgun seat when it’s time to go sit in the car, refusing to sit next to Charles or Hank.

Logan introduced them afterward.

“I’m Pietro.” His mom's voice is in the back of his head telling him to use his Americanized name. To keep pretending. To hide. To be safe. But he trusts these guys. Well, at least, he trusts Logan. He’s like him. The other two may not. He’s not 100 percent sure. “Pietro Django Maximoff.”

“That’s a mouthful.” Charles snides and Pietro really doesn’t like that guy.
Logan gives Charles an odd expression “Professor I think it’s time you sobered up a bit.”

“Fuck you.”

“Charles!” Hank scolds.

“You can just call me Peter.” It’s safer that way.

Pietro is glad he picked the front seat.
They tell him the plan. It’s a stupid plan. But he can execute stupid plans. He’s not sure why the others have to come at all. He could be in and out before any cameras could detect him but Pietro doesn’t tell them that.

Pietro used his duct tape to stick the security guard to the elevator wall. He was meant to knock him out but this way seemed far more entertaining. He puts on the security guard's clothes. It was big, too big on him and the hat barely covered up his gray hair. He puts a scribbled note he wrote on the car ride here and slides it into the tray.
He walks slowly down the hall. Slow. Slow. Slow. Like a damn turtle. It was actually the hardest part of this whole thing.
“Where’s Tim?” One of the guards questions before buzzing him in.

“At home with the sick kid.” He thinks of the excuse late but he thinks it at super speed so it’s not even a moment's delay in response.

“Ah, lucky him. And they put you in the dog house. That’s tough.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.” Pietro jokes trying to make his voice deeper than it is.

“Better than us.” They buzz him in. And the wall turns into a door, a hall sliding into another door. Cool. He turns the corner and he’s in a room. The center of the floor is glass. Probably hard bulletproof glass. It wouldn’t be a problem,

He steps inside, closer to the edge of the glass to see a man pretending to sleep in a corner of the small room, hands neatly clasped on his stomach.
He waits for him to see the note. When he looks up at him questioningly he smiles like it’s picture day in fifth grade. No teeth, all dimples. His mother framed that picture and it’s currently sitting next to his sister's current fifth-grade picture.
Okay, show time.

He puts his palms on the glass and at super speed he shakes them. Vibrates the glass to an unknown speed that makes it shatter. The man ducks away from the crystals of glass raining on him.

The alarm goes off.

Okay. Cool cool cool it’s all working out.
The man manages to get out of the room by himself, Pietro makes sure to give him distance to gain his senses. That seems like the right call.
“In three seconds those doors are going to open, and 20 guards will be here to shoot us.” He looks at Pietro in a warning.

He’s one thousand percent has tried escaping before. This is gonna be great.

Pietros is going to make sure this time it’s a success. He zooms right behind him and grabs his neck making him stiffen. That’s okay.

“I know. That’s what I’m waiting for.”
“What are you doing?” He asks stiffly. Does he think he’s gonna murk him?
“I’m holding your neck so you don’t get whiplash.”

“What?” He asks quietly, almost to himself.

“WHIIIIP LAAAAAASH.” He repeats slowly because sometimes he talks too fast and it comes out in a high-pitched noise that no human can hear. The door opens.

“Don’t move!” Said the first guard, gun aimed at the prisoner's head.
He did move. He moved quite quickly. Fast enough to shove everyone out of the way through pure force of his speed.

They are back in the elevator. He changes out of the uncomfortable uniform.

The prisoner looks like he’s gonna hurl and looks at him in confusion.

“You’re good it’ll pass. It happens with everyone.” He was gonna pat his shoulder comfortably but considering he’s a prisoner in the fucking pentagon, Pietro decides against it. The others didn’t tell him much about him, just that he could bend metal. Which explains the lack of it in the building.

“You must have done something pretty serious.”

Ratzah.

It’s got to be murder.

Or terrorism.

Murderous terrorism!

“What’d you do man?” After a while, he asks again “What’d you do?” Or maybe it wasn't for a while. It just felt like he was taking forever to answer. “What’d you do?” This guy is seriously going to throw up.

“Why’d they have you in there?” He asks again because Pietro has no filter, no concept of subtleness, “For killing the President,”

Oh. Wow. Double points for Pietro. Murderer AND a terrorist. A murderous terrorist. Double shit.
He looked at the guard and verbalized his surprise to him “shit.”

“The only thing I’m guilty of is fighting for people like us.”

Like us.

In retrospect, Pietro is aware he’s a mutant but it’s starting to add up in his brain that all the mutants he’s met so far have been shady ass dudes. He’s starting to not feel so bad about being a loser living in his mom's basement. At least he isn’t a terrorist.

Well, Pietro guesses that breaking terrorists out of a secured facility is justified as terrorist behavior but that doesn’t count. Not really. He hasn’t killed anyone.

“You take karate? You know karate, man?” His stepdad made him take karate once when he was seven and Pietro was starting to get a bit too much to handle but it didn’t “humble and teach him responsibility” like David thought it would. Honestly, Pietro is positive he only signed him up as an excuse to punch him in the face.

Practice for karate.

“I don’t know karate. But I know crazy.” The man says and he’s talking about Pietro which makes him laugh.
Being called Crazy is better than being called a Freak. Much better.

Peter Maximoff is crazy fast, world record-breaker-type speed.

Vs.

Maximoff is disqualified after being reported to have used steroids to gain his freak-like speed.

The alarm is getting louder.
“They told me you control metal.”
“They?”

The elevator dings interrupting a thought Pietro was itching with. Is this the same guy his mom knew?
He should ask him.

“You know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that.” It would be actually super weird if it was the same guy. What are the odds?

The doors opened before he could continue his questions.
“Charles?” So they did know each other! Charles hits the prisoner square in the face and Pietro flinches away, heart hammering a mile a minute, literally.

“Good to see you, too old friend.” The prisoner stands up from the ground he had just been dropped to “And walking.”
Was he not meant to be walking? Was that a threat?

“No thanks to you,” Charles spits at him and Pietro stays silent. Watching the entire altercation unfold like a child hiding under his bed.

“You’re the last person in the world I expected to see today.” The prisoner says from the floor an odd expression crossing his face.

“Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn’t have to.” Charles says eyes daggers and Pietro bites back the remark that he most definitely did NOT have to come since Pietro could’ve just done this by himself.
He doesn’t say that. He knows better than to disturb arguing adults.

“If we get you out of here, we do it my way. No killing.” Valid super valid. No killing, no hurting. Especially not Pietro. Sounds like a plan.

“No helmet. I couldn’t disobey you even if I wanted you.”
What? Is this Charles guy like some master manipulator? That would make sense. He looks at the guard for confirmation and the guard looks at Pietro like he’s an idiot.

“I’m never getting inside of that head again. I need your word, Erik.” So tense. Why’d he want to get this guy out of prison so bad if he hates his guts?

They get really close to each other. Challengingly, lovingly? Pietro can’t exactly tell but he’d like to get out of this very small elevator.

The real security comes in just in time.

Erik tells something to Charles and Charles yells something back, stuff around them is shaking and Logan is clawing out. Before shit can hit the fan Pietro puts on his headphones.
He does his speedster thing and knocks a few heads together, moves a couple of plates, and a few odd bullets. Take a little nosh.

Does a cartwheel for finales and he’s on the opposite side of the room with a security guard's hat on his greasy head. He is so keeping it. Time goes back to slow and everything unfolds perfectly.

The others look at him from across the room openly stunned and Pietro soaks in it in awe.
Hell yeah, he’s the shit.

But these mother fuckers, they walk past him like he didn’t just save their asses. Logan claps his shoulder “Thanks, kid.” He says.

Logan is the only one to say thank you which he appreciates.
They get in the car and unfortunately, out of pure necessity, he cannot get shotgun. He is squished between Logan and the prisoner Erik whose name he finally catches, Hank clutching the steering wheel tightly and Charles seething in the passenger seat.

“Can we stop to eat?” He was starving but also he couldn’t take the small quiet space of the car for much longer.

“We’re still in the parking lot.” Hank lies. Must be a bold lie because we’ve been driving for ages. “When can we stop for food.”

“We stopped before we got here, Peter.” Hank says pointedly.
“I have a fast metabolism,” Pietro stated simply.

Hank looks at Pietro through the rearview mirror. “How many calories do you have to consume daily?” Hank was using his nerd voice and Pietro leaned away from him pressing the seat belt closer to himself.

“I don’t know. Like 55 hostess boxes?” Per meal.

“Hostess.” Hank nods like that was a scientific term and not a sugary nosh.

“If you didn’t run at all would you still have to consume that many calories?”

“I’m always running.” Pietro tries not to fidget.

“If you didn’t eat for an extended amount of time would you be slower? Or would you simply just be unable to do it for a long period of time?”

“I don't know.” Pietro squirms at the question.

“What’s the longest you’ve gone without eating?”

“I don’t know.” Three days. When David first moved in he put padlocks on the pantry door and fridge to prevent Pietro from eating too much of the food. When that didn’t work he put padlocks in Pietro's room instead and kept him away from the food instead of the food away from him. Unfortunately David, much like his mother, is a drunk and had gone on a three-day bender at a buddy's house leaving him locked away to his own devices slowly making Pietro go insane and inadvertently starving him.

His mom found him after she came home from the synagogue. She yelled and screamed at David and that was the first time he lifted a hand to his mother.

“Have you gotten any vaccinations?”

“What?” Huh?

Charles starts to say something “Hank perhaps-“

“-Would your body just completely reject it? Have you ever gotten Ill?”

Pietro's head is swimming. “Maybe? I don’t remember-“ his mother hated doctors.

“-Can you get Ill?” Charles is taking off his sunglasses and looking very seriously at Hank but the guy must be boneheaded or completely not self-aware.

“I think so? I feel Ill right now.” He needs Hank to stop asking him so many questions.

“-How fast can-“ The windshield wiper smacks against the window with a thud
making Hank Charles and I jump.

“I haven’t had a proper meal in ten years. Perhaps we should all stop somewhere for a bite.”

“You are the most wanted person in America right now. We can’t just stop and eat at a restaurant.” Hank turns his gaze away from Pietro and to Erik instead.

“It doesn’t have to be a restaurant.” Erik smiles cockily and it looks almost familiar. Like he’s seen him smile before.

Pietro cannot make this shit up. Hank stops at a Wendy’s about three miles out.

He parks in a handicapped parking spot which seems pretty shitty to Pietro but he isn’t gonna bite his head off about it before he feeds him. They all go inside like a weird blended family, no one trusting the other to not run off or to be left alone in the car. Pietro was mostly worried they’d get his order wrong and leave the pickles in his burgers. That would be a big texture no-no and he’d throw a damn fit. So he goes inside with them. Hank holds the door for them and Pietro zooms past Logan and goes inside into the air-conditioned establishment.

Charles picks a table to sit in. This is surprising within itself considering Pietro thought they'd just grab the food and go. The fact that they didn’t go through the drive-through is bizarre but he was too hungry to give a flying fuck

Logan orders twenty burgers and fries.

They each get two burgers and two fries and Pietro hogs down Twelve Burgers and twelve fries. He hums and sips on his soda, content and waiting for the others to finish their second burger.

They eat in blissful silence.

“Can I get a Sunday?”

“I’d like one too.” Erik says at the same time that Charles says “At least finish your fries before getting dessert.”

Erik and Charles look at each other sharply.

Logan snorts, and Pietro shovels the rest of his fries into his mouth and super speeds into the kitchen. In about two seconds he's poured two Sundays into large-sized Wendy's cups. He places one in Erik's hand and sits back in his chair like he hasn’t moved.

Everything catches up to everybody else and Charles barrows his eyes at the cup in Erik's hand “I had money to pay for that.”

“We just did a prison break. You have hang-ups over stealing?”

Erik hides a smile and Logan verbally snorts.

“Say it louder why don't you? I don't think the cashier heard you.” Hank whisper yells.

“The prison break was a necessity, stealing is not.” Charles rubs his forehead, stifling back a migraine.

“Whatever.” Pietro shrugs and Charles takes out a wad of cash out if his wallet and puts it in the tip jar heading straight out the door and to the rental car.

“Guess that’s our queue.” Logan pats his shoulder and they all start heading out.

Pietro frowns and looks at the mess they all left behind and cleans it in less than a millisecond and takes out the overflowing trash while he’s at it.

“Felt guilty?” Logan asked, waiting outside with a freshly lit cigarette in his mouth and something close to amusement on his face.

“No.” Pietro's leg bounces, the ten sodas hitting him at once.

The drive wasn’t long. Although it felt like hours to Pietro. He distracted himself by counting how many trees they passed to the airport. One thousand three hundred seventy-one.

They give him the keys to the rental car. “Take it slow.” Charles says.

He laughs. It’s funny in a dumb way,

He goes home. He puts the gifted youngster's card in his wallet because…maybe. You never know. He wears the security guard hat on his greasy head for days before Wanda finesses her way into bedazzling it and claiming it as her own. He’s only allowed to wear it when they play dress up.

Everything goes back to normal. He wins the last level of Pac-Man. His hyper-fixation on the game vanished. He eats the last hostess box in his room. Everything is completely fine.
Six days pass before Pietro realizes just how much he’s fucked up.

It takes six days. Six days after Erik gets broken out of the Pentagon and tries to kill another president. Two days after Erik brandishes mutants as a national threat…a knock is heard at Pietro's door.

“Peter, the cops are here! Again!”

It’s not the cops.

Pietro Maximoff isn’t a fan of uninvited visitors.

Two days after Erik Lensherr attempted to kill the literal president and told humanity to fuck right off, Pietro got a few unfriendly visitors.

He knew bad news when he saw it and these men in black were the spitting image of shitty origins. Pietro made it a point to walk up the stairs. Slowly.

“Hello, Pietro.” Pietro isn’t for everybody. It's what his sister calls him, and his mother. It’s for family. It's not for assholes breaking into his house under pretenses. It's also not a name documented anywhere except his birth certificate so how they knew it at all was beyond his comprehension but it managed to send a foreboding chill up his spine.

Pietro turned his head to see his mother on the floor, in the kitchen blood bruising on her forehead.

He tenses “What the fuck did you do to my mom?”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be Pietro.” His given name rolled off the officer's tongue like cement down his throat and Pietro wanted nothing more than to never hear it come out of his vile mouth again.

“We had reason to believe a mutant lived in this neighborhood and your neighbors were more than happy to point you out.” Pietro thinks of Margaret with the Chihuahua whose dog always barked at Pietro when he waited at the bus stop for his sister. He thinks of Hank and Dale, the old drinking buddies who find an excuse to leave cigarette buds and beer bottles in his mother's yard. He thinks of Hannah and Larry from the home association who reported his mother to CPS on three separate occasions. He thinks of the endless names of neighbors that hate him and his family. They would fucking jump at the chance to finally get rid of him. The black sheep of this shitty wannabe suburban neighborhood.

“You came here over a rumor?”

A blonde-haired blue blue-eyed man smiled crookedly his gold tooth creeping into view “Is that your natural hair color Pietro?”

“This is breaking and entering. You're not cops or FBI or anything you're just a bunch of fascist shitheads. Get out or im calling the fucking cops.”

“The cops won't come.” one of the men came from the back porch, brown-haired and older. He flashes his badge. A fucking police captain.

“Whatever you people think I did, I didn’t.” No proof. Pietro leans on that fact too heavily.

They see no reason. They don't need one.

His mother always warned him that there would be people that would hate him. That will hate him so much to want him dead. She always said they’d hate him because he’s Jewish and that he should always be careful who he tells. He knew they would hate him because he’s a mutant too. He knew, but not like this. He never thought it would get to this. At least not this fast. Not this soon.

When Pietro takes a step forward his foot knocks on a metal canister. Gas leaking from each end and Pietro realizes that he’s been inhaling it this whole time. It shouldn’t affect him for too long. His immune system is currently fighting it off as he came to this realization. But not fast enough. He tried to take another step but felt lightheaded and just when he was starting to gain priorities again a pair of savvy-looking cuffs zapped against Pietro's wrist, electricity flashing through him harshly and the hard iron clasping shut.

What the fuck.

Pietro super speeds away. Or at least that was the intended plan. Recently all of Pietro's plans have been shitty.

His first shitty plan was to use his super speed a little bit more during his ultramarathon because the competition was getting a little bit too close to him. His second mistake was not checking for reporters' cameras pointed at him. It was only for the last four seconds and it was barely any super speed. But it was enough. Enough to raise suspicion. And the thing is that Pietro’s fast even without his super speed. He was fast before he got his powers and he could’ve won without them. He could’ve fucking won. But the pressure was on and he had a way to be faster and he took that chance and fuck off it’s his power! It’s his gift and he shouldn’t have to slow down for anybody. So he didn’t.

So yeah, he cheated. But not really because it’s still him. It’s still his gift. It’s still his speed. And he hates this. He hates being slow. He hates it so much.

The world is dull. The wind doesn’t sing and the flies don’t dance with his breath. The speed doesn’t come. He can’t go fast. His breath catches in his throat as panic begins to settle.

He can’t run away.

HE CAN’T FUCKING RUN.

Pietro is kicked on the ground and he screams, he kicks and he bites. Teeth digging into flesh. Pietro is fighting them every inch of the way.

He doesn’t know where his mom is. He screams for her. Sobs for her. Cries like a little kid. They kick him in the face, his head smacks against the basement stairs. He’s certainly bleeding and bruising.

Everything happens at a normal pace. They start dragging him up the stairs. They pull out a needle after Pietro bites one of their ears, spitting blood in outrage.

His mother taught him to fight. To always fight.

They grab his jaw harshly, jerking his head to the side to extend his neck and they reveal a needle bigger than his fucking hand. “You little piece of shit. You deserve everything you’re getti-“

“What are you doing to Peter?” A small voice spoke from the doorway.

It’s 3:30 in the afternoon.

Schools over. The bus just dropped off Wanda. She’s still wearing the Mickey Mouse book bag that Pietro stole for her.

“Who the fuck-“

“Wanda, leave right now!” Pietro scolds his sister, hoping that the meanness in his voice will compel her to do as he says for once. He should’ve known better.

“Who are you people? Why are you hurting Peter?”

“We’re just playing a game, don’t worry.” Pietro knows he’s in danger. His sister is in danger. If she freaks out they’ll hurt her. They’ll hurt Wanda. Holy shit what the fuck is he supposed to do?

“Why are they hurting you?” Wanda’s voice shakes but she stays firmly in her spot, refusing to move. Refusing to go away and leave her brother to rot. She’s a good sister. God damn it.

God fucking damn it. Pietro raised her to be too stubborn.
One of the men aims a gun at her head and Wanda’s eyes widen and Pietro thrashes.
“I don’t like this game.” Wanda tears up and Pietro screams.
“Stop that! She’s got nothing to do with this!” Electricity zaps through his wrist making him gasp and cough a fit.

He sees spots in his vision.

“Mutation is genetic. Right?” They take off the safety in the gun and Pietro can’t breathe. His heart is running but his feet are still, paralyzed by immovable fear.

“She’s not a mutant. She doesn’t have powers.” Pietro knows that could be a lie.

“Can’t really take that chance, can we?”

Wanda could be a mutant. They have different dads but they have the same mom. Pietro isn’t 100 percent certain which parent gave him the mutation gene but if it’s his mom then there is a chance Wanda might turn out like him. And if he got it from his dad then that means Wanda is going to be killed for absolutely no reason.

Not that being a mutant is a killable offense. It’s not. But Pietro would prefer if his sister didn’t die for a lie. Or at all. Preferably.

“She’s not my sister.” It was a lie. Wanda and Pietro look nothing alike so the bluff could be believable.

“She’s not a mutant. She’s just my neighbor's kid. I tutor her sometimes after school.” Pietro pushed the words out and it felt horrible to verbally disregard his family.

It felt wrong. But it’s what he had to do. His mother would understand.

“Even so. Can’t have any witnesses.”

“Should've just done homework at home.” Another says mercilessly and aims a gun straight at Wanda. Pietro has no proficiency towards guns so he has no idea what brand or style or whatever type the gun is. All he knows is that it’s aimed at his kid sister and it can kill her.

Pietro jerks and screams and Wanda is starting to cry. She's starting to realize the problem. Pietro needs to figure something out right now or their both fucked.

“Please, please, don't do this!” Pietro sobs. The tears running down his face made his face buzz and hot and he couldn't breathe. He can't run and he can't save her. At the end of the day Pietro is just a kid and he has no idea what to do.

They pull the trigger.

He watches in slow motion as the bullet leaves the chamber. The plastic bullet slices through the air and aims between his sisters' eyebrows. A headshot. It's a fucking headshot. Just before it reaches his sister's skin it stops and Pietro thinks he's delayed it. He thinks that he's frozen in time. He doesn’t know how fast his powers can go…but he didn’t think he was capable of stopping time. Not like this. He then realizes the bullet is the only thing that's stopped. The tweeting of the ravens outside sang, the harsh breathing of his sisters chest kept moving, and the static tv kept playing the same news report about Erik fucking lensherr. The world is still moving just not the bullet.

A red glowing strand wrapped around the bullet holding it in place like a yanking string. His sister's eyes change to a different shade and her hair turns to static as a blood-curdling scream rips from her throat and the bullet ricochets back to the sender and pierces the heart of the man with the gun. The windows shatter, the tv fries, the light bulbs blow up and a million pieces of glass juts out into the throats of every single invader. They all miss Pietro. They all miss his mom too. The cuffs around Pietro's wrist buzz painfully before collapsing within itself and dropping to the floor.

The blood stains the wooden floor and
They are surrounded by dead bodies.

“Holy shit.'' Both siblings speak at the same time and Pietro refuses to look away from his sister.

His sister.

“Oh, Elohim.” she gasps falling to her knees and breathing harshly.

Pietro stands and quickly goes to his sisters side “Wanda…Wanda.” when she pushes him away crying he wraps his arms around her tighter. “It's okay.” He soothes.

“I killed them.” She hiccups, her tears overwhelming her, consuming her entire face. Her round cheeks flushed and fingers tightened around her hair, yanking hard.

“Hey, Stop that.” Pietro speaks softly, gently prying her fingers off her scalp and combing her hair with his fingers just like he’s done every time her head gets too loud.

“You didn’t mean to.” Pietro begins swaying back and forth with her. When she was a baby swaddled in a pink blanket they used to have a faded rocking chair in the corner of her nursery where Pietro would rock his sister to sleep after a good little cry.

He did it for months. When his powers first manifested he didn’t have much control and he accidentally broke the chair. It was a stupid wooden chair with a carved butterfly in the center but when he broke it he cried. He cried for what felt like hours. He realized then that he had used the rocking chair to calm himself down too. He cried and he swayed and his sister cried and she swayed. They swayed together. They calmed together.

“What's wrong with me?” Her voice is raw and small and Pietro wishes he could take that hurt and bottle it up somewhere far away from her.

“Nothing is wrong with you. You're just special. Like me.”

“But I’m not fast.” Her eyes are red now. Will they stay like that forever?

“No, you're something completely different.” He kisses her head.

“I don't want to be fast, or special. I don't want to be like you.” Pietro wasn't offended. He didn’t want to be like him either. He wouldn’t have wanted his sister to be like him at all.

“I know. I'm so sorry.” Pietro squeezes her closer to his chest and he can smell the iron in the air and he can hear sirens in the distance.

“What do we do now?” Wanda sounds four again, hiding under her bed scared of the monster that lived in our house.

Pietro says the same thing he said back then “we go somewhere safe.”

Pietro thinks of the wrinkled-up card in his back pocket and he doesn’t have a plan. Not really.

Just an address.

The sirens get louder, and closer. He grabs his sister and he runs.

Chapter Text

Funnily enough, Pietro is no good at perceiving distance. He overshot by a few hundred miles and ended up in Maine. He rerouted once he located a map in a rest station and figured out the quickest route…for him at his super speed he means.

Roads and paths mean nothing to Pietro; he can create his own.

“Ready to go again?”

Wanda nods, putting on her own pair of red goggles that he got her the third time she went super speeding with him. The second time they went on a run together she had been six and she had gotten serious dry eye and missed school because it would’ve been difficult to explain sudden momentary blindness to the principal. Guilt-ridden Pietro didn’t take her for a run for weeks after. But his sister is nothing if not stubborn even at six years old and she convinced David to buy her a pair of pink goggles under the guise of swimming lessons at school. If David had been half as attentive as he should’ve been he would have realized the school didn’t have a pool and that Wanda already knew how to swim.

Because of this early exposure to his super speed runs, Wanda is one of the only people who doesn’t get sick when she runs with him, her body is already used to the speed he goes.

“Born ready.” She says and Pietro puts her on his back and they piggyback to the correct location.

The card had an address located in New York. Specifically 1407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, located in Westchester County. Pietro had only been to New York City twice in his whole short life. Once during a sixth-grade field trip, it rained the whole time and they went to the Museum of Modern Art and he was bored out of his mind the whole time. His second trip to the city that never sleeps was when his powers first manifested. Beyond excited and a bit curious he ran up the Statue of Liberty, burning off a barely decent pair of sneakers, and sat on the tip of the crown. There was a lot of bird poop and the air smelled of smoke and pollution. It was incredibly anticlimactic. He got home just before dinner and his shoes were toast. They wouldn’t be the first pairs of shoes ruined by a long run but those felt wasted on the trip.

This would now be his third visit to New York, and it's not much better than the first two. Just long dirt paths and woods as far as the eye can see.

“Why are we at a haunted house?” Wanda pouted, stepping over the overgrown weeds on the acre of the hellish front lawn. Pietro holds on to her hand, briefly convinced that he got the wrong address and that he’s supposed to be at a different druggie billionaire's mansion in New York. Until he spots the broken-down sign hidden behind the orange grass.

Xavier's school for gifted youngsters.

The slogan carved carefully onto the wood is "mutatis mutandis"
“After the necessary modifications.” Pietro translates.
“I don't get it.”

“Rich people stuff.”

Wanda’s eyes widened big “Is your friend rich?”

“We're not really friends but yeah I guess he’s rich.” The private jet hinted at that fact in his head but the old-timey mansion-yeah, that's old money for sure.

Who has their own lake? Is that a basketball court? A fountain?

Wanda frowns “There’s a lot of sadness here.”

Pietro is gonna need his sister to
stop saying ominous stuff like that. “It’s a school. Who isn’t immediately depressed at school? Imma’ right?” He explains easily, recalling the multiple panic attacks and rulers slapped against his knuckles he’s had to endure. School is not for the faint of heart.

Wanda frowns, nodding to herself. “grief. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What?”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Wanda says as if she's having a private phone call with a friend and not literally talking to thin air like a mental case.

“Okay. Sure.”

They both walk through the gates just as a tall man with a briefcase is leaving, bumping squarely into Wanda with no regard making her fall to the ground in a huff.

“Watch it!” Pietro snaps at the man who takes one look at them and pales considerably. This is when Pietro realizes they both still have blood covering them. From the dead bodies. Because Wanda killed ten men and it was messy. She could probably kill this guy easily too. She could kill anyone.

That’s a dark thought.

The man adjusts his footing and walks briskly around them looking disgusted.
Pietro glares at his retreating form unreasonably irritated at his reaction.
Who looks at a couple of beaten-up kids and looks grossed out instead of concerned?

Pietro already knew the answer to that question.

Scum bags.

He takes the cigarette box from the stranger's coat pocket and puts it in his own pocket, putting the empty box back into the man's coat for him to find later. He also assumes the car at the end of the lot is his and pops his spare tire. He won’t notice right away. But when he loses a tire in the future he won’t have a spare to change it with and that future misfortune sparks satisfaction in Pietro's heart.

Who the hell does that asshole think he is? He doesn’t deserve a corvette. No-not a corvette. A tan convertible.

Yeah, okay, relax.

“Pietro?” Wanda’s voice brings him back and she’s looking at one of the tall glass windows in the entrance of the mansion.

A kid was looking outside, maybe a year or two older than Wanda. Red hair, pale skin, and a curious expression.

Pietro guesses the school isn’t as abandoned as it appeared. Maybe Charles is just really bad at management upkeep. Probably drinks too much to notice the litter in his yard and the dust on his overfilled mail post.

“That was her dad,” Wanda says owlishly and Pietro looks away from the family of wasps hovering in the corner of the door frame to look at his sister curiously.

Her eyes haven’t changed back and he’s wondering if it’s a forever type of thing like his silver hair. Her red eyes and his silver hair will always be there. Something to set them apart from everyone else. Something they can’t hide…not easily. Something someone can use against them.

No eye contact, hair dye, name changes, or running can hide the amount of pain and suffering they’ll endure for simply existing.

They can’t change their DNA. They can’t change who they are and they’re not only going to be hated, they’re going to be hunted.

His mother's cautious words echo.
Collars and cuffs and numbers on his wrist, he can imagine it so clearly. He can feel himself starve, can imagine the razor on his head, and can feel the burning rage not only caused by the assholes who might put him in cages but the hatred festering in his chest making him like them.

He can imagine snapping. He can see it so clearly in his mind. He sees Erik Lehnsherr on the tv and he doesn’t think it was unreasonable…and that freaks him out a little bit.

It can’t get to that. It can’t get that bad. He won’t let it.

Pietro doesn’t know how to help Wanda but he’s hoping Charles knows someone who can. She’s young, she can learn better than he could.

What does Charles even do for a living? He forgot to ask.

“Her dad?” Pietro tries to focus on what Wanda is saying. He needs to stop losing focus. Losing time in the speed force and making it up in real-time.

“Yeah, he just enrolled her.” She says.

“Cool beans.” Pietro doesn’t really give a fuck but he wasn’t gonna say that.

He knocks on the door quickly. Once, twice, thrice he knocks four times and waits a few minutes before knocking again. Or maybe more like a few seconds. He doesn’t perceive time very well but the bugs are starting to buzz around his head and he wants to go inside.

He knocks again. Twice.

“Jesus Christ!” He hears Hank's voice bounce off behind the door and grins to himself. At least he knows he’s got the right place. The door peaks open and Hank is mid-rant “You made it quite clear! Don’t-“ Hank abruptly stops talking as his eyes land on Pietro.

Pietro smiles awkwardly giving a little wave.

“Peter! My apologies-“Hank's eyes dart behind him probably at the long retreating form of the rude guy who bumped into Wanda “-i thought-“ he clears his throat brushing off the non existenting wrinkles off the front of his sweater. “What brings you here?” Then quickly adds “Not that it’s bad you came here, we just weren’t expecting company.”

“We needed somewhere to lay low.” Pietro says and Hank's eyebrows crease together in confusion “We?”

Wanda moves to the left, away from the back of the door to make herself known. “Hello.” She smiles awkwardly just like him and waves bringing attention to the red blood in her hands.

Hank's eyes widen and he pushes open the door “My god, come in. What happened?” He ushers them both in and Pietro notices the half-filled boxes at the stairway. He darts closer and goes through the first box quickly, his super speed making it seem like no time at all.

The first box has books. The second has books. The third fourth fifth box has books. Textbooks. He keeps one in hand when he super speeds back into the place he had been. He begins rifling through the pages as he speaks “You moving?”

Hank flinches the gust of wind from his super speed flapping him in the face and nearly knocking his square glasses off his nose. “no, just updating some old textbooks. You gotta answer my question.” He adjusts his glasses “What happened? Who’s the girl?”

“The girl can talk.” Wanda huffs “I’m Wanda Django Maximoff.”

Hank settles on an expression of surprise “you have a sister?”

“Clearly.” Pietro is starting to doubt that Hank is a doctor.

“You’re an older brother.”

“No, I’m older.” Wanda says sarcastically and Pietro shares on exasperated look with her.

“I can hear the resemblance,” Hank mutters “and why exactly are you bleeding on our floor Wanda?”

“Nothing happened. She just fell, you know how kids are.”

“This isn’t an injury from a fall.” Hank goes to a room and comes back with a first aid kit. Does he just have that in every room? He pulls out a chair and makes Wanda sit in it while he kneels on the ground. He’s gentle as he wipes her knees and palms and I’m curious as to whether he has siblings too. Most of the blood wasn’t hers and the more he wipes the more clear that became. The shards of glass on her knees and arms weren’t a lot but definitely present.

“How’d this happen?” He says after he has to take out a tweezers to pluck out a particularly deep piece of glass off her calf.

“I fell.” Wanda repeats Pietro's lie back to him. “Playing at school.”

Pietro shouldn’t feel fondness over the fact that she defended his lie without hesitation. No questions asked.

Sibling law? Thou shall back up siblings' bullshit until told otherwise.

“Why does she have blood on her Peter?” Hank sounds calm, like he’s had to have this conversation before like he’s willing to repeat the question as many times as possible until he gets the answer he wants.

“Kids get a little rough at school nowadays. Not like how it was in your time.” Pietro jokes, evades the truth and Hank doesn’t look like he’s gonna take the bait. Which is beyond annoying for Pietro.

You tell Child Protective Services you have a black eye because you ran into a door and they believe it but you tell Hank you fell and scraped your knee and he calls utter bullshit.

“I was pushed. I got angry so I pushed them back.” Wanda says and Hank momentarily stops moving. It’s half a second but it’s there. And it’s telling.

He grabs the disinfectant spray off the first aid kit.

“I’m sure they deserved it.” Hank doesn’t meet either of their eyes, focusing on making her not get infected.

Pietro looks at him in surprise and Wanda nods stiffly “They did. They’re bullies. Mom says bullies are just weak men trying to bring everyone to their level. They need to be put in their place before they think everyone is small and they can rule the world like fascist dictatorship.” Hank wraps up her knees with thick bandages.

Yeah, That sounds like mom. Always swindling half-witted propaganda and conspiracy theories when drunk as a skunk. If the tv with the one drastically dark news channel on doesn’t scare them straight then she sure as hell will. Their mother was a paranoid lady with a dozen mental disorders rattling off at a time.

Pietro used to hover at every word, afraid constantly. He mostly grew out of it but Wanda still eats her words up and takes them at face value.
But Wanda is the good sibling, and their mother preferred her over him to begin with. Surely Wanda feeding into her words was a part of it.

“Sounds scary,” Hank says.

“They were hurting Peter.” She changed his name back to Peter instead of Pietro. Just like Mama taught her in front of non-Jewish folks. Their mother Americanized Pietro's name after his previous elementary school teachers would call attendance out loud and make a face while saying Pietro Maximoff. He tended to fall asleep in class and usually, the teachers would scoff and move on but when he woke up someone had written numbers on his wrist. They claimed it was his lunch number because they noticed he had lost his Lunch Card but he hadn't and they weren't his lunch numbers.

His mother pulled him from that school that afternoon and the next day went to the courthouse to legally change his name to Peter. He had to beg her not to change his last name too.

Hank looks up at Pietro “they hurt Peter?” He scans over him and his eyes land on the bruises around his wrist, left by the cuffs and the bruise on his upper arm, the cut on his other arm and the bite mark and the dried blood on his gray hair and his fingertips where he stroked Wanda’s hair when she was having a panic attack.

Wanda was adding too many details to the story.

“I hurt them back,” Wanda says and Hank's lips form a straight line as he folds through those words. His skin was turning a weird color.

“It was an accident.” Pietro defends quickly even though he shouldn’t have to. “They were going to-“ kill her. He couldn’t finish that sentence…not without freaking out about it. This shouldn’t have happened. They shouldn’t have been there. “They were being really rough. Wanda didn’t know how to control herself.” But Pietro thinks about how the shards of glass never actually hit him or their unconscious mother. How the glass only hurt the bad men and not her family. That must’ve taken some form of control. At least a little bit. He doesn’t say anything.

“We just-um…needed somewhere to stay for a few nights.” He tries to sound concrete, and solid in his words instead of shaky. “Because our mother would freak out if she saw us both banged up like this.” Liar liar liar.

“You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” He hears Charles' voice before he actually sees him.

Pietro's heart drops to his fucking ass when he does see Charles. He’s in a wheelchair smiling up at them with a clean-shaven face.

“Fuck, man. Did that happen at the White House?” Pietro doesn’t remember hearing about any casualties or any wounded. At least nothing this serious. He listened to the radio for days afterward. His guilt wouldn’t let him not know. He needed to know how many people he inadvertently hurt by letting out a murderer.

He didn’t think Erik would actually hurt Charles. He thought maybe they had been friends. Pretty close ones. But Pietro has been wrong before. About a lot of things lately.

“Holy shit.” He repeats more to himself.

Note to self: Don’t mess with Erik Lehnsherr.

“Charles, you shouldn’t be down here. What if Jean needs you.” Hanks anxiously added.

“Jean is settling in just fine. She’s already made a friend.” Charles smiles at Wanda “She’s on the third floor, second door to the left.”

Wanda smiles widely “Thank you professor.” and darts up the stairs excitedly taking two steps at a time.

Professor? What the hell?

“Jean is a telepath, like me, she’s been communicating with Wanda since the moment you set foot in the neighborhood.”

“You’re a telepath?” Pietro's eyes widened. Then he remembers his previous question wasn't answered either. “you’re crippled now?”

Charles laughs and begins to shift his wheelchair like a professional wheelchair user instead of a guy who just suddenly becomes unable to use his legs. “This happened a long time ago.”

“Three days is not a long time ago. Unless you’re me then yeah that was ages ago. Good times.”

“I recently decided to stop taking the medication that would help me walk.” Drugs. Straight up drugs.

“I don’t think that’s how medicine works.” Pietro is gobsmacked.

Hank tunes in “I developed it myself, it targeted the mutant gene and converted it to the muscle and nerves on the legs and spine.”

“Essentially The medicine had been preventing me from using my powers so that I would’ve been able to walk.”

A chill ran up Pietro's spine. They were developing a drug that could take away mutant powers?

“Okay, cool. You have no legs. Well, actually you do have legs, you just can’t use them. That's a bummer, but if you’re really a telepath what am I thinking right now?”

Charles chuckles but puts two fingers on his scalp and after a few moments of Pietro thinking of Hanukkah and wine glasses clinking together and hand-me-down sweaters knitted by the old ladies at the synagogue Charles' face crunches into a grimace and his nose starts bleeding.

Pietro blinks in surprise, taking a cautious step forward in concern. “dude are you okay?” Hank hands Charles a napkin looking startled as well. Charles shakes his head, rubbing the blood off his nose.

“It seems your brain moves just as quickly as you do. I couldn’t understand anything. Not without getting a headache.”

Pietro is literally a headache.

“That’s corny. Try again.” He super speeds a bit closer to Charles only a mere 2 feet away from his squeaky wheelchair. Pietro puts his two pointer fingers in the side of each side of his head and squeezes his eyes shut “This time focus reaaaaaally hard.” He thinks harder as well “What am I thinking?” He’s gonna pop a blood vessel.

“You’re hungry.”

Pietro beams “holy shit! Yeah!”

“I heard your stomach growl. Did you run all the way here, Peter?” He voiced softly.

Pietro lets out a disappointed breath. “Yeah, I didn't have time to make a snack before I ran for my life.” He meant to say it casually but it came out too genuine. Too real.

Charles looks startled “pardon? Did something happen?”

“No, I was joking.” Fuck how can Pietro forget the lie?

“He’s clearly lying.” Hank is a real snitch.

“Peter my boy what happened? Where you attacked?” Charles sounds weirdly soft when he says ‘My Boy’ and it makes Pietro's face go hot.

“No we-“ Charles put two fingers to his temple and I was startled when he spoke up quickly voice laced in sincerity that made Pietro want to throw up “Peter, I had no idea that you would be targeted. If I had known I wouldn’t have even involved you in any of this. I’m so sorry.”

“How did you-“Then he realizes he wasn’t alone, “Wanda told you. So much for sibling law.” Pietro's chest kinda hurts so he avoids looking him in the face when he speaks “us getting attacked isn’t your fault. It was bound to happen eventually. I shouldn’t have been so stupid. I should’ve asked more questions before breaking into the literal freaking pentagon. That’s on me.”

“You’re not-“

Pietro doesn’t hear the rest of that speech. The ringing in his ear is getting to be too much and the tension in his ribs can do with some super speed. So he gives himself a tour, looking into every room and every corner of every classroom. It was dusty, cobwebs, and faded. It looked like the students took a very long summer vacation and hadn’t touched any of their stuff since.

Some rooms still had kids' clothes, old posters, and little gadgets of a curious child. But…no kids.

No kids anywhere. Not one.

He finds Wanda and Jean on the third floor in the only bedroom that looks properly cleaned besides what he assumes is Charles' room. He doesn’t know where Hank sleeps but it must be one of the messy rooms near the master bedroom.

Wanda and Jean are standing close to each other, books and pens floating all around them. Some are covered in red and others in orange. Both of them are smiling and Wanda looks like she’s in the beginning of a giggle. Pietro lets out a relieved breath before super speeding back downstairs.

“-stupid.” Charles fumbles as a harsh wind hits him in the face and Pietro already forgot what he was saying before he left.

“Yeah, yeah, cool. How come there aren't any students here? Isn’t this supposed to be a school?”

“We were closed for a while. We’re now just beginning to recruit students again.”

“What do you need to enroll in?”

Charles looks at Hank and there’s a long pause that makes Pietro fidget “we would love to have you Peter.”

Pietro snorts “no way. Not for me, I did my time. I meant for my sister Wanda. She can’t go back to her old school.” She can’t go back anywhere near that town.

“She’s more than welcome to enroll. We just need her to take a general knowledge test to see where she is grade level wise, although we haven’t quite started having classes yet. We have lots to do before we are ready for business.”

“Okay, I can help.” Pietro claps his hands together “first food.”

“The kitchen is-“

“-I know where it is Charles.”

Pietro makes four cheese pizzas, as a snack for him and the girls. He fiddles with the ingredients and the oven and basically runs wild in the kitchen for several minutes.

“Wheels, where do you keep the Parmesan?”
“Cabinet to the left. Next to the salt.”
“Okay, cool,cool,cool.”
“There's pepperoni in the fridge, salami too if you wanna add some.” Hank points out.
“Naw I'm good, and the plates?” Why doesn't he have plates in the kitchen?

“We have paper plates under the sink.” Pietro opens the cabinet doors under the sink and instead of paper plates he sees two half-empty vodka bottles.

It’s the same brand David drinks.

Pietro barely thinks when he dumps the rest of the alcohol down the sink at super speeds and tosses the bottles in the recycling bin. The paper plates were actually next to the dishwasher. He doesn’t say anything.

“You seem different.” Pietro starts, not knowing how else to broach the topic. “Beside the wheelchair I mean. You seem less…assholey.”

His eyes don’t look red and his breath smells minty. He looks like he actually bathed instead of marinating in filth for three straight days. He shaved his greasy beard and he looks like an actual human being instead of a shell of one. But addiction is brutal. Pietro knows that better than anyone.

Charles clears his throat and Pietro must’ve not hidden the bottles that well in the recycling bin because his eyes land on them before he speaks “I’m sorry if I came across as callous before. I had been going through some bad…years. I’m just now starting to get better.”

“If you’re just now getting better, is it smart to start teaching again?” Should he be anywhere near Wanda? Or Jean? Should Charles be anywhere near children? Is he just gonna fall off the wagon again and get mean again, throw things, yell at them, hit-no. That’s David. Why does Pietro keep doing that?

Charles is not David.

He looks like him though. Pale, blue eyes and long brown hair. Maybe that's why he keeps confusing the two.

“Pietro…” Charles' voice sounds confused “Who’s David?”

Pietro stiffens “I thought you said-“ the clock dings in the oven “-you said you couldn’t read my mind.”

“I can't- my apologies. I shouldn’t have asked. Your sister was just thinking of him.”

Oh.

“David is her dad.”

“Why does she call him David in her head?”

“Because I call him David. She’s a little copycat.” Wanda also joined track in her school, running faster than everyone there. Not like Pietro but still fast. He liked to think that even though his name was scrubbed off the records maybe the Maximoff name could still be there one day.

Well, he doesn't suppose she could do track anymore.

No mutants allowed.

But it was a nice thought at the time.

“Is David not your father?” Let’s not open that can of worms.

“No, thank fuck. My father isn’t in the picture. He’s not even aware there is a picture. If he did I doubt he’d like the picture to begin with.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’ve brought up a sensitive topic without realizing and I’ve upset you.”

“You haven't, I'm fine.”

“I suppose I assumed you and Wanda had the same father. Considering you both have mutations. Does your mother carry the mutant gene?”

“Don’t know. But she does have a type.”

“Which is?”

“Powerful men.”

Hank starts to go on a rant about science because he’s a scientist and we are not allowed to forget.

“The X gene is passed down through the father usually, so it could be a recessive or dominant gene. Not a lot of data on the subject of mutation but usually one of the parents has to have the gene to have a mutant child. Your mother could’ve had a mutant great-great-great-grandfather or something of the sort and the x gene could've been passed down but dormant all these years. Or-”

“-Or she could have a type.” Pietro cuts in.
Hank sighs but nods anyway “Or she could have a type.” he agrees.

“Speaking of my mother's sex life-”

Hank's face goes red “-we were not-”

“-what was the deal with that Erik Lensherr guy?”

“What does he have to do with your mother's sex life?” Charles's eyebrows furrow into one caterpillar.

“-Can we please stop talking about his mother having sex!”

“-I just think he’s definitely my mother's type so I should probably know if he's gonna be making a cameo any time soon so I can keep them away from each other.” and as far away from Wanda as possible.

“He won't be coming around here. Not for a very long time. His actions in the white house made it so that he couldn't stay in the States. So no surprise visits any time soon.”

“Good. I don’t want any more siblings.”

“-Can we please move on-” Hank exasperates.

“-Didn’t take you for a prude, Hank.”

Charles laughs and it takes Pietro so off guard that he starts laughing too.

“I AM NOT A PRUDE!” Hank is literally turning blue to the face.

Jena and Wanda start stumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen “What's burning?” Wanda exclaims in alarm.

“Nothing is burni-” Pietro opens the oven door as if to show off the nonexistent burning pizza and a waft of black smoke hits him in the face making him cough erratically.

Holy shit, what the fuck?

“Peter, are you okay?’ Charles is by his side in an instant closing the oven door and turning it off completely Hank runs out to get a fire extinguisher from the closet.

“Yes, I'm cool. I’m fine, just a bit of smoke in the lungs, nothing crazy, nothing dangerous.”

“My science teacher actually said that inhaling smoke is actually super bad for the lungs.” Wanda said matter-of-factly just to prove Pietro wrong.

Charles pats Pietro's back, looking like he aged ten years in the last five seconds. “She's right maybe you should sit down and drink some water, my boy.”

“I'll order pizza instead,” Hank says after going crazy with the fire extinguisher.

“Plain cheese, please.” Wanda says.

“I think we need a bit of iron and meat if we are going to survive the rest of the day,” Hank jokes.

“Can't mix meat and dairy.” Wanda says. “Me and Peter will eat the cheese pizza you can order a different topping for everyone else.”

“Peter and I.” Pietro corrects like a little shit.

“I hope you get lung cancer.” Wanda snides.

“Damn, that's brutal.”

“Your face is brutal.”

“Only because my face is exposed to your face.”

Hank goes to the landline and orders the pizzas. Jean stands mutely next to Charles stimming with her fingers and they both look at the two bickering siblings with matching fond smiles.

This house hasn't been this loud in quite some time.

Chapter Text

The first time Pietro Django Maximoff was arrested he still hadn't gotten his powers yet. He stole a silver Hot Wheels toy from the candy section of a local grocery store. He didn’t necessarily need the toy or even really want it. He had enough money to buy the plastic car but it seemed as if one second he was looking at it with a bored expression and the next it was in his hoodie pocket. He was caught relatively quickly, he had only been seven after all. The store manager from that particular grocery store always kept an unnecessary eye on Pietro and his family. Pietro suspected he wasn't a fan of scanning all the food stamps his mom constantly brought in or maybe the way Pietro accidentally slipped in Hebrew words when speaking to the workers. Either way, Pietro didn’t stand a chance. The lone officer that picked him up in a banged-up car kept him in the twenty-four-hour cell room, cluttered with smelly dudes and creeps and they told him he had one singular phone call. Pietro hadn't memorized his house number so he sat in that cell for a good long while with full-grown adult men staring at him before they tracked down David and had him pick him up. Pietro was black and blue for days after and he finally memorized his house phone.

Pietro typed that very same phone number into the landline, finally deciding to call his mother. The cord for the landline twirled between his fingers in anxiety. His foot tapped inhumanly fast on the wooden floor. Usually, he’d just run back home and speak to her in person but he doesn’t really wanna see the broken glass.

Last Pietro saw her she was waking up in the kitchen surrounded by dead bodies and the cops close by.

He should’ve taken her with them, he’s carried two people while speed running before, but he needed time to process and to think of something that wasn’t “Oh by the way your daughter murdered ten men. Don’t be mad, but I'm the reason they were at the house.”

Yeah, that would not have gone well.

The phone rings. The home number is the only number he knows by heart. It rings and it rings and it rings and the longer it rings the more anxious Pietro becomes and the more tangled the cord gets between his fingers.

She doesn’t pick up. He calls again. It rings it rings and someone answers the phone. All Pietro can hear is breathing and he can’t tell if it’s his mom or not.

“Shalom? Ima?” Pietro tests and he can feel a shuttering of breath on the receiver.

“Pietro! Please tell me Wanda is with you. She hasn’t come home.” Pietro's mother's voice shook, vibrating through the phone and kicking him in the chest. Pietro was so relieved to hear her voice.

“Yes, she’s with me. We had to go, I’m sorry I left you.” Pietro says quickly. Maybe too quickly but it was still understandable for his mother.

“No don't be sorry. Someone had to stay behind and explain to the police what happened or else they’d think the worst.” Like they always do.

“How? I mean what exactly did you tell them?” Not the truth.

“I told them we had a party mishap.”

“A party?”

“Well I had to explain the glass…and the blood and the multiple dead men. I put the least damaged corpse in David's car and ran through the wall of the house.”

“YOU DID WHAT?” Pietro yelled into the receiver in shock.

“I told them they were under the influence and when left to their own devices they crashed into the house and set off the explosion in the engine that started the fire.” Magda Maximoff was always a bit rough around the edges but she’d do anything to protect her children.

“What’s this about a fire?”

“Had to get rid of some evidence.”

“But they bought that?”

“Didn’t need much convincing. I think they assumed it was a provocative type of party. They had all been wearing leather and none were women.”

“Mom I don’t need to imagine the pretend orgy party that you used to cover up dead bodies.” What fucking sentence just came out of Pietro's mouth.

“I’m going to be staying with Miss Margo until I can find a place. I'm packing some belongings.” Miss Margo is a Christian woman who solicits near the elementary school. She lives alone with her disabled child only two streets down from the house and has about twelve outside cats that decorate her lawn. She’s a bit pushy but a charitable lady who will talk your ear off about Jesus until you’ve gone to at least one Sunday sermon with her. Pietro fell victim to her squeezing of cheeks and Jesus cookies and spent an entire Sunday at her church. And Pietro does mean the entire Sunday because it was an urban church with brown and black pastors and the whitest thing there besides the holy bread was Pietro Maximoff and the pastor's daughter's dog. It lasted hours. To Pietro, it felt like days. A quest of wills and the only thing to save him was the drums, the guitar, and the smooth voices of the singers.

All this is to say that Miss Margo is a nice Christian woman. My mother will be out of her house running within the week.

“Right, okay, and where does Margo live? I can come get you.”

“How’s Wanda?” Seriously?

“Mom-“

“Are you both safe? I was worried sick thinking she never came home.”

“Yes, ima we’re both safe. We’re at the stoner dudes house.”

“Are you doing drugs?” She asked, alarmed.

“Not Currently.”

“Pietro Django Maximoff!” Pietro puts the phone away from his ear as she yells at him.

“I was kidding. I’m not doing drugs nor am I planning to.”

“Is your hipster friend doing drugs in front of Wanda? You know how I feel about that Pietro.”

“I know! And no he isn’t. He’s sober or whatever. He’s actually a professor. He has a school…for mutants.
Gifted youngsters.”

“Are we sure we're thinking of the same person? Are you talking about the tall awkward fellow with the glasses?”

“No Mom, that’s Hank.”

“The sexy man with the perky ass.”

“Ew, no Mom, that’s Logan.”

“Don’t ew me you knew who I was talking about.”

“I’m talking about Charles, he's the one that looked like he was in a constant state of the worst hangover of his life.”

“Yes, that’s who I thought you were referring to. I hoped that I had misheard. Are you sure he’s a professor and not part of the janitorial staff?”

“He’s not a janitor, mom. He went to college and stuff. I saw the teaching certificate on his wall, it looked legit.” In all honesty, Pietro wasn’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t forged.

“And he has a school for mutants, do you like it?”

“Don’t know. It’s school. I think Wanda will like it.”

“But will you?”

“Mom- where are you? I can come get you.”

“Best you not. I think it’s better if you stay there.”

Pietro's heart sank “Mom-“

“-I'm not upset with you. Don’t get that jumbled in your head like you tend to do. I’m under police surveillance they’re keeping an extra eye on everything I do, with everyone I speak with. They say it’s for my safety but they're waiting for you to come get me. So don’t. Stay away for as long as you can and when it’s safe I’ll tell you.”

“But what if-“

“You can’t call this number again. I’ll memorize the number you’re calling from and I’ll call you. Okay?”

“Ima why can’t I-“

“-don’t argue with me over this Pietro. I love you and I want you to be safe.”

“Mom I need to tell you-“

“-tell me what?”

“-you keep interrupting me before I can tell you.”

A pause. “Okay. I’m not gonna talk, tell me what you’re gonna tell me.”

“It was Wanda. She’s the one who killed those men. She was scared and they had a gun aimed at her. They pulled the trigger and the bullet stopped Mom. She stopped the bullet. She made all the glass break and she killed all the men. I don’t really understand how she did it but she did. Wanda is like me, mom. She’s a mutant.”

Pietro's ears were ringing and he waited anxiously for his mother's response. He waited for her disappointment. Her horror. He waited for her to feel the tragedy of having not one but two mutant children. He tried to imagine the confusion and pain she must feel to have birthed two outcasts. To not have a single easy thing in her life.

What bad luck it is to be a mother of two mutants.

Silence.
“Mom? You can talk now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Okay, what? Okay, you can talk now, or okay your daughter is a mutant? Please elaborate.”

“Okay, as in that doesn’t surprise me. Your sister is incredibly protective of her family. As she should be.”

Pietro cannot believe this. “I feel like you’re not reacting properly.”

“I already knew Wanda was special.”

“How?” Pietro's brain was going too fast and his mother wasn’t responding fast enough to any of his questions.

“A mother always knows. I knew with you.” Magda has always claimed this. Technically it’s true she always said Pietro was special way before he got his power although Pietro always assumed she meant special as in “slow” not special as in gifted.

“I-I don’t know what to do. How do I help her?”

“Be the person you needed when your powers first manifested.”

Be the person you needed? Those are her words of wisdom? He needed his mom, but she was gone. He needed a therapist but he couldn’t afford it. He needed a dad and instead, he had fucking David.

When his powers manifested? He needed someone to hold him. He needed someone to reach for him and touch him so he could know that he was still alive and that the world was still moving.

But he didn’t. No one helped him. No one told him it would be okay.

So I guess that’s his answer.

“I love you.”

“I love you too kid. Don’t do anything crazy.”

“Too late.”

“Shalom.” They both said and Pietro hung up clicking the phone back into place on the wall.

Pietro hears the familiar vrooming of Charles’ wheelchair entering the second living room.

You heard right. Second living room. Man is rich-rich.

Pietro pushes off the wall and approaches Charles curiously. He has something in his hands he can’t see…not until he gets a bit closer to the British man.

He was holding a clear canister of gooey brown liquid. “I appreciate you cleaning out the rooms Peter.” Charles clears his throat.

Pietro had gone on a bit of a venture earlier that day, stress-cleaning all of the rooms and it took a while, even for him because some of the rooms still had things in them that belonged to previous students. With much care and as much patience he could muster he packed those possessions away into boxes in the basement. Hair clips and sketchbooks, DVDs, and old theater tickets. He rifled through old photo albums and folded old jumpers and blankets. He found an old diary hidden between a mattress and a headboard. It belonged to a child, a year younger than Wanda and Pietro couldn’t bare to read past the first couple pages.

He kept thinking about how all those kids that used to go here are probably dead. Charles mentioned he had to shut the school down after the older kids got drafted. Charles didn’t go into too much detail about what happened to the kids that didn’t get drafted…to the kids that didn’t have a home to go back to after the semester was cut short but someone doesn’t just leave their skateboard, or their full piggy bank behind if they didn’t think they’d be back.

Pietro didn’t want to think about the little girl with the baby blue diary talking about a boy in her class…a class in this school. A boy who’s probably dead too.
Or worse.

Charles hadn’t asked him to clean. Neither did Hank. In fact it seemed like they where procrastinating doing so but after Pietro sneezed for the twenty seventh time he decided a bit of light dusting wouldn’t hurt. And then he ended up cleaning everything.

His mother would be outraged. He never cleaned the house voluntarily.

“It’s no problem. Barely took a second.” It took a long time actually but like hell he was gonna let him think he did something voluntarily that took him an exuberant amount of time.

“I still appreciate it. If I’m being honest I was quite hesitant to go into any of the rooms. It brought quite a few old memories I’m still trying to work through.”

Pietro nods, fidgeting his feet. What is he supposed to say to that? What does someone even say to something like that?

I’m sorry you have trauma?

No problem, it was only a bit traumatic to have to pack away a dead child’s entire childhood.

No stress, I was only having a few panic attacks per room.

Easy peasy no worries.

Like what exactly is he suppose to say in this kind of social situation? Usually he goes into super speed and thinks of about ten million different scenarios and settles on one before going back into normal speed but now he can’t because-
Shit- Charles has been talking this whole time.

“-it won’t eliminate all cravings but it should hold you over for a bit longer than usual because of the high-calorie count.” Charles extends the canister to Pietro and when he simply blinks at Charles in confusion Charles frowns.

“Peter?” Damn he’s gonna have to ask. Fuck.

Pietro lets out a breath, cheeks going slightly pink “I’m sorry, can you repeat what you were saying? I spaced.”

David wouldn’t have repeated himself. He would’ve yelled at him for ignoring him and for being such a fucking moron.

Charles smiles “No worries, Peter. What I was saying was that Hank made you this meal replacement with a high calorie count. It has all the iron and protein you’re suppose to be getting. The oven cooked pizzas and hohos aren’t gonna cut it. You need nearly twelve times more then what the average human being needs. If you drink this a couple times a day it should at least subside any hunger you might be having between runs. You can still have your snacks and your regular meals of course but this would help your body get what it needs.” Charles Xavier scans Pietro quickly “how much do you weigh? You look-“ Scrawny. Skinny. Sickly. Starved. Anorexic. “-small. Perhaps we should adjust the calorie count so you're not gaining too much weight too fast. Maybe taking a canister once a day for now. Do you get any headaches? Lightheadedness? Do you feel fatigued when you run?-“ Pietro must’ve been making a face because Charles stops abruptly.

Charles sounds kind of like his mother. A weird kind of concern that becomes almost overwhelmingly frantic far too quickly.

“-perhaps Hank should be the one to discuss this with you. If that’s alright?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” Pietro doubts Hank would be any more smooth.

“Cool.” Charles repeats the word like he’s never said it in his life. He’s so British.

“It’s getting late. I should probably head to bed.” Pietro quite literally is just trying to find a good enough excuse to get the fuck out of there.

“Of course. The boys dormitory is on the fourth floor.”

“No worries, I’ll just bunk with Wanda.”

Charles frowns “you wouldn’t prefer your own room?”

Preference has nothing to do with it. He needs to be with his sister.

“I’m cool.”

Charles doesn’t say anything after that.

That night when they went to bed Pietro made sure the door was locked and left a lamp on in the corner. Wanda says she doesn’t need a nightlight but she’ll squirm and rustle in bed all night if it’s pitch black so Pietro tells her he prefers it on. He tucks her In, the smooth comforter wrapping her up like a burrito and Wanda blinks like a tired frog when he sings to her. He doesn’t sing to her every night. Pietro used to sing to her nightly when she was much younger but now he only sings whenever she’s had a particularly bad day. Today has been one of the worst bad days ever.

He still can’t believe it’s been only a day. This morning he was playing Pac-man and now it’s close to midnight and he’s not even in the same city with his sister who’s also a mutant now and has killed several people living under the hospitality of the people he helped break some other guy out of the pentagon.

It’s been a damn day.

His sister is expecting it so he sings. He hadn’t sung this particular song in years and he couldn’t quite remember the words fully but it used to be Wanda’s favorite.
“daj spokój mojemu dziecku.” The lyrics come out choppy and Pietro has an accent while singing the lullaby that would make his mother cringe but Wanda doesn’t know any better.

“dzień się skończył.” He sees the moment Wanda recognizes the words. “gdy nadejdzie poranek, zaświeci słońce.”

Wanda’s smiles sleepily “Ale teraz jest ciemno i świat nadejdzie.” Pietro remembers making his mother teach him this song, word for word, line by line; it had been three days after Wanda had been born. She had sung it to him as a child and it had always made him smile as well. Their mother has a beautiful singing voice.

“Pozwól więc swoim oczom odpocząć i zasnąć.” Pietro smooths through the end, muscle memory pulling finishing the song for him.

“You haven’t sang that one in ages.” Wanda was blinking heavily, she’s exhausted but refuses to sleep.

“Felt like we were due for one.” Pietro speaks softly. “Mom never taught it to you?”
Wanda shakes her head “I barely speak polish. I only know a few words in hebrew.”

Their mother had raised the two very differently. It was something Pietro had caught on very quickly. Pietro was only spoken to in Hebrew until he started pre-k and mother would take him to the synagogue and teach him prayers and taught him how to make Jewish dishes. But when she had Wanda she didn’t do those things for her. In fact it seemed she went out of her way to make sure Wanda knew nothing about her culture.

Pietro thinks it’s because Wanda looks like her. Wanda has their mothers hair, and her eyes and her smile and her complexion. Their mother saw herself and wanted Wanda to never experience the sort of prejudices she faced because of her culture. The same sort of prejudices Pietro had been exposed to time and time again.

Pietro never hates his mother for that. It was her way of protecting wanda. Her small sacrifice. Because that’s what it really was. A sacrifice. Her culture,her language, her religion, her faith, her history, her pain, completely stopping with her, never being passed down to her children. She’s losing her very essence- for her children to be accepted by a society that couldn’t give less of a fuck about them.
Pietro never resented her. Not until he couldn’t remember certain words, or phrases in Hebrew, when his English got better but he got an accent when he talked in Hebrew, when he couldn’t remember the recipe for his favorite dish, when she called him Peter so many times he started introducing himself by that. He began to truly blame her for it when the words to his favorite song began to fade from his mind. A distant memory the less she sang it.

Pietro had to teach himself again. Had to learn it all over again. He refused to forget.
“I’ll teach it to you one day. So you can sing it to your kids one day.”

“Ew, I don’t want kids.”

“Then you’ll sing it to mine.”

Wanda looks at Pietro curiously “you want kids?”

“One or two.”

“Twos good. A boy and a girl. They’ll keep each other company.”

“That’s smart. I should have them ten years apart so the older one can change the other's diaper.”

Wanda makes a face “you’re so annoying.” Pietro laughs at her.

“I think you’ll be a good dad one day. You’re already a pretty great brother.” Wanda’s literally drifting into sleep as she says this and it’s the nicest thing ever and-

Pietro isn’t crying.

He’s not.

“I think I’m only such a great brother because I have such a great sister.” Pietro wrapping his arms around Wanda.

“That’s cheesy.” Wanda mumbles out already dead asleep but refusing to let Pietro have the last word.
Pietro suppresses a breathy laugh, composing himself as he lays a peck on his sister's forehead whispering a quick prayer.

The next day comes and Both Charles and Hank are gone. A note left in one of the kitchens stating that they're out recruiting a new student. They’ll be back by dinner.
Jean doesn’t talk much but as a telepath that’s only a problem when she wants to talk to Pietro who’s mind seems to be impenetrable.

“She says it’s like walking inside a house with the light off. She knows there's furniture and decorations but she can’t see it. Just when she thinks she can see the outline of a couch or a picture frame it all shifts and moves around and she's stumbling and bumping into things again.” Wanda is teaching Jean how to do origami. She had learned in her third grade class and she’s very adamant on teaching Jean and Pietro because ‘everyone should know how to make a swan.’

“That sounds tiresome.” He gets another papercut on his pointer finger.

Wanda shrugs grabbing the blue craft paper to make a boy swan for her thirty four perfectly crafted pink swans “She says it’s nice. Usually she walks inside the house and there’s a lot of stuff going on. Different colors, lots of loud music, different doors that lead to more rooms with more doors and lots of furniture and pictures on the walls, sometimes they even have pets. She says it’s really overwhelming to be inside somebody's house.”

“She hears music in people’s heads?” Jean is cutting red paper absentmindedly even though origami requires no cutting.

“Yeah, you have music but she says the music is going so fast and it’s so far away that it defaults to white noise. She says it’s nice. it’s the first time it’s quiet in someone else’s head.”
Pietro doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“Is that how it is for you?”

Wanda shakes her head folding the blue paper expertly “not really. I mean yeah, your mind is kinda like a dark moving house but it’s a house I recognize. I know where all the furniture is even if it’s dark and I know where it’s going to move. The music in your head is in a different language but I can still feel what it's trying to say.”

“So you can read my mind?” Pietros was a bit alarmed by that.

“No. Not really. I can feel your mind. If you were sad I’d be able to tell, or scared, or any really strong emotion but I wouldn’t be able to know exactly why.”

“That’s pretty cool, Wanda.”

“I guess…” Wanda looks a bit too deeply at her paper now and Pietro raises on eyebrow at her. “You alright?”

Wanda looks at Jean. They do that thing where they talk but don’t. How would telepathy work with other telepaths? Would they be inviting each other to each other's houses or would they just migrate in one? Would it be in an entirely different house? Like a combination of both of them? Pietro still doesn’t fully get it. He probably never will.

“What if I never learn how to control it?”

“You will.”

“But what if I can’t? What if I can’t stop accidentally breaking into people's houses?”

“Can we use another analogy?”

“What if I hurt someone again?”

“You won’t.”

“But what if I do?”

“Then we deal with it. Together. Like we always do. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Charles and Hank arrive later that day, around 7 pm without a new student and matching grim expressions.
Pietro doesn’t ask what happened.

The next day Pietro wakes up to permanent marker drawings on his face. Within seconds he’s got his hands on every bottle of whipped cream in the mansion and spraying his sister with it from head to toe. She retaliates by rewinding his Walkman so it goes at normal speed instead of the 12x speed. He rebuttals that by hiding all a hundred and seventeen of her swan children all over the school. Back and forth. They do this for two days before Charles reveals that it was actually Jean who painted on Pietro's face that morning.
Aghast Pietro covers Jean Grey's floor with bubble wrap in her sleep.

All three became involved in the prank war. Half of Pietro's hair was blue, Wanda’s teeth were green and Jean only had one eyebrow.
Charles forced them to make a truce when they pushed it a little too far and started a small fire in the kitchen.

Two weeks pass and Charles brings Pietro to his office. He thinks it’s about school stuff instead he takes out a chess board. “You play?”
Pietro snorts “No, do I look like I hate fun.”

Charles shakes his head “chess can be quite riveting when done with the right partner.”
“I’m sure all the nerds said that at your fancy little nerd school.”

Charles smiles, putting the little figures into their supposed place “Would you like me to teach you?”

“Not really.” but Pietro was already darting to the kitchen to get a family sized bag of chips and darting back sitting in the chair in front of the chess board.

It was two hours later of Charles explaining the game and what each piece did and how to effectively win or sacrifice pieces and the bag of chips was long gone and replaced with a box of cereal. Pietro was being annoying, he knew he was moving too much and asking too many questions and the few practice games that they played were short lived because Pietro kept sacrificing his king like an idiot. He sucked. Like super hard. Charles didn’t yell at him though. He’d just reset the board and show him again. Again. Again. Again. He didn’t seem annoyed either but some people are good at hiding that sort of stuff.

“Can we put this on pause?” Pietro fidgets with the Walkman on his hip.

“Something wrong?” Pietro hates how genuinely concerned Charles sounds when he asks that. Three weeks ago he was calling him a pain in the ass and now he’s patiently teaching him how to play chess.
“I’m just not any good.”

“You’re just starting. Nobody’s Robert James Fischer from the very start. You’re doing very well for a beginner, look.” He points at a piece in the board “you got my knight blocked.” Pietro doesn’t know who this Robert guy is and he hadn't blocked his knight on purpose but he’ll take the praise anyway.

In the following days Charles had taken the time to sit him down for an hour or two to play a game of chess. The conversation during that time can vary from Charles expressing his struggle to find mutant students willing to enroll, to Commenting on how Hank has been clogging up the pipes in the first floor bathroom with fur. Pietro almost never contributed to the conversation. Not that he never wanted to it’s just that when he’d open his mouth to talk he couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say. So he let Charles fill the space. It seems like he needs it more than Pietro anyway.

At the one month mark Pietro receives a phone call from his mother. She greets him in Hebrew and Pietro responds the same, she asks how Wanda and he are settling and he asks her the same.
“Have you been eating?”

“Yes, ima.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes, ima.”

“I’m not trying to nag you. I’m just making sure your healthy. I’ve never...I’ve never gone this long without seeing you.” Her voice sounds strained.
When Pietro hears that he nearly runs all the way to Miss Margo’s house right then and there. He wants to hug his mom but he knows it isn’t safe yet.

They talk for a bit longer and then say their goodbyes.

She calls again two days later.
The conversation is shorter but she gives him her Latkes recipe. He writes it down on a napkin. She sends him a prayer.

A couple days later Wanda and Jean have conspired against him and have literally kicked him out of Wanda’s room. They're going to bunk together now. Pietro is only a little bit jealous.
It’s nice to know that at the end of the day Wanda has a friend who is so much like her and who she can talk to in their weird telepathic way.

He tells Charles this during their chess game that day. Pietro tries not to notice the way Charles mood shifts slightly when Pietro actually starts talking during their matches. He seems kinda happy about it.
Which is weird, right? Pietro tries not to think too much about it.

“Where’s Hank been the last couple days?”

“He’s quarantined in his lab.”

“Why? He sick or somethin’?”

“He’s been trying to slowly wean off his medication and that’s resulted in his mutation coming back a bit harsher than usual. He experiences a lot of mood swings, and shedding.”
“What exactly is his mutation?” Pietro moves his Little horsey. He’s fully aware that’s not the name for the piece but Wanda calls it that and it’s now implanted in his head.
“Genius-level intellect, Superhuman strength, stamina, durability, speed, agility, reflexes, dexterity, healing, longevity, and senses, Pheromone manipulation, Razor-sharp fangs, claws, and blue fur.”
Hank has a physical mutation. That actually checks out. “Is that why he’s been a bit reclusive since we got here?”
Charles shifts in his wheelchair looking very pointedly not at Pietro “in all honesty Hank is just not used to other people in the house. It had been just us for so long and we would go weeks without speaking to each other at times. He’ll get adjusted to it.”
Pietro moves his queen.

Charles takes his king in one fell swoop. Damn. They play two more games.
Charles tells them Hank is working on Cerebro. He doesn’t know what that is but it sounds important so Pietro leaves a Kugel outside his door that he can snack on.
He doesn’t see him but when he runs back around a few hours later the plate is empty outside his door and there’s a note written on graphic parchment paper.
He didn’t write anything crazy, just a simple thank you and a comment about the Kugel tasting delicious.

It wasn’t a big deal. It’s just a letter.

Pietro keeps it in his wallet.

Purely because it felt rude to throw it away. Especially when he took the time to sign it and doodle a little cartoon Pietro running with a kugel.
That’s the only reason.

The next day Pietro wakes up early and when he passes by Wanda and Jeans' room he finds the both of them floating about two feet above their respective beds. Pietro keeps walking, already used to it.
He almost beats Charles at chess for the first time. Wanda discovers the fantasy section in the library on the fifth floor. She’s three books into mermaid lore.
That night Pietro heard a knock on his door while he pretended to fall asleep. Jean was standing outside the door matching a set of pink striped pajamas and hair up in a loose bonnet. She had deep bags under her eyes.

“Jean-man, why are you still up so late?” Pietro asks like a hypocrite.

Pietro peaks his head into the hallway. No Wanda.
“Wanda’s snoring driving you crazy?” He teases.

Jean shakes her head and taps her head twice and speaks for the first time ever. “Too loud.”

It's the first time it’s quiet in someone else’s head.

Oh.

Jean doesn’t look at Pietro, hands folding in a way that looks painful. Jean is eleven she must feel awkward coming to an adult for help. Wanda is nine and wouldn’t hesitate to come and get him if she was scared. But she grew up with Pietro, she knows him and Jean is in a house full of strangers she’s barely known for a month.
Pietro doesn’t know how he’d feel in that scenario.

“Alright. You can stay but don’t tell Wanda, she’ll be so jealous she missed out on a sleepover.” Pietro doesn’t actually care if she does or doesn’t but he knows Jean most likely wouldn’t, too embarrassed. So he’ll make her think she’s doing him a favor, so she feels less bad about it.
It’s what big brothers do.

She sleeps in one bed and he sleeps in the other, facing the door out of habit.

Thirty minutes pass and he thinks maybe she’s fallen asleep, but then alarmingly he hears the harsh scraping of wood on wood. He turns around to face Jean who’s lying on the bed. A bed that is gradually moving closer to Pietro in a creepy horror movie moment.

Holy fuck.

It stops when it’s flush against Pietro's twin-sized bed. Jean is now right next to Pietro and by her forced shut eyes and the small blush on her cheeks, he can tell she’s still awake.
Okay. He should’ve realized what she really wanted. It’s not off base to assume Jean probably got accustomed to sleeping next to Wanda.
Pietro has it under good authority that Wanda is a cuddler.

So without much thought and like he’s done thousands of times with Wanda he lays his cheek on top of Jean's head and wraps his free hand loosely around Jean's shoulders. She sinks deeper, trying to make it seem natural. She wraps her arms around his waist and pretends to yawn. He forces back a laugh before it can start bubbling. She’s such an actress.
He hums a little song. And in his mind, Jean is Wanda and she’s his sister, a baby cradled in his arms as he sways her in his old rocking chair.

But in this memory, infant Wanda’s skin is paler, more freckled and her hair is curly and red. He’ll protect this baby just as fiercely as the other.

Pietro will comfort Jean like any brother would.

The next morning Wanda is standing at the foot of the bed looking like a demon out of hell as she sees Jean and Pietro cuddling without her. Pietro has exactly one millisecond to prepare himself before she decides to interrupt by diving in between them at full speed and forcing herself between the sleepy duo. Whining about how cuddle piles are better than cuddle pairs.

That afternoon Pietro tries Mom's recipe and leaves a few Latkes outside of Hank's door. Then Pietro runs to the city to get new bed sheets for all the bedrooms after he finds a weird-looking green stain on one of the spare sheets downstairs.

“You didn’t take my card.” Charles frowns.
“Didn’t need it.” Pietro says flippantly, tossing the old bedsheets into trash bags in less than three seconds. Using about forty-two giant trash bags.

“Peter-“ Charles has a disappointed look on his face that makes Pietro stumble slightly on his way to the dumpster and back.

“-you didn’t need to steal the sheets. I can afford to pay for new sheets.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you steal them?”

“I don’t know.” Pietro fidgets, itching to leave. “I just wanted to get it myself.” Having to ask for money felt like the worst fate in the history of ever.

“I know you have an affinity for stealing. It’s not an easy habit to break but it’s truly not necessary to do so anymore.”

Pietro frowns at the ugly monster crawling around in his head “How do you know that I have an affinity for stealing?”

It’s that specific word. Affinity. He’s heard it before. A cop said it to him once, relating it to his kleptomania, spitting it at him as he tied the handcuffs on his wrist too tight. Leaving marks for days.

Charles doesn’t answer right away and Pietro immediately rummages through Charles' things in less then a second.
Pietro finds his file on his desk. His stomach twists and he’s in front of the professor in microseconds and pointing the rancid file at his face.

“You have my file.”

“I was only doing a background check. It’s our usual procedure. I do it for all of my students.”

“I didn’t see Wanda’s file? Jeans? Only mine. I checked.” Does Charles think he’s stupid? He’s not fucking stupid.

“It’s different with them.”

“How-“ in that second Pietro realizes the differences between him and the girls. Charles can’t go inside his house. He’s stumbling in the dark. “-You can’t read my mind.” That’s so fucked.

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“Am I? You can’t read my mind, so instead you read my file. You read school reports, police reports. The worst of the worst of what people have had to say about me and you decided I’m a crook. Is that it?”

“Pietro-“

“-It’s Peter to you.”

That’s a mouthful. He remembers him saying that. Like a dick. Because Charles is a dick. How can he forget that?

Charles lets out a breath “Peter, you are not a crook. This file told me a lot of bad yes but it told me a lot of good as well.”

Pietro doesn’t care what he has to say. He should just leave before he can sell his case. He doesn’t.

“You stole a lot of unnecessary things, seventeen jetskis seems a bit excessive. But you also stole diapers for your sister, a stroller, baby formula. For every dumb merchandise you smuggled there were two more you absolutely needed. My goal was not to analyze or gather intel behind your back to wish you Ill but simply to understand you a bit more as a person.” Charles’ gaze softens and Pietro is finding it very difficult to find that rage he had a few moments ago.

“All that file revealed to me was that you’ve been dealt a rough hand and have been given a grand disservice from the adults in your life.”

Pietro's chest feels too heavy for this earth like he should be sinking into the core.

“You are a wonderful son.” Charles doesn’t need to clarify which report he’s referring to.

“You are a wonderful brother.” Pietro thinks of the pink snow shoes he stole for Wanda when she was six because she kept slipping and sliding on the walkway.

“You are a wonderful friend.” He thinks of his friend from middle school whose skin was a little too dark for a white suburban school, whom everyone kept calling a particularly nasty word. He remembers the result of that. The way Pietro had tried to protect him and ended up with blood on his hands.

“You Pietro Django Maximoff are a wonderful, compassionate, strong and intelligent young man and I am so incredibly sorry that you have not been treated as such and that all these horrible things seem to happen as a result of that.”

Pietro changes his mind. Running away is a perfectly justifiable plan.

Yeah, maybe visiting his mother won’t be so bad.

Chapter Text

He knows he’s blowing it out of proportions. Pietro tends to do that. 

Charles says something genuinely nice and Pietro freaks out and runs to his  mom like he’s ten years old all over again. Except it's not that dramatic considering besides his mom, Charles is the only person to ever say something like that to him. 

David never pretended to love Pietro as his own. Never giving in to terms of endearment or giving any form of genuine pep talk that might be misconstrued as fatherly or loving. David never ever confused him. 

Pietro always knew his place with him. 

He was always going to be the bastard child for him. The permanent heavy baggage of the women he claimed to love. Something he had to put up with to be with Pietro’s mom. Something he had to deal with instead of love. 

Anything and everything that ever came out of Davids mouth was critical and judgmental, cruel in a way only he could be. His stepfather had a way of turning it off though. Of twisting his face and softening his voice to make himself seem like a saint. Like a picture perfect person. A concerned new husband stepping up to raise a kid that wasn’t his. A caring step dad picking up his delinquent son from the sheriff's office, smoothly talking to the police to make them release Pietro to his custody. He can morph himself to seem more than he actually was. It took his mother far too long to realize it. 

So yeah, Charles' words were nice. Too nice. Too genuine. Pietro felt too vulnerable in front of Charles and he ran away. Like he always does. Like he’s been doing all his life.

Okay, whatever. Sue him.

He’s gonna see his mom, and she’ll talk him back into the school. He’s basically already here anyway he just has to make a pit stop.

The first time Pietro Django Maximoff met Miss Margo the very first thing he thought was that she had really cool looking hair. He had been about fourteen years old, a freshmen in high school and his own curly hair had been fully gray and silver at that point but in a desperate attempt at seeming normal he would dye consistently brown every two weeks.  

Her hair had gone ashy gray with age and was running down her back in intricate locs. She had colorful seashells in her hair that made Pietro think she was some sort of underwater creature. Her skin was a smooth brown and always adorned some form of body glimmer or glitter, and despite her age she didn’t have that many wrinkles, just the one beside her white eyes that creased when she smiled too brightly. Which was very often. She looked cool . 

After he met her he kept forgetting to buy hair dye. 

Miss Margo was blind, and some might consider this a factor to the colorful way she dresses but it’s not. Pietro has seen photos of before she lost her sight. From when she was a trapeze artist and her form of dress had nothing to do with her vision. Miss Margo used to work at a traveling circus and met all sorts of people and did all sorts of things. She’s tell Pietro Long riveting stories about her time in the circus and would allow herself to divulge in the words nearly just as much as she’d speak about God. She’d never go into too much detail about how she lost her sight but she always said that she found god afterwards. 

The gold cross around her neck was always proudly displayed on her chest. Miss Margo welcomed his mom into her home when she needed it most. For that alone Pietro owes Miss Margo a debt. Even if she forces him to use up his Sunday. 

But for now he supposes flowers would have to suffice. He hoped she wasn’t allergic to any particular flower when he went to The Token flower shop. 

He slowed down, looking at the pretty potted flowers outside before walking into the store, the doorbell jingling. 

The flower shop smelled like dirt and soil, and the first thing that Pietro sees is pale long arms and stained blue jeans carrying an overflowing basket of Daisies, one second away from dropping them.

“Hello, welcome in-“ the florist trips on literal air, not a pebble or rug in sight. 

Pietro catches them before the flowers touch the ground and the employee, a blonde haired green eyed boy looks at him in embarrassment, face red like a ripe tomato.

“You dropped this.” Pietro hands him the seven or so flowers he caught midair and the florist grabs them gingerly, staring at him openly.

“Dirt on my face?” Pietro wipes his face with his jacket sleeve.

“No sorry,” the boy shakes his head, his bangs shaking with him. After a few more stumble my words he seems to finally be able to say “you’re- holy shit- you’re Peter Maximoff, aren’t you?”

Um. 

Pietro takes a ginormous step back. 

“You know that how?” Pietro thinks their might be another flower shop downtown but he can’t be sure. It might take him longer then he likes to find it. 

“Me and my pa use to go to all your marathons. We thought a local might finally make it to the Olympics.”

Oh.

Pietros chest ached at that. His gut twisting as the knife plunged deeper into that particularly unsealed wound. 

He forgets that people actually knew him. People rooted for him. Had his face on tshirts, his signatures on napkins. He wasn’t famous but he was known. Enough that when he was erased, stripped from any title or any trophies he might’ve won from the years competing that he wasn’t erased from people’s memories. 

This kid, maybe a freshman in high school, had gone to all his games. 

“You think you might start running again?” The boy smiles at Pietro hopefully. 

Pietros is not allowed to anymore. Not ever. 

“Nah, it was bad on the knees.” He says smoothly, picking up a bouquet of Lilies from beside the register. “Can I get these?”

“Yeah, sure, of course.” The boy puts his basket down and goes behind the counter. “This for a girlfriend?”

“No, no girlfriend. Just for one of my neighbors.”

“Oh, yeah? They like Lilies?”

“They love em’.” Pietro lies a lot. It’s a bad habit. 

“I bet. You know Lilies symbolize purity and innocence. In religious iconography, they often represent the Virgin Mary, and are also often depicted at the Resurrection of Christ.”

Bible stuff. Sounds like the perfect flower. 

“Miss Margo will love them for sure.” Pietro hears Charles' voice in the back of his head, telling him not to steal and he takes out his wallet begrudgingly.

“How much?”

“On the house.” He says and Pietro looks at him in surprise “you sure?”

“Yeah, you’ve already done me a great service, just by showing up here.”

Pietro likes free shit more than he likes stolen shit. Although stolen items are technically free, just less voluntary. 

“Before you go though, can I get an autograph?” 

Pietro smiles, “Of course.” 

Muscle memory twists Pietro's wrist and the pen and paper wear his name simply.

He leaves the flower shop with a handful of lilies wrapped in pretty pale paper and a bit of a smile on his face. Puts the flowers on the inside of his jacket, zipper holding them tightly against him, not wanting the soft petals on the flowers to go flying once he goes into super speed. 

It’s kinda hard to misplace Miss Margo’s house. It’s the only yellow house on the block, freshly painted that shade of piss when she moved in. It wouldn’t be too jarring if the roof tiles weren’t also a staining orange making her house look like an angry sun. Her rose bushes are perfectly wild and vibrant and her door a matte white with a wreath made of recyclable soda cans. The lawn had her signature cats dozing off, a black and white cat parked beneath her mailbox. 

Her yellow and blue curtains were drawn, unable to see from inside but that’s more or less the usual style it wears. 

Pietro takes a breath, securing his Walkman on his hip, giving the flowers a once over and knocking on the door three times. Pietro waits, biting the inside of his cheek and tries to peek through one of the windows when no one answers. No luck. The blinds are thick and he couldn’t see a damn thing inside. He’s about to knock again when the door knob starts jiggling. 

Pietro jerks straight, fixing his hair. The door creaks open the little chain linking the door and the wall tightening. Miss Margo’s pokes her head into view looking directly at Pietro. “Hello? Who’s there?”

Right, she’s blind. 

“Hello, miss Margo, it's Peter. Peter Maximoff.” She slams the door in his face and he startled back.

What the fu-

The front door jiggles a bit and then abruptly opens all the way, revealing big wide arms that pull Pietro into one large embrace . 

Pietro holds the flowers away from his chest as he’s attacked by Miss Margo’s strong affection. 

“Oh Peter, dear. It’s so nice to see you.” She chuckles to herself “well not see you but you know what I mean.” She squeezes him tightly, even lifting his whole body off the ground for a moment.

He forgot that miss Margo was a hugger. 

“Come in, come in, I just made cookies!” She’s practically dragging him inside her home before Pietro could get one word out. An orange cat snuck in behind him just before she locked the door. 

Pietro hadn’t ever actually been inside Miss Margo’s house before. It’s exactly how he pictured it. News paper clipping framed crookedly on the wall. Photos of her cats and of her family. The wallpaper was pretty butterflies and the carpet was worn and yellow but clearly cleaned regularly. The house smelled of freshly baked cooked. The deeper they got in the house the more he saw. 

Different colored lamps, most likely thristed, a chunky purple couch with a velvet and fluffy aray of throw pillows. Crosses at every corner, incense burning in one nightstand below a picture of black Jesus. Different Knick knacks and accessories on every corner that only a blind woman would like.

“Take off your shoes please.” Pietro quickly toes his shoes, the nice silver sneakers with the white laces piling next to the entrance of the living room. His mother used to buy him a new pair of shoes each year, around the summer but when he hit puberty and after he got his powers she couldn’t keep track of all the sneakers or even afford to buy new ones and she more or less told him to figure it out. This resulted in him duct taping old shoes or stealing new shoes until they wore out and he eventually had to put duct tape on them. Rinse repeat. Over and over. 

Hank developed and tailored these shoes specifically for Pietro and his power.  Heat resistant, cold resistant, water resistant and made of thick rubbery material used for spaceship chairs. He gave them to Pietro one day just before his morning run. He said “one of my old pairs.” But hanks feet are gigantic and are weirdly shaped and no way he had them lying around. But Hank was acting like it was nothing like it wasn’t the first pair of shoes someone has gotten him since he was twelve. 

Pietro started tearing up and Hank quickly left the room because emotions freak him out. 

“Are those for me?” Hw frowns, not quite paying attention to what the older lady had been saying. She extends her hand looking blindly towards Pietro with a smile. “The flowers. Are they for me Peter?”

“How’d you know I had flowers?” Pietro raised his eyebrows. 

“I’ve been faking being blind this whole time.”

“Gotta get that disability check somehow.”

“I’m always down for defrauding the government.”

“I know you are.” Pietro laughs extending the flowers to Miss Margo’s open hand. Miss Margo chortles her openly loud laugh before she responds truthfully. 

“I smelled the fertilizer, I can hear the crunching of the paper around the stems.” She grabs the stems gently, smiling. She dodged the corner of the table, muscle memory kicking in as she scurries to her kitchen, reaching for a vase already filled with rotten flowers. She takes the old ones out, tosses them in the trash with perfect aim.

“What kind are they?”

“Lilies.” Pietro says watching as she drains and fills the vase with more water from the sink. 

She plops the flowers in like she’s done it a million times and touches the petals  with soft fingers. “My favorite.”

Fucking nailed it. 

“My daughter's name was lilie. She actually named herself. I had her in the circus, no hospital, no doctors, no birth certificate, up until she was four I simply called her darling and one day I sat her down and I asked her what she would like to be named. She was a very smart child, very thoughtful and so I expected her to have to think about it, maybe take a moment to consider the very many options she had. But without a glimmer of doubt she said ‘my name is lilie.’ She loved the flower. Reginald, her godfather, the clown, had this act where he’d pull a flower out of his sleeve and it was a pink lily and she’d always get real close to it and every single time water would squirt out of it. Nonetheless Every Time she couldn’t resist getting close to see the flower.” 

Her daughter's name was lily. Was. 

“I’m sorry.” If he had known the damn flowers would be a sour topic he wouldn’t have bought them to begin with. 

“Don’t be, she died a very long time ago. The flowers don’t make me sad, they just remind me that she’s in a better place now.” 

Pietro didn’t ask how she died. First because it seemed rude and second because he was afraid to know the answer. 

“Plus my heart was always meant to love lost children.” Miss Margo patted Pietros cheek as she walked past him, placing the vase in the center of her dining table. 

“That’s why I have Frankie and Kurt.” 

“Who?”

“My boys?”

“You know Frankie. He’s at school at the moment, he’s got a bit of a speech impediment but he’s quite the talker, he’s in the same class as your sister Wanda, he might have a bit of a crush on her though. She complimented the charms on his wheelchair once and he hasn’t shut up about it. Silly boy.” 

Pietro has never actually met Frankie and he had no idea he and Wanda had a class together. Frankie being in a wheelchair explains the ramp on the porch though. And probably why Wanda was more than willing to play dirty when she was playing tag with Charles last week. Little shit doesn’t discriminate. 

“And you don’t know Kurt. He’s my other foster son. I’ve had him for less than six months. He’s actually around your age, eighteen give or take. He’s just settling into the country. Believe it or not he was raised by the very same circus I used to work in. It was practically fate. He’s a bit shy so he doesn’t go out very much and he’s still practicing his English, so I’ve been homeschooling him. Which is plenty fine. I needed a bit of a refresher anyway. History books and such are all so informative. It’s so interesting to see how much the world has changed…and how much it hasn’t changed.” 

“Right…” Pietro doesn’t know what to make of that. It was just another chapter in Miss Margo’s fascinating story. Although Pietro is a little bit distracted considering he actually just wanted to see his mother. “I’m sure you can tell me all about him after-“

“-I could introduce you two, he’s right-oh.” Pietro suddenly gets a whiff of sulfur. What the hell was that? 

“Nevermind. I suppose not. Like I said he’s a bit shy. Maybe another time.”

“I’d love to another time. Really but if I’m being honest Miss Margo I’d like to see my mother. Is she present? Or…in the synagogue?”

Miss Margo's face forms an odd expression, her eyes blinking slowly “your mother? You must be confused, your mother isn’t here Peter.”

Pietro felt his heart bang against his chest, faltering in his step “what do you mean? She said she was staying with you.”

Pietro runs back to his conversations with his mom. She said Miss Margo. He’s sure of it. She hadn’t said someone else’s name. “She was. She stayed for a couple days but she hasn’t been here in about a month or so.” She fiddles with the cross on her chest.

“Why-“ Pietro can’t form a sentence. Why would his mom lie about where she was staying? She's called him multiple times. She called him just a couple days ago!

Although she did always somehow manage to say in every phone call “-do not come by here.” Was this why? She said it was because they were watching her, that it wasn’t safe but was she really just covering up her lie? 

Pietro is going in circles in his head. “Peter. Sit down. You seem anxious.” Before he could protest, Miss Margo pulls out a sturdy wooden chair and practically forces him to sit down, running to the kitchen to pour him water. 

“I don’t even know where she would be staying. I don’t understand why’d she lie.”

“Lying is a sin.” Miss Margo reprimands from the kitchen, she places the cup of water beside Pietro “although, it might’ve been for a good reason.”

“So lying is okay if it’s for a good reason?” Pietro doesn’t understand why he’s even adding to this fire, but he’s having a breakdown and needs something else to focus on before the room goes still and the air gets thin.

Before the whole world stops moving and he’s left alone. 

“No, lying is never good even if it’s for a good reason. But god is a forgiving god and I think a little lie wouldn’t hurt his feelings too much.” 

“Doesn’t seem like a little lie. How do I know she’s safe? How do I know she’s not out in a ditch somewhere or sleeping under a bridge or-“ 

“-she’s not walking around homeless Peter. You said so yourself. She’s called you. We don’t have public phone booths in this town. She’s somewhere safe, with access to a phone.”

“You don’t know that.” Pietro could check every house. He could, like, actually physically confirm if she’s in a house anywhere in this neighborhood. Why not add breaking and entering to the very long list of laws he’s broken. He’s done it before. He’s broken a man out of the fucking pentagon. It was easy. He can do a house. He can do a hundred houses. No sweat. He can raid every neighborhood until-

“-I’m not supposed to tell you this. Your mother made me promise not to.”

Pietros entire body was vibrating, the cup of water shaking in his grip so he had to put it on the table so it wouldn’t spill.

“Tell me what?”

“God forgive me.” She whispered under her breath, caressing her cross “she’s with your father.” 

“What?” Pietro was running on autopilot. “My father?” For a split second he couldn’t even process that sentence. 

“They let him out early, he came by to pick up your mother just a couple days after your house caught fire. She asked me not to tell you.” 

David is out of prison. 

“But he’s meant to be locked up for seven more months.” Pietro was fucking counting. He didn’t go a day without thinking about it. How many days left he had before his step-dad would get out the slammer and wreak havoc on their lives again. 

“He got out for good behavior or something of the sort.”

For good behavior. What a load of horse shit. He shouldn’t even have that fucking option. Not him. Not for the stuff they locked him up for. He should’ve been locked up longer, not less. 

This is so absolutely fucked.

“Why did she go with him? She shouldn’t have gone with him.” Pietro can’t seem to be able to breathe anymore and Miss Margo was forcing the cup of water onto his lips. Making him slow down to sip from it. 

“Peter, he didn’t exactly give the impression that she had a choice, your step-father, I don’t pretend to know his character but he’s a very intimidating man.” Miss Margo rubbed circles on his back soothingly.

Pietro swallows the rest of the drink in one moment “He’s gonna hurt her.” His voice not his own. 

“I don’t think so. She seemed to have something he wanted and she wouldn't divulge.” Miss Margo squeezed Pietros shoulders firmly.

Something he wanted? David never wanted anything he didn’t already have. He doesn’t care about anything. Or anyone. The only thing Pietro could think that David might want is money, or beer or…Wanda. 

The only person David ever gave even a minuscule of care for was his own flesh and blood.

He wanted Wanda. And mom must’ve refused to tell him where she was. That’s why she didn't want Pietro to come. Why she never asked for specifics when she mentioned the school. Why she kept the phone calls short. 

“She can’t be with him.” Pietro's heart aches at the idea of the two in a room together after all this time. He knew it would happen eventually. They’re technically still married. Technically still legally binded to each other. Eventually David was gonna get out, he just wasn’t prepared for it to be so soon. “He’s not a good person. He’s-“ a monster. The words catch in his throat and Miss Margo is petting his silver hair now, raking her fingers through each knot and humming softly under her throat. He doesn’t realize he’s been talking at super speed, his begging falling flat.  Incomprehensible to Miss Margo’s ears. 

Pietro was prone to panic attacks.

He had a few as a child but once he got his super speed it kick started the part of his brain that told him to freak the fuck out at all times and the panic attacks became a daily occurrence for years. Funnily enough running is what ended up helping. Running at regular speed he means. Training. Joining track made his anxieties level out. David going to prison may have also contributed to his overall chillness. When he won his first trophy he remembers floating on air for days. Feeling like his life was finally starting to make sense. Finally starting to be some form of normalcy. Like he could actually just be a regular dude. 

That sense of calmness didn’t last very long. 

His panic attacks didn’t really go away, he still had them of course just not as frequently. Rarely actually. Almost never. 

And then he got his trophies taken away and was banned from running competitively ever again. Pietro became unbalanced again. 

Pietro knew anxiety ran in the family. He got it from his mother who got it from her mother who got it from hers. Rinse repeat. Passed down from generation to generation and intensified for the next of kin. 

“Your mother is a big girl, she will be okay.” Miss Margo says “I’ve been praying for her every night.”

Pietro sniffs rubbing at his wet face and feeling like a big stupid baby for crying in a strangers house like some basket case. 

There was a knock on the front door that startled both Miss Margo and him. 

“Expecting company?” Pietro voices stiffly. 

“I never am.” She moved to go to the door. 

Another set of knocks and the doorbell for good measure. Miss Margo quickens her steps looking a bit agitated when she opens the door, top chain still on. 

“Hello? Who’s there?” Her head covered the small opening in the door so Pietro couldn’t see who was knocking.

“Margaret Wagner, our apologies for disturbing your evening.” 

“Who am I speaking with?” Miss Margo gripped the four tighter, out of view from the people outside. “Are you the IRS? I told you people I won’t let you take money off my check for healthcare! It’s thievery! And I don't even need health insurance. I haven't been to the doctor In nearly ten years, and if God wants me off this green earth I’ll be damned to try and stop him.”

Miss Margo is on the outs with the IRS. Pietro finds that bit of information quite hilarious.

“No, sorry we’re not from the IRS, we're from the Friends Of Humanities association located in this district and we’ve been informed by multiple concerned neighbors that there might be a suspicious character being housed here.”

“Suspicious how?” Miss Margo, an older black Christian woman, was not one to beat around the bush. Pietro totally respects that. He also wonders by her death grip on the door frame how many times people have gone to her house because a ‘suspicious character’ was living in her house. 

Miss Margo is one of the few black homeowners that live in this neighborhood, her house, besides the Maximoff residence, was one of the most frequently vandalized and Pietro knows that his house and Miss Margo’s are the two houses visited most by cops. 

“Not much detail, just that the individual has a deformity of some kind and may be in cahoots with the devil.” 

What the fuck? Pietro didn’t just mishear that right? What are these people on about?

“God bless, no. No devil here. All followers of Christ in this household. Well…besides Junior.”

“Junior? May we speak to junior?”

“It would be quite difficult but you can go ahead. He's the one currently pissing next to the mailbox, orange fur. Real devilish cat. He was run over by a truck last summer, lost the tip of his tail. Hasn’t been the same since, poor fellow.” 

Pietro stifles a laugh. He knows they probably weren’t talking about a cat. 

“Not a cat, Ma’am. Can we search your home? So we can be extra sure no Ill characters are in your home?” Pietro stiffens.

“No.”

“Pardon?” The man’s voice came out way less professional then he’s been attempting to be for the last several minutes.

“Do you have a warrant?”

“We have multiple eyewitnesses and numerous complaints.”

“Doesn’t sound like a Warrant to me. If you enter my home without one I’ll consider you trespassers and sue you do that I can afford health insurance.”

“You can’t sue-“

“Yes I can. My sister in law is a lawyer. She’s very good at what she does. She specializes in elder law. And I’m a disabled old blind woman who is being targeted by a terrorist group.” 

“We are not terrorist and this has nothing to do with your disability-“

“-so it’s because I’m black,”

“This is not a race thing.”

“We can make it a race thing. I’ll also add being persecuted for my religious beliefs to the very long list of charges you've already accumulated.”

 “We haven’t-“

“Get. A. Warrant. Pigs.” She slams the door shut right in their face and dies a quick cross motion on her chest.

“We’ll be back!”

“I already have my sister in law on the phone!” Miss Margo yells blindly at the door and a Pietro hears the retreating forms of multiple disgruntled men.

Miss Margo darts to the couch stuffing her hands between the cushions as soon as the men are gone. 

“The house phone is to the left of the couch.” Pietro says helpfully and Miss Margo shakes her head, her seashells clinking together. 

“I don’t actually have a sister in law. I’m looking for my stash.” She flips one of the cushions and dips the side of the form and quickly retrieves a ziplock bag full of money. Hundred dollar bills stacked up and rolled and stuffed between sofa cushions. She does that for the next three cushions coming out with zip lock bags full of various things. 

Holy shit. Was she swindling money from the IRS?

“Here.” She hands the ziplock bags to Pietro who’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head in shock. Now that he has a better look of them he sees a passport and old grainy photographs and what seems to be a birth certificate “Uh…why exactly do you have this? And why are you giving it to me?”

“You need to take Kurt to where ever you took your sister.”

“Huh? Who’s Kurt?”

“Pay attention child. He’s my foster son, Kurt Wagner, super shy, homeschooled. We’ve discussed.”

“Have we? Not in great detail? Why am I taking this Kurt dude?”

“Because Friends of Humanities is a terrorist group against mutants. They weren’t here for you, they where here for him.”

Because Kurt is a mutant. He’s just like Wanda. Just like Pietro. 

“He’s a mutant?”

“Yes.” 

“And…that’s okay with you?”

“I use to work in the circus and when you’re in that sort of bizarre environment you get used to the unusual and you learn to even appreciate it. It didn’t deter me in the slightest how blue his skin was or what gifts he seemed to carry. I just knew that he was beaten and he was scared and they had him in a cage and he didn’t deserve to be in one so I took him.”

Fostering is starting to sound a little bit like kidnapping but Pietro kinda glazes over that since it sounds like he needed to be taken away from that shit situation. 

“He has blue skin?” 

“So I’ve been told.” She scurries past Pietro to the kitchen “Kurt! No need for hiding.”

She opens the kitchen pantry and Pietro frowns at the prospect of someone being hidden in there the whole time. Miss Margo whispers something in the pantry and someone whispers back so Pietro knows that She isn’t completely mental. 

“He’s friendly. He’ll help you go somewhere safe.” 

Pietro doesn’t remember agreeing to anything but he already knows before the cowering boy steps out of the pantry that he would definitely help. He couldn’t imagine not helping Miss Margo. 

“Yes I’m sure.” Miss Margo mends and extends her aging hand to the boy inside. A blue hand with three fingers touches her hand and Miss Margo smiles as she slowly coaxes him out. 

Pietro has about one second to school his expression when he sees a fully grown blue demon-looking boy stumble out of the closet, his long pointed tail straying behind him. 

He has a tail. He has Fangs. He has claws. He’s blue. He knew he was blue but I guess he didn’t know. Didn’t believe it until this very moment. 

He’s also scared. Big eyes never once looking away from Miss Margo’s comforting blind eyes. “Will you come with us?”

“I’ve gotta take care of Frankie.” The blue boy, Kurt, seemed to deflate at that looking away from his foster mom with a strained expression. 

“Don’t be sad.” Miss Margo is blind but she must have a motherly instinct like no other “I need you to be safe. You are my family and I will do everything in my power to help you but this is not goodbye. Okay?”

“Not goodbye.” Kurt repeats and looks about ready to cry. “Can I hug you?”

“Don’t have to ask.” And miss Margo is already wrapping her arms around Kurt’s sides. He’s much taller than her, so he places his chin on top of her head and envelopes her in a hug as well, his tail lands around her shoulder gingerly. 

A loud shout behind the door startled them apart and makes Pietro flinch. 

What the hell was that? 

Just as Miss Margo was about to ask what was wrong the window nearest to Pietro shatters open and a rock landed at his feet. Only missing his head because he moved swiftly away from harm. The rock made a loud clunking noise. Except it wasn’t a rock. It was a canister. A very familiar canister with smoke coming out of each end. Pietro in a panic picked up the canister, which burned and singed his hand, and chugged it out the already broken window. Okay, what the hell? 

“Try to hold your breath.” Pietro says loudly, but he wasn’t quite sure if Miss Margo could hear him over the hammering of her door and Kurt looked so spooked he could only curl in on himself and scurry away from the broken glass on the floor.

Another window shattered. Another canister. Pietro chugs it out the window again.

“This is breaking and entering! The police are on the way!” Miss Margo moves one of her cat pictures on the wall to reveal a safe. She clicks in some numbers Pietro can’t see or pay attention to because another window is shattered and utterly broken and he’s chugging yet another Canister out the forsaken window. 

Miss Margo has a fucking gun when he turns to face her again. How in the hell a blind woman had access to any lethal armory is beyond Pietro's knowledge and honestly, he isn’t even surprised in the slightest by this turn of events. He’s mostly confused as to why she stored a gun in there and not the money and passport she had smuggled in her cushions.

She cocks the revolver in her hand and aims it straight at the door. “Leave my property or I will break more than just one commandment.” 

“Margaret Wagner we may not have a warrant to search your property but we have just been informed that a Peter Django Maximoff is in your home at this very moment and we do have a warrant for his arrest.”

Well, fuck. How would they know that? Pietro couldn’t possibly been seen by the neighbors he had barely been in normal speed for s minute since he’d stepped into the neighborhood. 

“I don't know who that is! Leave!”

“Do not make this harder than it has to be.” 

“You’re the one breaking my mahogany windows!” She fires a bullet and Pietro hears more then sees the bullet hit one of the assailants behind the wooden door. A bullet-sized hole is now visible in the door. 

A loud grunt and a curse. 

Followed by an outraged scream and the first swing of an ax on the wooden door. Then a flash of blinding light from the windows that made Pietro wince and a high pitched noise that made Kurt and him groan in pain. Disoriented Pietro tries to cover his ears, feeling the wet blood trickling down his face.

Irritated, he jumps out one of the windows at super speed. He spots three men just outside that window and one of them has a gloved hand on a canister, moments away from throwing into that very window again. 

Pietro punches the man in the gut and makes the other two punch each other as he grabs the already smoking canister and aims it at another approaching man from the left. 

He super speeds to the front lawn picks up two men and dumps them in a trash can in another yard three blocks away. He punches one man in the stomach making them fly off the porch. 

He zips past two other men in superspeed making them jerk away at the force of his speed and to the two men breaking down Miss Margo’s front door with an axe he gives them mega wedges and snatches the ace away from their grip and hits one of them in the face with the hilt of the axe, knocking his teeth out and the other he flings off the porch and on to a pile of cat shit. 

When he goes back to regular speed all of the Friends Of Humanity are on the ground incapacitated. Pietro grins and the front door opens. 

“Peter? Where’d they go?”

“Unconscious.”

Kurt stares at Pietro from inside openly showing the awe on his face. “You where just inside.” He says numbly.

“I was, and now I’m outside.” Pietro zipped right in front of Kurt in superspeed, showing off a little bit but suddenly Kurt is also gone. 

Pietro blinks in confusion and twirls around to face the door thinking maybe he missed him without realizing. 

Kurt was outside, to left of where he had been previously. Half his body materializing out of thin air.

Holy shit. 

Pietro goes back into regular speed and watches the smoke rush off Kurt and they both look at each other with matching grins. 

“We are the same?” Kurt says and Pietro can’t contain the giddy laugh that erupts from his mouth. 

“I run super fast.” 

“I can travel anywhere as long as I can see it or have been there before.” 

“That’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” Pietro goes to Kurt in normal speed feeling a bit too excited by the entire revelation. “Are you able to travel with other people?” 

“Yeah if I’m not too tired.” 

“Can you do it with other stuff? Like heavy stuff? Can you teleport with just for example a Pac-Man machine? Just curious.”

“What’s a Pac-Man?”

“Holy shit. What’s a pac-man machine? Are you serious? You need to go to an arcade or something. You’d love it.” Pietro doesn’t actually know if he would but Pietro does and he unanimously decided that they are in fact the bomb. 

“I’ve never teleported anything heavier than myself.” Kurt says and Pietro laughs, grabbing his bicep “just means you need to bulk up.”

Kurt’s face goes a nice shade of purple and Pietro isn’t sure how color theory works on blue skin but that might mean that Kurt’s blushing. “Bulk up?”

“Yeah! If you get stronger you’ll be able to carry bigger things. Therefore you’d also be able to teleport them. Hank has me on this food regiment that’s got me gaining so much weight, but it’s just turning into muscle cause I run so much. He can totally make you something like that. It’ll taste disgusting though full warning.”

“Who’s Hank?”

“He works at the school.”

“Like a teacher?”

“No, not really. He’s a doctor. You’ll like him, he’s blue too.” 

Kurt’s open his mouth to say something before Miss Margo is stepping out of the house. “Perhaps it’s unwise to be out in the open like this. Reinforcements will come so I think now is the perfect time to go.”

Kurt takes Miss Margo’s hands “what will happen to you and Frankie? I can’t just-“

“-don’t be silly, darling. Frankie gets off of school at 3 today. I gotta run some errands before I go pick him up and we’ll be right behind you.”

Kurt and Pietro look at each other in confusion. 

“You’re coming with?” Pietro is still stuck on the part where she’s waiting for Frankie to get off of school. 

Why not pick him up early? 

“I just said that. Keep up Peter.” 

“You want me to pick you up?” 

“Of course. I don’t own a car. I’m blind.”

“Right, of course.” Pietro smirks “and you want me to take Kurt first?”

“Yes, exactly. You can meet me at the elementary pick up line at three forty five.”

“I know the one. Cool.” Everything is going kind of fast but Pietro still never got what he came here for. 

“And my mom?”

“I don’t know where Magda is Peter. But I have a feeling she hasn’t told you for a reason.”

“Right…” Pietro will figure that out later but for now he turns to Kurt and grabs him by the waist and puts his hand behind his neck. The blue boy goes flush purple “What are you doing?”

“Holding your neck so you don’t get whiplash.”

“Whiplash. Has that happened before?”

Yes. Many, many times with many different people. “It’s just a precaution.”

“Okay.” Kurt relaxes under his touch. 

“Okay. You might wanna close your eyes. Flies are a bitch at superspeed.”

“Right, so smart. Thank you.” Pietro tries not to think too much about being called smart again. He’s so easy it’s embarrassing. 

“Back in a bit, Miss Margo.”

“See you soon, boys,”

Pietro puts on his goggles. He runs towards the X Mansion this time instead of away. 

Chapter Text

Pietro was gone for less than two hours. One hour and thirty eight minutes to be exact. During that brief time not much had changed in Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters, except of course that the girls had become incredibly bored.

Wanda was in the middle of committing arson. Looking about three seconds away from successfully expelling a demon from the staticy surface of the living room's television. Jean was right beside her with the biggest mischievous grin on her round face, making the Tv float like a giant moving target practice, orange and red entangling around like braided hair.

Kurt and Pietro land right in front of the two gremlins. Right smack dab in the center of the open room. 

“I’m back.” Pietro announces loudly.

“You were gone?” Wanda doesn’t stop her dip into madness as she looks like she’s about to pop a vein in her neck while in her attempt to destroy the television.

“Yep. Not long though. This is my new friend Kurt.”

“You’re blue.” Wanda says not even bothering to look away from her obviously far more important task. 

“I am.” Kurt swallows thickly, looking way too anxious over talking to a nine year old twerp. 

“Why?” Wanda asks annoyingly. 

Kurt looks at Pietro with begging eyes.

“It’s his favorite color.” Pietro says sarcastically. 

“It’s a good color.” Jean adds helpfully. 

“Right.” Pietro throws a bone “and it really makes his fangs pop.”

“Fangs?” Wanda looks at Kurt’s expectantly. Kurt just stands there looking like a deer in headlight. 

“Smile, pretty boy.” Pietro nudges gently and Kurt smiles shyly, his cheeks flushing purple.

“See?” 

Wanda just stares blankly at Kurt. 

“And he’s got nice yellow eyes.” Jean includes and Pietro nods. Jean is coming in strong with the assist. 

“Yeah, it does suit him.” Wanda frowns and looks at Kurt quizzically before shrugging back into her task “I’ll allow it.” She says as if she has any say in the matter whatsoever. 

“Thanks for your stamp of approval.” Pietro says sarcastically. 

“Yes, thank you.” Kurt says not at all sarcastically. He’s such a nice boy. 

“Where’s Charles?” 

“Who’s Charles?” Kurt folds his hands together nervously looking to Pietro once again and Pietro sees Kurt’s tail wrap around his own body, coiling up like an anxious snake. 

“He’s the professor.” Wanda says officially giving up on her mission to end cable. Jean gently places the tv back on its table. 

“And he’s in his office, he’s in a bit of a mood.” 

That makes Pietro pause “he is?”

“You should go see him.” Wanda says matter-of-factly.

“Maybe I shouldn’t actually.” Pietro doesn’t need reminding exactly where he and Charles left off. 

“Where are your shoes?” Jean asks suddenly, voice just above a whisper. Jean is becoming more outwardly vocal and Pietro is beyond proud of the fact that she’s even speaking in front of Kurt at all, who’s literally a stranger she met less than three minutes ago. 

“At his house.” Pietro points at Kurt who looks at him owlishly. “Mine?” He mouths silently. His shoes left carefully beside the front door on the wooden creaky floor of the house. 

“Why’d you leave them there?” Wanda jumps at the question and the ringing in Pietro's big brother meter is starting to get loud.

“Because.”

“Because?”

“Because.”

“‘Because’ isn't an answer!” 

“Because I forgot! Stop nagging me!” 

Wanda pulls a face at him and Pietro might be older but he never claimed to be more mature. He flicks her nose and she scrunches her face in irritation and she slaps it away. “You can’t-“ her face fumbles slightly as she looks at the hand that just flicked her. “Your hand is burned.” 

Pietro quickly pulls his hand away shoving them in his pocket.  

“Why’s your hand burned?” 

“Some stuff happened, got messy.”

“What stuff?”

“Stuff little kids shouldn’t worry about.”

“I’m not a little kid, I'm almost ten.”

“Yeah, cool, don’t care.” Not like he can stop her from-“I read Kurt’s mind.” That.

“She did what?” Kurt gapes and he should probably tell him at some point that he’s about to be living with three telepaths. 

His thoughts and feelings are ripe for the taking.

“Who’s Friends Of Humanity?” Wanda looks at Jean, a deep rooted frown morphing her face. 

Jean pulls on the sleeves of her shirt looking all sorts of apprehensive and Pietro decides to swoop in, standing between Wanda and Jean. Not because he’s afraid Wanda would do anything crazy but because he knows Jean is uncomfortable and the look on her face is making his stomach turn. Jean definitely has experience with Friends of Humanity. No doubt about it but Pietro won’t push. 

“I have no idea.” Pietro answers gently and gestures vaguely with his hand “I should probably tell Charles to keep an eye out on them or somethin’.” He was saying that mostly for Jeans benefit so she knows it’s not being brushed off and also because those people are literal nut jobs. 

Wanda shakes her head, grabbing Pietro by the elbows and pulling him away from Kurt and Jean and towards the stairs “We should go to Charles office right now since Hank is with him, Hank will heal you up real nice and quick.” Yeah Pietro remembers the way he gently soothed all of Wanda’s wounds the first day here and the many times afterwards.

“I’m okay.” Pietro lied, like a liar. The effect of running barefoot on pavement and grass and woody areas in superspeed resulted in burning aching feet and tiny hundreds of razor thin cuts on the flat of his feet. The burn on his dominant hand in which he had picked up the canisters, had begun to splinter and singe as a result of a clearly laced container. He shouldn’t have picked up those canisters with his bare hands and he shouldn’t have run with his bare feet. He knows he should let Hank help him. He just didn’t wanna see Charles right this second. Not after he freaked out on him and ran away. But-but also he was still mad at him. He doesn’t want to deal with that right now. 

He hasn’t even gotten a second to breathe or think . It’s been a very busy day. He started with replacing sheets and now Pietros bringing home a new mutant and his family after briefly running away after Charles read his entire life without asking him and then telling him he’s like a good person or whatever In a very genuine way that Pietro couldn’t fucking deal with. 

Yeah. He’s a disaster. Whatever. It’s been an emotional rollercoaster of a day and Pietro wants to take a nap. 

“Liar.” Wanda huffs interrupting his thoughts, pulling him away from the other two mutants with amazing strength. He almost immediately realizes she's using her powers to help her pull on his clothes. His jacket tightening around him and gently tugging . 

He followed her miserably leaving a startled Kurt behind with a curious Jean. 

“You like cable?” Jean asks Kurt with a blank face. 

“Never had it.” Kurt responds modestly and Pietro can’t hear the rest of the conversation before he’s already on the second flight of stairs. Wanda’s legs are much smaller than his; she's practically running while he’s taking large steps to keep her pace. 

“Hank will make it go away. He’s really good at it.” Wanda has had a few scrapes since she’s been to the school. Just last week she took a tumble off the roof, trying to see if she was able to fly when she wasn’t asleep and scratched up her face and got a tooth knocked out. It was a baby tooth and it was the last one she had. 

Ironically Wanda does not believe in the tooth fairy but we did manage to convince Hank that she did and made him dress up in a fairy costume to leave behind a dollar to replace the tooth under her pillow. Pietro recorded the whole thing in a hand held camera they had in storage and will be using it as blackmail sometime soon. 

“He’ll give you the magic bandaid and you’ll be all good.” Wanda’s explanation to the tooth fairy not being real was because fairies wouldn’t specialize in human teeth; they'd rather be in nature far away from ugly civilization. 

Because the fairy corporation is obviously not making enough profit off of human children’s teeth. They’d just bring the position down to the latter of creatures more qualified like a rat. 

Pietro did not inform her that there was in fact a whole region of people who believed in a rat that collects teeth. He mainly tried to focus on the fact that Fairies in Wanda’s magical creature kingdom are the apex predator.

Solid points were made. 

Wanda made a very colorful graph, it was very informative. She made Pietro and Jean take notes. 

Unicorns being underneath the chupacabra sounded a bit incorrect but Pietro was not about to question her logic.

Anyway the “magic band-aid” is not magical at all. In fact it’s just a regular blue bandaid with a smiley face in the center which Hank claims that children love. Pietro doesn’t which “children” he’s referring to but Wanda believes that it’s magical because within minutes of applying the bandaid on her skin her bruises and cuts healed up. But this has nothing to do with Hank's bandaids and more to do with her powers and how they help her heal when she uses them. 

Pietro lets her believe what she wants and Hank takes the praise wherever he can. 

“I think Hank is busy with cerebro.” Pietro hilariously still has no ducking idea what cerebro even is but the thing must be massive if he’s been tinkering with it this whole damn time. 

“No he’s not.” Wanda says plainly and Pietro hates that she just gets to know that. He can’t even billshit his way out of this. “He’s with Charles. Talking.”

“About what?”

“None of your business?” Suddenly she has morals when it comes to snooping? Jerk. 

“I don’t wanna disturb, if it’s important.”

“ This is important.” sounds a lot like she’s saying He’s important which makes Pietro shut the fuck up real fucking quick. 

The hallway is long but Pietro can see the door at the end of the hall, slightly open and leading to Charles’ office. Wanda clearly doesn’t see or care about  the million alarm bells ringing in Pietros head telling him to not go through that door. Wanda is ruthless and Pietro has no idea where she gets it from. 

Without stopping to make herself known, or knock or fucking even breath Wanda whips the door open with her mind and walks right in, Pietro being dragged behind her like a pouty shaken dog. 

Charles and Hank abruptly stop in conversation jumping slightly as the door handle smacks against the wall with a loud clunk. Hank gives a quick look at Charles as the professor puts something blindly away in his desk through what seems muscle memory alone because he doesn’t even look at whatever he’s putting away or where he’s putting it in, his eyes immediately stuck on Pietro since the moment he’s entered the room. Narrowing and focusing on him like he’s meant to be observed and looked at.

“Pietro-“ Wanda cannot read a room because he immediately talks over Charles like she was the fault and not him “Pietro got in a fight and he got hurt.”

Charles looks at Wanda with a look of guilt that makes Pietro's stomach turn at what conclusion he’s jumping to. 

“a physical fight. And I burned my hand by accident.” Pietro corrects quickly his cheeks flush red at the thought of Charles thinking he hurt his feelings . He would rather die than ever admit Charles' words affected his mental state at all. 

“You what?” Hank exclaims, looking way too alarmed by what Pietro just said. 

“How’s that possible? Someone was actually able to get close enough to burn you? You didn’t use your super speed?” Hank was beside him so quickly he would’ve mistaken him for having superspeed. 

“I used my superspeed.” Pietro mumbles “would’ve been worse if I hadn’t.”

Pietro explains what happened, only after Wanda leaves the room. She’ll find out eventually, it’s hard to keep secrets from telepaths in this house. Unless it’s me who’s keeping it. 

Hank and Charles are both openly concerned which only makes Pietro want to shrink away. Hank pulls a first aid kit out of thin fucking air and begins slathering Pietros palm with a weird smelling cream that made his hand sting at contact. 

“That hurts.” Pietro whines like a dumb kid, trying to pull his hand away from Hank's care. Charles glares at Hank, as if that was personally his fault “Hank-“ Hank glares at Charles back, looking actually terrifying with the fangs and blue fur.  “no shit it hurts. It’s infected.” He aims his irritability at Pietro instead looking between scolding and caring masterfully “You heal faster then most so it had time to get all nasty. You’re lucky it won’t leave too much of a scar.”

“But it will leave a scar?” Charles says and Pietro can hear the frown on his face. Pietro might melt to the floor with the amount of attention he was getting for a few scrapes. 

“A very faint one. Shouldn’t be too bad just needs to replace the bandages and reapply the ointment every couple hours. Should be completely fine within three days.”

“That’s good.” Pietro says at the same time that Charles says “isn’t that a bit long? Three days?” He rolls his wheelchair a bit closer to the pair and Pietro tries not to stiffen too obviously. 

“Actually the normal time would usually be around 21 days or more for a burn this severe. So three days is actually pretty miraculous.” Hank says pushing his glasses up his blue nose. 

“Miraculous.” Charles repeats under his breath and Pietro thinks it’s finally over. He can leave now. 

He was wrong. 

“And his feet? Is there any infection there?” Charles isn’t talking to Pietro. He’s talking to Hank. Hank isn’t talking to Pietro, he's talking to Charles. 

“Can we not talk about my feet?” 

“How quickly are you able to supply him with new shoes?” Completely ignored. 

“I already have an extra pair I was tinkering with.” Hank says and Pietro is both impressed by his foresight and touched that he even thought of making an extra pair. 

“Can I get it in silver this time?”

“Sure.” Hank huffs “and your feet aren’t too bad just need to put the same ointment on them and regularly bathe and clean them in cold water.” 

“Cool, are we done, can I go?” 

“No, stay right here, I’m going to go get your shoes.” 

“I can go get them. I’m faster.” Pietro says. 

“It’s best you don’t go anywhere barefoot while in superspeed, even in the house.” Hank is darting out of the room before he could protest, leaving Charles and Pietro to their own Devices. 

Was that Intentional?

Damn. 

“Peter, may I say something.” 

Double damn. 

Pietro looks at Charles in the face for the first time since this whole mess. “I would prefer it if you didn’t. The awkward silence is quite soothing.” 

Charles soldiers on. 

“I believe I may have crossed a boundary for you earlier.”

“My intentions do not matter if it resulted in you feeling uneasy or hurt. What I did was out of line and unwarranted and I'm sorry. Deeply.”

It was a simple apology. The actual words “I’m sorry” actually came out of his mouth. Pietro heard them. It sounded like an apology. It felt like one. It is one. Pietro doesn’t know what to do with that. 

What is he supposed to do with all the leftover anger in his chest, temporally squashed into his lung like ash. “I’m still mad.” Pietro says and Charles nods as if he expected as much. 

“You can still be mad even if someone apologizes. Even if it’s genuine. It doesn’t make your feelings go away.”  Pietro feels the heat behind his eyes and he takes in a cold breath that makes his lungs feel like ice cubes at a party. It’s pitiful to realize that Pietro has never actually been apologized to before. Not like this. Not when he was actually distressed. Not when he deserved one. 

He’s heard plenty of half hearted Sorrys from Wanda after a badly executed prank. Or a throw away apology from his drunk mother. But not a real honest one. 

Pietro didn’t even realize that fact until he heard a real one.  

“Can you say it again?” His voice cracked and it made Pietro cringe but not back away. 

“I’m sorry.” Charles repeats without hesitation, without question and with just as much conviction. “For invading your privacy and for using the knowledge I gained to make a point.”

“Again.” Pietro takes in a breath. 

“I’m sorry.” Charles doesn't look away from Pietro, not for even a moment “for making you upset enough to leave. I should’ve realized how my words affected you.” 

“Again.” 

“I’m sorry. I went behind your back instead of just asking you. I was trying to rush a process and gather information I could’ve easily gotten from you.” 

“Again.” Pietro can hear it in his own voice. 

“I’m sorry Peter you didn’t deserve that level of distrust. From me or from anyone.” 

“Again.” He’s going to fucking cry. 

“I’m sorry for everything. I’ll try to be better.” 

“Again.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Pietros wobbly voice and entire shaking body made him feel like one of Miss Margo’s purring cats. “I’m sorry for running away.”

“I’m sorry for making you run.”

Pietro doesn’t realize he’s planning on hugging Charles until he’s already doing it. He does it in superspeed, wrapping his arms around him, knocking his knee on the wheelchair and transferring all his appreciation and adoration into that single embrace. 

For Charles it probably felt like sudden warmth and then an abrupt harsh chillness. He wouldn’t have been able to even process the fact that he’d been hugged. Too fast for him to even register it as one. Although Pietro sees the growing smile on Charles face and infers that the man might suspect Pietro's sudden lapse in sanity. 

“It’s cool. We’re cool.” Pietro says in a super cool way like he doesn’t have red puffy eyes from crying at super speed. 

Because that’s definitely not something he did. He’s not a baby. This is so chill. They’re both good. This is fine. Charles is chill. He totally did not just unravel him in seconds. Unintentionally mending something Pietro didn’t know was broken with a “I'm sorry.” That’s not what happened. 

Don’t be dumb. 

Pietro just likes giving random bursts of affection. 

“I have the shoes.” Hank comes back in at the perfect time. A bit too perfect. Pietro isn’t convinced he wasn’t just hovering outside the door for the last several minutes while they talked it out. 

“And I met Kurt. He’s blue.” Hank says matter-of-fact. 

“I mentioned that, didn't I?”

“I don’t believe you did.” Charles says with amusement. 

“I feel like that’s not something I’d forget.” Hank sasses. 

“Me either.”

“Well you did and I just had the oddest encounter with the boy. I think he thinks I’m his father.”

“What?” Pietro laughed hysterically. 

“Are you?” Charles asks the question so seriously that Pietros laughter gets louder. 

“I am not!” Hank exasperates “When would I have had the time?” 

“He’s my age so did you have a girlfriend around 19 years ago?”

“No.” 

Charles gives him a look. 

“We weren’t together!” Hank hisses “plus he would’ve been born before I’d even met her. Before I even finished my last doctorate.”

“Ah, that is correct the boy would be much younger if Raven had been the mother.” 

“Who’s Raven?” 

“She’s my sister.” Pietro knew the professor had a sister, he just hadn’t known what her name was. Or anything about her really. He doesn’t talk about her much. During one of their chess matches he had briefly described growing up with another mutant sibling as a way to relate Pietro and Wanda’s most recent discourse at the time. It had been short and sweet but left the professor looking somber so Pietro never asked further questions on her. 

“You had a fling with the professor's sister? Dude!” Pietro is loving this slice of drama. 

Hanks hisses af Pietro “we didn’t have a fling. We went on a few dates and then she left the school to be with someone else.”

Ouch. 

“Because she was pregnant with your baby.” Pietro instigated. The timeline doesn’t add up. He’s completely fucking with him but bring horribly wrong is worth the look on Hanks face. 

“She was not pregnant! I would’ve known, I’m a doctor!” 

“I dunno Hank, would you? She can change form, she could easily hide a baby bump.” Charles is still in the game and has added to the fuel. 

“Not you too professor!” Hank was distraught and Pietro realizes that nothing brings the mood up faster than messing with Hank “we hadn’t even done anything particularly intimate.”

“If you don’t want to be a father, we understand Hank. It’s a big responsibility. But I must say I see the resemblance.”

“Not all blue people are related, Peter.”

“I was talking about the little matching fangs. But it seems you have some personal issues with blue people.”

“Would you like to talk about your deep-rooted racism towards blue mutants? We are always ready to listen.” Charles does his best professor voice and Pietro has to go into super speed to laugh. It probably sounded like a split second of a high pitched whistle to them. 

Hanks mouth makes a giant O and Pietro might actually just fall apart at normal speed into a mess of laughter. This is too much. 

“I AM DONE WITH THE BOTH OF YOU!” Hank jerkily hands Pietro his new shoes and throws his hands in his hair to block out their mockery. 

Charles and Pietro high five like a couple of school boys. 

Pietro put on his new silver shoes and despite doctor's orders began to run around the school with them to feel them out. At some point he takes Charles card and goes to on atm and gets cash out and pays for the sheets he stole in cash, leaving the exact amount, with tax, inside the registers without waiting in the god awful line. Inventory will be a bitch for them but at least they have the money. He doesn’t tell Charles and he’s rich enough to not check his bank account consistently so he has no way of knowing. 

He picks up Miss Margo and Frankie who are both packed with suitcases and suitcases of shit he didn’t think about carrying. This is gonna be multiple trips. It was. And he also hadn’t thought about the cats. He brought them too. All seven of them. “The others are strays and very territorial, they won’t want to leave the home base.” Miss Margo said and Pietro left it at that. 

Frankie took little to no convincing in moving into the mansion the moment he was told that Wanda was there. “I wanna be where she is. She is my world.” 

The fuck. 

“Huh?” Pietro has to process his words for a second and then process that a nine year old child just said that about his sister. 

“Like I said before. Frankie has a bit of a crush on little miss Wanda.”

“This isn’t a crush, mama! This is love.” Frankie proclaims like he’s said this on multiple occasions. The young boy seems nice enough. He’s a blond haired boy with blue eyes and pale skin. His face is round with baby fat and his silver and red wheel chair make him sit at about Pietros hip. He spots the colorful stone gems he has dangling from the back of his wheelchair and a squishy yellow heart charm that looks like something Wanda may or may not have one at one of the arcade stores he’s taken her to. 

“I can’t wait to see her again. I’ve missed her so much. School has been so inbearable without her.” 

“Unbearable.” Miss Margo corrects. 

“Inbearable is not a word.” 

“Buts it’s how I feel.”

“It’s not an actual emotion, the word you’re thinking of is Unbearable.”

“Define it.” 

“Unable to be endured or tolerated.” 

“Then yes. Undarable is correct. School was undarable.”

“Unbearable.” Miss Margo corrects again.

“Unbearalel.”

“Unbearable.”

“I’m finding this conversation unbearable. No offense. Can you two have it at the Mansion and not in front of the lawn a bunch of people just attacked.” 

Several trips later and a tetanus shot on both feet, everyone is in the mansion. Safe and sound. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Wagner, I’m Professor Charles Xavier.” Charles introduced himself, extending his elbow for Miss Margo to take. 

“Oh, You can call me Miss Margo, sugar.” She easily grabs his elbow, squeezing it gently. She’s a very short woman, just barely gracing past 4 feet and stands comfortably beside Charles. 

“Of course miss Margo.” Charles begins his tour with Miss Margo, a teasing smile on his face “Peter has mentioned that you were homeschooling Kurt. Did you have previous experience in education?” 

Pietro doesn’t recall telling him that but the last couple hours have been so crazy he wouldn’t be surprised if he was word vomiting.

“Well, yes and no, you see I was part of a traveling circus-“ Miss Margo and Charles are now too far away to be heard but Pietro assumes she’s beginning to divulge into her stories. 

Pietro will not save Charles from them; he has bigger fish to fry. Fish being Frankie. 

The boy's reunion with his sister was more than he expected. Wanda, unlike with her reaction to Kurt’s arrival, seemed to almost levitate towards Frankie. Actually pietro thinks she actually might’ve been levitating but he could be mistaken. 

Wanda bounces down the stairs, the biggest grin ripping from her face “Vision!” 

“Speed!” Frankie shouts back joyfully looking like he’s about to cry as he wheels quickly towards the edge of the stairs to meet her faster. 

They collapse into a big hug with the both giggling and laughing like…well like little kids. 

“Who’s vision and speed?” Jean appears from literal thin air looking between the two happy friends.

“It’s a game we play at school.”

Pietro listens into the description of this so-called game. The premise is Wanda pushes Frankie’s wheelchair at full fucking speed with a blindfold and Frankie is suppose to navigate as her Vision and tell her if she’s about to ram head first into a damn tree. This game , Pietro decides, is not a game and in fact a death wish for crazy people. Why was that something the teachers allowed them to do? 

“for fucks sake, please just play monopoly or something.” 

“Monopoly’s for cheaters.” Wanda and Jean say at the same time, like they had this exact discussion before without Pietro present. 

“Okay psycho twins just don’t lose any limbs.” 

In the days that followed Frankie, Wanda and Jean became a trio seamlessly. Jean unfortunately was the third wheel to the well oiled machine that was VisionandSpeed. With Wanda’s divided attention Jean became more quiet

 again, although Wanda and Frankie never excluded her in anything Jean still drifted away. 

This leads to Pietro thinking of a solution. 

“Do you think I can come with you to recruit students?” Pietro suggested to Charles one day while in the middle of their chess game. 

“Come with me?” 

“I just…I’ve noticed you and Hank have been having a hard time recruiting. I thought maybe if they saw someone closer to their age with a cool flashy power they might be more inclined to join.”

“Did you just call me old?” Charles moves his bishop. “Is that the only reason you’ve suddenly grown interested in helping?” 

Pietro shrugs looking out the run due in his office seeing a lake and trees that surround the area. An empty big yard. “I think more people will help. Jean needs to be around kids her age. Kurts never even went to a proper school before and even if she doesn’t admit it I know Wanda misses actually going to classes. She’s a nerd. This school needs to start feeling like an actual school and not just a big house.”

“I completely agree.” Charles smiles and Pietro moves his knight. “You can go with me in two days in Hanks place.” 

“What’s Hank doing in two days?”

“He’s got a personal matter to attend to.”

“Okay, just you and me then.” He blocks his bishop and as soon as Pietro moves his piece he realizes his mistake. “Shit.”

“Check mate.” 

Kurt and Pietro race. Hank says it’s to see the extent of their powers but Pietro thinks he was just getting tired of the lab. He needed some vitamin D and decent entertainment. 

Hank has gotten better at not asking ten thousand questions, showing some semblance of self control but Pietro can tell he was going to burst into full scientist cardiac arrest when Pietro started running so fast that the grass was catching fire. 

“I can only begin to imagine how fast you’re going or how fast you can go with further training. Fast enough to phase through buildings, run through water even.” 

“I can run through water.” Pietro takes off his goggles, laying them flat on his messy silver hair. 

Hank's jaw drops. Kurt’s eyes widen and he bounces slightly in excitement “like Jesus?”

“What do you mean you can run through water?” Hank asks, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

“I did it once by accident, I hadn’t even known I could do it until I did.” Pietro recalls with a shrug.

 “I ended up in Japan in the midst of The Omizutori Festival. Loud people and loud music, lots of dancing and amazing food and there was a fifty foot paper dragon with about twenty men beneath it, controlling it like a dancing puppet. It was probably the coolest thing I’d ever seen and the people were nice. I ended up staying there for three days. Technically it was because I was stranded though. I hadn’t known how to get back home and I didn’t know a lick of the language so I had to learn it pretty quickly to navigate myself back to America.” 

“You learned an entire language in three days?”

“Well, I was in a more native state in the country. They spoke a more fluid dialect. Cantonese with a combination of Mandarin terms. I figured it would be easier to learn both Cantonese and Mandarin to get the most accurate directions.” 

“You’re amazing!” Kurt gapes “learning English is hard enough I can’t even imagine.” 

“It was just basic pattern recognition and I was twelve so it was easier to learn new languages.” Pietro wants to make sure Kurt doesn’t feel dumb for not easily picking up on English. 

“You’re a genius.” Hank says still gaping. 

 “I wouldn’t go that far-“

“-no I mean it Pietro. You might be a genius. Have you ever been tested?”

”no?”

”that’s a travesty.”

“Thank you.” Pietro’s face was beat red. 

“You were stranded in Japan for three days when you were twelve?” Kurt asks in such a soft gentle voice that Pietro had to do mental gymnastics to make that previous statement okay. 

“Yeah, but it was fun. The people were mostly nice.” He shouldn’t have said mostly. Mostly Implies that not everyone was. 

“You were twelve. Where did you even stay?” Hank questions suddenly. 

“I stayed at some guy's house.” 

Hank looks so alarmed that Pietro knows immediately that he’s said the wrong thing. “What guy? Someone you had just met?”

“They wouldn’t let minors in the hostels and the people at the brothels were handsy. So a college student said I could stay at his apartment near the festival.”

“And you just…went along with that?”

Pietro knew stranger danger. He wasn’t dumb, if he felt like he was in any actual danger he would've just ran out before the guy could do anything. The boy did stare a lot at Pietro but Pietro was a foreigner so that didn’t surprise him. 

Although he will admit if his kid sister had told him some wild ass shit like that he would’ve freaked out too. 

“He would’ve had to sleep on the streets which would’ve been worse.” Kurt comes to his defense easily before Pietro could even say anything. His voice gained a sort of protective edge that Pietro didn’t realize he'd earned. “The important thing is that he got back home safe. God bless his journey.” 

Hank looked between Kurt and Pietro and seemed to be trying to work something out in his head “and you swear nothing…bad happened?”

“Scouts honor.” Pietro puts his hand on his heart. 

Hank rolls his eyes “you weren’t ever a Boy Scout.”

“You’d know that cause you where?”

“As a matter of fact I was. You’re looking at a senior beetle scout from the 118 squad.”

“What is a Boy Scout?” Kurt frowns.

Pietro bursts out into laughter. In regular speed so Hank knows he’s making fun of him. 

Hank ignores Kurt’s question completely “for your sake I won’t mention the stranded and in the hands of strangers part to Charles. He’d freak out.”

“Why?”

Hank gives him the deadest expression “because he cares about you.” He can hear the suppressed idiot in his monotone sentence.

“I mean why would you mention it to him at all?”

“Because he cares about you.” He repeats with exasperation “and we talk about you.” Pietro…doesn’t know how he feels about that. It’s an odd feeling to be thought about when he’s not in the room. To be perceived is weird. 

“And all the others too.” Hank adds suddenly, quickly, as if he’s realized he’s said something weird. Something he wasn’t meant to say. 

“But-what’s a Boy Scout?” Kurt repeats stubbornly. 

Pietro laughs and he runs. Kurt follows behind him, sulfur and a puff of smoke left behind to hit Hank in the face. 

Chapter Text

Pietro Django Maximoff never really had close friends growing up. The kids at his old school tended to stay away from the hyperactive speedster who always seemed to be on the wrong side of a punch. Funnily enough, the bold silver hair was only really a problem with his teachers who thought it was distracting to his peers, and towards the beginning of his hair transition when he tried to hide the grey streaks with ugly brown hair dye other kids gave him weird looks but after he fully embraced it most of his classmates just thought he was a rebellious teenager who spontaneously dyed his hair fully silver. Pietro was never mistaken for cool though. Rebellious. Yes. Outcast. Yes. A punk. Yes. but not cool. Never cool. That was of course until he was scouted. It happened like everything else in Pietro’s life: completely by accident. 

He was at a football game. He was not playing the sport of course. He’s not exactly built for that type of impact and he was trying to decrease the number of concussions he got, not increase them. He had gone to the homecoming game simply because he had been asked to wear the Sheep mascot costume. The previous student who had taken over as mascot representative was hit by a car and hospitalized. Unfortunately, Pietro was assigned to give the studious peer his makeup work in the hospital and he proceeded to ask, more like beg, Pietro to take over for him in the homecoming game. Pietro couldn't look at his bruised-up face and his double casted arms and legs and say no to the poor bastard. So he agreed. But only for that game. 

One game was all it took. 

He’d never gone to a high school football game before that day and he was excessively disappointed. His school was losing to a whopping twenty-eight points, his costume reeked of sweat and cigarettes, and the popcorn he stole was stale as fuck. His team sucked ass which he knew far in advance before arriving at the game. The school was notoriously shitty at all sports. What he hadn't known was that the other team did not suck. They had high schoolers who didn't look like high schoolers. Pietro swears up and down that, all of them must have been on steroids or had enough muscle mass to bench-press a car. No way on Yahwah Green's earth were they high schoolers. Every single one of them had a beard and looked old enough to have kids. Pietro was grateful he wasn’t the one playing against them. 

He was just a mascot. 

He was only supposed to be a mascot. 

But the other team were beasts. Monsters. It wasn't fair at all really. They had College recruiters on their side of the field. Clipboards and markers and ready beaty eyes all over the opponents and their best players so he knew why they hadn't pulled any punches but holy shit. It was brutal. Three players were down by the first quarter with severe concussions and one with a broken ankle that Pietro and half the cheerleaders could hear from the bleachers. One junior player had a mental breakdown and had to be escorted out of the field by his mother and another player straight up left when he saw the other team walk out of the bus. 

The school's team The Sheep’s, much like their name, weren't very big in numbers and so when they kept losing more and more players as the game went on the coach became incredibly anxious. Pietro knew from being nosy in the teacher's breakroom that the football coach was going through a messy divorce with his cheating wife and had been threatened more than once to be fired from his position in the school. His life was quite literally falling apart. Pietro thinks this is why the coach was becoming just a bit too unhinged as the game proceeded. It was half-time when it happened. It hadn't taken much counting to realize they didn’t have enough players anymore to continue the game. Pietro isn't sure how many players were meant to play but one of the brunette cheerleaders had been talking about it very lightly beside Pietro. Looking sad that she might have to go home early after practicing all week. He jumped up and he did the practiced cheer routine with the girls, swaying and sashaying and doing all the twirls they threw into the songs. Maybe it was the backflip, or maybe it was the fact Pietro was simply there in his line of sight but the coach turned to him in a panic induced desperation and said “What size are you?”

In a flurry of motions, Pietro had been stripped from his sheep costume and adorned with shoulder pads and a helmet a bit heavier than expected. 

What. The. Fuck.

Pietro was never doing anyone a favor ever again if this was gonna be the result. Pietro told everyone that could hear including the coach himself that he did NOT know how to play football. He doesn't know the rules, he doesn’t know the forms or anything specific at all about the dreaded sport. 

“Run where no one is and if they throw the ball at you, catch it and run to the touchdown.” The coach yelled out in a rush, buckling Pietros knee pads into place and he wanted to throw a damn fit. 

Pietro could’ve ran away before they could blink and be home without a care but now the cheerleaders looked overjoyed. And the bleachers that had started to dwindle in excitement looked entertained and Pietro is nothing if not an entertainer. So okay. Whatever. He put on the damn padding and he looked small but not any smaller than his…teammates. He looked like a shrimp compared to the other team. Like little leagues playing with NFL players. Some of those kids will literally probably be in the NFL one day. So he’s not exaggerating. 

He hears the whistle that ends half-time and he prays to his lord and hopes that he leaves without any concussions. 

They line up and the other team looks far more terrifying up close and he second guesses this decision once again. Okay. Okay. He takes a breath and they say some weird phrase Pietro's guesses he’s supposed to know but doesn’t and they scatter. Pietro runs. 

He’s fast. Obviously. He’s a damn speedster. But he wasn’t using his super speed to run. He wasn’t that stupid. He was using his regular speed. Which he guesses is still unusually fast. 

He went to a corner of the field where no one was at, getting there faster then anyone could process, and kinda just stood there hoping no one would throw the ball at him. 

They throw the ball at him. Of course. 

He does not catch it. Because again, Pietro can’t emphasize this enough HE HAS NEVER PLAYED FOOTBALL BEFORE. The ball flies right above his head and bounces off the ground and he thought that was that except the coach was yelling at him to grab it which confused him. 

He doesn’t know how to play football. 

He grabs the ball with urgency because now the yelling is becoming a bit insane. 

“Run, Damn it!” The coach howls and Pietro does so only because the monsters are now coming right at him. Holy fucking shit they're coming right at him. 

He runs. 

Again. 

He must emphasize he really just doesn’t know how to play football. Nothing at all. 

He hasn’t the foggiest idea which side of the field he’s meant to run at. He just runs away from the big beasts chasing him and they go in circles because Pietro still has the ball and they keep tripping over themselves to try and tackle him but just when they get close he runs slightly faster. 

Repeat. Over and over. The cheerleaders are screaming. Cheering. Everyone in the bleachers is standing up gaping or laughing or visibly staring at the mockery Pietro is making of the game. 

Pietro keeps dodging concussions and he holds on to the ball for dear life because he's got no clue if he’s allowed to throw it or not and if he does he’s guaranteed to miss completely. 

Again. 

Pietro doesn’t know how to play. 

At all. 

He runs until he spots the coach pointing at the opposite side of the field in frantic waves and figures that’s the way he’s meant to go. And he runs the entire field, passes dozens of more players and when he gets to the end the bleachers explodes. Roaring and howling and the cheerleaders burst into a new cheer routine that had far too many flips and splits that Pietro couldn’t comprehend. 

Is it over? Can he drop the ball now? He turns to the girls and sees that nearly half the players where on the ground, or out of breath or simply glaring accusatory daggers at him. 

The kid that had a mental breakdown earlier came back with a popsicle and no padding. Pietro was more than eager to give him his own borrowed gear to him and push him back into the football field. 

He let out a sigh of relief, when he no longer had to play. One point was enough for him. 

Unbeknownst to him a recruiter had been observing Pietro in the field. While he usually seeks out football players he was also keeping a pair of eyes out for a runner for the track team at his own school. 

He got a phone call the following afternoon after he got his information from the school. He kinda thinks that was illegal but he didn’t ask too many questions. 

He told his mom. He thought it would be cool. As long as he didn’t have to catch anything. 

He had to transfer schools. Which was fine. He didn’t really like his high school anyway. 

When he transferred word about his stunt in the football field had spread and for the very first time in his life people thought Pietro was cool. He had people that actually wanted to talk to him. Hanging off of I’m like fruit off a tree. He didn’t mind all the attention, in fact he kinda loved it. 

He understood why people wanted to be popular so damn bad all the time. Being loved is kinda awesome. 

Because if his silver hair, which Pietro thought would be a problem for the school but it wasn’t, Pietro had gathered a bit of a nickname. 

Quicksilver. It became a bit of a brand for him. “Just can’t ever dye it back to brown.” His coach said. 

“Won’t be a problem.” Pietro grinned. 

All he had to do was keep the grade point average to qualify for sports but because the school curriculum was actually pretty behind compared to his old school Pietro smoothed past the first school year with a high C without a care in the world. He ran everyday after school and on the weekend. 

It was all he did. And he loved it. He was good at it. He was loved for it. He had friends because of it. 

But of course all that was fake too. Pietro knew that deep down that Tommy from chemistry and David and Lewis from American literature weren’t actually his friends and just groupies. Digging their full nails into someone they thought would be successful. And pietro was successful. Until he wasn’t . 

So at the end of the day when all is said and done Pietro has never had an actual genuine friend. At least not one his age. Not one that Pietro could see himself becoming close with. Not someone like Kurt Wagner. 

Pietro didn’t wanna do the wrong thing or say the wrong thing. Or be weird. He didn’t want Kurt to leave and considering that’s literally the blue boy's power it’s kinda hard.

Kurt says he’s never seen a movie before. 

“Miss Margo’s blind so she listens to movies on the radio.” When Pietro was briefly in their home he did note that they did not have a tv. 

Pietro was more than happy to set up the tv in the biggest living room and run to the nearest dvd store. He was a bit too eager to make Kurt happy but he also was incredibly bored and was pumped to actually be able to do something.

“Not a lot of options at the store but I’ve got Wonka, The Godfather, Paper moon and the exorcist.” All pretty different genres for him to choose from. 

“Not the exorcist!” Kurt pales his tail going protectively around his person and Pietro immediately tosses the dvd into the trash even though it’s a rental. Kurt’s reaction to the name of the movie was a bit odd but Pietro didn’t push the subject. 

They ended up watching Wonka and even though Pietro had already seen it with his sister when it came out he was very happy to watch it with Kurt who made the experience ten times more enjoyable with his little gasps and awes and the constant happy swaying of his tail. Kurt particularly enjoyed the Oompa Loompas and the way they had bright orange skin and green hair. 

“I wish I had green hair.” Kurt touched his own hair and Pietro for some reason thought that was permission enough to reach over and touch his hair as well. Brushing his fingers through his black curls not aware of how still the blue mutant had gotten. Pietro sees random streaks of blue in his hair when the light hits it at certain angles. “I like your hair. It suits you.”

Pietro catches up to his actions and feels suddenly too aware of how close he had gotten to Kurt and pulls away, taking his hand away from Kurt’s hair and wanting to kick himself in the face. Why did he do that? Hello? Personal space much? 

Pietro is a tactile person. He touches everything. Especially things he shouldn’t. This, as he has recently learned, also includes other people. 

The part of Pietro that always craved human contact usually only appeared around Wanda who reciprocated the hugs and cuddles and the overall touching. More recently he’s been this way around Jean as well but only when she instigates it. He knows she has problems with people suddenly touching her so he tries to tread carefully with her. 

She’s similar to Hank in that way. He avoids physical contact with anyone and everyone and Pietro doesn’t push the man for it. Not when he has plenty from Jean and Wanda. 

Pietro doesn’t know how open Kurt is to being touched. He doesn’t know him well enough yet but Pietro knows that he probably shouldn’t go around yanking on his hair to find out. 

“I like your hair too.” Kurt responds back quickly “I think it suits you as well.” He smiles comfortingly at Pietro who had scurried away from the blue boy afraid of what his reaction was gonna be. 

Pietro relaxes and morphs back to his side with ease. “We both got pretty awesome hair.”

The movie ended and Kurt had the biggest grin on his face “I think I want a Wonka chocolate bar.”

Pietro fell into laughter “don’t we all?”

He had to later explain that Wonka was in fact not a real person and that they couldn’t just go to a candy store and get a Wonka bar that would make them fly. Kurt was very disappointed. 

Of course after that Pietro did end up finding out through Charles that Wonka was based off of a real person who also had a chocolate factory and killed children as a secret ingredient. He did not tell Kurt this horrifying information. He didn’t want him to suddenly hate the movie. 

Pietro did return the movie the very next day though even though he had two more weeks with it. 

Kurt mentioned he liked Pietros leather jacket and that afternoon Pietro finds a matching red one he thought he’d like. Kurt took the jacket from the speedster like it was holy, putting on the jacket slowly. 

He looked at himself in the mirror and then looked at Pietro with watery eyes. “This is for me?”

“Yeah. Obviously. Red isn’t really my color.” 

“I can have it?” Kurt’s voice was small and wobbly, his accent thicker than usual. 

“Do you not like it?” Pietro still had the receipt so he could’ve just returned it. 

“I love it.” Kurt clarifies and he actually is in fact crying. Pietro knows they are happy tears but still feels panicked and really wants to hug him but again, he has no idea if Kurt likes to be touched. 

Pietro has never had a real friend before. Has he mentioned that before? 

He doesn’t know how long one must know each other to be considered friends. Are they meant to talk more? Should they be spending more time together? Are they meant to have inside jokes? How long until someone is officially considered a friend? 

How do you know when someone is your friend? 

Do you ask them? Is that something that has to be clarified? Holy shit does Pietro have to ask Kurt to be his friend first or is it just meant to happen? 

Is it supposed to be like a mutually known thing that no one ever addresses? 

Pietro hates this. 

Is Kurt his friend? 

He’s asking himself this as he’s sneaking out one of Charles' many many cars out of his garage to teach the teleporter how to drive. 

It was a rough start after Kurt and him put on their seatbelts and Kurt couldn’t get it to click into place. Pietro helped him. Kurt kept getting the brakes and the gas pedal confused and the car kept jerking to a stop and then quickly starting every few yards. They hadn’t even made it out of the driveway yet when Kurt asked “what’s a three point turn?” 

“Let’s focus on go and stop before we start on the advanced stuff.” Pietro jokes and Kurt nods very seriously and focuses on the road as if Pietro was a teacher instructing him.

Pietro Maximoff as a teacher? That would be hilarious considering he hates school. 

“No need to rush, just tap the gas gently, no need to throw your whole foot in it.” 

Kurt tries again, the car starting to move slowly but smoothly and it’s slow enough that Kurt doesn’t hit the brakes in a panic every few seconds. 

“I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Kurt says as he turns the steering wheel to slowly peel out of the driveway. 

“Hell yeah, you are!” Pietro fistbumped “Soon enough we’ll be taking road trips to the beach!”

“Really?”

“Of course! Nothing but wind in our hair and water in our toes.”

“I’ve never been to the beach,” Kurt says. He tends to tell things to Pietro that accidentally make the speedster want to cry because it’s just so depressing. Never seen a movie? Never gone to the beach? Never learned to drive? Pietro doesn’t understand what he was doing before all this. 

“More reason to learn how to drive then.”

“Thank you for teaching me, Pietro.” Kurt had heard Wanda calling Pietro by his given name and usually Pietro would tell him to just call him Peter but the way the teleporter rolls his Rs to say his given name made Pietro smile and he never corrected him. 

It’s okay if Kurt calls him Pietro. He’s safe. 

“It’s no problem. 

“Did your dad teach you how to drive?”

“No. I kinda had to teach myself.”

“Teach yourself? Why didn’t Charles teach you?” 

“Charles doesn’t drive. He’s paralyzed.” 

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how to drive.” Kurt shrugs. 

“That’s true.” Pietro doesn’t know why Kurt brought up Charles but he doesn’t really question it because he’s so preoccupied with his own dilemma. 

He thinks they are friends. Does Kurt think they are friends? 

Pietro should really just ask. Better said than done. 

A few minutes pass and Kurt starts to do a U-turn and drives over a bit of grass that will definitely be leaving an imprint. 

“Kurtarewefriends?” Pietro blurts out in a long tangle of words. He used his super speed. Fuck. Kurt doesn’t even realize he spoke, that's how fast he talked. 

“Kurt!” Pietro shouts a bit too loudly but he wants to make sure he heard his question because he doesn’t think he can say it three times. “Are we friends?” 

Kurt looks at Pietro blinking owlishly at him. “Eyes on the road!” Pietro jabs slightly. Kurt nearly ran over a squirrel. He stops the car completely, putting it in park in the middle of the road. Totally illegal in a real life scenario but Pietro will let it slide. 

“Did you just ask me if we were friends?” Kurt says not looking away from Pietro once. 

“Yeah.” Pietro sucks majorly. “Are we?” No pulling out now. 

Kurt opens his mouth and then closes it. Then he opens it again and blurts out “Pietro, you might be my best friend.” 

Pietro gapes at Kurt. Because yeah Kurt could very believably be Pietro's best friend but Pietro being Kurt’s best friend is mind-boggling to the speedster. “Your best friend,” Pietro repeats a smile involuntarily marking his face. 

“Of course!” Kurt beams sunshine right at Pietro and he doesn’t deserve that kinda happiness but he’ll take all of it. 

“Okay. You’re my best friend too.” And Pietro feels giddy. Like some little kid in the playground asking his friend to be his friend. What a weird feeling. 

Why is he like this? “You don’t have to say that just because I said that Pietro.”

“I can say what I want and I say you’re my best friend. So yeah. That’s law now.” 

“That’s law now.” Kurt repeats with a smile. 

Then his face sags “Charles says we’re in big trouble!” And right back to mischievous acts. 

The car wasn’t banged or scratched or anything but Charles nearly blew a fuse shouting and hollering about how it was supposed to be in mint condition and how the paint color of the particular Ford car they drive was discontinued so he wouldn’t be able to fix it if they ruined it. 

He was kinda mad but also Pietro couldn’t take him too seriously considering he had been aroused from his nap, his hair was disheveled, his clothes were wrinkled and he’d been wearing pink bunny slippers that clearly belonged to him, and were often worn. 

“He seemed upset. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, it’s chill. He’s just cranky from his nap.” Pietro doesn’t know why Kurt specifically asked if Pietro would be okay but he was kinda getting off the high of the revelation of them being actual friends to even connect that particular dot.

Pietro decided that to make it up to the professor he would cook dinner for everyone that day. 

Frankie Wagner from Pietro's observation is someone who wears his feelings on his sleeve. like a superpower, he reveals them like a cool trick. Frankie is deeply infatuated with Wanda; on some level, Wanda shares that love for him too. Whether that be friendship or not is not for Pietro to decide but he is one of the very few people that Wanda has been able to open up to. 

Perhaps it’s because he was part of her life before all this. Before this school. Before becoming a mutant. Before her life went upside down. 

“He didn’t have many friends so when Wanda left he was incredibly sad.” Kurt disclosed to him as Pietro was assembling the bunk beds in the girls' dorms earlier in the evening. Kurt held the screws while Pietro did all the work but Pietro will still tell Hank that Kurt did most of the hard labor. Just to see the way Kurt’s face would grow panicked when Hank approaches him to thank him. 

Pietro knows that Wanda trusts Frankie. But he supposes he didn’t realize exactly how much she did. 

“Brother-in-law, can I ask you a question?” 

“Only if you stop calling me brother-in-law.”

“Just practicing for the future.”

Pietro rolls his eyes “What’s the question, Frankie?”

“Since you and Wanda are Jewish does that mean that you only eat kosher meat?”

Pietro looks at the smaller boy in a daze, not at all expecting that line of questioning. In all honestly he  is surprised that Wanda mentioned being Jewish at all. “We aren’t really strict about it, everyone’s different obviously. We mostly try not to clash dairies and meat as much as we can. We don’t eat pork.”

“No bacon?” Frankie gasped. 

“Turkey bacon tastes the same.” He wouldn’t know actually cause he’s never eaten pork bacon, he’s straight up talking from his ass. 

“Your dad isn’t Jewish but your mom is? Does that mean you’re only half Jewish?”

Huh? 

“No such thing as half Jewish.” Pietro says quickly before adding “and my dad is jewish.” He’s never met his biological father but his mom told him they met at synagogue in the town she lived in at the time. A camp survivor just like her bonding over the loss of their people. 

“He is? I had no idea!” Why would he? Frankie is giving him a headache. 

“Is there a specific reason why you’re asking me these questions Frankie?”

“I wanted to make something special for Wanda. A Kneidlach?” He butchered the pronunciation but Pietro understood him. 

“That’s just chicken soup with matzo balls.” 

“They are my wanda's favorite.”

“I’m aware.”

“I think you should make it tonight for dinner.” 

“Oh, is that all your Highness do you have any other request?” 

Frankie shakes his head “I don’t have all the ingredients for Kneidlach.”

“Can’t you just run and get them?”

Pietro thought about it for a few minutes, a few seconds in Frankie-time. “I’ll do it. Only if you help.”

“Of course! If it’s food for my Wanda I’ll gladly help.”

“It’s Food for everyone . Not just Wanda. We need to substitute the usual olive cloves I put in the soup cause Hank is allergic.” He does NOT want to witness another allergic reaction from the blue man, once was traumatizing enough. 

“Sir, yes, sir.”

And he zipped away to the grocery store. 

Frankie was very eager to help but in the end, only managed to make a mess and spill half the soup. He pouted and looked about ready to cry when his wheelchair jammed suddenly and he dropped his deformed Matzo ball that he had been mushing on for ten minutes. 

Actually-yeah Frankie is crying. His loud sniffles made Pietro's empathy meter ring in his head. The ringing tends to be louder when he hears crying children. That might be a bit of a trauma response for him. He’s not sure yet. 

“Hey, hey, take a breath.” Pietro was kneeling in front of Frankie trying to meet the younger boy's eyes. 

The boy becomes angry at himself and Pietro watches in horror as Frankie begins smacking his head harshly hissing and crying. 

“Hey! Stop that!” Pietro grabs his hand but then he begins to do it with the other hand. Hurting himself repeatedly. Pietro grabs both of his hands, gripping them tightly away from the boy. “Stop it, Frankie. It’s okay. You can make another one.”

“But I wasted ingredients. I made you buy them and I wasted it.”

“It’s okay, it took me less than a second. I can get more. It’s not a big deal I swear.”

“It is a big deal. It’s supposed to be perfect for Wanda but I keep messing it up.” 

“You haven’t messed anything up, kid.” 

“But-“

“-it’s not gonna go to waste okay.” Pietro does his usual whistle and a gray cat materializes right behind Frankie. “The best part about matzo balls is that they are cat-friendly. It’ll be a good little snack.” The gray cat walks closer, sniffs the mess in the ground, and begins licking at the matzo ball cleaning it off the floor In seconds. 

“It’s not a waste,” Pietro repeats soothingly watching as the little boy watches the cat, smoothing out his breathing slightly. 

“At the end of the day, it all tastes the same.” He let go of Frankie’s hands feeling like it was safe to do so. 

“I can help you with the next one and it’ll be perfect. Wanda will love it.” 

“Promise?” Frankie wipes away a stray tear with their palm looking every bit the eight-year-old kid that he was. Pietro thinks that Frankie is a bit annoyingly obsessed with his sister but he doesn’t want the poor boy to be sad. 

“Pinky promise.” He showed him his pinky. Frankie loops his smaller pinky around Pietros and he lets out a kiddish laugh that makes the speedster smile. 

“Now we need to hurry up the process before the oven preheats.” And Pietro helped him with the next batch. The balls weren’t even or perfectly round but it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, he knew Wanda would love it. Pietro made a mental note to talk to Margo about Frankie’s sudden violent outburst. In case it has to be a deeper talk he has to have with Charles. 

They had made enough soup and matzo balls to feed the whole mansion and still have seconds. 

Frankie and Wanda laughed and ate and Jean threw a Matzo ball at Frankie when he wasn’t looking, resulting in him throwing one back. Charles stopped it before it became a full-blown food fight.

Jean was at his door that night, mute and wrapped around a soft blanket that she dragged from her shared room with Wanda.

She hadn’t said a word as she crawled into Pietro's side and dug her forehead into his bicep almost aggressively. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Pietro asks hopefully. 

She shakes her head. The two fall asleep with Pietro's humming. Humming a song he heard on Miss Margo’s radio. 

The following morning, after a hefty breakfast Professor Charles Xavier lets him drive his baby. His child. His most prized possession. Not the one Kurt test drove but the one parked several slots over. 

A beautiful yellow Chevrolet Camaro with soft seats and a lemony new-car smell that made Pietro not want to sit in the car at all in fear of ruining it. The professor had dozens of mint-conditioned cars in his garage which confused Pietro slightly because why was Charles driving a rental car when they first met? And why does he currently have more cars than students in his school when he can’t even drive them?

“Why do you have so many cars if you can’t even drive them?” Pietro is no good at sugarcoating and very bad at filtering his words. 

“I wasn’t always paralyzed,” Charles says, fiddling with the glove compartment.

“Yeah but why do you still have them? Aren’t they just collecting dust? Haven’t you been paralyzed for a while?”

“One question at a time Peter.” Right, he’s talking too much at once. 

“How did you get paralyzed?” That wasn’t even one of the original questions he asked but it’s what came out if his mouth. There was virtually no traffic, smooth roads, and street signs guiding his way to the new location. They were on their way to meet a potential student.

“It’s quite a long story.” Charles finds a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment. 

“Longer than the two hours it’s gonna take for us to get there?” Pietro lifts a brow.

Charles puts on his shades with an easy smile “Surely not.” and he begins his story. 

He tells Pietro everything. From the very beginning. 

Meeting Erik, meeting Hank, and creating a team together. The x-men. A split in philosophy. Erik’s rage and Charles' stubbornness. Charles tells Pietro about the evil man who twisted Erik up and made him the way he is and how all of it came to a boiling end at the beach with missiles, a heavy betrayal, and a bullet to the spine that paralyzed him forever. 

Charles speaks of the events with a distant foggy look and Pietro couldn’t even imagine what he felt in those moments. Charles is recalling what seems to be a super traumatic event in his life and Pietro feels that ugly snake wrap around his throat making him feel icky for even asking to begin with, 

“He took your sister?” Pietro knows that shouldn’t have been what stuck in his brain. So much was said But he could only think of Wanda. Angry and isolated Wanda, running into the hands of the first person who made her feel justified in those bad feelings. The thought of losing a sibling suddenly in that way feels too raw for Pietro to wrap his mind around. 

“She made that decision herself. She would’ve left with or without Erik’s influence.” Charles says heavily like that was something he was still coming to terms with all these years later. 

“She was the girl from the TV right? The one that saved the president?”

“Yeah, that was her. Raven.” Charles makes an expression Pietro doesn't catch fully with his eyes on the road “I suppose, she’s going by mystique nowadays.”

“Not a fan?” Pietro raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I wouldn’t say that. I just can’t see her as Mystique the mutant hero. She’ll always be Raven, my little sister.” 

“She can’t be both? Mystique and Raven? Hero and sister?”

“Yes.” Charles blinks “I suppose she can be both.” He looks contemplative. “I suppose I just don’t understand why she had to change her name at all.” 

“She feels safer with a name like that. Untouchable. Names are important, you know. They hold power.”  Pietro recalls a conversation with his mother. One about his own name. Another is about his grandparents. About how their names were stripped from them. 

He thinks he kinda gets why Raven would want a new name. 

“Is that how it is for you?” Sometimes Pietro thinks Charles is bullshitting about not being able to read his mind. He has a way of knowing exactly what crosses Pietro's mind without even much effort. 

“Do you feel safer as Peter?” 

“As safe as a mutant delinquent can be.” Pietro brushes off. 

“You’re not a delinquent.” Charles rolls his eyes. Pietro gasps In dismay “I so am. What the fuck?”

“I’ve seen you hand sew a stuffed bunny ear back in place after one of Miss Margo’s cats ripped it.” 

“So? I’m a hooligan. A rebel. A high-risk individual. I just didn’t want Frankie throwing a tantrum over his precious bunny.”

“I’ve seen you personally hand squeeze oranges because Wanda was sick but hates pulp in her orange juice.” 

“I also don’t like pulp in my orange juice so…that juice totally could’ve been for me.” It wasn’t. Wanda had sobbed about how she only liked the way Pietro made orange juice and he caved instantly.

“Yesterday you were playing chess with Kurt and you let him win. Four times.” 

“He was very good!” Pietro hadn't known that Charles knew about that. He had borrowed his chess board only for a few hours but he never asked the professor if he could use it.

“Peter, I taught you how to play. You most definitely let him win. Four seperate times .” Charles sounded scandalized by the whole concept of letting someone else win.

“Why would I purposely lose four times? for funsies?” Pietro scoffed.

“No, I think you’d let him win four times to make him happy. Because he’s seventeen years old and has never actually played a board game before and you wanted him to experience that properly. And that, my boy, is not delinquent behavior.”

“Yeah, well-I-um-“ Pietro abruptly presses the button on the car that plays music, his face red and glaring at the road like a pouty kid. The music couldn’t cover up Charles Xavier's boisterous laughter. 

Fine, whatever. So he’s gone a little soft. Lost his edge a bit. That’s fine, cool whatever. Not a big deal. He’s still a loser. That won’t change. 

They pull into a nice neighborhood. The houses all look the same, color-coordinated mailboxes and perfectly mowed lawns that look like what the color green is supposed to look like. The houses are symmetrical and fenced up in equal squares. Trash bins lined up and ironically spotless. 

And every single house has a sign up in the front lawn of a man in a suit and a perfect American smile telling the world to vote for him. 

Which is fine. Pietro isn’t big on politics, all the lingo and debates kinda go over his head and he gets kinda lost in the noise but that isn’t what makes Pietro stare at the sign for too long. 

He knows the guy on the sign. He’s sat across from him during dinner. The few family dinners David had forced them to sit around the barely used dining table and polish out their never-used fancy china and use coasters that matched the table cloth. 

He knows that face. He’s seen it sip wine and talk shop with his stepdad. He’s passed the mashed potatoes to that guy. 

“Peter, you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Pietro shakes his head, trying to focus. 

“Are you sure? You seem off.” 

“Yeah, I’m good, just hungry and glad to not be driving.”

“Here.” Charles takes out a small palm-sized canister from his pocket and hands it to Pietro. It’s his meal boosters that Hanks has been making Pietro drink but in far larger quantities. Pietro tries not to think about the fact that Charles didn’t carry that around for himself. 

“Thanks.” Pietro still hates the smell, although Hank has improved in it since the first batch. Charles rings the doorbell. It was a dramatic ringing bell sound that ground in Pietro's head. It was awful. 

The door was opened by an older woman, her hair cut short in a bob and peppered in gray. She had big purple glasses that covered the majority of her face and smooth olive skin. 

Charles begins his introduction. “Hello, I’m Professor Charles Xavier. I’m here to speak with Mr. And Mrs. Drake?” 

The woman looks confused, looking between Pietro and Charles. “Quienes son ustedes?” 

She doesn’t speak English. Charles puts his fingers to his forehead. 

Pietro clears his throat and brushes off the old Spanish two textbooks in his brain from high school “Este es Charles un profesor de estudiantes superdotados.” He points to Charles who looks at Pietro with astonishment. 

“Estamos aquí para hablar con los padres de Bobby. Ellos están en casa?” 

“Salieron por un momento, pronto volveran a casa.”

Pietro nods, understanding that they aren’t home currently, regardless he asks if they could wait for them “Esta bien si los esperamos aqui?”

The older woman shakes her head, looking anxiously inside the home “no creo que quieran compania. Bobby está un poco enfermo.”

Pietro frowns and looks at Charles “she says they’re out and they’ll be back soon but we should leave cause Bobby’s sick and they don’t want company.” 

Charles blinks as if still processing that Pietro can speak and understand Spanish “Yes, right-“ he clears his throat “it may be possible that his mutation is manifesting as an illness.” 

“What’s his mutation?” Pietro questions suddenly.

“I won’t have a proper answer until I see him. It was a strong enough effect that it triggered cerebro even this far away.” 

“Does he know we’re coming?”

“I was able to contact him briefly while using Cerebro but he seemed to be incredibly distressed at the time and unresponsive to my call.”

No shit, he’s probably terrified. Pietro knows he was. He knows Wanda was terrified when she got here and Jean told him…

“The day I got my powers my mother died.” 

She was terrified. Pietro knows exactly how uncontrollable it all is at first, how overwhelming and life-altering it all feels. 

“Nosotros podemos ayudarlo.” Pietro tells her they can help Bobby. That’s what they're here for to begin with. To help Bobby Drake.

Back and forth they talked. Charles patiently watches them chat from the side and eventually Gloria, the babysitter from Colombia, decides to let them in. 

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.” Charles says in the brief moment that Gloria is leading them down the long hall, the walls bare. 

“Yeah. I took a class in high school.” Pietro barely got a C in the class because the teacher detested him. Convinced he was always cheating, which he wasn't, he just found the class tedious and lame once he already knew the language. 

“You continue to amaze me,” Charles says easily, unable to keep the fondness away from his voice. 

“Aqui.” Gloria turns the corner to a different hallway that leads to two doors. Pietro noticed the temperature drop as soon as they turned the corner. Charles noticeably adjusted in his seat, clearly feeling the difference as well. One of the doors had the nameplate on the front written in blue and green cursive calligraphy. 

BOBBY DRAKE

Gloria zipped up her jacket and knocked on the door twice. No response. With gloved hesitant hands, she touches the doorknob and twists. 

“Bobby, tengo compañia.” She opens the door and Pietro can feel the chills running up his spine . He can see his breath lingering in front of him.

Holy shit.

It’s freezing. 

“Bobby?” Finally being able to see inside the small bedroom Pietro noted immediately that the entire room was covered in a thin layer of ice. Frosted and snowy like a snowstorm unleashed inside the room. A little boy maybe eleven or twelve with blonde hair and pale freckled skin was crouched in the corner of his bed. The one g do oldest to the wall and farthest from the door. 

His bed sheets were wrapped around him in piles attempting to warm him up but observing the ice cube tears falling from his eyes Pietro doubts it was doing much. 

The boys' room was trashed, posters ripped from walls, chairs stabbed through with ice swords and desks collapsed from a force Pietro couldn't see. His toys are decorated on the floor. His school bag a ball of snow in the entryway of his room. 

“Um, so my best guess is probs cold.”
Charles side eyes him “I’ve gathered that. Thank you, Peter.”

“You’re very welcome.” Pietro crosses his arms, shoving his hands under his armpits, and just rubs around his rib cage in superspeed. Causing a good enough body heat to keep Pietro warm. 

It’s like the goddamn North Pole here. Pietro would know he’s been there. 

“Do you wanna maybe…” Pietro points at his head. Pietro thinks this whole conversation would go far smoother if Charles just talked to him through his mind walkie-talkie.

Charles nods and he’s approaching the boy slowly with his wheelchair. Pietro doesn’t know what Charles said to make the boy look up in alarm. “No! You need to leave!”

“You won’t hurt us, Bobby. We’re here to help you.” Charles says softly.

“You can’t help me. I’m sick.” Bobby shakes his head, his blonde hair stiff.

“You not sick.” Pietro clarifies trying to make eye contact with the scared boy “you’re just cold.” 

“I’m not cold. I’m hot.” Bobby says and suddenly Pietro can see the sweat running down his forehead, turning into little icicles as they roll down his forehead. 

“I know I look cold but I feel hot. I’m sick! I can hurt you like I did my things so you shouldn’t come any closer.”

Charles talks to Bobby in his head. Pietro isn’t privy to the conversation which only bothers him a little. He wishes he could help. 

Pietro can hear the parents' car though. He can hear the engine roaring to a stop and he knows Charles is busy settling Bobby down so he steps outside of the room. He steps outside of the house too, meeting the parents outside by the door. Knowing that a stranger in your house is the last thing anyone wants. 

He leaves Charles inside to talk to Bobby, he can do this part. He’s positive. Kinda. Sort of. He’s about 50/50 confident. Most parents like him. Actually yeah, no. Most parents actually detest him. His hair, his vibe, his style, and his overall personality just scream bad influence on his parents and Pietro simply can’t help it. He purposely wore bland clothes on this trip. A flannel and t-shirt with jeans that made him look like a lumberjack. Hopefully, he looks like a respectable lumberjack. He stands up straight trying to present taller than he was. More mature. He had a beanie on his head to hide most of his silver hair and hopefully throw people off to his true identity because apparently, Friends Of Humanity is on his ass 24/7 for no reason. 

A thin middle-aged woman comes out of the baby blue Volkswagen holding bags of groceries. She was decked out in layers of clothes and a ski mask on her head. Her plump husband pulls out of the driver's seat face flush red from the heat which is why it’s so off to see them sporting ski gear like they're going on a trip to Alaska. 

They spot Pietro immediately. Looking so frightened that he feels he has to quickly introduce himself to ease their anxieties. 

“Hi, I’m Peter.”

The dad pulls out a gun from his holster on his hip and aims it directly at Pietro in broad daylight. “We know exactly who you are.” 

Of fucking course.

Chapter Text

Pietro is getting sick of his life being threatened. It’s genuinely starting to become a problem. Over a hundred thousand people die every single day which sounds like a lot but considering there are over three billion people on Earth that's less than one percent. The odds of Pietro Maximoff dying are very slim but as it so happens not non-existent. This is now the Third time in the last three months that Pietro has had a gun to his head. Is it meant to be a monthly occurrence? A running joke with the universe. He doesn't find it very funny. 

“Can we not?” Pietro sighed. “In broad daylight is crazy.” But when has the sunlight ever stopped someone from threatening Pietro Maximoff’s life? 

“You need to leave.” The father, a heavy-set man with blonde hair and a close-trimmed beard, spoke with a shake to his voice. Despite the clear nervous energy in his voice he held his weapon firmly in his hand. 

His wife, long and tall, scrambled to get something from her purse. She pulls out a knife the size of her palm. Perhaps something she’d carry to walk to her car at night. Something to spook but not to maim. “We don’t want you people anywhere near our family.”

“You people?” Pietro frowns, folding the words in his mouth like dirty laundry. 

“Our son is just sick, he isn’t like those other children.” The wife’s voice was high and thin, strained from wear and

her knife was tightly gripped in her hand making her bony fingers turn white. 

Her wedding ring, a simple gold band caught the sunlight and reminded Pietro of his own mother's ring. Not the flashy gaudy one David gave her when he went down on one knee but the one she wears around her neck. A plain gold band with no diamond or pearl. No splash of anything fancy or personable. She was never without it. A token of a past she hates you divulging in. From Pietro's father. Simple but cherished and then hidden away afraid it would be seen. 

Pietro had asked his mother about it once when he was too young to know better. “A reminder.” She told him. “To be aware of danger.” 

Pietro thinks Maybe he needs that ring right now because his fight or flight instincts are not cutting it and danger seems to be in every corner he turns. 

“Madeline don’t say a word.” The father silences his wife and glares at Pietro who still hasn’t moved from his spot in the driveway. “You can’t be here. We know our rights. You need to leave this instance.” 

We know our rights. 

Hadn’t Pietro said something similar just a few months ago? A gun also pointed at his head. 

Pietro nods “We can leave if you want, but your son needs help and we can help him. We can take him somewhere that will help him control his powers.”

“You won’t be taking him anywhere! He’s our son!” The mom was frantic as she began to tear up, accidentally dropping her groceries on the ground. 

Her groceries weren’t groceries at all. At least not all of them. With a soft thud, the bag folded over to show a stack of heated blankets and medicine. 

Pietro sees the desperation in their action. They’re just trying to help their son. Pietro knows that. 

“You’re terrorists. All of you. Everywhere you go disaster follows. Our family will not be the next tragedy.” The dad takes the safety out of the gun. Flaring his nostrils and thinning his lips. 

Pietro reels, feeling the words kick him in the face. 

Everywhere you go disaster follows. No truer words have been said but Pietro lingers on the word terrorist . 

“I’m not a terrorist. I think there’s been some misunderstanding.” Pietro's mind is running. Jumping every scenario and speeding through every thought process. 

“No there hasn’t! We’ve seen the footage. You took that poor girl and killed all those people in that house and your organization tried to cover it up with a fire.”

That’s woah wait hold on. What is she talking about? What the hell? Is she talking about Wanda? The fire at our house? 

“You kidnapped that crippled family and left those bodies scattered in the street.” 

Pietros anger rolled at the words crippled family but was unable to cut in as the woman, Madeline, kept raging. 

“You burned down an entire synagogue and everyone in it because of one little boy with pointed ears.” Pietros gut dropped. 

A synagogue was burned down? Which one? His mind raced and he thought of his mother, hoping that wasn’t the one she was in. Praying that wasn’t why she hasn’t called in the last week. 

Fuck. What if- no. No. He would know if his mother was dead. He just would. He needs to trust that she’s okay and focus on the matter at hand. 

Later on, Pietro would look into the fire and see exactly how many people had been lost to the flames and he’d throw up. The number would give him nightmares. He’d think about the melting flesh and the screaming and how the place of worship had been incredibly packed. It had been someone’s child’s bar mitzvah. A boy named Stanley who invited his friend from school to the celebration. His friend was named Kevin and he had inhumanly pale skin and long pointed ears like an elf. Over a hundred people died in the flames including every single member of Stanley’s family and Kevin who died from strangulation. The fire came after he had already died. That part In particular made Pietro's chest churn in anger and dread. 

Any feeling of relief he might’ve felt about his mother not being in that particular synagogue was overshadowed by the dread he felt for mutants to be targeted in a place that was supposed to be safe. They should’ve been safe. Stanley should’ve turned thirteen in peace. Kevin should’ve enjoyed a mouthful of cake at his friends birthday party without the fear of getting hate crimed. Pietro was sick. 

But Pietro doesn’t know about that yet. He’s still just in the driveway being told this information for the first time. Piecing the little information he did have into his brain. 

“You’re a monster.” Pietro flinches at the words. 

“You’re all fucking monsters. Friends Of Humanity is just an excuse to attack people that aren’t the same as everyone else.” The dad agrees and Pietro goes through the conversation in a loop in his head over and over. 

What is going on? What the actual fuck are they on about? 

“I’m not part of Friends Of Humanity. I didn’t kill anyone and Miss Margo and her kids are safe and-and I didn’t burn down a synagogue.” Pietro had to practically spit the last part out feeling disgusted that he had to clear up that last bit of information at all. The fact that anyone would do that let alone think he could, makes him want to cry. 

“I’m a mutant.” Their faces shift slightly. 

“Friends Of Humanity has been targeting me for the last couple of months. I swear to you. I am not with them.”

He hates that this is a conversation he has to have. 

“Those people you-they killed. They were mutants too. If it’s true you've been targeted before How did you get away?” The dad voices his concerns looking to his wife for support. In the second he looks away from Pietro he superspeeds in front of him. He takes his gun and takes out all the bullets and puts them in Madeline’s pocket. He superspeeds back into his old spot and with the gun still in his hand the dad looks back at Pietro not noticing anything is amiss. 

“I run fast,” Pietro says and the dad narrows his eyes at Pietro. “Check your pocket.” He told Madeline and she frowned, not taking her eyes off of the speedster. 

She puts her hand in her pocket and her eyes widen as she feels what’s inside. She gapes at her husband and he looks back at her. “What’s the matter?” He asks with concern. She takes out the bullets from her pocket and shows him. He gasps and quickly looks at his gun that’s been in his hand the whole time. He shifts it in his hand, weighing it as if he could detect if it has bullets or not. His eyes dart to Pietro and he opens the gun up to reveal no bullets in the chamber. 

“Holy shit.” He curses and when he looks up at where Pietro is, the boy is already beside him with a smile making the man yelp in a very unmanly way. “What the devil.”

“Not the devil, just a mutant.” Pietro corrects feeling a bit smug. He picks up Madeline’s bags from the ground and smiles at her as well “now that we’ve got that misunderstanding out of the way we should head inside. The professor is probably wondering where I am.”

“Who?” 

“Charles.” Did the professor genuinely just not call them before making Pietro drive two hours to come here? “Xavier? School for gifted youngsters?” They looked at Pietro like he was speaking Spanish again. 

Okay, so maybe that’s why Charles is having no luck recruiting students. Is he only contacting the mutant student and not the parents? Is he not promoting the school well enough? This might need to be a separate and far more longer conversation with the professor. 

“He’ll explain.” Because like hell is Pietro doing the dirty work. Charles should’ve already called them. Doesn’t he know that parents probably wouldn’t be super chill about their kid talking to some old guy they’ve never met? 

Charles later would scoff at being called an “old guy” stating he isn’t old at all but his reaction was much different at being referred to as “old man.” Pietro doesn’t get the difference. 

He superspeeds into the house, putting away the bags of blankets and things they purchased most likely to subdue their son's power. Unsuccessful as they might’ve been it seems they were genuinely trying to help their son. Pietro can tell by that altercation alone that they loved their son, they’d protect him, and they’d kill for him. They’d whip out a gun they have no business owning and aim it at who they perceived danger to be. All to protect what they loved most. 

Pietro can’t be mad at that. I mean he isn’t, you know, thrilled about his face constantly being target practice but he’s sure he’ll get used to the constant inevitable dread of death being waved in front of him at oddly awkward moments. He’ll get over it. It's cool.

“Your house is lovely by the way.” Pietro zips past Madeline and out the door to grab the actual groceries from the trunk of the car. He’s back inside with hefty bags of produce. “Are these Cork floors?” 

“Oak.” Madeline says in a daze watching as Pietro unloads her groceries from her car in the time that it would usually take for Madeline to unlock the door. “You said you’re fast?”

“Very,” Pietro puts all the fruit away first, taking out a particularly bruised-up apple from the fridge and tossing it in the garbage disposal. “And your son is cold.”

“Very.” The husband says standing close to his wife still clearly very anxious around the silver-haired teenager. “Have you always…been fast?” Madeline gives him a sharp look and they talk silently with eye contact alone.

“I was born this way but I didn’t fully get my powers until puberty.”

“Did you show any signs before getting them? Because Bobby-he-he was normal. He wasn’t-“

“-he always ran cold.” Madeline interrupts gently “But never, never like this.” 

“He was a normal kid. Did we do something-“ he clears his throat, clearly emotional, blinking back heavy tears “Did you…show signs when you were young? Was there any way of knowing?”

Pietro watches the couple play a game of hot potato. Questioning everything. They are eating themselves alive. Trying to find a reason. Trying to find something to blame for their son's condition. Trying to pin point where they went wrong. This reaction is how he expected his mother to react when he ran for the first time. 

“When I was younger, before my speed kicked in my brain would run away from me and it made falling asleep really hard and school was hard and making friends was hard. Everything was just hard all the time. When I got my powers, it didn't feel like the world was as hard anymore, it felt like everything was finally catching up to me. Like I was finally out of a difficult level in Pac Mac. Everything just balanced out.” Pietros problems didn’t go away when he got his abilities of course but when he got them he could finally do something about it. 

He could fight back. In his own way. 

“I was never a normal kid so it wasn’t a shock to my mom. But-um…my sister Wanda-“ Pietros mind replays the day she got her powers, all that blood and gore fresh in his mind. “She was normal. She had good grades and she had lots of friends and she was happy and she didn’t show any signs of…of literally anything. So I suppose in that aspect I understand-“ Pietro clears his throat looking at the couple who was hanging on to his every word. 

“-it’s scary. To believe one thing and it be wrong. Being a mutant is scary and you can’t change it but you can either let it destroy you and let it eat you alive or you can embrace it.”

Pietro thinks of Hank, who used some experimental drug for years to hide his mutation. Who hated who he was for so long that it drove him to a career path that could remedy it. If he wasn’t a mutant would he still want to be a doctor? A scientist? Would he still have studied mutations and spent half his life trying to find a remedy for something that was simply meant to exist? Pietro doesn’t know what would have become of Hank if he hadn’t been a mutant. He doesn’t know what Charles would’ve done or Wanda or Pietro. He doesn’t think Charles would've been nearly as okay as he is now without Hank at his corner. 

“Is your sister happy?”

“What?” Pietros thoughts still tended to run away from him. 

“Wanda, is she-is she alright? Is she happy even after-after getting her gifts?”

Pietro thinks of the nightmares she has nearly every night. She thinks of the panic attack she had just a few hours ago when he told her he’d be away for a couple of hours. Afraid he wouldn’t come back. He also thinks about how loud she giggled when Hank got a face full of flour when he interrupted a prank meant for Pietro. He thinks about the friend she made and the one she reconnected with. He thinks about how she cuddles on the couch surrounded by cats who cover her like a blanket. She thinks about how she learned how to use her powers to fly the other day and has been a demon ever since. But he also thinks about how every day she asks if mom has called and every day he has to tell her she hasn’t. He thinks of the bad and the good. 

“I think she’s getting there.” 

Madeline and her husband look at each other and seem to soak in each other's heads. 

Pietro hears Charles' wheelchair before he sees him peek out from the hallway. “Hey wheels, you might wanna give a strong and inspiring speech soon.” Pietro lifts a brow at the older man and the professor shares a matching expression “Perhaps you should attend to Bobby and I’ll speak with the parents.”

“Yeah, let’s switch.” 

Pietro went to Bobby quickly and was once again hit with crisp coldness. His spine prickled with cold goosebumps. Pietro stands beside the shivering boy who is now lying down on his bed with a warm towel on his forehead. The boy seems to try to take it away from his head every time Gloria tries to put it back on his head. 

“Señor Peter-“ she stops herself when she sees Bobby's parents walk in right behind me seemingly not to talk to Charles at all. “Senor Thomas, como puedo-”

“-Garcia, thank you for coming on short notice. You can go home to your kids.” The husband, Thomas, says extending an umbrella and purse to the attentive nanny. 

“Gracias por toda tu ayuda.” Madeline says easily and shares a kind smile with the nanny.

Gloria glances at Pietro and then strokes a sweaty piece of hair away from Bobby’s forehead and stands up. She takes her purse and umbrella from the man looking uneasy before suddenly embracing Madeline fondly. “Dios los bendiga.” 

“Tù tambièn” and Gloria is scrambling away, stepping away from the speedster and walking out of the house. 

“Gloria might need a raise,” Madeline says suddenly and the husband chuckles, nodding in agreement. 

“Mom?” Bobby whines tugging the wet cloth away from him and brushing the warm blanket away from his body. “Mama?”

“Bobby dear, you need to stay under the sheets.”

“It's hot.” Bobby cries, the tears turning solid on his lashes before they can fall to his cheek. 

“You’re freezing.” Madeline touches his forehead and winces “Not as much as before though. So it must be working.”

Pietro looks at Charles “He seems to have a fever perhaps as a result of his mutation appearing suddenly and his body wasn't quite prepared to suddenly have such a drastic temperature change. To us, he seems to be unnaturally cold but to him, it isn’t cold enough.”

“If he doesn’t break his fever soon he could die of hyperthermia.” So all around bad news. 

“How do we break it?”

“You need to warm him up.”

“We’ve tried.” Madeline snaps at the professor and Pietro winces at the high pitchiness of her voice. “We’ve tried! Everything.” She repeats and Thomas has to hug her to calm her down.

“We’ve been trying for days to warm him up but nothing works, at least not as much as it should. He’s just too cold.”

“We bathed him in scalding water. We’ve put on the heater to the max, covered him with heated blankets, we’ve made him drink hot tea and nothing-” Madeline's words fumble and twist as she goes into a tangent sounding unhinged and exhausted and Pietro wonders how much sleep the poor women has gotten since the entire ordeal. 

Charles and Thomas communicate with her, trying to calm her down trying to think of a solution and Pietro already thought of one. 

Well, actually Hank already thought of one. Just last week. 

The scientist was curious, testing some aspects of his powers. “Your body balances out your body temperature when you run. That’s why when you run you don’t… you know…catch on fire. Although even if you did your body would heal it almost instantaneously.” 

“Yeah I figured.” 

“Yeah, but that shouldn’t be the case when you superspeed with other people. The moment they went at your speed they’d probably explode or something.” Pietro did not need that visual. 

“No one’s exploded yet.” 

“And no one ever will. Because your secondary power is being able to control gravity and inertia.”

“Cool, what’s that?”

“It’s what helps you catch bullets without your fingers getting blown to bits. It’s why getting hit by a fly doesn’t feel like a car wreck to you when it usually would be for most people going that speed. It’s how you’re able to just pick people up and super speed with them without them turning into jelly.” Hank fidgeted with the clipboard on his hand looking not anxious but almost excited. 

“You can momentarily extend your capacity to endure the speed force onto others.” 

Pietro looks over at Bobby, the shivering boy looking right back at him and he reaches over the boy and grabs him by the shoulders and smiles at him “everything will be okay.” He tells him  and the boy looks at him doubtfully. “I can help you endure.” Pietro says and he goes into superspeed. 

He keeps his grip on Bobby and he doesn’t move but everything around him slows down to a halt. Charles stops talking, the clock on the corner stops ticking, Bobby’s shivering is halted and the snow particles in the air stop moving. 

Pietro takes a breath and he wraps himself around Bobby like he would Wanda and he rubs Bobby’s arms up and down to create body heat. To Pietro it’s gentle and at a normal pace but he’s in superspeed. So in reality he is going inhumanely fast and his hands are a furnace. Steam rolls off the pair and the room becomes humid and wet as the snow begins to chop away and melt. 

Pietro only does this for a few minutes at superspeed. It couldn’t have been longer than three seconds in everyone else’s point of view. 

When Pietro stops the entire room is like a sauna and Bobby is looking at Pietro with awe. “You okay?” 

Bobby nods numbly looking far too stunned to speak. 

“Bobby?” Madeline’s voice broke through the fog and Bobby’s eyes slipped past Pietro and to his wide eyed mother. Everyone just stares at Bobby and Pietro for a few seconds in utter silence. 

Charles' face looks so stunned that Pietro almost starts laughing but restrains only because Bobby’s parents look so relieved and anguished over the whole ordeal. 

“Mom don’t cry.” Bobby pouts and that alone triggers Madeline to combust into tears and Pietro barely has enough time to move away before the frail woman is leeching onto her son and drowning him in kisses and affection. “Oh baby, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Madeline sobs, touching his forehead to make sure. Thomas caves as well and is abandoning the tough guy act almost instantaneously as he too wraps his arms around his son and wife. 

The whole scene is very sweet and heartwarming and Pietro turns to look at Charles, maybe to give him a knowing smile or maybe to comment on saving the day Pietro doesn’t know because all thought processes leave his brain when he looks at the telepath. 

Charles is looking at Pietro. Like really looking at him and Pietro doesn’t really understand how he knows but he knows that this particular stare is very different then the professor's usual stares. 

“From now on I’m taking you.” He says, claiming him as a permanent tag-a-long. Matter of factly and with zero hesitance. 

“Poor Hanks has been demoted?” Pietro jokes, not being able to be serious or else fear having an actual human reaction. 

“He can live.” Charles says easily. 

Madeline and Thomas Drake ended up not needing that much convincing in letting them take Bobby and enrolling him in school. They mentioned something about how he accidently turned his school's pool into an ice rink while some poor classmate was still swimming. His school reported him and that’s why the parents where do afraid that Friends of Humanities was around the corner ready to strike. Charles guaranteed his safety and the couple took that as best as they could. 

Bobby on the other hand was not a fan of leaving. Now that he wasn’t in the midst of hyperthermia he was a lot more vocal and Pietro clocked his stubbornness from a mile away. 

The kid only relented when his parents told him that Pietro would be able to help him with his powers. As if Pietro personally signed up to mentor Iceboy. Which he didn’t but I guess that’s part of the gig now.

Just because Bobby agreed to go to the school does not mean he was very happy about it. Not even a little. Bobby didn’t talk the entire two hour drive back to the mansion. Pietro saw him glaring at the back of Charles' head the entire trip. Pietro is sure his thoughts were rageful by the expression on the professor's face. 

“Can we stop at Wendy’s?” 

Charles makes a pained face. “What?”

“Can we stop to eat at a Wendy’s?”

“We’re almost home.” Charles lifts an eyebrow at the whining speedster whose leg has been bouncing nonstop for the last thirty minutes. 

Pietro didn’t even question when Charles called the mansion home. Adding Pietro to that statement seamlessly. Home. Usually Pietro would’ve corrected him, or even realized the difference when Charles said it. The mansion isn’t Pietro's home. At least he didn’t think it was. Not consciously. But maybe subconsciously? 

Maybe he got too comfortable too fast. 

“But I’m hungry now.” 

Charles without a moment of hesitation opened his satchel and pulled out a food canister from the bottom. “you had that there the whole time?” Pietro doesn’t know if Charles carried it around because he knew Pietro would complain about being hungry or because he knew Pietro had been too anxious to eat that  morning. Either way Pietro feels a bit too seen in that moment and takes the canister quickly.

“Drink up.”

Pietro begrudgingly drank the liquid inside the canister, the flavorless pinkish liquid running down his throat. Hank had given him several different versions once he disclosed to him that the canisters tasted utterly rancid and he’d end up throwing it up some days because the taste was so bad. Hank was annoyed he hadn’t said anything for so long and honestly Pietro was stunned to know that Hank cared at all since the whole ordeal wasn’t necessarily a make or break kind of thing. 

“Hank says it’s supposed to taste like a strawberry milkshake.” Charles says and Pietro was annoyed at Hank at first when he ended up telling the professor about his upset stomach after drinking the canisters because Charles seemed to hover around meal times, making sure Pietro actually drank the canisters and actually held it down instead of throwing up. 

“It doesn’t. It Tastes more like old kiwi juice.”

“Old as in original? Like classic or old as in-“

“-old as in expired. Aged, rotten. Nasty as hell. Not one of Hank's best.”

“The peanut butter wafer one was pretty good.”

“Yeah but not nearly as good as the black licorice one.” 

“That one was pretty good.” That was another thing. Charles tastes the food canisters too. Hank says it’s so he has a vast review of the taste. He thinks Pietro can’t be honest in whether certain food combinations taste good or not and so he recruited Charles to be his test dummy and the poor professor is the first to try the concoction of flavors. 

What Pietro doesn’t know is that the professor actually volunteered to taste them beforehand once he was told that Pietro didn’t like them. 

When they got to the Mansion Bobby reacted the same way everyone else did when they first saw the school. The yard was spotless now compared to when Pietro first got here with Wanda. The kids had spent a whole afternoon one day cleaning up the yard and creating a bonfire pit in the back yard near the lake. Pietro and Kurt had watched from the porch resisting the urge to help. To speed up the process. But Wanda said they wanted to do it by themselves as a surprise for Charles. 

Charles was smiling when he saw it, the soft wrinkles beside his eyes crinkling with fondness as Jean and Wanda both revealed all the hard work they put in to fix the abandoned yard. 

“Thank you, girls. You’ve done an incredible job.” Charles' voice shifted like he was trying to hold something back “it’s-'' he clears his throat “-looking outside hasn't been this lovely in quite some time.” 

“You’re welcome, Professor.”

“No problem wheels.” Wanda had stolen the nickname from Pietro once she realized it was safe to use it at all. It was never okay to call David anything but his  name, not if you didn’t want to set him off. 

Pietro had tested it out enough to know that Charles didn’t mind the nicknames as long as it’s all in good fun. It was quite a relief. 

Bobby stared at the cleaned and trimmed yard with something akin to excited awe just before he smoothed out his expression and went back to looking irritated and miserable, albeit a bit more forced this time. 

“mutatis mutandis?” Bobby stumbles over the words. 

“All necessary changes have been made.” Charles says. 

Bobby rolls his eyes. Bobby hadn’t been thrilled when he was introduced to the total of four students enrolled in the school. When he met Kurt he visibly flinched, making Pietro want to throttle the child because it clearly hurt his friends feelings. 

“Are you a demon?” 

Kurt’s face looked small and sullen and he shook his head in response “no, no demon.” 

“You look like one.” Bobby says flatly. 

“Looks can be deceiving.” Pietro interrupts quickly voice a bit clipped, not wanting to hear what else Bobby was gonna say to the blue teleporter. “And that’s not cool to say to someone.”

“Okay.” Bobby mumbles and doesn’t say anything else. When he meets Hank his eyes widen but he doesn’t say a word, keeping whatever intrusive thoughts he has to himself until he’s out of ear shot. 

“Is that the other blue guy's dad?” 

Hank wasn’t far enough. He definitely heard that by the way his spine goes straight and he suddenly starts walking away much faster than before. 

Well that’s gonna be an awkward conversation later. 

“Nope.”

“But they're both blue.” 

“Just because two people look alike doesn’t mean they are related.” Charles says easily. 

“I know that!” Bobby Drake snaps. 

“And just because two people don’t look alike doesn’t mean they aren’t related.” The speedster points out as well thinking of Wanda and him. 

Bobby glanced between Pietro and Charles quickly. 

“yeah I know.” He says much more calmly than when he responded to the professor. 

Bobby makes jabs and comments throughout the tour. Pietro shows him his room. 

“This one’s all yours.” He opens the door, no longer creaky and Ice boy peaks I curiously already preparing to hate it. 

“It’s-“ Bobby bites his tongue “it’s really big.”

“It’s meant for four students. There used to be two bunk beds on each wall but we don’t need those for now.” Pietro can still see the scratches on the floor from where Kurt and him attempted to move the deadly contraptions. 

“Probably won’t need them for a while, at this rate.” Bobby says. “The school will shut down by the end of semester and I’ll be back home with my traitorous parents.”

“The schools not gonna shut down,”

“You don’t have enough students enrolled,”

“ Yet . We will soon.” Pietro says confidently “and your parents aren’t traitorous. They just wanted you to be safe.”

“Seems like they just wanted to get rid of me.”

“Quite the opposite.” Pietro is glad Charles is gone when he says this next part “they held me at gun point because they didn’t want me to take you.”

“What?!” Bobby gasps, face going whiter than it already is and looking absolutely mortified. “My mom did that?”

“Your dad,” and that seems to shock him even more “my dad couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“He almost hurt something bigger than a fly. Just to protect you. They love you a lot and it did hurt them to let you go with us.”

“My dad.” Bobby was still stuck on that part “I can’t believe that.”

“It definitely happened. Not even four hours ago.” Pietro chuckles. 

Bobby settled into his room with the two duffel bags full of clothes that he had. He made Pietro swear to go back to his house when he could to get his comic books when he realized he had forgotten them.

Pietro just smiled and ran back to his house in less than three minutes. Found his comic book box stashed in his closet. Left a school card with the house phone number on it on the fridge magnet and ran back to the mansion. 

“Here ya go.” Pietro places the box on the dresser and Bobby’s eyes widen as he runs to the dresser practically beaming with joy. “No way. How’d you get them so fast?”

“I’m a Speedster, remember?”

“How fast can you go?”

“No clue.”

“So cool.” Bobby says in a giddy voice and then stiffens “I mean my comics!” He says louder “my comics are so cool.”

Pietro just looks down at the comic book he’s holding. The Flash. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“I didn’t say thank you.”

“I noticed.” 

Bobby didn’t get along with Wanda. As a result Frankie hated his guts and Jean was far too antisocial to approach the Cold boy. He hated the short segments of lessons he received via Charles and Miss Margo. Hank was always too busy in his lab to grow any form of impression on the colder boy. 

Bobby grew terrified of Miss Margo the moment she made direct eye contact with him when he tried to sneakily throw away dinner that she prepared. 

Pietro figured the boy would eventually grow into the mansion like the rest of kids. Once more kids start coming to the school things would be better. 

For all the kids. 

By the end of the week they had two more students. Twins. In an over run foster home. Pietro was in and out of there quickly, practically kidnapping the neglected children while Charles convinced the foster family to let them go to his school. It didn’t take much convincing. Pietro gives the girls some Ho Ho’s he had stashed in the car, looking incredibly malnourished. 

Pietro refused to go back in the house, afraid he’d do something drastic, like punch the foster parents in the face. 

The twins, Sarah and Sasha were Wanda’s age. They settled into the room next to Wanda and Jean and blended into the noise of the school seamlessly. 

Wanda later disclosed to Pietro that Sarah and Sasha were the same person split into two. 

“They share the same house. Same decorations.” 

Pietro thought Wanda was just being too critical until Jean told him the same thing. “I can’t tell them apart.” And as a telepath who reads minds, you not being able to tell one person apart from another seems like concern enough. 

Pietro brings it up to Charles during their game of chess. “Alisha Whitley was the original mutant child. She has the ability to clone herself into at least 40 separate copies of herself.”

“So Sarah and Sasha are just copies of Alisha?”

“No. Well, yes. But the thing is that Alisha Whitley grew up in the foster system. She went through unimaginable horrors and as a result her mind fractured and split into different personalities.” Charles moves his knight “we call it multiple personality disorder. Usually when someone has this disorder they take over the host's body and take control. But because Alisha has the ability to create an entire new body she simply gave her altars their own to have,”

“So Sasha and Sarah aren’t real people?”

“They are. They have different personalities, different minds, different memories and different thoughts they are just combined. Linked together. A hive mind of sorts.”

“They live in the same house, but have different rooms.” Pietro concludes. 

“What?”

“It’s the-“ Pietro realizes Charles wasn’t there for that conversation. “Nevermind. I get it. They are different.”

Sasha and Sarah don’t go anywhere without the other. Then one day Pietro spots one of them in the library, flipping through baby books touching the pictures with a big smile on her face. It wouldn’t have been weird if it hadn’t been just one. Only one. That hadn’t ever happened before. They never split up. 

“Hello, Whitley?” Pietro still can’t tell the two apart, he supposes that’s the point. They are clones so trying to find differences is pointless. So he’s resorted to calling them by their last name. 

Whitley looks up from her position on the floor. Criss cross applesauce and bundled between a bookshelf, surrounded by books.  

“Having fun?” 

He expects her to nod or smile like the Whitley twins tend to do when faced with a yes or no question. 

“Hi Peter!” She lifts a book above her head. “you read this?”

“Hi.” Pietro repeats with a surprised smile. “You’re talking.” 

“Yeah! I’m Suzy.” 

“You’re Suzy. Not Sarah or Sasha.” 

“Yep! I’m three!” She lifts her fingers showing Pietro three. Pietro sits on the ground next to her immediately. Criss cross applesauce. “Right, that’s cool.” Pietro says gently, trying not to show the spike of anxiety that just hit him. 

The twins are now triplets and one of them is a toddler.

Okay, okay. 

“Do you know where your sisters are?”

“They got tired.” 

“Are they in their room?”

“No. Can you read this?” Suzy hands him a book with a cartoon zebra on the front cover. 

“Then where are they, Suzy?”

Suzy pouts “they went inside. They’re tired and they can’t read to me when I’m outside. Can you read to me?” 

“Inside? What does that mean?” Pietro connects the dots immediately, his brain catching up and running, running, running to the answer like it always does. 

Sarah and Sasha are locked inside their house and they left Suzy outside. Recharging? For how long? Is it just one of them now? Just Suzy? One body? Or is there a second body somewhere lying unconscious, unreserved? 

“They can’t stay outside forever. They try to but they need to sleep. The others get really scared of the outside.”

“But you aren’t.” Pietro can tell she isn’t scared. She’s frustrated because she doesn’t know how to read. But she isn’t scared. 

“I like school.” 

Pietro read her the book. Then he read another. He read five picture books total. 

two weeks pass and Another student joins the ever growing school. Angela, whose very touch turns the surface into a forest. She smells like moss and she always has a flower in her hair, gloved hands covered in green tangled veins up her palm. Like roots sprouting from her fingertips. 

At the introduction of Angela Sarah-Sasha begin to shake and Pietro witnesses the horrifying way their body splits into a third. Morphing and shredding. It looked painful. Terrifying. 

As soon as the third Whitley becomes sentient and autonomous she approaches the new girl eagerly. “Omg I love your dress!” 

Of course giving someone a compliment is an appropriate reason to go outside. 

Angela’s face beams “thank you! My mama made it for me.” She twirls her skirt gently making the long flowery skirt sway cutely. “I’m Angela.” 

“I’m Samantha. Can she make me one? I love it so much. I can pay her.” Then Samantha back tracks “Charles can pay her. I have no money. But he’s super rich.”

Charles later on that week established an allowance system between the students. In exchange for doing chores of course because “they can’t just think I’ll spoil them. They need to work for their money.” But Charles definitely handed Frankie a twenty when he put up exactly one dish away. 

It’s been a two months now since Bobby Drake has been in the school and about half a dozen more kids have joined the halls. 

Bobby still wasn’t getting along with anyone but Pietro was hopeful. 

The phone rang and like clockwork Pietro answered it. “Sorry, he still doesn’t wanna talk to you guys.” Pietro tells Bobby Drake's parents, who call every morning at 7am just when they wake up and every night at 6pm just when they get back from work. Each time Pietro has to tell them that Bobby is refusing to take their calls. 

They call the next day anyway, like clockwork. 

“Is that how you greet your mother now Pietro?” 

Pietro stills, a cold rush hitting him as the voice registers in his head. 

“Ima?” He says above a whisper, sounding underwater. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t called Pie.” 

All at once his heart runs and his voice spills. 

“Why haven't you called? Did something happen? Are you okay? Where are you?” 

“Yes I’m fine, don’t worry.” Pietro could hear the stiffness in her voice. 

“There was a fire in a synagogue are you-“

“I heard. I wasn’t there. I’m okay, Peter.” 

“I know you’re with him and that you lied about it.” Pietro grips the phone tighter. 

“I’m sorry.” Is she? 

“Why are you with him?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s really not.” 

“Peter, that isn’t why I called.”

“Well fuck me then I guess.” Pietro snaps and his mother scolds him “Pietro Maximoff watch your mouth! I called you for a different reason.”

“Okay, sorry.” Pietro mends because even though he’s mad at her for ghosting him for weeks he doesn’t want her to be mad at him. “What is so important that you had to stop ignoring me, ima?” 

“Tomorrow is Yom Hashoah.” Holocaust remembrance day.

“Yeah I know.” Pietro says softly, feeling that ache in his stomach. He’s been keeping track. 

“I just wanted to hear your voice.” Magda Maximoff has no idea what day her family died. She had been split from them, many families where. She knows they are dead and tomorrow is usually the day she mourns them. The day she set aside to shed those tears and pray for those that were lost. Men women and children. She was the only survivor in her family. 

Pietro Maximoff and Wanda Maximoff are her only family left in this world. 

“I miss you.” Pietro said and that broke her heart. “Wanda misses you. Her birthday is in a couple weeks.” Pietro grasps at the cord attached to the phone. Technically it’s seven weeks. Nearly two months. But a reminder is still needed. “Do you think you-“

“-I’m sorry Peter. I can’t. He….”

“Are you gonna finish that sentence Ima?” Pietro couldn’t hide his annoyance. This would be the first birthday that Wanda would have without Magda. “She hasn’t seen you since the accident.” Months. Too many to keep track of. “She asks about you all the time.” 

“I love you. Tell Wanda I said I love her. Goodbye.”

She hangs up. 

Chapter Text

It’s been seven months since Pietro Maximoff first stepped foot on to the X-Mansion. Seven months since he saw his mom. Seven months since his sister got her powers. Seven months since Pietro first sat across Charles for a game of chess.  Seven months and not once has the poor speedster won. He’s come close a few times. But he’s never actually successfully defeated the telepath. Today is no different. The defeat seems to sting more since it’s very clear that the professor is not focusing at all in the game. 

“You’re killing me Wheels.” Pietro sighs, throwing his head back dramatically. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You’ve been spacing out this whole game.”

The professor blinks “I have not.” 

“Yes you have. Now what’s the matter?” Pietro crosses his arms defiantly refusing to even take his turn in this fraudulence of a game. 

“Bobby is having trouble settling in.” Charles says evenly looking a bit dazed all over again. 

“I’ve noticed.” Pietro zips to Charles' Snack cabinet and takes out a pack of Oreos, eating them all at once and settling back to the chair to look down at the chessboard. Focusing back on the game now, relieved that the professor was actually gonna talk. 

“He keeps getting into verbal arguments with Frankie and is very distant with the girls. He hasn’t unpacked any of his things or made any effort to do any of the class work.” Charles leans back on his wheelchair. Pietro looks sideways at the chess board trying to figure out what defense Charles was playing. He can never tell until it’s too late. 

“he even gave some lip to Miss Margo when he was asked to do chores.”

Pietro winces at that, moving his castle. Miss Margo's second language is whooping ass and even for a blind lady she has impeccable aim. Pietro has yet to fall victim to the back side of her shoe but Kurt has told him horror stories. 

“I thought maybe being able to speak to his parents would calm him but he refuses to answer their calls.” Pietro is very aware of Bobby’s current disdain for his parents.

“He’s still pissed they shipped him off to some preppy boarding school with a total of ten students none of which he enjoys the company of.” Pietro says and Charles moves his bishop and blocks any further advances. 

The professor nods “I was wondering if you could speak with him.” Pietro moves his king. Charles steals Pietro's other bishop right in front of him and the speedster gapes. 

“How the fuck?” Pietro mumbles under his breath moving his king in a panic. He clears his throat turning back into the conversation “why me exactly?”

“He listens to you.” Charles says matter-of-factly. He says it with such sureness that it makes Pietro look up at the professor. Lifting a suspicious brow. 

“What do you mean?” Pietro frowns at Charles, trying to figure out how he got to that conclusion. 

“He respects you.” Charles says, again with way too much confidence. It throws the speedster off completely. 

“Are you still talking about Bobby?” Pietro blinks “the one that can turn into a popsicle? Or did you recruit a different Bobby I don’t know about?”

Charles chuckles looking amused by Pietro confusion “he thinks you’re cool.” 

“What?” Pietro exclaimed In alarm. Then realizing he was acting way too surprised he doubles back “I mean…yeah! Of course he does, I’m literally the coolest person ever.” Pietro clears his throat puffing out his chest “it would be weird if he didn’t honestly. But uh…just out of curiosity-why uh, why do you think that he thinks I’m cool?” 

“Are we forgetting that I’m a telepath?” 

Right. So if Charles says that Bobby thinks Pietro's cool that must be true. Okay, yeah, he's cool. So cool. 

“Bobby thinks I’m cool.”

“Yes.”

“Are we sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you think he’ll listen to me? Because he thinks I’m cool.”

“Yes, you’re also the only person that can effectively cancel out his abilities so if it blows up in your face you’ll be fine.” 

“Aha! So that’s the real reason!” Pietro exclaims “you sneaky bastard!” 

Charles won the chess game and Pietro isn’t surprised. They reset the board for another game. Hopefully a much longer one. 

“SInce I’m doing this favor for you I’d like to ask you for one.”

Charles looks at Pietro surprised. The professor tries and fails to not look too eager to listen. “what would you like Peter?” He asks gently. 

“The Whitleys want two separate rooms instead of one to share. I told them I’d ask you about it.” 

Charles blinks “that’s the favor?”

“Yeah, it’s cause-“ suddenly Pietro feels very anxious like he has to explain why the twins wanted separate rooms. “-A few of the alters are boys. Sebastian and Shane. They want their own rooms.”

Pietro took them shopping earlier in the week and they came back with several pairs of leather pants and band tees. If their sense of style was inspired a bit too much by the speedster, well Pietro wasn’t going to say anything. 

“I see.” Charles says looking contemplative. “Of course, that seems perfectly reasonable. We have more than enough space.” 

“Cool.” Pietro smiles not really thinking the professor was going to have a problem with it but nonetheless very relieved. 

“How come they didn’t come to me?” Charles asks suddenly. “Did they think…” he pauses, gathering his thoughts “…that I would have a problem with it?”

“Not at all.” Pietro says flippantly, getting comfortable in his chair as he looks at all the pieces on the board. “I think they just find you intimidating.” 

“Intimidating.” Charles repeats, looking very confused. And yeah, with his long wavy hair and soft pastel sweaters he looks more like a big teddy bear then anything even remotely scary. So Pietro understands his shock. The man makes it a point to look as comforting and as approachable as possible. 

“If it helps I just don’t think they like men.” 

“As far as I’m aware you are a man, Peter.”

“Yeah but I’m awesome. And you’re the headmaster. No one ever wants to talk to the headmaster.” Charles lets that sink in moving his first chess piece in the process. “That makes sense. They've grown a bond with you so of course they’d trust you enough to tell you when something was wrong.” Very technical. 

“One day they won’t need me as a buffer. They’ll come to you willingly.” And he knows that’s true because Wanda and Jean already go straight to Charles with anything and everything. 

The professor nods. 

On that note Charles doesn’t hold back at all in the game and absolutely destroys Pietro. The speedster knew the older man was holding back but this is just ridiculously unfair. 

That afternoon Kurt is in his room drawing on a sketchbook Hank got him. Hank said it was one of his spare lab notebooks that he never ended up using but Pietro definitely saw him put it in the cart yesterday when they went grocery shopping. If Hank is trying to prove that he isn’t Kurt’s father then he’s doing a pretty shit job at it. 

Nonetheless Kurt has been absolutely obsessed with it. Drawing and coloring and writing silly notes and thoughts that he never lets Pietro see. Which he’s completely entitled to but Kurt always looks so happy while he’s doodling in it that Pietro's curiosity is killing him. Right now the teleporter is going absolutely feral with the band stickers Pietro gave him and is seemingly attacking the pages with them. He looks like-like a teenager having fun. Pietros happy. Even if he is a little jealous over not getting a notebook himself or being able to look inside to see what's so fun about it. 

“Wheels thinks I should talk to Bobby.” Pietro has been trying to read a Latin book for the last several minutes but it’s achingly boring in every aspect of the word. 

“How come?” Kurt sticks out his tongue in concentration. 

“He thinks I’m cool or something.” Pietro says flopping down to the bed and throwing the book over eyes in pure exasperated boredom. 

“You are cool.” Kurt says confidently. Pietro peaks over the book glancing over at the blue mutant feeling weirdly embarrassed over the sureness In which he said it. 

Kurt Wagner tends to do that. He says nice things like it’s no big deal. It feels like a big deal. 

“Dude you think Hank is cool. You have questionable taste.” Pietro jokes. 

“Hank is very cool!”

“He’s not.” Pietro sighs over dramatically sprawling over the bed like a cat. 

“He got me this book.” Kurt waves his book in the air like Pietro hasn’t been creepily aware of it since he’s had it. “He got me these shoes.” He jerks his feet from under the chair to show off his new kicks. “They are very cool.” 

And they are. Because Pietro helped Hank pick them out earlier in the week when they went shopping with the whitleys. “They are sick.”

Kurt frowns scooching them under the chair self consciously “what?”

“Sorry, sick means cool. They are cool.” 

“Oh.” Kurt smiles again easily “Either way I think it’s great that you’re gonna talk to Bobby.” going back to the original topic. 

Pietro huffs “I didn’t say I was. I said Charles wanted me to.”

“So you’re definitely doing it.”

“Charles is not the boss of me!” 

Kurt laughs. Like it’s funny. Like he was joking. Pietro was not joking. What the fuck. “He’s not!” 

“Okay, I believe you.” Kurt says like he’s placating a child “but I think you will talk to Bobby anyway. Just cause you’re really nice.” Like Pietro said, Kurt just gives away compliments like candy and Pietro eats it up. Becoming full with the adoration. So, yeah, okay whatever ,  Pietros is gonna talk to Bobby. 

“I think you might be a gaslighter Kurt.”

Kurt gasps “blasphemy, I’m nothing of the sort!” 

“Are you sure cause I’m feeling very manipulated right now?” Pietro makes a pretend hurt face. 

“If I swayed your decision it is simply coincidental.” Kurt smiles innocently like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. 

“You're lucky you’re cute.” Pietro sighs, and he goes back to reading his book. The speedster doesn’t see the way Kurt's face goes a shade of purple at the compliment. 

That night they had a big dinner. Miss Margo had quote on quote “slaved away in the kitchen for you starving children to eat good food.” 

The thing is that the only people that actually like Miss Margo’s food are Kurt and Frankie. Wanda says it’s because they got used to it while living with her but Pietro doesn’t understand how anyone’s body can ever get used to the fiery pits of hell slivering down your digestive system. 

Miss Margo can NOT cook. No one has the nerve to tell her. Bobby came close once and was practically tackled by fifteen Whitleys who materialized all at once to single-handedly spare Miss Margo’s feelings. 

Because although Miss Margo can’t make anything humanly digestible she still becomes exceptionally happy when she cooks and she’s more than overjoyed when it’s her turn to cook for the school.

“I used to cook for the circus.” Miss Margo would boast “they loved it so much that they said having it everyday felt like a waste and that I should only cook on special occasions because that way they’d be able to appreciate it more.”

The circus definitely lied. 

They were trying to save themselves. By lying. Straight to her face. Like lying liars. 

“Sorry Miss Margo, Hanks got me on a strict meal plan. Only meal canisters for me tonight. I’d be happy to set the table for you though.” Pietro lied because he is no better than the circus. 

“Of course dear.” She pinches his cheeks “you’re such a doll.”

The food looked…well for moral reasons Pietro will simply say that it looked unpleasant. Everyone made grim expressions but because miss Margo was blind she was none the wiser. 

“We really do appreciate you cooking for us Miss Margo. We…” Charles is playing with his food looking distressed but keeping his voice light and kind. He doesn’t finish that sentence. Pietro doesn’t think he can. 

Wanda has a stroke of genius “oh, no..” she says in the most fake voice Pietro has ever heard “I’m so sorry miss Margo.” She doesn’t sound sorry at all. 

“What is it dear? Is something the matter? Is it cold?” Miss Margo’s clear eyes focus on Wanda’s direction. 

“Unfortunately I can’t eat this because I don’t think it's kosher.” Pietro almost laughs. 

“Oh don’t you worry dear. I didn’t forget about your religious dietary restrictions.” Wanda physically paled when Miss Margo brought out a large dish from the fridge. “I made this just for you my dear. Kosher and following all Jewish dietary rules. I made sure of it.” 

Pietro does laugh this time. In superspeed of course because Miss Margo doesn’t realize the gold star entertainment she just invoked upon him. 

Wanda glares at Pietro “I’ll make sure to save some for Pietro so he doesn’t miss out.” A threat. This isn’t over. 

“You gotta eat it while it’s hot.” Frankie says practically destroying his plate, not even breathing just chewing and swallowing. Pietro doesn’t understand how the food doesn’t make him want to gag. 

“Don’t forget the sauce!” Kurt smiles happily dipping his meat into an unholy color of liquid sauce that makes Pietro want to throw up. 

“Who can forget.” Hank says weakly beside him and the Whitleys have become one person only, unanimously deciding that only one of the alters needs to suffer tonight. 

Pietro sees Angela sneak some of her plate to the cats under the table and Bobby straight up doesn’t serve himself anything. Some of the other kids managed to eat small, very small portions of the meat and get full on the rice which is the only thing that seems remotely cooked correctly. 

Much later, after everyone’s eaten their portions away miserably and are washed up and ready to sleep, Pietro is in Kurt’s room listening to music with the teleporter on his Walkman.  

He finally manages to ask Kurt. 

“How come you like Miss Margo’s food so much?” Pietro adds “you know it’s not very good.” 

They were close to each other, shoulders almost touching each other, hovering in the same space so they could share the headphones. He can feel the vibrations in the air from Kurt’s voice when he talks “well...” Kurt speaks with his entire body “…before Miss Margo took me in I lived in the circus and most days more often than not I didn’t get to eat at all. Before Miss Margo’s house I hadn’t ever had a proper home cooked meal before.” Kurt presses their shoulders together and Pietro holds his breath “I guess anything is better than nothing at all. And miss Margo always gives it her all.” 

“Yeah I guess that makes sense.” Pietro says softly, feeling light and floaty at the unexpected contact. “But you do know that it’s not like the best tasting food ever right?” 

“Of course not.” Kurt says equally as soft, his accent thick “I’ve had your food before.” 

Pietro melts into a puddle. He can’t handle this. How did he get lucky enough to have a best friend like Kurt? 

“Right, well, I won’t tell Miss Margo.” Pietro jokes because that’s all he really can do without exploding. 

He falls asleep in Kurt’s room that night listening to The Jackson 5. He hadn’t realized how tired he was or that he was falling asleep at all until he was abruptly woken up from his sleep with a scream. 

“What the fuck.” Pietro gasps awake, alarmed and confused as to where he was. It registered a few seconds later that he was in Kurt’s room and that the heavy blanket around him wasn’t a blanket at all. While the teleporter is a respectable distance away from Pietros sleeping form in the small bed, his tail had other ideas. Moving and shifting to be laying on top of Pietro, clinging to the speedster in their sleep. Pietros heart was hammering a mile a minute so he didn’t have time to process the situation because of that scream. That scream was his sisters. He knows her scream anywhere. 

He moved Kurt’s tail away, his only mission being to get to his sister. Once he knew Kurt wouldn’t wake up from his sudden movements he runs. 

He’s in front of his sister's door in microseconds. Her scream was still echoing in his ear from moments before. Haunting his mind at every possible reason. He opens the door abruptly. 

He sees Charles next to her bed in the dark and his mind reels, thinking the worst. 

“What are you doing?” Pietro didn’t hide his fear from his voice.

Charles doesn’t seem surprised or alarmed that Pietro is here “Peter, my boy, I’m sorry we woke you.” 

“We? What are you doing here?”

Maybe Charles didn’t detect the accusation in Pietro's voice or maybe he was just ignoring it because he was so focused on Wanda. “She was having a nightmare again, I just calmed her down.” Charles says softly, sounding exhausted. 

Pietro paused. Focusing on what he sees and not what his mind is making up. 

Charles isn’t hovering over Wanda, he’s sitting in his wheelchair beside her. The room isn’t completely dark, the lamp is on a low setting so as to not startle Jean awake as well. Charles isn’t doing anything nefarious or bad. 

The telepath had his hand placed gingerly on the smaller child forehead looking like he’s gone through a nightmare as well. Eyebags prominent on his face. 

“It’s not usually this bad.”

Pietro knows that Wanda has nightmares, he just didn’t know that Charles knew she had nightmares. Usually Pietros is there to comfort her through them, or at least that’s what he thought until he looks at Charles. 

His wheelchair has a pillow on the back, a blanket covering his legs and his seat reclined slightly as if he has a habit of sleeping in his wheelchair. A habit of getting comfortable in this position beside her bed. 

How many times has Charles done this? How many times has Pietro failed to notice that Wanda was having a nightmare? How many times has Charles gone to her room to calm her down, losing sleep for her benefit? Pietro watches as Charles hums under his breath, swiping the sweaty pieces of her hair out of her face while she sleeps.

Her face was smoothed away and pleasant and Pietro could see a soft smile on her lips “I gave her a happy memory.”

“Which one?” Pietro barely spoke, too afraid to wake her up from a good dream. 

“You running in the snow, holding on to her and showing her how snowflakes form slowly. It’s one of her favorite memories.” 

Pietro takes a breath, evening out his heart beat and remembering the memory clearly. It was a few days into winter, he had just stolen Wanda a new winter coat and David was out of town doing whatever the fuck David does and mom was inside making them hot chocolate with water. They had run out of milk, they had run out of a lot of things that winter but their pietro always made it seem like they had everything. Never letting Wanda know how much they struggled. 

“She dreams vividly about the day she got her powers. About you dying. Getting shot.”

“I’m faster than any bullet.” Pietro says smoothly. 

“But not in the dreams. You didn’t have your powers. You were slow.” Charles is looking at Wanda but he knows Charles is talking to him. Prodding and poking at a question he wants to ask. “You never told me that part.”

“Which part?” Pietro admittedly was very vague about that day. He had told the professor bits and pieces over time but he doesn’t have the full picture. At Least that's what Pietro assumed. 

“About losing your powers. You never said you couldn’t dodge the bullets.” Charles almost says what he wanted to say. He could’ve died. 

Pietro Maximoff would be dead right now if Wanda hadn’t killed those men. They both would’ve been. 

He hadn’t told Charles that. He let Charles assume what he wanted and hoped he wouldn’t ask too many questions about why’s and what’s. It was hopeful. Too hopeful. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter now does it?” 

“Of course it does, Peter.” Charles looks away from Wanda and up at Pietro looking uncomfortable and confused “why would you think it wouldn’t? It would’ve been different if you hadn’t been in any actual danger. But you had. You felt that fear, you thought you were going to die. You almost did. That’s not nothing. That’s-“ traumatic . 

“Well I’m fine. It wasn’t a big deal.”  Pietro says with an easy smile. Just a bit forced. 

“If it wasn’t a big deal you would’ve told me.”

“Why would I have told you if it wasn’t a big deal?” Pietro whispered loudly. 

“It was a big enough deal for Wanda to have nightmares over it every night.” Charles jabs and Pietro resks over that information. “Every night?” Pietro had thought they had gotten better. 

“She also has nightmares about the day your father was arrested.” Charles says stiffly “about what your mother did.” 

The Speedsters memory hits a wall.

Pietros face went blank and before it became a whole thing the speedster said “I don’t want to talk about that with you.” A clean cut. A boundary placed. Charles on one side and David on the other. Far far away from each other. Never to cross paths. That night included. No worlds colliding. 

“Okay. I respect that.” Charles Xavier said once before that he would try not to cross any of Pietro's boundaries. That he would try to not push him when he didn’t want to be pushed and Pietro drew a clear line. Clear as day. He doesn’t wanna talk about it. He said it. Done. “But I think you should talk about it with your sister. About everything. Because clearly, it’s affecting her as well. maybe more then you realize.” 

Pietro pulls his eyes away from the professor and to his sleeping sister. 

“I will. I just-“ Pietros nervous. “I don’t know how.” He doesn’t wanna bring it up after all this time. 

Charles stays silent and for a long time Pietro thinks he’s gonna let the question sit unanswered in the air. 

“You’ll know when it’s best.” He says eventually and they step out of the room. 

The next morning he sees Bobby stomp on the ground too harshly and make the marble floor slippery with ice. Jean falls on her face and shouts when she hits her head against the wall. Pietro is by her side in a second. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jean says and Pietro goes to look at Bobby and he’s already gone probably to Math with Charles. 

“Why’d he do that?” 

“He’s mad at me.”

“Why?” Pietro couldn’t imagine any good reason to be mad at Jean. 

Jean shrugs and picks up her stuff from the frozen ground. 

She goes to class and Pietro considers talking to Bobby soon. 

After lunch, Kurt Wagner discloses to Pietro his horrible experiences with going to the hospital in his early circus days. A handful of stories ending with him getting called slurs and exorcism attempts that sounded like products of a bad scary movie. The things Kurt told him made Pietro want to give him a big hug but he still isn’t sure if hugging is okay. Sometimes Kurt is okay with small touches but big ones make him nervous so instead Pietro just gingerly grabs his hand. Making sure Kurt sees him do it so he has time to stop him if he doesn’t want him to. 

He holds his hand and strikes a deal with his blue friend. 

“You haven’t gotten your check up with Hank yet?” He already knows the answer but he just needs confirmation. 

“No, I haven’t.” Kurt looks fine at their joined hands chewing on his lower lip anxiously. 

“If you do it, I’ll do it.” Which yeah, Pietro technically hadn’t gotten a physical from Hank yet and he was kinda avoiding it as well but for Kurt’s peace of mind he’ll take the loss. 

“You haven’t done your check up either?” Kurt’s ears twitch and Pietro doesn’t touch them because he has self restraint. 

He hadn’t purposely dodged the check up; it was mostly because Hank had been so busy and Pietro really didn’t wanna bother him. But cerebro is in full swing and all side projects Hank had in motion seemed to be at a good stopping point. Pietro knew that the full check up would most likely put things to light that Pietro kinda wanted to stay in the dark for a bit longer. Unfortunately Pietro Maximoff could no longer avoid the doctor's orders. Not if it helped Kurt go through this hurdle. 

“Do you not like doctors either?”

“Not really. But I like Hank.” Pietro shrugs. 

“I like Hank too.” Kurt says. 

“I know.” 

“You know?”

“You stare.” Kurt blushes a deep purple and Pietro smiles. Kurt went first and it wasn’t too bad.

The teleporter would pray under his breath, soft and peaceful hymns. He got skittish during the X-ray and Hank had to do it twice. He had an old broken bone that was set and healed correctly when he was Twelve. Something about a circus act going bad. Hank didn’t wanna push Kurt for details. Kurt has perfect vision and apparently can see in the dark which Pietro is super jealous of. Kurt held Pietros hand when Hank had to give him his flu shot and vaccinations. His finger nails dug into Pietro's flesh but he refused to pull away. When it was over Hank gave Kurt a blueberry lollipop. 

“See? It wasn’t too bad.” Pietro teases and Kurt licks his Lollipop, still holding his hand even though Hanks has been done for several minutes now. 

“You want me to stay?” Kurt looks at Pietro, eyebrows creasing together “I think I’m good, thanks Kurt.” 

“Okay, I’ll be just outside then. Good luck Pietro.” Kurt gives him a thumbs up. Or at least his version of a thumbs up and poofs away. 

Dr Hank McCoy did the same thing to the speedster that he did to Kurt. He checked Pietros reflexes, awesome as per usual, heart rate, fast as fuck obviously, eyes kinda blurry, he might need to get reading glasses which is lame, and Hank rechecked his weight again, he’s gained fifteen pounds since he first arrived. 

Which Hank said was good and seemed really proud about but Pietro felt nauseous at the idea. David would’ve hated it. He would’ve called him spoiled.  

Then it came down to the X-Rays. 

Pietro knew Hank was gonna have questions. Pietro knows he would’ve if he was in Hank's shoes. 

Hank's face had been completely neutral throughout the entire examination, just like a real doctor. Maybe because Hank is a real doctor? But a real Doctor wouldn’t let his face drop the way Hanks did when the screen was fully loaded.

Hank went still, glaring at the image Pietro couldn’t see. His scans are there, glaring right back at Hank mockingly. 

“Peter…” Hank doesn’t look at him, he hasn’t looked away from the x-ray results in at least five minutes. “When you run are you in any pain?” 

Hank always thinks of a solution. Of different factors. He tries to reason away questions he might have. 

“Not really, why?” Pietro isn’t dumb. He knows why he’s asking. Pietro has broken bones. Quite a few most likely. Torn bones that were never set in a cast and never healed properly or correctly. 

He can see that. Hank has eyes. He’s a fucking doctor. “Is the speed of your mutation not including your internal organs? Can your enhanced speed support your bones and ligaments or are they grinding and tearing every time you run?” Hanks eyes dart between image to image typing something on the computer looking just a little bit unhinged. 

Pietro stares up at Hank who looks at him with confusion “are you in pain when you run?” He repeats again. “You must be.” He looks him up and down. 

“No.” Pietro says evenly “I’m not in any pain when I run.” Pietro doesn’t really feel anything when he runs. 

“You have 35 broken bones and what seems to be 17 hairline fractures all over your body.” 

Pietro stays quiet. 

“They’ve healed improperly, none of them have been treated at all? When was the last time you went to the doctor?” Hank looks angry. Pietro isn’t sure if he’s angry at him or at the situation. Maybe both. 

Pietro shrugs. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gone to the doctor. Maybe to get a flu shot when he was a toddler? He doesn’t know. 

“You can’t just not go to the hospital when you get a broken bone Peter.” 

“I heal fast. Didn’t matter.”

“You healed wrong . In a couple years you could have joint problems, develop arthritis, puncture a lung, create blood clots, take a bad twist and become paralyzed. In a couple years you might not be able to run because your bones will be brittle and weak.” 

“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Pietro lets out a breath feeling tiny. He hadn’t thought about not being able to run again. He hadn’t really thought about it at all. He was very much willing to ignore it all if he could. Pretend it never happened.

“I don’t want an apology Peter, I just need an explanation.”

“I was five when I had my first broken bone and we didn’t have any health insurance.”

“Peter-that’s one bone out of 35. A kid doesn’t just accidently do that. No one’s that clumsy I mean-“ hanks face is still, his blue skin twitching and he looks just a bit conflicted “-were you doing it on purpose?” Hank takes a deep breath “if your body can’t handle you running and it’s breaking your bones and you still do it that’s catastrophic Peter. That’s more than just negligence, that's self harm.” 

Hank thought for just a split fraction of a second that Pietro was hurting himself. Every time he ran he was causing more and more pain. Hank thought he was breaking himself on purpose. 

But he’s not allowed to do that.

The look on his face was so distraught and filled with so much empathy that Pietro felt sick to his stomach.  The ringing in his ear became louder as his heart began to hit his rib cage. Pietro didn't want him to think he was hurting himself Everytime he ran. Pietros is afraid Hank might make him stop running. And that sounded like hell. 

“I’m not. I didn’t-Those aren’t because-“

he doesn't want to hurt himself.

“-Peter. The only other explanation besides self mutilation is abuse.” He says it in such a crisp cold voice that Pietro feels the fear stab through him all at once. His rib cage concaving on itself becoming a cocoon of despair. Things were going south. Like they always tend to do when people get too concerned over the pitiful teenager. 

“My step dad used to hit me sometimes.” He blurts it out. Like a balloon popping. Bursting out in quick motions. 

Fuck. He hadn’t actually wanted to say that. 

He hadn’t ever actually told anyone before. His mom knew but not because he had told her. He hadn’t ever had to say it out loud. Never had to speak it into existence. Maybe he thought it gave David too much power. Like, admitting his step-dad hurt him would somehow make it too real. But after all that Pietro just…says it. Blurts it out. Like an idiot. 

He lets the confession leave his mouth. He gives David that title. Abuser. It can’t be unsaid. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Pietro is kinda surprised with himself. He’s also kinda pissed. And he’s kinda terrified too because Hank isn’t looking at him. 

“Sometimes?” Hank repeats looking at the X-Ray intently. He can see the gears turning. “Peter. That’s-“

“-I’m a lot. David was never a patient man and I tended to piss him off. I’d get bad grades, get sent home cause I’d get into fights, I'd break things, id steal, talk back, I’d be too loud or too annoying. I’d set him off and it usually ended with a bruise or two.” And 35 broken bones apparently.

Pietro didn’t know what he expected Hank to do. What he wasn’t expecting him to do was for Hank to turn the screen around and face Pietro, fury in his eyes as he showed Pietro the jigsaw puzzle that was his skeleton. The doctor points at a broken bone, indistinguishable from any other in Pietros opinion. “That's a broken humerus. Broken on two separate spots. Partially healed and then snapped again. It’s near a broken artery which must’ve happened when your ulna and radius were snapped alongside the humerus bone. That level of pain is excruciating.” Hank's voice shakes and wobbles and he takes in a breath and lets it out quickly “this injury is over twelve years old. You were seven.”

Pietro looks away from the screen and Hank shouts “no! You look at me.”  

He looks up at Hank, feeling the pressure in his chest, feeling that balloon swell up again. He hates this. He hates this. 

Hank looks like he’s going to throw up  and Pietro feels the same way “you were seven.” He repeats, like Pietro might’ve missed it the first time.

“I know,” Pietro mumbles. “I was there.” He says dully.

Hank shakes his head and points at another broken bone “broken femurs. Ten years old. You were nine. Another femur. Eleven years old. You were eight. Another bone, you were twelve.” He points at another on the screen looking so upset that Pietro felt his throat close up as Hank raised his voice.  “another bone, another bone, another bone. You were ten, eleven, thirteen. Thirteen, ten, twelve, nine. Nine. Ten. Seven.”

“Okay.” Pietro chokes out wanting him to just stop already. He got it. He doesn’t need to keep doing this. 

“Okay? Okay what Peter?” Hank raked his fingers over his head making it stand up. “Would it be okay to hit your sister?”

Pietro flinches glaring at Hank suddenly “excuse me?”

“If she’s annoying, and talks too much and gets into fights, and is overall just too much. If she steals and lies and is miserable to be around. Is it okay if I smack her around? Break a few of her bones to teach her a lesson?”

“No. And if you did I’d kill you.” And Pietro actually meant that which is terrifying. 

“What about Jean? She’s a bit older, she should know better. Maybe a good hit to the head would do her some good?” 

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.” Pietro would stop him. He could stop Hank. He could-

“Then why do you think it's okay when it happens to you? It wasn’t okay when you were seven, it wasn’t okay when you were thirteen and it isn’t okay now.” Hank begs, he pleads with Pietro and the speedster is openly crying, trying to catch up to his words. 

“I-I don’t know. I’m just-“ Pietros eyes are drowning, feeling raw and broken and seven years old all over again “-I was- i was supposed to be strong .” 

He wasn’t expecting the sudden hug. 

Hank isn’t the touchy type so it didn’t even register in Pietros head as an option. But suddenly big blue fur was all around him and he was being pulled into the warmest, most coziest hug known to man. Hank should definitely be giving out more hugs, holy shit. “You are one of the strongest kids I know.” He says gruffly and Pietro melts. Sinking into his arms like marshmallows. Feeling that balloon swell up again. 

“I'm not a kid.” Pietro says in a small voice that definitely made him sound like the littlest kid in the world.

Hank hugs him tighter “yes, you are. Kids are supposed to get bad grades, and get into fights and break things and be loud and be however they fucking want and I’m so, so sorry that he ever made you feel like him laying his hands on you was justifiable response to that. He didn’t fucking deserve you.”

Pietro is crying. He can admit to that only because he’s pretty sure Hank is too. 

“You’re safe here.” Hank says “if he ever comes here…if he even dares-he won’t come anywhere near you. He’ll never be able to hurt you again.” 

“You gonna beat up my step-dad Hank?” Pietro teases sniffling away snot and without missing a beat Hank says “I’ll break his legs.” 

Pietro feels something swell “I doubt you’ll need to. But thanks Hank.” 

“Anytime Pie.”

Pietro laughs, pulling away from Hanks embrace “you hear that one from Wanda?”

“I think pie makes you sound sweet.”

“I’m not sweet though, I’m cool and aloof.” 

The blue beast fixes his glasses and turns his back to Pietro to click on his computer “sure. We’ll go with that.”

Pietro gasps “are you saying I’m not cool Hank because you’re one to talk.”

“I just dont think you’re as cool as you think you are. I mean you’re wearing silver leather pants right now.”

“DO NOT COME AFTER MY PANTS BRO!” 

Pietro knows Hank wants to ask more questions but like a good guy he helps ease the suffocating tension and makes Pietro laugh. The speedster would’ve probably told him everything if he had. He would’ve caved. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn't like that he would’ve spilled every little secret to Hank at the drop of a hat. Every pain and hurt he’s ever felt he would’ve given to him and Pietro would’ve felt heard and understood. 

He hates how much he trusts Hank.

It scares the fuck out of him. 

He thinks maybe that’s how it would’ve felt with his older sister. 

Pietro Maximoff had another sister.

An older sister named Anya. Born before he was even a thought. She died in a fire when she was only four years old. 

His mom didn’t like to talk about it and Pietro didn’t like to think about it but if he did think about it, which he totally never does, he thinks that Anya would’ve loved playing pranks on Wanda too. She would’ve been cool. Cooler than Pietro. She would’ve bailed him out of jail and covered for him when he snuck out of the house, she would’ve listened to music with him, added to his infinite playlist of niche bands, she would’ve yelled at him when he was being mean to mom, she would’ve been strong and kind and compassionate and…alive.

In some twisted fantasy of his they still lived in that first house, with his grandparents that never died and his mom who was still sober, his father that he’s never met and his cool older sister Anya. 

But the Fantasy is always just that: a fantasy. He knows it is because in this pretend world Wanda’s there too. Sitting at the dinner table coloring, permanently four in his mind. He sees her and he knows that the pretend world isn’t real. Because if Anya had lived, his mom wouldn’t have met David and Wanda wouldn’t have been born. 

In this version of events Wanda wouldn’t be his sister but…he couldn’t just erase her. Not even in his imaginary world that he’s conjured up. 

She’s always there. Always his sister. 

That’s when Pietro usually snaps out of it. Because if he had to choose between having a dead sister and having an alive one then he’ll always choose Wanda. 

No matter what.

But Pietro hopes that in some alternate reality somewhere where Anya is alive, that maybe she’d be kind of like Hank. 

Kind and Stern and crazy smart. Someone Pietro would go to for dating advice. Someone that would’ve threatened to beat up his bullies for him as well, who’d help him mend scrapes, who would take jokes at her expense like a champ, who’d teach him how to ride a bike. Pietro thinks his pretend older sister would’ve been like Hank McCoy. Or he guesses he mostly hoped she would’ve been. 

It’s the only excuse he has for growing this attached to the blue man. For thinking of him like family.

For feeling safe enough to utter David's name at all. 

“Are you also aware of the piece of metal in your shoulder?” 

Pietro's balloon pops.

“A what?” The speedster exclaims in horror. 

Chapter Text

Pietro Maximoff's maternal grandfather had lung cancer. During his long and troubled treatment, he was bedridden in the hospital for an extended amount of time. Unable to move and unable to live outside of the confinement of the sterilized hospital. His mother Magda Maximoff visited her father practically every single day. For months on end, she lived in that hospital. She breathed that hospital. Day in and day out for weeks and months. It was a slow slipping slide of emotions. The cancer was winning. He was dying. Slow and deadly. Sooner rather than later. In the end, it wasn’t lung cancer that did him in, it was the bomb that struck the hospital in the heart of Germany. A place where people come to heal and are slaughtered all at once. 

The sterile air turned to copper and smoke. Germany became a war zone. 

Magda has never been able to walk into a hospital ever since her father died in one. Her stomach turns, her heart pounds and her entire body shakes. she physically just can’t enter them without thinking of the screaming children on the pediatric floor. Or the smell of burning flesh or the taste of ash in her throat. She avoided going as much as possible during Pietro's childhood. Dodging and swerving any attempt at medical practices. She always passed along the trip to someone else whenever it was unavoidable. 

She only told her son the real reason why she didn’t like them after she refused to go to the hospital when she was giving birth to Wanda. Mid-contractions had a full-blown meltdown after Pietro suggested calling an ambulance. Pietro Maximoff also wasn’t born in a hospital. The speedster was born prematurely in a large tent of a commune she had been traveling with for most of her pregnancy. Jumping from city to city usually in caravans. When his mother gave birth to him there was no epidural, no needles, and no medical professional, only an Indigenous woman, Taloa Lopez, who held her hand throughout the entire process. 

Pietro came screaming into this world at a scary weight of 6 pounds and with a full head of brown hair. 

They didn’t take baby Pietro to hospital for several days. Nearly a week if his mother's stories are true. Eventually, his godmother, the faithful Miss Lopez, strolled into a clinic with baby Pietro and they gave him a social security number and a birth certificate. Magda Maximoff didn’t personally take Pietro to the doctor until he was nearly four years old and got chicken pox. She had to step out into the parking lot halfway through the appointment, her excuse being a smoke break.

Magda didn’t have a caravan of runaways or a strong-armed Miss Lopez to guide her through her labor with Wanda. All she had was a scared ten-year-old son who had a broken arm and far too much nerves to do anything else but hold his crying mother's hand and call an ambulance. 

Magda screamed. She cried. She begged Pietro not to call for help, to not send her to the hospital. She swore she cursed and she got mean and Pietro didn't know what to do. He didn’t know what he could do. 

He was scared she was gonna die. He’d seen it happen in movies. Moms dying after having a baby. He didn’t want his mom to die. Not only because he loved her but because she’d be leaving him with David. Or worse. He didn’t want his sister to die. He knew David would get worse if his baby died. He’d be evil, far more evil than he was then. 

He knew his mother would be mad when he called but he had to take the risk of her anger for her safety. Because he’s ten. Only ten. He didn’t know what else to do. The things that followed afterward are what made Pietro Maximoff hate hospitals as well. The day of Wanda’s birth was colored and stained ugly with memories he shouldn’t have had to witness. He didn’t like hospitals. 

Hank McCoy is the only person, the only doctor Pietro has ever trusted enough to poke a needle in him without struggle. 

When he got his vaccines as a child he had to be physically held down by three nurses because he kept biting and scratching the doctor who was trying to poke him. That's what his mother said. Pietro has to keep reminding himself that Hank specializes in mutant genetics. He knows what he’s doing. When he takes his blood he isn’t going to do anything weird with it. He trusts him. Nothing weird or bad will happen. 

So it’s incredibly worrisome when the blue doctor tells him he has fragments of metal inside him. 

“What the hell is it?” Pietro and Hank have been discussing the multiple chunks of metal inside Pietro's very thin body. A disturbing sentence he never thought he'd ever have to say in his entire life. And yes, you heard right. Multiple . 

“I can’t be certain. There’s only so much I can see through an X-ray.” 

Hank types on the computer. Showing a more detailed scan with muscle and tissue. “You see how the tissue has grown around it? The muscle on top is toned. It’s been there for a while. A couple of years at least considering your healing factor.” He points at another area near Pietro’s heart “that one too.” And then at one closer to his ribs “and this one too.” And then another in the center of his stomach. Scarily close to his lungs. Four pieces of metal. Even if Hank claims he can’t be sure, what they are is glaringly obvious. They are bullets. Pietro Maximoff has bullets inside him. He’s been fucking shot. He doesn’t know when or how but he has the bullets inside him to prove it. 

“When could that have happened?”

“I don’t know. It’s…weird.” Wow, amazing.

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” Pietro sasses and touches his shoulder, where a supposed piece of metal is inserted. A bullet from a gun he doesn’t recall. He can’t feel anything off but he also doesn’t know what he’s supposed to look for. It just feels like a shoulder. His shoulder. 

“It’s just…weird.”

“I got it the first time you said it, Hank.” Pietro exasperates. 

Hank pushes his glasses up his nose and Pietro watches as he clicks on something on the computer. Zooming and unzooming the screen but nothing is much clearer than before. “There’s isn’t any damage around the wound.”

“I heal fast.”

“Yeah, but there is no evidence at all that it had shredded any skin or muscle at all. It’s just…there. With no proof that it ever wasn’t.” 

“Someone can’t just be born with bullets inside them, Hank.” Pietro exasperates.

“I know that. And we don’t know if they’re bullets.” Hank sighs. 

“I’m also pretty sure I’d know if I was fucking shot four times .”

“Again, we don’t know if they are bullets.” They are. They definitely are. “Also You didn’t know that you had them at all.” Hank points out cleverly and that makes Pietro shut up relatively quickly. “They aren’t causing any harm right now, and there’s no evidence that they will in the future.”

“Your advice is to what? Do nothing.” Pietro raises a brow at McCoy, feeling like maybe he’s the only one taking this seriously. 

“My advice…is to stay vigilant. If something feels off or different, come to me and we’ll figure out a way to remove them with minimal damage.” Pietro would like to avoid any surgeries of any kind. 

“Okay.” Pietro frowns and gives Hank a look “Can we not mention this to anyone? I just um-I don’t want it to be a whole thing.” He was talking about the bullets and the other stuff too. It’s just not a conversation he wants to have. Especially not with Charles.

Hank turns to the speedster looking very serious “Your medical history is completely confidential. It’s up to you who knows about it.” 

“Yeah, for sure. But- you and Charles are like best friends, right? Don't you have like a special bond or whatever, ten years of solitude and all that?” Hank's nose twitches, something he doesn't know if he did intentionally. “Best friends don't have to tell each other everything.”

Hank faces Pietro fully “Your medical history will stay private. Unless I feel you are in any danger, what I have learned will stay between doctor and patient.” 

“Okay.” Pietros trusts Hank. not because he's his doctor but because he's his friend. He thinks. 

“Now let's check those eyes again.” 

The speedster groans. 

Video game arcades cemented themselves into society when Computer Space was released. Computer Space was the first commercially sold, coin-operated video game designed by Nolan Bushnell and Ted Dabney. Though the game was considered a huge failure at the time, the arcade game was revolutionary and formed the foundations of a new industry. Nolan Bushnell and Ted Dabney then became the founders of Atari, inc. and followed its success to the next year with the game Pong . 

Pietro Maximoff had just gotten kicked out of his professional track team. Left high and dry with nothing to show for it but an empty trophy case and crippling self-doubt. He had gravitated towards PacMan because he needed a goal. His competitive streak was momentarily subdued by the yellow circular man-eating little dots on the screen. It kept him busy and It gave Pietro a goal. The speedster's only goal at that time was to go to the Olympics. That unfortunately was taken from him because of his stupidity and so then he needed a new goal. He found it. His new goal was to win at Pac-Man. To be the best at it. Then suddenly his goal was to break Erik Lensherr out of the Pentagon and he did that successfully too. Then horrifically all at once his next goal was to get his sister somewhere safe. He took her to the school. At the time Pietro would swear up and down that the school was nowhere near safe, with a few health hazards and violations in the yard itself. Not safe. But making the school safe became a goal as well. He made it safe. Then suddenly his goal of making the school safe turned into making the school…a school. A goal right after the other. Back to back to back. 

Pietro always has a goal. Vague or laser sharp. His next one is a bit more difficult for him to succeed in. 

He needs to talk to Bobby. It’s not a big goal. Not a big thing. It shouldn’t be. But it is. He thinks it might have to do with the fact that Charles asked him to. He doesn't want the telepath to think he’s a wimp. It shouldn’t matter what Charles thinks. But fuck-it might be weighing on his mind just a bit. 

He hates this whole damn thing. 

Bobby isn’t a scary kid. He isn’t a bomb ready to be set off. Bobby isn’t a monster. Bobby Drake is just a kid whose life has changed drastically. Surrounded by kids whose lives have also gone through the same ordeal. Confused and maybe just a little bit angry. Maybe even bitter. 

Before this, his mother told Pietro via landline, Bobby was quite popular. He was surrounded by friends who liked him. Admired him. He made them laugh and he pulled pranks and he was an all-around sweet kid. Like actually a sweetheart. Twelve years old and playing Little League with his youth group, volunteering in soup kitchens, and running errands for their elderly neighbor for pen money. He was one of the popular kids. Bobby’s father spoke of his popularity in blanket statements. Vague and almost naive consideration but his mother was far more realistic. She said he wasn’t a bully but he was friends with them. “He was a prankster and made them laugh and he was fun but his friends always took it too far. Always wanting to target specific people, they confused pranking with harassment and they got mean…Bobby got mean too.” She went into detail about how the day he got his powers he had pushed some kid in the pool. A new kid from New Jersey, small for his age and soft-spoken. Defenseless and helpless. 

Bobby hadn’t known the new kid couldn’t swim. Or maybe he had. Pietro wasn’t completely sure but he did know that Bobby's friends watched as the kid slowly drowned, begging and crying and Bobby was the one who dove in to save him. Bobby must’ve been scared. Something in his brain must’ve clicked into place, or his body truly decided to kick-start his powers at that moment because while he was grabbing at the drowning boy, the water around them became cold. It was only pure luck that Bobby got the kid out of the water before it crystallized into hard ice. 

It was ruled as a freak accident. No one made the connection about it being Bobby’s fault. They sent him home with a cold. 

Madeline Drake told Pietro that Bobby had been closed off and weird even before that. 

Pietro has to talk to Bobby. 

“ He thinks you’re cool.” That’s what Charles said but every time Pietro is anywhere near the kid he avoids him. He doesn’t look at him. He barely talks to him. When he tries to include him in stuff he declines or straight up refuses. 

Pietro thinks Charles is confused. No way in hell does Bobby Drake think he’s cool. The kid can’t stand him. 

Although Bobby Drake seems to hate Jean Grey the most. When she’s in the room he leaves with a huff. When he can’t leave he glares at her. Daggers of rage aimed at the mute redhead. Jean retreats into herself. Making herself quiet and small. Invisible. Like when he first met her all those months ago. 

As a result, Wanda doesn’t talk to Bobby either. Some form of Sibling Law he didn’t get the rules to. And of course, because Wanda dislikes Bobby then so does Frankie because the damn fool is madly in love with her. 

The Whitleys don't particularly socialize with anyone but themselves so they don't contribute or erase from the situation. 

Bobby in all honesty gives off “I bite” vibes and everything and everyone seems to set him off. 

“Bobby made Angela cry today,” Wanda says angrily. This is not a big feat. Last week Pietro killed a roach in her room and she went into full hysterics. Angela is an easy crier. 

Nonetheless, he still had to ask “What did he do?” 

“Said he didn’t like her tree puns.” 

Her tree puns are actually hilarious. “Criminal.” Pietro gasps dramatically. “Her puns are so funny like you wood not believe.” 

Wanda gives him a blank expression. 

“Get it? Wood. Like the tre-“

“-I get it. It’s just not funny.” She says in a monotone voice. “It’s funnier when she says it.” 

“Not true.” Pietro huffs crossing his arms. 

“It’s her delivery. It’s just better.” Wanda says, suddenly a comedy critic. 

“Lies. You just don’t think I’m funny 'cause I’m your brother.”

“I think you’re funny.” Wanda rolled her eyes looking at him like he was the nearly ten-year-old and not the other way around. “It’s got nothing to do with being funny, it's gotta do with Bobby being mean.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

“When?” Everyone thinks it’s Pietro's job to talk to Bobby. The speedster can't seem to catch a break ever. Even when he’s just trying to read a damn textbook on music theory. 

“When I get the chance.” Pietro sighs, already getting a headache just thinking about it. 

“Perfect!” She starts tugging on him. “He’s in the library right now. You should go now before the free period is over.” She leads him up the stairs and Pietro struggles half-heartedly. 

“But I don’t-“ Wanda tugs on him more, pulling on his jacket, using his clothes against him, dragging him slightly. Fuck. 

“-you said when you got the chance-“

“-not now. I can’t just-“ she turns her red eyes at me looking angry. “-Why not?” She screams and the wooden floorboards crack underneath her, the vase near the door that’s probably older than Charles flings against the wall and shatters into a million little pieces. A piece of glass slices through Pietro's jaw leaving a thin and sudden cut on his face. 

Pietro and Wanda stare at each other in silence. 

Wanda looks at Pietro in horror “I’m sorry.” Her voice shook “I-I didn’t mean to do that.”

Pietro touches his face, coming back with blood. He’s just a little bit stunned. Usually, he'd dodge it. Usually, he’s able to see things before they hit him but he was so focused on Wanda he hadn’t seen the vase shatter at all. Hadn’t seen the piece of glass until it was already cutting him. 

“I’m sorry.” She repeats her eyes turning back to brown and her hair no longer defying gravity. “I-I’m so sorry Pie.” Her eyes begin to water and her voice becomes watery. 

“It’s okay.” He says a bit numbly feeling a bit lost. “It was an accident.”

Wanda pops. The waterworks overwhelm her all at once. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She’s making grabby hands at Pietro, small and fragile, and Pietros not completely sure why she’s so emotional about it. He’s been hurt before. He’s been hurt worse. Far worse. He goes to her, her hands wrapping reaching for his cut face and then retreating. Pietro grabs her hand and places it next to his cut cheek.  “It’s okay.”  He feels the tingling sensation of his ripped skin molding back together. “I’m fine.” Pietro knows his round is stitching back up, healing itself in seconds. He watches as Wanda watches him, faces filled with conflict. “All healed up,” Pietro says gently letting go of her hand. 

“You heal fast.” Wanda says “When you get hurt, no one even notices cause you heal so quickly.”

“Yeah, that’s a good thing.” Pietro smiles. 

Wanda frowns, blinking away her tears “No it’s not. When he hurt you, you couldn’t get help because there was never any proof. You would heal so quickly..,” 

He doesn’t like that she’s thinking about that. She shouldn’t be thinking about that sort of thing. “Am I gonna end up like him?” The question, do pointed and do raw wrapped around his heart and squeezed. No. This is all wrong. 

“No. No way.” Pietro squeezes Wanda’s arms trying to meet her eyes “You are nothing like your father.”

“We both hurt people.” Wanda’s lip wobbled. “I killed those men at the house. I hurt you with the glass.”

“No. Stop that.” Pietro shook his head, his mind racing for the right words “You hurt those people because you were scared, it was an accident.”

“No, I hurt them 'cause they hurt you.” 

Fuck. okay. Let’s reroute this. 

“You did it to protect me. Sometimes we gotta hurt other people to protect the ones we love.”

Wanda frowns “Aren’t you supposed to say that violence isn’t the solution?” 

“Why would I say that? That sounds dumb.”

“That’s what Charles would’ve said.”

“So like I said. Super dumb.” Pietro jabs already hearing Charles's voice in his head scolding him for promoting violence. 

Wanda doesn’t laugh at his stupid joke. She doesn’t even blink. “Have you been doing the exercises Charles suggested?”

Wanda nods, finally meeting his eyes “It’s just hard.”

“Yeah, I didn't think it would be easy. Jean has the same exercises. Maybe you can do them together?”

Wanda shakes her head and looks pensive, way too contemplative for an almost ten-year-old, Pietro puts a finger between her eyebrows, poking her gently “Why so stressed bug?” 

She frowns, fiddling with her fingers anxiously, a habit she got from Jean “She-she gets stuck sometimes. I’m scared that if I go in with her we’ll both get stuck and there'll be no one to pull her out.” 

Pietro soaks that information in, twisting the words up in his head and forcing the frown away from his face “I’ll talk to the professor about it, maybe he can be on standby from now on when you two do your exercises.”

“I love you.” She says suddenly and Pietro smiles at the sudden burst of affection “I love you too.” 

Pietro lets out a breath, slouching slightly “I can’t corner Bobby." he starts "He needs to be the one to come to me. Otherwise, he won’t listen.”

“But how will he know that he can come to you?” Wanda says and Pietro thinks she may have a point. 

Later that day he goes outside and finds Kurt Doodling under a big oak tree in the yard, one he vaguely remembers Charles saying is his favorite. Kurt’s Eyebrows creased together in concentration, tracing the paper. 

“Hey, blue.”

“Hi.” Kurt looks up at him, his tail tapping the empty spot beside him. Pietro sits down, and the limb falls easily on his lap and Pietro leans back on the trunk trying to peak over at Kurt's mysterious notebook. The teleporter moves it so it's facing away from him. Pietro sighs and asks “Whatcha drawing?” He knows he won’t tell him just like all the other times but he asks anyway. 

“Nothing.” 

“Looks like something.”

“I’m just practicing.”

“Practicing what?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. 

“Can I see the nothing?” Pietro leans closer into his space. 

‘No, you cannot.” Kurt leans back, his nose scrunching up adorably. 

“How come?” Pietro slips a mischievous grin into his face “Is it naughty?”

“No!” Kurt snaps and Pietro flinches, barely. It shouldn’t be considered a flinch. Kurt doesn't yell. It just surprised Pietro. But Kurt softens slightly and takes in a breath. “You can’t see it. Not right now.”

Pietro nods relieved that Kurt didn’t bring up his little slip-up. “But I can at some point?”

Kurt nods eagerly “When I'm done.”

“Okay.” Pietro settles back into the tree trunk, holding on to Kurt's blue tail instinctively. A habit he’s embarrassingly gotten accustomed to while near the blue teleporter. Kurt doesn’t seem to mind, allowing the contact even when it’s inconvenient. Pietro still doesn’t know how much touching is too much touching but Kurt’s tail seems to be a safe choice every time. Which is convenient because it just so happens to be Pietro's favorite thing. Pietro nearly falls asleep there, beside Kurt, humming under his breath, fiddling with his tail. 

“How was your check-up?” Pietro feels a phantom pain in his shoulder, one he knows isn’t real and all in his head. “It was good. Gonna need glasses.”

Kurt gasps a smile bursting out, enveloping his entire face “No way!”

“Yes, way. I’m gonna look so lame.”

“Glasses are cool.”

“No, they aren’t.” Pietro bumps his shoulder against Kurt’s. 

“Hank has glasses.”

“Thanks for proving my point.” Pietro snorts and Kurt smacks his shoulder “Hank is very cool.”

“Hank probably paid you to say that.”

“He has not.” Kurt says “Hank doesn’t hang out with me.”

The speedster, usually, would’ve kept joking about it but the other teen had sounded so… disappointed.

“What’s that?” Pietro keeps the teasing in his voice. “You want some blue-on-blue bonding?”

Kurt ducks his head away from the joking speedster looking put off completely by the teasing “It’s not important.” His accent is thick. It's important.

Pietro drops the smile, catching the tension in Kurt's shoulders and the sudden heaviness of his tail. “If it matters to you…then it is important.”

Kurt’s ears twitch and his face goes through a quick succession of emotions all that Pietro sees in slow motion. He doesn’t realize he’s in superspeed until he’s right in front of Kurt hands on his shoulders and the blue boy is blinking up at him In surprise.

“You’re upset.” No shit Pietro. That’s a no-brainer. But why is he upset? “Is it something I said?” Pietro sucks at this. 

“No.” Kurt shakes his head quickly. 

“But you are upset.” Pietro says pointedly “You didn’t deny that. So what’s wrong?” 

“Is it about your notebook?”

“No the notebook is good.”

“Is it the tree?”

“The tree is fine.” Kurt leans back on the trunk. 

“My face?”

“No, your face is perfect.”

“Cute.” Pietro smirks “Is it about the checkup?” 

“No, nothing about the check-up. It’s nothing. I’m completely fine,”

“You’re completely not fine.” Pietro frowns “You can tell me when something is bugging you. We’re friends. Best friends.” Pietro assumes most best friends share those types of things. He’s never had one before so this is all new territory.

Pietro might be a little insecure about the fact that he’s a bit inexperienced when it comes to friendships. He doesn’t know when he’s overstepping or being too much. 

“If I’m the thing that’s bugging you, then that’s fine too. I know I interrupted your alone time. I can just go inside and bother Wanda instead.” Pietro rushes out “It’s okay if you want me to go.” 

Boundaries. Pietro is bad at that too. He’s trying to be better at it. 

“You are not bugging me.” Kurt struggles with the terminology looking like he ate something bad “I enjoy your company. It just seems-it appears that Hank does not enjoy mine.”

“What makes you think that?” Is Pietro missing something?

“Whenever I’m around he seems uncomfortable. I don’t think he likes me very much.” 

Pietro shakes his head “I can talk to him if-“

“-no please don’t do that.” Kurt cuts Pietro off face flushing with embarrassment “I don’t want him to think—i —I do not wish to make this a thing.”

“Okay…” Pietro would be a hypocrite if he didn’t understand that. Didn’t he tell Hank the same thing about Charles?

“You promise you won’t say anything?”

“I swear I won’t.” And he doesn’t he was stuck in his own thoughts when he looked towards the pond. Frozen solid from Bobby’s latest tantrum. From the distance Peter couldn’t catch what they where saying but suddenly Jean was approaching him. Bobby physically became more rigid and irritated and he pulled his fist back mid swing and- 

-Pietro catches it in his glaring down at the boy. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Pietro snaps feeling red hot anger engulf him. Bad. Bad. Bad. He needs to calm down but his mind can’t seem to slow down enough to think about anything besides the fact that Bobby was gonna hit Jean. 

Bobby flinches, looking up at the speedster in alarm. “What?” He snaps back. 

“Why are you trying to hit Jean?” Pietros voice is odd. 

Bobby goes rock still “I’m not.” 

“Kid, I just saw you.” 

Bobby’s face goes flush and angry “I’m not a kid!” 

“He wasn’t gonna hit me.” Jean says behind him but Pietro doesn’t hear her over the rush in his head. “Well, big kids don’t hit little girls.” 

“I wasn’t going to hit her!” Bobby yells “She was being a bitch and-“

“-hey!” Pietro interrupts him, his voice sounding a bit too harsh even to his own ears “You don’t call her that. Ever .” 

“But-“

“-no buts. You’re angry. I get that. Try to explain it to me without calling people names. You’re smart, I’m sure you can do that.” Pietro finally realizes why he sounds off. He sounds like his mother scolding young Pietro for saying bad words in the presence of the rabbi. He’s only done it twice and the rabbi thought it was hilarious. The way his face went blank and voice clipped sounds like how his mother sounds when she’s pissed off. He hadn’t realized he picked that up. 

Jean touches his arm. He turns to her and sees the disappointed look in her face and recoils mentally. Oh yeah, okay. Maybe he should calm his ass down too. 

“I’m gonna head inside.” She says and doesn’t say anything else leaving the two boys outside to their own devices. 

Bobby doesn’t meet Pietro's eyes looking at his shoes and fidgeting slightly. Bobby let out an exhale. Calming himself. Like Charles showed him how to do when his anger got the best of him. “She read my mind.”

Oh. 

“Without even asking. What am I supposed to do with that? I have to share a room with a-“ Pietro can physically see him stop himself from saying something mean “-a guy in a wheelchair who’s obsessed with some girl .”

“My sister.” Pietro adds in quickly before the kid starts swinging out insults about Wanda as well. Pietro takes a breath too. Fuck. He needs to not sound like that. No wonder the kid never approached him. Is that how he sounds when he’s pissed? 

“Y-yeah-your sister. And I have to go to classes where I can’t even slack off, I’m surrounded by cats, which I’m allergic to by the way, I can’t go to the pool or the lake without turning it into on ice rink and I’m living with three telepaths who can read my every thought without asking.”

“Charles won’t read your mind unless you give him explicit permission but Wanda and Jean are new. They barely have a grasp on their abilities.”

“That’s a shit excuse.” 

“Quit the cursing.”

“You curse all the time.” Yeah, Pietro should get a handle on that. 

“Okay yeah true. But I’m an adult.”

“Whatever. Just leave me alone.” Bobby moves away and Pietro stops him before he can get too far “I'm sorry.” Pietro says quickly hands up in surrender. “I said I’d wait for you to come to me and when You do I get all judgy. That’s my bad.” Pietro gets defensive when it comes to Wanda and when it comes to Jean. Those are his girls. “Just talk, I’ll listen. No sass.”

“I don’t wanna anymore.”

“I won’t say a word. I swear.” 

“Not even to Charles?” 

“Not even to the old man. I’m a perfect secret keeper.” Pietro taps his skull “impenetrable.” 

“I-“ Bobby lets out a breath of air, foggy and cold “I haven’t been sleeping well. I keep thinking about…” he hesitates “when I got my-abilities-I um I hurt someone. He almost died because of me and I never got to say I’m sorry.” A conflicted expression crosses the younger boy. “I keep thinking about how when he got pushed in I just stood there. How I heard him screaming and I heard my friends laughing and I just stood there. Frozen in place. I remember seeing him struggle and my body wanting to move to help him-I’m a swimmer and, I could get him out easily- but my friends kept laughing and holding on to me telling me needed the practice. Like it was a game. Like he wasn’t dying. They were going to let him drown and I was gonna let them let him drown and I can’t sleep at night because all I hear is him begging for me. Him saying my name specifically. Pleading for me to be a good person and actually help him and in my dream just like In reality I hesitate. Because being a good person doesn’t come naturally to me. Every night I think about how worsthe worst human being alive and it’s all I think about all day every day and Jean knows that. She knows the absolute worst thing I’ve ever done and she- she hasn’t said a damn thing about it. She’s never brought it up because she’s a good person. Like actually. And I’m not a good person and I hate that she is. I hate that. I hate her. I hate her so fucking much.”

Okay, so that’s a lot to unpack. He was hoping for a crush-type scenario and not an existential crisis. 

“Good people do bad things all the time.” Pietro says slowly “Just because you did one bad thing doesn’t make you a horrible person. Just because you hesitated doesn’t mean you’re evil, it just means you were scared. Everybody gets scared.” Everybody. 

“It wasn’t just one bad thing. It was a bunch of stuff.” Bobby shakes his head looking distraught. 

“Okay? I do bad things all the time. It doesn’t make me a bad person.” Bobby rolls his eyes and Pietro continues boldly “I robbed a bank once. Just to see if I could.”

Bobby’s eyes widened dramatically “You what?!”

“Yep. I returned all the money, of course, I didn’t need it, I could just steal whatever I wanted.” Pietro continues forward willing to reveal every bad thing he’s ever done in his life if it means Bobby would feel less shitty. “When I was in a foster home I stole food from my foster parents pantry-“ this was before he gained his abilities, less stealthy and far more liable to get caught “-I ate all the food, even the rations that belonged to the other kids.” He doesn’t mention the part about his metabolism already being incredibly enhanced. Or about the fact that he hadn’t eaten in days because he didn’t do dishes. “I once punched my middle school bully so hard in the face that he had to get reconstructive surgery for his nose.”

Bobby’s eyes go comically wide “What did he do?” 

“Dressed up as a nazi for Halloween.”

“You’re Jewish?” Pietro would've knocked him upside the head even if he wasn’t. 

“Yeah.” Pietro says easily “So is Wanda.” 

“And Charles?” 

Pietro laughs “No, I don’t believe he is. Man likes his bacon a bit too much.”

Bobby nods, looking pensive. “Did he get in trouble? The kid that dressed up as a nazi?”

Pietro's face forms a frown, thinking back on that time with disdain “I got expelled and he got to go home early.”

“You got expelled for beating up a nazi?” Bobby sounded scandalized and Pietro is a bit proud of the fact that he isn’t the only one that sees the injustice of that statement. 

“I got expelled for not apologizing and for being in the hallway without a teacher's slip.”

“That's dumb.” Bobby scoffs. 

“It was dumb.” Pietro agrees, crossing his arms. 

Bobby’s eyebrows knit together “Well…I’m him.” Blue eyes meet brown  “In this scenario. I’m the bully that didn’t get reprimanded. I didn’t get to apologize.”

Pietro takes a breath “Did you want to?”

“What?”

“Did you want to apologize? To the boy, you almost drowned.”

“Y-yeah but-“

“-Okay. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What?” Bobby looked off balance “wait- what do you mean? You can’t just take me to go see him. He probably doesn’t wanna see me or…” he doesn’t finish that sentence.

“We’ll never know until we try. We can go right now. ”

“Right now? Shouldn’t you ask Charles for permission?” 

“Nah he won’t even notice we’re gone.” Then Pietro remembers the last time he left the x-mansion unannounced “ actually , yeah, I’ll ask him real quick. Stay here.” Pietro zips away from Bobby before he could protest and down a flight of stairs and into a long hallway in moments and knocks on the door before abruptly opening it anyway before Charles could answer. 

“Professor-“ Pietro watches as Charles fidgets behind his desk darting his eyes away from something under his desk and back to Pietro “Peter? What did we talk about knocking?”

“I did knock.”

“In your speed or mine?”

Pietro grins cheekily “might’ve been mine. Whatcha hiding?”

“Nothing.” Charles says quickly sitting up straight in his wheelchair “you’re a bad liar.” Pietro teases walking towards the professor. 

“It’s-its just…” Charles shoves whatever it is deeper into his desk and nods “it’s your sister's birthday present.”

Pietro stops short from his approach. Wanda’s present. For her birthday. Which isn’t for a while. He got her a present. The professor, a man whose only known Wanda for less then a year— is getting her a present. Something about it makes Pietro's insides vibrate with something unfamiliar. Something mushy and far too vulnerable for a random Wednesday afternoon. 

“What is it?” The speedster asks in a far more softer voice than before feeling small and shy, like it was his birthday. 

Wanda Maximoff doesn’t usually get presents from anyone but Pietro. David managed to miss nearly every single birthday she’s ever had therefore never bestowed her with gifts and while our mother was always present the most she could afford was to make her special birthday breakfast. It was usually up to Pietro to shower her with gifts. Stolen or purchased. It didn’t matter to Wanda. It never did. Her smile was always so big. This year would be the first time she’d be receiving gifts from anyone who wasn’t her brother. It was weird and it made the whole thing twist and curl in Pietro's mind. Overthinking and overly touchy. Too intense in a way Pietro didn’t want to be. 

“It’s a surprise.” Charles says. 

“Wanda loves surprises. I won’t tell her what you got her.” 

“I’m not gonna show you Peter do not even try it. And you better not search my desk at super speed either or I’ll cut your allowance this week.” Pietro feels surreal in this moment. How is that a plausible punishment for Pietro now? In the past being punished implied being starved . Being beaten . In this weird upside-down version of his life that threat doesn’t even cross Charles's mind. The worst thing Charles can think of doing to Pietro is not giving him money for the week . 

Pietro pouts “come oooooooon! I won’t tell just show me. My curiosity is literally killing me.” He doesn’t search his desk even though he could. He could find out before he could blink. He wouldn’t even know that he’d done it. But he doesn’t. Pietro stands exactly where he’s been in front of Charles desk. Respecting his wishes. Feeling the need to follow his orders because-well Pietro doesn’t really know why but he knows that he didn’t move from his spot. 

“It won't kill you to wait a couple more days.” Charles smiles with only his eyes something Pietro wasn’t aware someone could do until he met Charles. “How can I help you Peter?”

“Huh?”

“You came here for a reason, no? Did you want to play another game of chess, I just put the board away but I can take it out again if you’d like to continue losing.”

“Haha, very funny.” Pietro is acutely aware that Charles doesn’t seem to mind Pietro bugging him. He was just with him. They had played a game of chess during Charles' break. Pietro was very much mentally aware that the professor wasted his lunch break to play board games with an anxious speedster. 

“I was going to go on a field trip with Bobby. He’s tryna make amends with someone.”

Charles touches his chin “A field trip?” He looks at Pietro straight on “Is this about the talk I asked you to have with him?”

“Yep. Figured you should know before I head out.” 

Charles nods “Will you be back before supper?”

“Probably.” Pietro thinks about the fact that it's Miss Magos night to cook “Maybe. I don't know. We’re playing it by ear. I'll call if we stay late.”

He shuffled with his pocket and took out a wad of cash from his wallet, handing it to Pietro with a knowing look “for Wendy’s.” Pietro hides a smile and takes the money from the professor's hand even though he has his own money. The professor looks him up and down “And please put on a jacket, it’s freezing out.” 

“Okay, old man.” Pietro rolls his eyes. 

Charles soldiers on “-Bobby should put on a jacket too, it’s gonna be a cold afternoon.”

“He’s impervious to the cold.” Pietro adds quickly and Charles just smiles “that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t button up.” 

“Alright, I’ll tell em’.” Pietro is very eager to leave. 

“Also before you go Hank told me you had your check-up with him a couple days ago.” Traitor. 

“Ahuh.” Pietros alarm bell rang behind his ears and he briefly considered jumping off a high window or something. Hank said he wouldn’t say anything to Charles. Was that a lie? Why would he do that? Why would he say he wouldn’t and then go ahead and do it? Is Pietro really this gullible? Does Hank think-

“He said you need glasses.” Pietro's alarm lowers in volume. Fading into a quiet buzz. “Yeah, I do.” He says on autopilot. 

Wheels takes out a small box from his satchel and hands it to Pietro gingerly. Pietro looks at Charles and then at the box, the noise in his head turning into a hum. 

“What is it?”

“Open it, Peter.” 

He does. They are silver goggles. Exactly like the pair he has in his pocket. 

“They have your prescription.” Oh. 

Pietro isn’t going to make this a bigger deal than it is. Okay, yeah, he was a bit embarrassed about needing glasses. A dumb thing to be worried about compared to the hundreds of other things he could be stressing about. His mom not calling in over three weeks. His sister having nightmares that shake the earth. His bastard stepfather getting out of prison. The mysterious bullets inside his body. His crippling need to swipe something every time he goes to the store. His unhealthy obsession with Kurt’s tail. 

Needing glasses shouldn’t even be a blip in his radar. 

Despite Kurt’s assurance that Pietro would not look like a complete nerd wearing glasses, he was still weirdly insecure about it. He doesn’t want glasses. He doesn’t like them. But goggles? He wears goggles all the time. He wears them when he runs. He has to. It won’t feel any different than his old ones. He’ll still look like his old self except now he’ll be able to see the world just a bit better. 

Charles took all of that into account. Prescription goggles. It's a perfect solution. One that Charles thought of so that Pietro would feel most comfortable. It was such a seamless and thoughtful gift that Pietro couldn’t process it. Staring at the matching silver goggles in his hand, feeling his throat itch for words he couldn’t say for fear of saying something embarrassing. 

“Hank says you should start using them right away. Especially if you’re going to run long distances in superspeed.”

Pietro nods, staying silent.

“It’s very important that you can see while running, especially at that speed.” it hadn't really been a problem. At least not one Pietro could pinpoint. He could see. He could see well enough. Just not…perfectly. Which he supposes would have become a problem eventually. 

“Peter?” Charles rolls his wheelchair closer to Pietro probably trying to figure out why the speedster is glitching out. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m-“ Stop being fucking weird. “-thank you.” 

Charles gives Pietro an interesting look “No need to thank me, Peter, you needed glasses so I got you glasses. Being able to see is essential.”

“Don’t let Miss Margo hear you say that.” Pietro jokes his face still hot. 

“That woman is supernatural, she doesn’t count. Her not having sight is just evening out the playing field.” It was such an outlandishly funny statement that all the tension in Pietro's shoulders evaporated and he combusted into laughter. Holy shit. 

Pietro puts on the goggles. The world around him came into focus. Slowing down, and becoming whole again. He breathes and he’s beside Bobby Drake once again, handing him a jacket which he scowled at but put on anyway. 

“You ready?” Pietro grabs the back of Bobby’s neck and he runs. 

Chapter Text

Dr Henry Phillip McCoy graduated at age 15 from Harvard University at the top of his class and by 18 he had six PhDs in chemistry, Genetics, Biophysics, Electrical Engineering, Computer Science, and Pathology and was widely renowned as a biochemist. So renowned in fact that despite his young age he was personally asked to work for the C.I.A. as a weapons designer, an honor not many can claim. He would be the first person to develop the SR-71 concept and the first person to pilot it. 

Charles Xavier was the first openly mutant person he’d met in his 23 years of life. His father Norton McCoy worked at a nuclear Power plant which exposed him to high levels of radiation that affected his genes. As a result, Norton's son, Henry "Hank" McCoy, was born a mutant baby. Norton McCoy shared the same mutation as his son, hiding away his deformed feet his entire life and implicating that fear into young Hank as well. 

“You will be known as a genius. Not as a freak .” 

He knew that his father, a mild-mannered white-collared man, only wanted what was best for him. His words struck him and molded him to be the way he was. He was always careful. Usually. He tried to be. He was always too aware of the things he could and could not do. The limits he set for himself. 

When he met Charles Xavier he felt that mold chip away. A telepath. So open in all regards. Pioneering a cause Hank had no clue even existed. One he desperately wanted to be a part of. 

“You’re among friends now Hank. You can show off.” A gentle smile and Raven…her smile could jolt him into action even when they had just met. 

So he took off his shoes. It was strange and weird and completely uncomfortable to do so in front of others. He could hear his father's voice yelling at him to stop. To put his shoes back on. To cover up. 

 “You’re amazing,” Raven told him and for just a moment he believed her. 

He was infatuated with her. Some might even say he was in love with her. He would’ve moved worlds for her. He would have. He could have. Hank didn’t know much about love but he’s certain someone’s heart isn’t meant to ache like his after a heartbreak if it wasn’t love.  His girlfriends in college were few and far between and were poor examples. 

He couldn’t date properly when he was in college because he was only fifteen . One of his girlfriends, Linda Donaldson, was a dual enrollment kid the same age as him but they fell off because he was far too focused on school and she was more interested in experiencing college life. His second girlfriend was a woman named Vera Cantor who was far too old for the timid fifteen-year-old kid that he was. No one batted an eye at that. If anything he was seen as mature for dating an older woman. Even if she was old enough to drink and he hadn’t even gotten his learner's permit yet. 

When Hank tells Charles Xavier about the twenty-four-year-old girlfriend he had when he was fifteen the professor looks at him like he was one of his students who just told him a traumatic story. It was not the Attaboy moment he assumed it would be from the man.

“You’re twenty-four right now aren’t you?” 

“Yes?”

Charles gestures at his students. Fresh-faced freshman with braces and glaring acne on the cusp of puberty “If you ever thought of dating any of my students I’d have you arrested.”

Hanks' eyes widened his stomach, rolling. “They are children .” The thought made his head spin and thump. 

“You were a child too,” Charles says evenly, a fire behind his eyes. 

Hank doesn’t bring it up ever again. Neither does Charles even though Hank knows the professor went through a similar situation with an older girlfriend when he was far too young. Younger than he should’ve been. Neither men talk about it but the acknowledgement is there. 

The Math teacher, Victor Glendale, gets drafted. Hank McCoy had to take over for him, teaching a bunch of first graders how to add and subtract. 

“My PhDs aren’t going to waste.” he jokes to Charles. Later Two older students, Fraternal twins with the ability to breathe underwater, get drafted too. A pair of empty chairs follow their absence. Then another teacher. And another. And another. Older students and teachers left first… dying in a war that cared nothing for them. Empty chairs became empty classrooms. The school became smaller and smaller until it was nothing at all. 

Hank waited to hear his number get picked. He listens to the radio for weeks holding his breath and hearing his father's voice grinding in his ear telling him to be a man. 

Charles's number gets called. His birthday, clear as day. He’s disqualified of course. Perks of being physically handicapped. Hank hates the way he has to thank Erik for that. If he hadn’t betrayed them. If he hadn’t lost control and let those bullets fly Charles would’ve been drafted. He would’ve fought in a war. Hank doesn’t realize that fact at the moment but after a decade of being alone with his thoughts, he has a few thoughts on the matter. 

That night Charles takes out his expensive liquor from the basement. Uncorks it and pours himself a cup. Then another. Then another. 

Hank doesn’t stop him. He joins him. Drowning in each other's misery. 

Hank waits for his number to be called. He knows before it happens that it’s going to happen. They say it’s random . They say it’s a draft. It could be anyone is what they say but Hank sees the pattern. It’s no coincidence that every single eligible mutant in their care was drafted. Random mutant birthdays. It wasn’t about luck but even if it was Hank knows deep in his gut that he was unlucky enough. 

He hears it on the radio a few days later. October 11. It echoes in the ancestral mansion like a bullet in the air. He doesn’t cry. He cried when college acceptance letters came in for kids who no longer attended the school and got shipped to war. He cried when he was mentioned in their wills because he was the closest thing to family to them. He cried when he couldn’t have a funeral for the kid he mentored because all that was left of him were his dog tags. He didn’t cry when he was soon to join their fate. It was poetic almost to die the same way. 

Selective Service Officers came to get him when he didn’t show up to post. Hank had packed a bag. He didn’t know what he would need. He didn’t know what he could take. It all happened rather quickly and something must’ve broken in Charles when he heard the younger man’s birthday being called. Or maybe it’s because Hank was the only one left. The only other soul left from the original class of mutants. When the men came to collect him Charles didn’t even let them get past the door. Meeting them at the porch with full authority. 

“You can’t take him.” He told them. It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t a suggestion. It was a fact. 

“Sir-“

“I said you can’t bloody have him!” Charles points the full force of his powers on them, bending their minds and twisting them in just seconds “he has bad eyesight. He can barely see two feet in front of him, let alone enemy soldiers.”

It was a lie. Sure, Hank wore glasses but not because he needed them. They belonged to his father. He wears the glasses as a memento or more of a reminder. Dr. Henry Phillip McCoy has perfect vision. 

The soldier's eyes glaze over and they repeat what Charles says back to him. 

“-barely see two feet in front of him, let alone enemy soldiers.” Robotic and stiff and they smile an overly friendly smile. “His services won’t be needed.” Charles' voice gains a layer of tension. 

“His services won’t be needed.” They repeat and then they get in their shiny black van and drive off. 

He doesn’t say a thing to Hank. Hank doesn’t say anything either. He unpacks his bag, which he had prepared somberly the day previous and he starts up dinner. They had spaghetti. 

They don’t speak of it for ten years. 

For ten years Hank McCoy lived in a big Mansion with a ghost. A carcass of a man he once knew. Slowly fading and aging into a drunken stupor. One drink became two. Two became four. Four became ten. Dark and cold. For years . Approximately ten years, three months, two weeks, and four days. Charles Francis Xavier’s light dimmed when Raven left, taking Erik’s side, and twisting a knife into the remaining X-Men. 

It dimmed more when the war started, eligible mutant students being drafted one by one, educators becoming soldiers in a hopeless war, chipping away at their dreams—dwindling the school's number, taking all their warmth with them. The light dimmed. The warmth erased.

The spark flickered low when Banshee, one of his original students, and a dear friend of Hank, was taken. Poked and prodded. The best of us all, the happiest, the warmest, wiped away from them too soon. Fast and sudden. Painful. 

They don’t talk about it. They don’t talk at all. For ten years. 

It happened slowly. One tragedy after another. Again again again. Darkness looms over the school like a heavy shadow. Hank could not stop it. He could only watch as the darkness covered the school completely. Covered his friend completely. Until he was only a shadow of his past.

Hank could not fan the flames, he couldn’t prevent the spark in Charles from snuffing out. 

All he could do was make it not so cold. Not so loud in the man's head. Hank's skin turned pale and white, blue fading away into nothing. He knew he could help the professor. All Hank wanted to do was help. 

So he did. 

He thought he was helping. 

The moment the needle poked the professor's arm and the serum was inside his bloodstream the voices in his head went quiet. Dull and numb. 

This is the exact moment Charles' flame went out completely . Hank remembers it so clearly. Remembers the way his face no longer looked like his face. The way his entire personality flipped inside out. How everything just went dark behind his eyes. The edges of his voice turned mean and harsh and the way he could walk now but could no longer care. 

Hank killed the Charles he knew. He did that. He was trying to save him. Trying to make things better and in the process he erased his very essence. His very soul. 

McCoy isn’t a spiritual man. He’s a man of facts and data and science but he knows what he did can only be explained as soul-crushing. An erasure of a person's very being. 

The scientist doesn’t leave. He stays in the too-big mansion and lives in a cemetery of old students whose lives ended too soon. The weeds overgrow, the lights flicker off, and the phone line is shut off. He punishes himself. He watches solemnly as a ghost lives in the mansion. Taking up space that no longer exists. 

His mother calls for the first time in four years. “Your father is dead.” Hank waits for the dread to settle in. It never does. “His funeral is on Wednesday. Will you come?” Her voice was the same. Scratchy and quiet from lack of use. She was a lady of few words. That was the only thing she had in common with her husband. A silent couple raising a silent child. 

“How’d he die?”

“Cancer.” Hank hadn’t known he was sick. Knowing his father he most likely refused to tell anyone so he wouldn’t seem weak. “He didn’t suffer.” 

“Lucky him.” Hank says stiffly “I can try and see if there’s any flights for Wednesday.” Hank knew he wasn’t going to go. He was only saying that so his mother wouldn’t cry on the phone. She always got so upset with him when he spoke badly about his father. 

“He wasn’t perfect but he loved you.” His mother's voice was raspy, she smoked a pack a day, and he used to find it comforting but now he found it irritating “He just never showed it well.”

“I know.” Hank hung up. He didn’t go to his father's funeral. He poured himself a drink and he made a half-crazed toast with Charles who made some sad antidote about shitty fathers. 

Hank writes essays, drafts experiments, researches studies, and works to the bone and it’s all for nothing. He fiddles with the channels and he creates and destroys and he tries to live some semblance of a life. But being happy, feeling fulfilled with his life… felt wrong. Like a betrayal. He couldn’t allow himself to feel joy not when the professor's life had abruptly stopped. Not when everything the professor has worked for has slipped through his fingers cruelly and unjustly.

He goes to the grocery store. Buys enough for the week. An excuse to leave the mansion the following week. He grabs the mail on Tuesdays. He organizes them by size. He feeds his frogs in the tank in his office, every morning and every night. He has a routine. A very dull and quiet one. The only conversation he’s had in the last year was with women asking for directions to the city and the very curt greetings with the same aged cashier who looks sick of seeing his miserable face. 

They don’t get visitors. Not ever. The doorbell doesn’t even work anymore. It hasn’t been used in quite some time. 

Logan is the first person to knock on their door in a very long while. Too long to count. Too long to think about. 

“Can I help you?” Hank barely peaks his head out. Forgetting how one is even supposed to greet another human being. 

“Yeah, what happened to the school?” Hank knew the stranger wasn’t from around town. Everybody around these parts knew what happened to this school. It hadn’t been a school for nearly ten years. 

“The schools been shut down for years. Are you a parent?” If he is, he’s about to get the worst news of his life. 

“I sure as hell hope not. Who are you?” Huh. 

“I’m Hank. Hank McCoy. I look after the house now.” He ignores the broken doorbell the overgrown grass and the smell of mold. He lives in a house stuck in time. 

The man takes off his glasses looking at Hank In surprise “You’re Beast?” He hadn’t heard that name since the X-Men. He hasn’t been referred to as Beast since the first class. “Look at you. I guess you’re a late bloomer.”

Hank doesn’t recall this man. But he doesn't think he would remember him even if he was a parent of an old student. He tries to close the door. But things don’t ever turn out the way Hank McCoy usually wants them to. 

The events that followed after Logan’s arrival were otherworldly. Hank often wonders what would’ve happened if he hadn’t answered the door. If he hadn’t been there at all. If he had left a long time ago, if he was dead in Vietnam somewhere with a bullet in his head and Logan was met with a drunken broken professor haunted by voices and nightmares and no Dr. McCoy to help. Hank doesn’t dwell on it. He doesn’t allow himself to continue drowning himself with doubts. He’s had ten years of it already. 

Charles was talking. It was a stupid thing to be happy about but Hank hadn’t heard his friend's voice in months . Nothing but quiet nights and silent mornings.

He wasn’t himself but he was still there. Present. Talking. Angry, agitated, a shell of his old self but still talking. Still actively holding a conversation. 

Hank wanted to rejoice. He’s talking .  He hadn’t heard his friend's voice in quite some time. He didn't cry, Instead, he explained. He tried to reason with Logan. Tried to excuse the professor's behavior. 

“What the hell happened to him?” Charles's harsh rejection echoes in both their ears.

“He lost everything. Erik, Raven, his legs. We built the school, labs, this whole place then just after the first semester the war in Vietnam got worse. Many of the teachers, and older students, were drafted.” Hank hasn’t spoken about it since it happened. Letting it fester and rot away in their thoughts for nearly a decade. “It broke him. He retreated into himself. I-I wanted to help. Do something . So I designed this serum to treat his spine, derived from the same formula that helps me control my mutation.” One dose every morning. For years. 

“I take just enough to keep myself balanced but…he takes too much.” 

“I tried easing him back but he just couldn’t bare the pain, the voices.” He remembers Charles begging, itching for the fix that Hank got him addicted to. 

“The treatment gives him his legs but it’s not enough. He’s- he’s just lost too much” 

Charles changes his mind– his sister swaying his decision one last time for good measure. 

Hank feels the light flicker for the very first time in a very long time. He has a goal. He has meaning again. His father, a strict man with high expectations for him, would've told him to leave the sad man behind. Cut his losses. To move on from this life that he built and destroyed with Charles. To become what he’s always meant to be. Better, more successful, and more renowned for his work. But he hadn’t. Hank could only imagine the voice of his father, angry and disappointed. Harsh in a way it always was with him. But Hank always found a way to never live up to his father's expectations. 

They hatch a plan. And by “they” Hank means Logan and Charles. A bizarre and dangerous plan involving breaking into the most protected and reinforced prison and a new mutant. 

They meet Pietro Django Maximoff. He wants to be called Peter so that’s what Henry “Hank” Phillip McCoy calls him. Hank knows good and well how it feels to be called something you don’t want to be called. 

Peter Maximoff was dead in the future.

Their new friend Logan’s face said it all. The immortal man looked at the speedster like he was a ghost. Sad and heavy. A ghost. He knows that look because it’s the same look Hank gives Charles. But Logan’s expression Carries something tragic. He looked at Hank the same way. He assumed Peter and he shared the same fate. A traumatic end to a story witnessed by men he hasn’t met yet. Logan more or less confirms this later in their adventure. He doesn’t ask how he dies. A little bit scared to know the details. 

Peter's powers were more flashy than Logan's and Charles's. Unapologetic and bold in a way Hank hasn’t been exposed to in a long time. The way he uses it so casually reminds him of Raven when she played Mystique, shifting and molding into different people in quick succession. Playful and childish in a way he never could be. Peter isn’t Raven. 

“Why, he’s fascinating.” Hank has not been around another mutant besides the jaded Charles in nearly ten years. Charles' abilities were dulled and erased by his addiction. Hank asked a lot of questions. All the questions he couldn’t ask before. All the inquiries bitten back and kept flowing out of his mouth all at once. Ten years worth of curiosity poured out into one subject. It was too much all at once. Hank was too much all at once. 

“We need your help, Peter.” 

“For what?” Peter disappears and reappears right before his eyes and Hank is left there standing just a little bit excited to meet someone new. Someone different than Charles. Someone light and young. Like the children that used to overpower the hallways of their school. The ones long dead. 

“To break into a highly secured facility and get someone out.” 

“Prison break?” Hank can hear the smile on his face. “That’s illegal, you know.” The speedster continues playing on his Pac-Man machine and Hank wonders what it must look like in superspeed. If the game is any hard for the boy or if it’s just to waste of time. Hank has plenty of habits and things to subdue boredom. To waste time. He’s been wasting time for ten years. He was drowning in boredom.

“Uh…well only if you get caught.” 

“So what’s in it for me?” Hank doesn’t know if Peter is going to help them. He doesn’t think they have a valid enough reason to make him go. They are strangers asking him to break the law. 

Charles looks at the boy in exasperation, Hank couldn’t imagine Charles even expressing that much emotion two days ago. “You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the pentagon.” 

Peter doesn’t do things for the greater good. He doesn’t do it for villainous reasons. The deciding factor in all of this is boredom. Peter is convinced by the fun of it all. 

“I’m Pietro.” The speedster says with faux casualness. “Pietro Django Maximoff.” 

“That’s a mouthful.” Charles snides and Hank's heart sinks. It was very difficult for the young teen to introduce himself properly and Charles throwing it back in his face was a bit jarring and uncomfortable. 

Logan gives Charles a disappointed look “Professor I think it’s time you sobered up a bit.” He had been nurturing a hangover ever since Logan arrived. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Charles!” Hank scolds, feeling a chill run through him. He hadn’t been prepared for Charles' crudeness to transfer over to children as well. He was a teacher for so long that it’s jarring to hear him act so brazen and rude in front of a teenager he just met. 

“You can just call me Peter.” The speedster looked visibly put off by Charles' words. The telepath made no effort to apologize. 

They broke Erik Lensherr out of the Pentagon. A horrifically easy feat to accomplish. Especially for an impenetrable prison. Hank hadn’t seen the man since the beaches of Cuba. Surrounded by missiles and a screaming Charles. Newly paralyzed and heartbroken. 

Hank doesn’t pretend to know the extent of Charles' relationship with Erik. It would be naive to state that their past relationship was simply as coworkers, working towards a similar goal. It was more than that. Erik opened up to Charles, showing a vulnerability that Hank didn’t see from him and Charles lit up when Erik was around. They both became more . They always clashed though, even before everything, from the very beginning. Their morals were different, their views in life. Always so opposite and yet so similar it hurt them to be together just as much as it hurt for them to be apart. Too exposed and too seen and Hank didn’t understand how it all worked 

He didn’t understand how they worked. 

He just knows that Charles' heart had been heartbroken not only because Raven left but because Erik had too. 

Erik Lensherr was a ticking time bomb. A disaster waiting to happen. He wanted to be as far away as possible from the man when he exploded but Logan claims that he’s crucial to the plan. But he can tell that something changes in Charles when he’s in the same room with Erik. The metal bender is not the only ticking time bomb. Charles could explode any second. Two bombs is far worse then one.

The air smelled of smoke and copper and he knew things would go south quickly. 

Peter lightens the mood, interrupting and cutting the tension with boisterous talking. Loud and maybe just a little bit annoying but very much needed. It catches Hank off guard. He’s used to long stretches of silence. Awkward pauses. He’s grown accustomed to unspoken words and unmentioned tension. Knowing looks and whispered words instead of loud insistant conversation. But Peter's voice is fast and easy and Hank only catches half the words he spits out but it’s contagious. The kid was fucking contagious. Foul words and young slang that vibarted in the air like oxygen. 

The windshield wiper smacks against the window with a thud and Hank flinches suddenly very aware of the word vomit that was splurging out of his own mouth. He was asking too many questions. Getting too excited by Peters excitement.

“I haven’t had a proper meal in ten years. Perhaps we should all stop somewhere for a bite.” Erik says evenly, clearly hiding his irritation. 

Food. They get food. Greasy fast food. He hasn’t eaten out in over ten years. Even before the sparks dulled, Hank had been very particular about his diet even in his college days. Striving for perfection in every aspect of his life. Fitness and health were always emphasized in his household growing up. Maybe that’s why he parks the car and goes inside instead of the drive-through. He wants to experience fast food. Not just eat it. He wants to be inside. 

They shuffle into tables, an odd combination of awkward humans. Strangers really. Pushing against corners and scraping chairs across sticky floors. 

Peter bounces off of Erik and Charles easily. Like the game of ping pong he adores. Hank watches quietly. Easily entertained. 

“Can I get a Sunday?” His voice tilts slightly like a child's. Begging for a treat to his parents. 

“I’d like one too-” Erik Lensherr adds. 

 “-at least finish your fries before getting dessert,” Charles says instinctively at the same time, overlapping his words with Erik. Just because Charles hasn’t been around whining children asking for dessert in ten years doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how to respond to them. Hank takes that as a good sign. 

Erik and Charles look at each other sharply. 

Logan snorts, and Peter's fries are suddenly gone along with himself. Then the next blink of an eye Erik has a Sunday in his hands and Peters enjoying his own ice cream, back on his chair looking like the picture of Innocents. 

Everything catches up to everybody else and Charles furrows his eyebrows at the cup in Erik's hand looking a bit jealous that he got one and not him. Did he want one? “I had money to pay for that.”

Ah, that’s the route he’s going. 

“We just did a prison break. You have hang-ups over stealing?” Peter leans back on his chair casually, licking his ice cream like a cat. 

Erik fails at hiding a smile and Logan lets out a snort that catches Hank off guard. He wasn’t aware that the gruff man could experience laughter. 

Hank saw the blonde cashier turn to their suddenly very loud table. They are the only ones in the diner. Every bone in Hanks's body itches to leave suddenly. Begging to make his flesh stay creamy white and to make himself smaller. More forgettable. Unidentifiable. 

“Say it louder why don't you? I don't think the cashier heard you.” Hank whisper yells at the group. 

“The prison break was a necessity, stealing is not.” Charles rubs his forehead, stifling back a migraine probably troubled by the routy group. 

“Whatever.” Peter shrugs and Charles stands up abruptly making it very clear who was the one giving him a headache. The speedster not so subtly moves away from the suddenly irritated man, looking stiff even though he has a cocky smile plastered on his face. Charles moves past the teen and takes out a wad of cash from his wallet. Xavier places it in the tip jar in front of the cashier and heads straight out the door and to the rental car. Cutting their time short.

“Guess that’s our queue.” Logan pats Peters' shoulder, doing so slowly and in his line of vision. The stiffness in the boy's shoulders goes away. They begin to head out. 

Other trails behind. 

“He better leave the tip in that jar,” Charles says irritably. 

“You wouldn’t know if he did,” Erik says pointedly, and before they could evolve into arguments Logan takes out a cigarette. 

“The kid wouldn’t steal tips.” The immortal man says with a sense of finality. “He’s just cleaning up.” He takes out a lighter and burns his cigarette. 

They shuffle into the car and Peter follows shortly with a trailing Logan who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. The drive wasn’t long. Only thirty minutes to the shuttle with their jet. Hank can already smell the refined leather seats and filtered air conditioning. When they arrive, while the kid is rifling through the jet with bursting curiosity the two clashing mutants dive into discussion. 

It’s no surprise when Erik says “The kid should go with us.” Just outside of their plane. 

Charles looks at Erik like he’s an idiot, albeit he has been looking at him that way since they’ve reunited “Absolutely not.” 

“He can be useful.” It wasn't surprising to Hank that Peter's usefulness was all the metal bender saw in the boy. 

“I don’t care how useful you think he’ll be. It’s too dangerous. He shouldn’t be involved in this any further.” Hank agrees but says nothing, knowing the professor's talent for passionate speeches about right and wrong. 

Erik scoffs “Even if it helps us stop this war? You don’t think he’d want to fight?”

Charles glares at Erik and they fall into some odd back-and-forth argument. Jabs and retorts that are ten years in the making. Logan stands beside Hank looking at the two bickering pairs like he's already sick of them. Like he’s heard decades full of arguments and it’s the same of nothing and everything. 

“Even now they’re still arguing over the boy,” Logan says under his breath but Hank has impeccable hearing and catches it anyway. 

“Does this happen in the future too?” Hank has held his tongue and knows that he shouldn’t ask too many questions about things yet to come. 

“Not this exact conversation but something similar. Pietro is…” Logan holds his breath “…a complicated man. He lived an entire life before he met either one of them. I’m hoping his story ends differently this time around now that he’s met them sooner.”

Hank doesn’t know the Peter Maximoff  Logan knows. He doesn’t know what he knows. He can’t see what he’s seen. He can only determine so much from the little time he’s known the younger boy. 

Peter was loud and excited and just a bit too warm for the coldness both Charles and Hank have become accustomed to. He’s fun and immature in a way that reminds him of Banshee. He’s young and he’s comfortable. 

“Left these in the car.”  Peter hands Hank his glasses, the ones he left carelessly in the rental car. He places them carefully in the taller man’s grasp. 

He hadn’t even realized he had taken them off. “Thank you.” 

“No worries. See ya whenever man.” He blows a bubble, chewing on a piece of gum for the better half of half an hour. 

Hank thought that would be the last time he saw the eager speedster. The last time he would be bombarded with curiosity and unanswered questions for a long long time. 

Things turn upside down in the jet and he’s glad that Peter wasn’t there to witness the adults implode on themselves. He wonders how the speedster would’ve reacted to being stuck in a metal contraption in the sky, unable to run away as it hurdles down from the sky to his death. 

When he sees Raven he isn’t prepared to feel the punch of sadness. She wasn’t the same Raven he knew before. She was different now. Not gone completely but not the same ever again. 

To no surprise from anyone, Erik Lensherr betrays them. Hank's skin turns blue and unrecognizable and his picture gets taken. A symbol of a monster he never wanted to be perceived as. He tries not to think about how In a couple of years his face would be in textbooks for the opposite reason he wanted. 

A beast. A monster. 

He stays awake at night thinking about the fear in those photographers' eyes. The shake in their aim, the grotesque tone in their voice. He was a monster and they knew it. He can hear his father's voice warning him of this exact thing. 

“Should’ve kept better control, Henry. Now everyone knows the truth.” His father's voice hissed “You’re nothing but a monster playing dress up.” 

Hank puts on his costume again. Skin melting back into pale crème, hair shortening and darkening to brown. Glasses sitting back on his nose. Warm sweater. Fancy customized shoes. No longer beast and now man. Just Hank. Normal Dr. McCoy. 

Raven is in the wind. Again. Charles tries and fails to convince her to turn back. The professor uses his powers for the first time in five years. Hank had forgotten what it felt like to have his every thought exposed to the man. 

Tensions collide at the Whitehouse. Sentinels aimed at a horrible future. One Logan is desperately trying to change. 

In the end, it was Raven that changed the story. It was her mercy that flipped the script. Turned a cold nation's heart warm. She was the Hero. Sure, Charles’ voice in her head tries to convince her but in the end, she has full control. She could’ve killed the president and started a war. She didn’t. The world will remember how a mutant tried to kill the president and how another saved his life. 

Charles let Erik go for reasons Hank could never understand. 

“We can rebuild it. Better this time. Stronger.” Charles gestures towards the school. The mansion. A broken home filled with lost memories. He wants to reopen the school for mutants. He wants to try again. After ten years Hank is surprised he still has hope. The Charles he knew long ago, the one he thought was long dead, is resembling the paralyzed man looking up at him. Maybe he wasn’t gone, instead, he was just lost in that dark cold mind. No fire to help him see or to keep him warm. But still present nonetheless. 

He can see that dream in his head. A school for mutants. Kids running around, studying reading, giggling, living peacefully. He can see it. He can graze his fingers on it, it’s so close. It wasn’t his dream. It never really was. His dream was to become someone great. To be extraordinary. To build and create. Hank thought creating and building a school was the best way to start his journey. 

Instead, it froze him. Failure turned into a tragedy. He mourned. He cried. He bled for the school. He nearly died for it. 

He doesn’t think he could do it again 

“I already have a student who needs our help,” Charles says. Quick. He was too goddamn quick. 

No time to think or breathe or hesitate. Charles is moving fast. But he’s newly sober so he’s trying to grasp at something good. Trying to stray away from his crippling addiction. Trying to stay busy. 

He stopped taking the drug that took away his powers. Abruptly. The physical fatigue is present in his face. He’s going through withdrawals. He’s in no shape to open up his school again. 

“Charles, we can't do this.” Hank tries to be firm but the spark of something bubbles inside him. He missed this. He missed this school so much. 

“We did it once. We can do it again.” 

“What makes you so sure it won’t fall apart like last time? We can’t just dive in and make the same mistakes all over again I can’t-“ Hank took a steadying breath “I won’t be able to fathom that type of heartbreak again.” 

He wasted years mourning what they had. He mourned the family they had made, the students they helped before it all went crashing down. 

“Please, Hank.” Charles’ expression showed ten years' worth of grief, ten years worth of hope, and ten years worth of pent up emotion all in one withering look. “I can’t do this without you. I won’t do this without you.” 

A gun cocked and full, aimed at Charles's dreams, and its Hanks finger that’s on the trigger. 

“We need to do this slowly.” Hank says.

They don’t do It slowly.

Hank can’t blame Charles too much since he didn’t force the parent of the mutant child to drive all the way here and drop off his child like she was a recycling bin. Charles attempted to settle the quiet Jean into the only clean dorm room in the mansion. She hadn’t said a word since she stepped foot into the premises. 

“Don’t contact me. She’s your problem now. I want nothing to go with her.” Jean's father was dressed in a suit, well fitted and ironed, with a brown leather briefcase and slick back hair. He was dressed as if he was going to go to work right after this. Right after abandoning his child in a stranger's house. 

“This isn’t an orphanage. You can’t just leave your kid here and fuck off.” Hank doesn’t curse often but It all just happened so suddenly and Jean looked like she was about to burst into tears before Charles took her away from the crass man. Charles Xavier called him yesterday informing him that the school would be opening up after the summer but neither of them was expecting him to drive all the way here and drop her off within hours of contact. 

“Unfortunately that’s exactly what I’m doing.” The man says stiffly. 

Charles was with Jean. Linking up in their weird telepathic way. Hank still has to get used to Charles being able to read his mind now. 

“But we aren’t even open yet. We won’t be officially open for several months.” Hank tries to reason with the man. 

“I’m sure you can handle one child. far better than me.” He’s out of the door, quickly. slamming the wooden door harshly. 

It can’t be helped, Charles says in his head. Take a breath, my friend.

Hank tries to do just that but a few seconds later Jean's father is knocking on the door again. Repeatedly. Obnoxiously. Hank has to reinstall the doorbell immediately.

He knocks again. Hank twists the doorknob and opens the door irritated “Jesus Christ!” He shouts “You made it quite clear! Don’t-“ Hank abruptly stops talking as his eyes land on Peter Maximoff standing in the mansion's doorway. 

His mind goes blank. 

Peter smiles awkwardly, giving a little wave.

His mouth finally catches up “Peter! My apologies-“ he darts his eyes behind the speedster trying to see if Jean's father is still in the vicinity.      

 “-i thought-“ he clears his throat, it doesn’t matter what he thought, he brushes off the nonexistent wrinkles off the front of his sweater, wanting something to do with his fidgety hands. “What brings you here?” Hank realizes a split second after the words leave his mouth that he sounded rude “Not that it’s bad you came here, we just weren’t expecting company.” An understatement. 

“We needed somewhere to lay low.” Peter says and Hank's eyebrows crease together in confusion “We?” 

A small child maybe 9 or ten suddenly comes into view from behind the door “Hello.” She smiles awkwardly at Hank and waves at him, matching Peters introduction perfectly. Her hands are red. 

Her hands are covered in blood. 

Her hands are covered in blood. 

Why the fuck are her hands covered in blood ?

Hank pushes the door open. “My god, come in. What happened?” He quickly ushers them both in and Peter darts away, wandering around the house at super speed. Quick gusts of wind blew around him. 

“You moving?” Peter says from somewhere behind him, voice easygoing, slightly bouncy in his step. 

“no, just updating some old textbooks. You gotta answer my question.” Hank adjusts his glasses, pushing them up his nose firmly. “What happened? Who’s the girl?” Covered in blood. 

Who’s covered in blood? Charles pokes. 

Some girl Peter brought. He pushes back at Charles. He feels the professor recoil. He might’ve accidentally yelled that in his head. He doesn’t understand volume control when it comes to mind reading. 

“The girl can talk.” The little girl huffs glaring up at the scientist with a pout that makes her look exactly her age. Which must be no younger than nine if Hank had to guess. “I’m Wanda Django Maximoff.” She says matter-of-factly like a badge of honor. 

Hank can’t hide the surprise he feels at the revelation. 

Peter has a sister?

“You have a sister?” Hank voices the professor's question. 

For some reason that didn’t fit the image of Peter Hank had in his head. Hank was an only child so for some reason he tends to forget that having siblings is an option. Not everyone is like him. Peter isn’t like him. 

Although Peter doesn’t exude Big brother energy. He acts like he’d be the younger sibling. Like he soaks in all the attention of existing. 

“Clearly.” 

“You’re an older brother.” Hank repeats, he doesn't know why it’s so hard to adjust to that. He hasn’t known Peter Maximoff for very long. Not even a week since their first encounter. 

“No, I’m older.” Wanda says sarcastically and Peter shares an exasperated look with her. 

The attitude must be genetic. Hank can feel the smile on the professor's face. 

“I can hear the resemblance,” Hank mutters “And why exactly are you bleeding on our floor, Wanda?” 

“Nothing happened. She just fell, you know how kids are.” He hasn’t been around a child In nearly ten years but he knows no amount of roughhousing could’ve caused that. 

He’s not dumb. 

“This isn’t an injury from a fall.” Hank goes to the downstairs bathroom closest to the entrance and grabs the emergency first aid kit from under the cabinet. 

He pulls out the chair from the next room and makes Wanda sit in it while he kneels on the ground in front of her. Her knees have cuts and glass embedded in them and Hank can only think of horrible reasons as to why that would happen and a fall is not one of them. 

He’s gentle as he wipes her knees and her cut palms. Wanda winces and Hank tries to distract her “How’d this happen?” Plucks out a particularly deep glass digging into her knee. During the school's first semester all those years ago, quite a few younger kids got scrapes and he had established a healing song that made the kiddos feel better.

He doesn’t quite remember the song now. 

“I fell,” Wanda repeats Peter's lie back to him. “Playing at school.”

Hank hasn’t had to deal with lying children for a perpetually extended period but he has dealt with an angry clumsy Charles. Who has lied to him on more than one occasion as to why he got hurt. 

“Why does she have blood on her Peter?” Hank tries to sound calm, hoping to receive an honest explanation for the injury. If not he’s willing to ask again. And again. And again. Hank isn’t the only one that can be stubborn. 

“Kids get a little rough at school nowadays. Not like how it was in your time.” Peter jokes, and evades the truth but Hank isn’t taking the bait. He can’t humor his way out of this. 

Hank thinks maybe that’s his way of deflecting. Maybe no one’s pushed past the jokes before. 

“I was pushed. I got angry so I pushed them back.” Wanda’s face scrunched up and Hank thinks of a million ways to respond to that. His mind fills in a memory of his father scolding him for standing up for himself. 

“When you react like a monster, that's when you truly become one.” His father liked to throw around that word. 

Monster. Deformed. Abomination. Freak. Mutant .

It was all the same to him. Something shameful. Something hidden away forever and never expressed outwardly. 

Hank knew exactly what his father would say to Wanda.

Instead, the Scientist grabs the disinfectant spray off the first aid kit.

“I’m sure they deserved it.” Hank doesn’t meet either of their eyes, wiping down her knees and swabbing a gash. 

I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that.

Get out of my head I can handle this.

Wanda nods hopefully feeling a lot more comfortable, seeing he wasn’t going to scold her over it “They did. They’re bullies. Mom says bullies are just weak men trying to bring everyone to their level. They need to be put in their place before they think everyone is small and they can rule the world like fascist dictatorship.” Hank begins to wrap up her knees with thick bandages. 

“Sounds scary,” He agrees, trying to smother away the amused smile from slapping onto his face. 

“They were hurting Peter.” She said with a huff and Hank looked up at the speedster in alarm “They hurt Peter?” 

The doctor scans the speedsters quickly, no longer distracted by the offensive blood on his sister's person and now catching the disarray of bruises and cuts on his body and clashing red blood against his silver outfit. Injuries from being held down. Hanks's stomach curls thinking of Banshee. Thinking of his corpse with the matching bruises. 

Peter Maximoff was hurt and Hank realizes a moment later that he’s angry about it. 

“I hurt them back,” Wanda says and Hank's lips form a straight line as he folds through those words. His skin was turning into an off blue and he took a breath to calm himself down. He can't let this get the better of him.

“It was an accident.” Peter defends quickly even though he shouldn’t have to. Hank wasnt angry at him. He wasn’t upset with either of them. “They were going to-“   He didn't finish that sentence. And Hank filled in the blank. 

What were they going to do? Hank can only think of the worst. He thinks about the worst thing someone could do to another human being and he imagines it happening to Peter. To Wanda. To Banshee. He needs him to finish that sentence. 

“They were being really rough. Wanda didn’t know how to control herself.” 

Hank doesn’t believe him. He hadn’t believed him this whole damn time but that he believed.

“We just-um…needed somewhere to stay for a few nights.” Peter tries to sound aloof, something he could’ve easily convinced Hank of less than a week ago but now it’s dull and tired. “Because our mother would freak out if she saw us both banged up like this.” 

Hank knows it’s all bullshit. He’ll ask more questions soon. But for now, he lets him have it.

“You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” Charles says as he 

approaches them. Hank watches in practically slow motion as Peter's face processes that Charles is in a wheelchair. The professor had shaved for the first time in months. His hair was washed, with some assistance from Hank and the fancy conditioner from the dollar store. He wore a soft sweater instead of his stinky wife-beater and satin bathrobe that Hank personally set on fire in the backyard where it wouldn’t touch anything ever again. 

The world is a better place without that pit-stained monstrosity. 

Hank hand-polished his shoes and Charles looked just like his old self again but with longer hair and a far paler complexion from not-so-subtle withdrawal symptoms. 

“Fuck, man. Did that happen at the White House?” Peters eyes widen moving his face in superspeed so he doesnt quite settle in any emotion Hank can discern.

“Charles, you shouldn’t be down here. What if Jean needs you.” Hanks anxiously added letting Peter settle in his shock. Jean hadn't said a word since her father dropped her off. Most likely even before that. Mots likely trauma induced selective mutism. Hank has about half a dozen theories running around in his head. 

“Jean is settling in just fine. She’s already made a friend.” Charles smiles at Wanda “She’s on the third floor, second door to the left.” 

Wanda smiles widely “Thank you professor.” and darts up the stairs excitedly taking two steps at a time. 

Hank grimaces, hoping her cuts wouldn’t scrape with the sudden movements. 

“Jean is a telepath, like me, she’s been communicating with Wanda since the moment you set foot in the neighborhood.” 

“You’re a telepath?” Peter eyes widened. “you’re crippled now?” 

Hank shouldn’t be surprised that Peter has no tact. No subtlety. 

Charles laughs and begins to shift his wheelchair closer to the boy “This happened a long time

The boy tenses up slightly when the professor gets close. Slightly enough that Hank doesn’t think even Peter realizes he’s done it.

Charles tries and fails to read Peter's thoughts. Ann interesting predicament. The only time someone has been able to successfully shut out Charles is if they are telepathic or if similar to Magneto had headgear to to block him out.

The longer Peter is here the more of hanks curiosity is peaked.

Peter is hungry. Hank assumed Charles is as well considering they unintentionally missed lunch to settle Jean in.

“Yeah, I didn't have time to make a snack before I ran for my life.” Peter says and Hank and Charles share a concerned look. 

Charles looks startled “pardon? Did something happen?” 

“No, I was joking.” Peter laughs and he did not find it particularly funny.

“He’s clearly lying.” Hank rolls his eyes.

“Peter my boy what happened? Where you attacked?” Charles slips in a term of endearment Hank has never heard him use before. It was weirdly domestic for a boy he’s only known for less than a week. 

Peter manages to smooth talk his way out of the in depth conversation. Hank can only watch as Peter scrounges up the bits and pieces of food they had in the kitchen to make a pizza. Quick and fast. Faster than Hank can even think. 

He’s remarkable. Charles projects. Intentionally or unintentionally Hank doesn’t know. 

“We have paper plates under the sink.” Hank says instinctively wanting to help in some way. The good cutlery was in storage somewhere, it has been for several years. 

No it’s not. Charles says stiffly and Hank doesn’t understand why the professor is suddenly so tense about it. He doesn’t understand until he sees the empty bottles of Whiskey in the trash in next to the door. They weren’t there two seconds ago. 

Were you drinking that today? Hank aims his accusation at Charles irritated and face hot. Peter saw that. It was under the sink. In hands reach. Wanda could’ve found it. Jean could’ve taken it. 

Are you drunk right now? It would explain Charles weird behavior around Peter, although Hank hasn’t known Charles to be a soft drunk. The withdrawals could’ve loosened his tolerance. 

I’m not drunk. I barely had a glass. Charles' confirmation only made Hank's blood boil. 

You said you’d be better. 

I am better. 

You’re drinking. 

Is that illegal now? In my own home?

There’s children here now. This isn’t just your house anymore. It’s going to be a school. 

Obviously I didn’t know Wanda would be arriving so abruptly or else I wouldn’t have thought of drinking. 

“You seem different.” Peter starts, he doesn’t even know the half of it. “Besides the wheelchair I mean. You seem less…assholey.” That’s one way of putting it. 

Charles clears his throat “I’m sorry if I came across as callous before. I had been going through some bad…years. I’m just now starting to get better.”  He still has lots to go. 

“If you’re just now getting better, is it smart to start teaching again?” Hank is surprised by how much he agrees with that sentiment. If it was up to him Hank would get him completely clean first. 

Peters face blurs. It’s like looking at an unfocused picture, with only vague visible outlines. Hank thinks the boy might be going into superspeed as he’s in thought. He wonders if the boy knows how he looks when he goes into super speed while standing in place. 

A confined tornado. 

“Pietro…” Charles doesn’t call him Peter and Hank thinks the speedster is gonna comment on it. He doesn’t. “Who’s David?” Charles finishes. 

Who?

Peter stiffens “I thought you said-you said you couldn’t read my mind.”

Hank lifts a brow at the professor, also surprised. 

“I can't- my apologies. I shouldn’t have asked. Your sister was just thinking of him.”

Hank wonders what Wanda must’ve been thinking about. 

“David is her dad.”

Her dad. But not his. Wanda is Peter's half sister. The little nuggets of information fit into his brain next to everything he’s learned about the silver haired boy. They have different dads. Was David the one that raised him? Does Peter not have a dad? Does he know him? 

“Why does she call him David in her head?” Hank asked, not baring to stay silent in the matter. 

“Because I call him David. She’s a little copycat.” Hank has no siblings. He doesn’t know what it would feel like to want to be like your older sibling. He doesn’t get it. 

“Is David not your father?” Charles asks pointedly and Hank nearly face palms at how dumb of a question it was. He has very limited questions to ask on the very sensitive question and he wastes one with a stupid obvious answer. Idiot. 

Do not scold me on question decorum Hank. It’s unbecoming. 

The kitchen was insulted with black smoke. Hank subdued the fire and decided on ordering pizza instead. 

Double Cheese deep dish pizza and pepperoni thin crust pizza. A side of twisty garlic bread. They eat together in the same room for the first time in a decade. It was an adjustment to get use to the chaos that was The Maximoff Siblings ®. Clearly able to entertain themselves with nothing less then permanent markers and an obscene amount of shaving cream that was stolen from Hanks bathroom. Playful pranks and comfortable teasing one can only do with a sibling. Wanda caem out of her shell. Sharing in the teasing smiles and sharing the small universe taht was the two siblings. Two became three and a star was added to the constellations. 

I need your help Hank. 

Hank isn’t use to abruptly hearing the proffessor in his head anymore so he drops his tools on the ground in a fright when the man speaks. 

My apologies. The clutter must’ve echoed into the professors study which is the room next door. Hank is in the professors office in seconds catching his breath and looking at the professor in alarm. 

“What’s wrong? Has something happened.”

The proffessor straightens his back looking a bit embarrassed “nothings wrong Hank.”

“But-” Hank narrows his eyes at the man in the wheelchair “you sounded urgent.” 

“Well…it wasn’t. I just needed some help getting my board from the top shelf.”

Hank frowns following the finger pointing at the bookshelf “what? Your-“ his chess board. The chess board he hasn’t touched since Erik left. The one the metal bender bought him when they went into town together one day as a surprise. Wrapped delicately in blue wrapping paper he clearly folded himself and a letter Hank doesn’t dare look at but always makes Charles want to get absolutely wasted . “-board. Don’t you want to use the one in the library?”

The one Hank cleaned just this morning with a rag and polish. 

“No? I’d like this one but I can’t seem to reach it. If you could be so kind as to fetch it for you?” 

Hank sighs, not even going on his tiptoes to grab the collapsible chessboard. 

“Did Jean want to play?”

“No, I’m going to teach Peter.” Charles jokes. Hank laughs. 

“That wasn’t a joke Hank.” And Hank watches in confusion as the man wheels away from him to the door. 

“Have you met Peter?”

“Yes, I have. He seems very tense. I’m hoping a game of chess will help him relax.” 

“I don’t think you know this. But chess is actually very stressful.”

“No it’s not you just play it wrong Hank.” Maybe Hank us a little annoyed that he hadn’t offered to play with him instead. It was silly. But Charles has never played a game of chess with him. He’s never asked but Peter is here for less than four hours and is getting a personal game with the professor’s personal chess board. 

“I’m not sure he even knows how to play.”

“I have a feeling he’ll be a quick learner.”

Peter and Charles played chess. Wanda and Jean played floating checkers and Hank stayed in his room tinkering away. 

Hank was perfectly used to being alone. What he wasn’t used to is the static of the tv being used in the upstairs living room. He was unused to the laughter in the hallway and the extra food in the fridge. He didn’t know how to handle the suddenly very loud and very close Maximoff siblings. Or the less loud Jean Grey. 

So he tries to focus on other things. 

There are 360 calories in a 10 count hohos package. 360 times 50 equals 18,000 calories. If Peter Maximoff can eat 50 packages of Hohos as a meal that must mean he needs more. Approximately 3 times as much. 54,000 calories. Plus any snack or craving in between meals. 75,000 Calories a day. 

Hank has much to do. 

“It tastes like my dirty laundry.” Peter tells him after a while of trying his first batch of drinks.

Hank was a bit sutprised that it had taken him that long to say anything. Charles reveals to him later that Peter didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Hank understands Peter a little bit more. 

He tries again. 

“This one tastes like grass that’s been pissed on by a dog.” Peter grimaces but finishes the rest in one huge gulp, used to suffering through meals and Hank tries again. 

“This one tastes like all the vegetables I hate.” He pinches his nose as he finishes off the drink.

Hank smiles. At Least it tastes like food. That’s an improvement.

“This one tastes like wet cement.”

Hank frowns scribbling in his notebook trying to calculate his misstep. 

“You know you don’t gotta do all this work for me. I can just eat whatever.”

“You’re incredibly malnourished.” Hank tells him seriously. When he weighed the speedster he was small. Too small for his age. He burns more calories than he consumes and he doesn’t nearly eat enough or eat enough of what he does need to be healthy. 

“I don’t feel malnourished.” Peter says sassily, his jumping around the room in superspeed but falling back into his regular spot, the topic clearly making him jittery. “I feel fine.”

“Your body is used to starving. That’s why you feel fine, but you’re thin. Too thin...” Hank says uneasily. He does miss the way peters face goes red in embarrassment or the way he avoids his eyes now. “I know I don’t look big but it doesn’t mean I’m weak or…small. I can handle myself just fine.” 

Hank is mildly concerned by the fact that his response to being called thin is replaced in his as being called weak. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being thin. But you don’t have enough iron or calcium or even protein in your body.”

“Blah blah blah, all that sounds friggin’ dull and like far too much work for little old me.” Peter crosses his arms. 

Hank understands that Peter doesn’t want to be a nuisance to him. He understands . Peter is just a kid. 

“I’m a scientist.” Hank says imstead “I like to experiment and solve problems. Even small things like this. It keeps me busy.”

There. Done. Now Peter will think he’s the one doing him a favor instead of the other way around. 

“Boredom can be a killer you know.” He adds and Peter laughs and nods and Hank thinks maybe he bought it. 

“I’m bored all the time.” The speedster says in jest. 

Hank also had a tendency of not eating. A while ago, before any of this, before the xmen and before he joined the CIA he was a poor college student and he would go days without eating anything that’s Andy out of a vending machine. He made meals out of Funyun bags and twizzlers and non-carbonated sodas. 

When he lived with Charles the last ten years he was the one to make meals. Quick and easy meals for nourishment instead of enjoyment. Enough to keep them both alive. Cooking was never his strong suit. 

When he was young his mother would cook for hours, mixing seasonings and flavors together and she would present her hard work to them with a timid smile and a stained apron. His mother loved to cook and he loved to help. Whisking eggs or cutting vegetables. She was so precise with her measurements, her cuts and slices to the exact degree following the recipe to the letter. Taking great detail and effort in making the meal a perfect creation. A perfectionist at heart. 

As he grew older, about four or five Hanks thirst for knowledge became known. Advanced well above his age and suddenly he wasn’t useless to his father anymore. Hank's father forced him to take a step away from the kitchen, away from his mother and forced him to focus more on his studies. He ate his meals in his room in between study sessions instead of the dining table. 

Evers since then food was simply a task. Something he had to have to survive and not to enjoy. His father tainted even that . 

Peter cooks like Hank's mother. Not the actual process of course. His meat isn’t perfectly cubed or perfectly measured and seasoned. He isn't clinical or procedural about it. Peter's food is made for enjoyment just like his mothers.  He doesn’t quite know what to do with that information because Peter and his mother couldn’t be any more different. 

When Hank locked himself in his study for weeks, trying desperately not to relapse back into his medication he tinkered with cerebros headpiece-

“You’re not touching my beautiful hair, hank. Don’t even think about it.” Charles told him when he suggested it would work better if he had shorter hair. 

-Hank realized a side affect of going cold turkey was that he was absolutely famished. Just as the thought crossed his mind he suddenly smelled something with his enhanced sense of smell. Just outside his door. Like a miracle there was food just sitting on the floor for him to take. 

Had Charles suddenly learned how to cook? No. It looked far too well cooked to be anything from the man. 

He doubt the girls even know how to turn on the Oven let alone cook something this heavenly. 

Heavenly was the only word Hank could use. The moment he bit into the fluffy bread he nearly died. It was more than just good. It was criminal. 

It was sinfully good and Hank never wanted to eat anything else. He doesn’t know if he’s being dramatic because he’s quite frankly starving or because it genuinely is just that delicious. Both. Certainly. 

He leaves a note, a thank you, with the empty dish outside not really expecting anything to come of it. He was not prepared for Peter to take it as an invitation to single-handedly feed him every single day. Different things every day. 

Spicy. Bitter. Sour. Smokey. Tangy. Honey. Juicy. Greasy. Salty. Peppery. 

Hank gained seven pounds before he finally felt well enough to leave his depression room. 

“Hank?” Wanda is standing outside the hall in a white sleeping hound that makes her look horrifying in the dark night. 

“I’m just putting my dish away.” He needed an excuse to leave his room, he hadn’t realized he was going to be met with another human being so immediately. 

“You…are blue.” 

“That’s correct.”

“You weren’t blue before.”

“That’s correct.” 

“But…you are blue now.”

“That’s correct.”

“Like the Smurf cartoon.” 

“That’s…correct.” He’s a bit stunned to be compared to a smurf. 

“Okay.” She sighs as if this entire conversation was a huge hassle for her and then she simply walks away without another word. 

“She’s so moody lately.” Peter says suddenly right behind him and Hank screams and stops his plate. Peter catches it before it falls and shatters on the ground. “Didn’t mean to spook you. But I was very loud running up here.” Peter looks him up and down. 

“You do kinda look like a Smurf.” 

“I DO NOT LOOK LIKE A-“ Hank did later on end up reading a Smurf comic and was severely bummed out to see that they were in fact blue little gremlin type creatures. 

If he secretly only ever used the Blue Smurf mug Wanda got him when Charles started giving the kids allowances then it’s nobody's business. His coffee just tastes better in that mug for some reason. 

“Why do you have this?” Hank looks at the unstapled papers in the professor's night table. 

“It’s nothing.” Charles says as he grabs the stack but not before Hank reads the title page. 

Pietro Django Maximoff

Well…Why does he have that? 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Charles says stiffly. Hank wasn’t aware that he was looking at Charles at all. “He has a public record. Anyone can look at it. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re not fooling anyone with that excuse Charles.” Hank crosses his arms “you shouldn’t read that.” He says point blank.

“He doesn’t-“ Charles stops, thinking through his next words “he doesn’t talk to me. I know nothing about the boy except that he doesn’t want to go back home and he has a sister who’s also a mutant. I know nothing.”

“He also helped us when we asked . He came here because it was safe . He cooks in our kitchen because he cares that we’re eating. He plays chess with you because he knows you like it, not the other way around. Anything you need to know about the boy you will learn eventually, at his pace. This isn’t the way to do it.”

“I can’t read him. I can’t ever tell if he’s upset or tired or happy. I can’t see past what he shows me on his face and I never know what he needs or if I’m being too pushy or not pushy enough.”

“You sound like a-“ Hank doesn’t finish that sentence. Not even in his head.

“It’s okay to care about the boy. But this is gonna blow up in your face.” 

“He won’t find out.” 

He did find out. Peter was loud. He could hear him from his study. He could hear the quiet confession in Charles' tongue and it was too much even for Hank. He wasn’t surprised when he found Charles later in his office with a flask full of whiskey. 

“He ran away.” Charles took a sip of his flask and Hank tries not to be too judgmental about it. 

“What if he never comes back?”

“He will. He just needs time to cool off.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to come back.” Charles shakes his head. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me.” 

Hank knows exactly the way Peter probably looked at Charles. Not because he saw him but because he heard him. He heard the hitch of his voice rising to a blazing degree and the anger and hurt in his words that could qualify as pure betrayal. He heard it in the way he had to catch his breath between outbursts. Like every sentence was another balloon popping. He can imagine it perfectly because it’s the way he spoke to his father the last time they saw each other. Like years of hot air filling up and popping in one disastrous experience. Peter yelled at Charles like he was an angry child yelling at his father. 

Charles’ sentiment afterwards is what made Peter run. Younger Hank would’ve killed to have his father say the things Charles said to Peter. If Hank had to theorize, which he is excellent at, he would have to assume that Peter has never been spoken about so kindly before. Like he was something other than what he perceived himself to be. ‘A loser’ as he proclaimed proudly on multiple occasions.

Peter doesn’t do well with unexpected kindness. Hank wonders why that may be. 

Charles takes another swig of his alcohol “you care about him.” Hank says. 

“Of course, I’m a very caring person.”

Hank rolls his eyes. Sure, let’s go with that. 

“Don’t know if you haven’t noticed but apparently not many people care about Peter Maximoff. His dad is-god knows where-his step-dad is on a first name basis which is never good and his mothers been mentally clocked out even before he got here.” Henry gestures at Charles’ tipsy ass “unfortunately it seems you are the only semi-adult person that seems to care about his personal well-being and you go and fuck it up by invading his privacy.”

“Are you not a semi-adult person as well Hank?”Charles lifts a brow at Hank.

“Not the point.” Hank huffs “I’m not the one that invaded his privacy. You’re the one that has to apologize. Not me.”

“I know- but what if he-“ 

Charles and Hank abruptly stop talking, jumping back in alarm when the door handle smacks against the wall with a loud clunk. 

Don’t let him see it. Hank thinks towards him. 

Charles puts the flask in his hiding place without looking. Without tearing his concerned eyes away from Peter. 

“Pietro-“ Charles starts to say before Wanda was talking over him 

“Pietro got in a fight and he got hurt.” Hank scans Peter with his eyes and is alarmed to see him barefoot and disheveled.

“a physical fight. And I burned my hand by accident.” Peter corrects quickly, looking like a pouty child.

“You what?” Hank exclaims maybe a bit too loudly. 

Peter explains what happened, only after Wanda leaves the room. Hank and Charles are both openly horrified which only makes Peter look smaller and smaller as the story progresses. Hank pulls a first aid kit from behind the bookcase and begins slathering Peter's palm with an infection ointment. He tries to be careful. Scared to do any more harm. 

“That hurts.” Peter pouts, trying to pull his hand away from Hank's care. 

Be careful. 

I’m being careful Charles. Chill out. 

“Hank-“ the professor starts and the doctor glares at Charles refusing to let him question him anymore. 

“no shit it hurts. It’s infected.” He aims his irritability at Peter “You heal faster then most so it had time to get all nasty. You’re lucky it won’t leave too much of a scar.”

“But it will leave a scar?” Charles asks like he’s about to burst. Full of concern. 

“A very faint one. Shouldn’t be too bad, just needs to replace the bandages and reapply the ointment every couple hours.” Hank uses his doctor voice. The one he used on concerned parents asking about their child’s care.

“Should be completely fine within three days.” He’s never had to use that voice on Charles before.

“That’s good.” Peter chirps at the same time that Charles says “isn’t that a bit long? Three days?” He rolls his wheelchair a bit closer to the pair and Peter gets stiff, his hand tensing around Hanks. 

“Actually the normal time would usually be around 21 days or more for a burn this severe. So three days is actually pretty miraculous.” Hank says.

“Miraculous.” Charles repeats under his breath.

Tone it down Charles.

“And his feet? Is there any infection there?” 

“Can we not talk about my feet?” 

“How quickly are you able to supply him with new shoes?” 

“I already have an extra pair I was tinkering with.” Hank says and he leaves knowing the two have much to talk about.

Dick.

Talk to him!

They talk, and fires are squashed. Peter looks more relaxed and Hank is glad he didn’t have to talk charles off the ledge. It was becoming obvious that Peters opinion of Charles affects the man. He doesnt understand. Not really. 

He meets Kurt. Blue skin and wagging happy tail as he looks up at Hank like he was someone important and-fuck.

Hank McCoy suddenly gets it.  

Chapter Text

Bobby Drake throws up all over Pietro's new shoes, smelling rancid in every way describable. “That was god awful.” The younger boy dry heaves, face red and eyes watery from coughing up his breakfast all over the hospital parking lot. 

“I warned you, you might feel a bit dizzy.” Everyone always has the same reaction to Pietros superspeed. Everyone except for Wanda who’s grown accustomed to the high speed travel.

“A bit dizzy?” Bobby scoffs “I feel like my entire soul left my body and came back discombobulated.” He points at the goosebumps on his arms waving it in front of Pietros face frantically. “Discombobulated. That’s a pretty big word.” Pietro smirks, taking off his prescription goggles. 

“Shut up! It was like jumping out of a flying plane without a parachute into an ocean of killer sharks.”

“Aren’t all sharks, killer sharks?”

“Not the point!” 

“Just saying I’ve never met a friendly shark before.” Pietro shrugs. 

“Have you ever met a shark?” Before Pietro could say a response Bobby shoots him a withering glare “exactly! You haven’t!” 

So he doesn’t like the super speed, got it. Pietro tries to think of another way to get back to the mansion after this if superspeed is no longer an option. 

“Now I’m gonna smell like vomit when I go see him.” The young boy whines wiping his mouth with his long sleeve. 

“If it helps you didn’t smell all that good beforehand.” Pietro smirks. 

“Fuck off.”

“Just saying you should shower more. You’ve got serious B.O.” 

“Just shut up! You’re so annoying.” Charles says you think I’m cool. He could say that. Pietro doesn’t but he’s very tempted to rub that information in his face. He decides to be the adult in 

this Situation instead. Because he is. He is an adult . 

“So what are you gonna say to him when you see him?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Did you wanna maybe rehearse or…”

“No? I’m not gonna rehearse—-can you shut up.” Bobby’s patience with Pietro was decreasing by the minute. “Shutting up isn’t my thing.” Pietro gestures towards the hospital entrance.

“You gonna go in?”

“Me? You’re not coming with me?” Bobby freezes and nervously looks at the speedster and Pietro has never seen a human being switch their attitude up so quickly “you promised you’d help me.” 

Bobby has sad puppy eyes. Pietro didn’t know that. Now he does. They are unfortunately aimed full force at him. Damn. “I don’t really like hospitals.” Pietro starts, looking briefly at the entrance sign on the door wrinkling his nose at the vomit stuck on his shoe. 

“Please Peter.” Bobby begs. “I don’t wanna go in alone. Plus I'm a minor nobodies gonna let me go visit. You gotta come with. Pleaseeeeeeeee. You don’t gotta be in the room, I just need your help getting there. Please .” 

Pietro's vision is getting blurry just looking at the door but Bobby’s voice rings true in his ear. Okay. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Cool. He can do this. 

“Okay.” Peter barely gets the words out before Bobby is sighing in relief “thank you.”

Pietro collects the rare thank you like a delicious cookie and puts it in a jar in his brain for him to look at later. 

The speedster slightly dissociates when he gets inside the building and he’s not sure if it’s because he’s suddenly been hit with a pounding migraine or because the lights are too bright and the wall too clean for his eyes not to unfocus on or because he can’t stop thinking about the last time he stepped foot in a hospital.  

“Can I help you?” A middle aged nurse looks at the two boys, wearing blue scrubs and sporting cropped blonde hair that she has braided back in butterfly clips that Pietro thinks Wanda might like. She smiles politely at Bobby who disregards her completely and forces Pietro to talk. 

“Yeah, We’re here to visit-“ Pietro realizes he doesn’t know the kids name and slaps Bobby’s arm to answer for him. “Romeo. His name is Romeo Hernandez.” 

“He was admitted here a few weeks ago. We’re his cousins.” Pietro immediately regrets the relation as the nurse raises a brow at their very pale white faces. “We’re a blended family.” He says smoothly and with the full confidence of a boy who could just superspeed away from trouble. 

“Right…” she looks down at her computer “is that Hernandez with a Z or an S?”

“Z.” Bobby says.

“He’s in room 13B on floor four. Visiting hours end in one hour.” She says plainly and goes back to her word search. The speedster fights back a migraine. He swears the white walls are getting closer together. 

Bobby is moving before Pietro can say otherwise “we only have an hour so we gotta be quick.”

“We can always super spe-“

“-WE will NOT be doing that again.” Bobby points at his arm as if to remind Pietro again “goosebumps. Literal terror.” Pietro himself feels literal terror just being in this building but he wasn’t going to bring that up to Bobby Drake. 

Elevator it is. He can do this. Just one step at a time. 

As they go up the elevator he’s reminded of the Wonka movie he watched with Kurt. A magical elevator that goes anywhere. His blue friend had gasped and laughed and glowed with happiness as he watched the film and Pietro thought of his bottled laugh as he went up the elevator. He tries to distract himself so he doesn’t think too deeply about mean doctors and rough needles and tight handcuffs. He thinks about Kurt instead. He thinks about their attempt at making the Wonka bars the following weekend after watching the film. How Kurt’s face lit up when he tried the first batch of chocolate Pietro made. “It’s amazing! This is my favorite.” He proceeds to say that about every other batch after that. This one is his new favorite. The next one was his new favorite. Each he claimed was simply better then the last but Pietro knew that it could taste like straight up garbage and Kurt would still manage to eat every little piece. Pietro watches the numbers on the elevator achingly tick away. Too Slowly. He takes a shaky breath. He thinks about his sister roller skating in the front yard with her scraped knees and scraped palms always getting up no matter how many times she falls. Giggling when Pietro would fall on a pile of wet leaves and jumping on top of him for good measure. 

Pietro swallows the lump in his throat and looks at Bobby who is frozen in superspeed looking impatiently at the elevator doors. 

Pietro thinks about his mom fixing his collar before picture day, smoothing out his brown curls and pressing her pomegranate lipstick on to his forehead. He remembers wiping it away and her laughing at him softly as she attacked him with more staining kisses. He thinks about sitting in a Wendy’s booth surrounded by more mutants than he’s known his entire life and feeling like he wasn’t alone for the first time in his life. A cold Sunday, melting and dripping between his fingers. He thinks about Hank accidentally turning all of his whites blue and walking around with a baby blue lab coat for two weeks. 

Pietro watches the number above the elevator click to the next. He presses a hand against his chest trying to even out his breathing. 

He tries to think about Jean. He remembers looming her hair into two intricate braids, flowers Wanda picked out decorating her red curls and the way she smiled at her reflection. He recalls her giving Pietro a big hug and pulling  away like she thought she would be punished for showing affection. He remembers tugging her back in for a warmer hug and holding her there until she was suddenly crying. He remembers wiping away her tears and telling her it was okay. Pietro didn’t ask why she was crying. She didn’t have to explain.  

Pietro remembers Frankie getting his own custom made aprons so that he was matching with Pietro. He remembers showing him how to cut on the board  correctly. Fruits and vegetables being sacrificed in that endeavor. He remembers watching him press his whole face against the oven just to see the food slowly bake. Pietro laughs at the boy and he throws a dirty spatula at the speedster in a huff. 

Pietro looks at Bobby who shares that same impatience in his expression. He takes another breath. 

He remembers winning at chess for the first time. The hilarious realization that Charles was a sore loser. Pietro felt accomplished knowing he had actually finally won a game of chess against the telepath. The look of shock on the professor's face when Pietro was gaining traction and killing his defense. “You won. Fair and square.” He says, sounding very much like he was being held at gunpoint. “Aha! Suck it, Wheels!” The speedster exclaims as if he hadn’t lost about 200 times before that. 

Pietro remembers the strange expression on Charles' face too. Like maybe he was happy too. 

“Best two out of three?” He was a sore loser. 

Pietro takes another breath as the elevator door opens and he super speeds out of it and is fine the hall clutching the wall in half a millisecond taking long deep breaths. Bobby came to his side hesitantly “I didn’t think you were claustrophobic.”

“I’m not. I just…really hate hospitals.” Pietro waves him away “I’m good. Gimme a sec.” 

Bobby fidgets “he’s just down the hall.” 

“Yeah? You know what you're gonna say yet?”

“Kinda?”

“Good luck. I’ll be out here.” Fighting off a panic attack. 

Bobby nods “you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, I’mma be good. Just go talk to your Romeo.”

Bobby’s face goes flush red “shut up. He’s not my anything.” 

“Whatever. Stop dragging this on. Go talk to him.”

“Okay, God!” Bobby takes a breath and moves down the hall at an achingly slow pace even in Pietros eyes.  

He watches him peak into a door. And then He’s inside a room. Three doors to the left. Pietro sits in the chair nearby, still catching his breath, the white walls looking shaky. 

He needs to get the fuck out of here. 

Trying to remember happy things can only help so much when trying to fight back an anxiety attack.

His mom used to sing to him when he got like this. Polish words soothing his mind. Magda Maximff would massage his hair and hold him tightly until he was human again. When he got powers. That stopped. Her song never reached his ears, too slow to ever register in his panic state and when he shook it was so fast that if she got close to embrace him she would get hurt. No more hugs. No more songs. 

“Are you okay?” Pietro blinks up at a tall man wearing scrubs, his face sunken in and exhausted. The man looked like he went through a war zone and barely lived to tell the tale “probably better then you.” Pietro says quickly his voice coming out a bit on the fast side but still legible to the human ear. 

“I don’t know about that. You look like you’re having a panic attack.”

“You a doctor or something?” Pietro stairs at a spot of blood on the corner of the man’s sleeves. Big and bright. 

“Nurse.” 

“Good for you.”

“You get checked out already?” He pulls out a stethoscope and puts it on Pietros chest just above his heart. 

“I'm not a patient. Just here with a friend-my cousin.” Pietro breath hitches when the boy gets closer trying to listen into his heart beat. 

“Your friend slash cousin?” 

“Yah. That.” 

“Ahuh.” The man looks Pietro up and down then wipes them puts the stethoscope back on Pietro chest, this time going under his shirt. “And where exactly is your cousin slash friend?” 

“With our other Cousin slash friend.” Pietro watches as the man’s brows furrow and he tries to listen to his heartbeat. Pietro no longer freaking out and now realizing it’s a bit alarming how easily he had let him get this close to him. He doesnt know this guy. 

“Are you dead?” The man looks at Pietro with a haunted expression. 

“Not yet.” Pietro grins. 

“You don’t have a heartbeat.” He states pursing his lips in a grimace. 

“I do, it’s just really really fast. Undetectable by human ears.” Pietro explains easily, shooing the man away gently. 

“Human ears.” The man repeats then his eyes widen “you’re one of them . A mutant.”

Pietro shrugs “yeah, sure, and?”

The man stands up abruptly “you shouldn’t be here. This hospital doesn’t take mutant patients.”

“Like I said-I’m not a patient. I’m here with my cousin.”

“You can’t be here.” The man says urgently. “If any of the staff finds out you’re a mutant they’re in the legal right to call the authorities.” Ouch. Brutal. 

“Aren’t you technically staff? Are you going to report me to the authorities?” Pietro stands from his chair as well and the man takes a step back in uneasiness. “You could try. I would stop you but you could try.”

The man stands up straight, his face becoming steely “no. I have nothing against…your kind. But my colleagues aren’t nearly as graceful. They won’t hesitate to report you and your cousin .” 

Pietro lifts a brow “right. Well-we won’t be here long.” Pietro moves super speeds around him and into the room Bobby Drake went in. Not thinking twice on what the nurse's reaction would be. When he agreed to go with Bobby so he can apologize to the boy he hurt so that he can make amends he was expecting tears. Maybe yelling. If things went south he was prepared to split up a fight and monitor the interaction if needed. What he was not expecting when he entered the room was for the two boys to be laughing. He hadn't ever heard Bobby laugh before and was incredibly startled when he heard the seemingly innocent sound for the first time. 

“Hate to cut this short-“ Pietro saw Bobby flinch, taking a big step back from the other boy “-I thought you said you’d wait outside.” 

“Yeah, I did.” Pietro looks between the two boys quickly trying to figure out what he’s missing. The boy was tall for his age. All arms and legs and tan skin and shaggy dark hair that was overgrown awkwardly and not in an intentional way. He was in a hospital bed but looked like he was already on the right said of health. He looked at Pietro with a surprised smile. 

“I was just making sure everything was going okay.”

“Yeah, whatever, just give me a second will you? Jesus.” The boy next to him put a hand on his arm which only made Bobby look more on edge “it’s alright. He’s Peter right?” He has a thick accent. A twang of two different languages fighting for dominance. 

 “Yeah he’s Peter,” Bobby mumbles and avoids Pietro's gaze. They couldn’t have been in this room alone for longer than twenty minutes. How on earth had Pietro even been brought up during those twenty minutes? 

“Thank you for bringing him.” Romeo says a kind smile on his face as he gives Bobby a side ways look. 

“No sweat.” Pietro is in fact very sweaty and had just stopped having a freak out over being in a hospital not too long ago. 

“Take care of him for me?” And Bobby scoffs “I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself.” 

Romeo barely spared the pouty Bobby a look “he can be stubborn but he’s not a bad guy.” 

Pietro is very confused. This is not how he thought Romeo would react to seeing Bobby at his bedside. He expected anger and hate and annoyance or maybe even fear but he was just…super nice? Like to the point that it’s confusing. 

“Yeah, I knew that. Bobby’s actually just like a fluffy pit bull.” Pietro pretends he is not confused simply because he figured he’d berate Bobby with questions later. 

“I’m not a dog.” Bobby exclaims irritably.  “He’s more like a shaking pomeranian.”  Romeo says with a teasing smile.

Once he saw the picture in his head he couldn’t unsee it and the speedster bursted into laughter not even a second after the joke was made making Bobby protest even louder. 

“As fun as this has been, we really do have to go.” 

Bobby frowns and Romeo hands him a piece of paper, putting it in the pocket in front of his shirt. “That’s my house number. They're releasing me tomorrow.”

Nice. 

“But I-“

“-it’s okay. You gotta go.”

“But we just got here.” Bobby looks at Pietro and the speedster looks at him guiltily “unfortunately I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a situation and we gotta leave the premises as quickly as inhumanely possible.”

Bobby’s eyes widen and gestures at his goosebumps once more and Pietro nods somberly. He looks like he’s gonna throw up again. 

“It’s alright Robert, you can call me tomorrow.” 

Robert? What the fuck? Government name and everything? Holy shit he has so many questions!

“Only if you don’t mind.” Bobby is suddenly very shy and a shaking Pomeranian suddenly appears in his head. Truly so accurate. Romeo might be onto something. 

“Of course not. My mama will be happy to hear from you too. She’s been worried about you. She’ll be sad to know she missed you.”

“Tell her I’m sorry.” Bobby says with uncertainty in his voice “you can tell her tomorrow when you call.”

Bobby nods and Pietro gets the impression that he didn’t want the speedster to watch him when gets close to Romeo for a hug so Pietro turns around stealing about twenty cotton balls and cotton swabs. He smuggles a pair of bright purple scissors compulsively and then two seconds later goes back and takes the matching pencil case. 

He faces the wall, staring at the poster for CPR and only turns around when he feels Bobby’s hand tug on his jacket signaling his readiness for speed travel. 

“You ready?”

“Not really,” Bobby blanches and Pietro feels his neck tense when he grabs it. 

Pietro runs. 

They stop by Wendy’s. 

He orders a kids meal for Bobby who glares at him the entire time while eating the tiny slices of apples and dipping on his miniature cup of soda. 

“Thanks for letting me go see him.”

“No problem Robert .” And Bobby makes the stinkiest stank face imaginable. “Ugh you suck so bad.”

“Charles says you think I’m cool.” Pietro blurts out accidently even though he swore he'd never bring it up. 

“What the hell? No I don’t!” Bobby’s entire face goes pale and he throws his limited french fries at him. Pietro doesn't dodge the fries even though he could, Letting the salted potato smack his cheeks aggressively. 

“Sure, whatever you say. Although you do tend to lie as it would seem.”

“What are you on about?” 

“Romeo. You said you weren’t friends. That you pushed him down the pool. That you wanted to make amends. That’s not what it looked like from my end.”

“I never said that we weren’t friends.”

“Um….it was implied.”

“I said he was a new kid. But we knew each other before he transferred school. We had Football camp together and–his mom was my nannie.”

Garcia! Holy shit no wonder he looked so familiar. 

“Okay so you guys were friends. Are friends. So what was the whole deal with the pool thing? You pushed him or you didn’t?”

The plot was thickening. 

Pietro was a bit too invested in this tid bit of drama. It just reminds him of the tele novelas he started watching with Teresa. Teresa was a thirteen year old Spanish speaking mutant who had only been with them for three weeks but got him hooked on the weekly airing of a telenovela about a singer songwriter whose family works for the mafia. It was too mature for the thirteen year old to be watching but Everytime he goes to tell her she shouldn’t watch it he gets trapped into the show's vortex all over again. Teresa and him have a betting pool consisting of a total fifteen dollars a two weeks worth of dishes on who we think the main character is gonna end up with. Teresa thinks she’s gonna end up with the nice cowboy that owns the popular bakery and wants to settle down but Pietro thinks she’s gonna end up with the widowed producer with the three year old daughter and a heart of gold. It’s a fifty-fifty chance. 

Bobby’s friendship with Romeo isn’t nearly as interesting as the “will they don’t they” Teresa and him have been witnessing on screen but it’s still very entertaining. 

“I didn’t push him but I didn’t stop my friends from pushing him. I took too long to save him and he got hypothermia and was in a medically Induced coma for a week.”

“And he got amnesia.” Pietro gasps dramatically. 

“No, moron. And he should hate my guts. I wasn’t a hood friend to him. When he moved schools I pretended not to know him and I let my friends be mean to him and he got hurt. He got really hurt and he still forgave me. He gave me his fucking number so I can call his mom to tell her I’m okay.” 

“Sounds like he doesn’t blame you for what happened.”

“He should. I treated him badly. I was a shit friend.”

“You didn’t push him. You saved his life. He’s grateful. He’s allowed to feel grateful.”

“He shouldn’t. He should be angry at me. His mom, she-she was taking care of me, he was in the hospital in a literal coma.” 

“If I remember correctly you where in pretty bad shape too,” 

“ yeah but Romeo’s her son. I’m just some kid she gets paid to take care of cause my parents can’t be around all the time. I’m nobody,”

“You’re not nobody. Don’t be dumb,” Pietro sips on his soda “she cares about you. Clearly just as much as her own. Did it ever occur to you that she might love you like a son?”

“but I’m not her son.”

“Just cause she doesn’t have your blood doesn’t mean she can’t love you like you do. Families form from all sorts of bonds.” Bobby soaked that in. Pietro is feeling pretty wise right about now so he eats the rest of his burgers. 

He’s scoring some major big brother points right now. 

“Is that you?” Bobby says in alarm. 

“Huh?” Pietro turns towards what Bobby is looking at. The public tv near the corner of the Wendy’s is displaying the news and Pietros face is on it. An old picture from when he was a runner he didn’t know they still had flashing across the network. 

“What the fuck?” 

“What are they saying?” Bobby finds the remote and raises the volume while Pietro is watching in confusion. The picture of him was in his uniform, drenched in sweat and staring off camera looking weirdly menacing and a trophy  being placed in his hand. The trophy was  cut off. They zoomed in on his face a bit and you can only see the trails of sweat and the flush on his cheeks. His sweaty silver hair half up in a scrunchy that actually belonged to his mother. It was his last race. He knew he was going to get axed right after it so he looked pissed off and angry. Out of context he did look like a delinquent. 

“Why’d they choose the coolest picture of you?” Bobby gapes at the screen. 

“It’s probably the only one they didn’t erase from the records.” Pietro says off handedly and he can hear the news now. Loud and clear. 

“-wanted for assault, murder, breaking and entering, Arsen, kidnapping, harassment, fraudulence, human trafficking, property damage, and conspiring and aiding a terrorist.” 

What. The. Fuck. “How in god's green earth did you manage to do all that?” Bobby yells in horror. 

“I very much didn’t. I don’t even know half the shit they're talking about.”

“BUT YOU KNOW THE OTHER HALF?”

Pietro shrugs still not over his shock at seeing his face on tv “mutant assailant was last seen in Saint Justice Hospital conspiring with another unknown mutant. If seen please report to your local authority. You can call 82-“Pietro stopped listening and threw away his zevel in the trash compartment. The need to go pronto.

“Someone reported you? Is that why we had to leave the hospital?”

“We gotta go.”

 “But-“ he makes eye contact with the cashier who suddenly looks very panicked, clearly listening to the news as well.

“-no buts. We’re going back to the mansion. Now.”  He grabs Bobby and he fucking runs. 

When they get back to the mansion everyone’s already settling into sleep. Jean and Wanda are cuddling and Bobby goes to his room and Pietro spirals just a little bit before he goes to Charles office, seeing that the light was on so he was still awake. 

Although he had been in mid conversation with Hank. A very heated one at that. 

“He’s settled in Poland.”

“I didn’t fix cerebro so you could stalk Erik. Why can’t you just let him be? Hadn’t he done enough?” Charles was keeping tabs on Erik? 

Why the hell would he do that? 

“I needed to know. For the last ten years I knew exactly where he was. Ten levels down in the pentagon. This was the first time I didn’t know if-“ Pietro stepped on a loose floorboard and he mentally curses. 

“Peter?” Hanks voice rang in the room and Pietro was kinda impressed that he knew he was him by his footsteps alone. 

Pietro decided to bite the bullet and open the door sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Just curious if you’ve seen the news?”

He tells them what happened. Charles assured him that he was safe here. “I think it’s best if you didn’t go with me to recruit students.” Charles says hesitantly “you’ll be at risk of being recognized. For your safety I think you should keep it local for a while until this settles down. I’ll pull some favors and get your face off the news.” 

Pietro tries to keep the hurt off his face when he says he can’t come to recruitments anymore. It was kinda their  thing. But he gets it. It’s a safety thing. He knows that. He’s allowed to be sad about it though. “Yeah I get it. wouldn’t be very good for a wanted criminal to be the face of your school.” Pietro throws out jokingly even though it felt like he was being stabbed. 

Charles has gotten scarily well at reading Pietros quick micro expressions because he’s grabbing his hand gently, sitting on his wheelchair in front of him with warm eyes “you aren’t a criminal. You’re a good kid. This will pass.”

Pietro avoids his gaze because it feels like too much “you’ve quite literally read my file Charles. I am a criminal.” That’s just the things they know about. He’s stolen so many things. Broken so many different laws just because he couldn’t get caught. In this version of his life he was the bad guy and Charles knows that. 

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Charles says not daring to let go of his hand, probably knowing that if he did he’d just super speed away “I know I said it before. But you must know that what I did was wrong. You aren’t your past, you aren’t what they are saying in the news. I know you. I’ve gotten to know you the hard way. You are a good kid.”

“I’m not a kid.” Pietro feels like he’s had this conversation before, roles different and voice bigger. 

“You are to me. You’re mine. I won't let anything happen to you.” 

Pietro-well fuck. He’s not trying to be stupid. He knows Charles probably doesnt mean it in the way that it sounds but-fuck. Charles doesn’t want to be his-okay, okay. Shit. His eyes hurt. He might cry in a really cringey little kid way that will embarrass the fuck out of him later when he thinks about it. He needs to stop freaking out. He needs to stop being so fucking stupid. 

“This will all work out.” Charles begins  “I’ll take care of it.” I’ll take care of you was the silent promise. Pietro doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s usually the one taking care of things. Taking care of his mom. Taking care of his sister. Taking care of himself. He doesn’t know how to let someone else do it. He doesn’t know how to emote properly. 

“Okay.” Pietros voice is just above a whisper. He’ll learn. Only because it’s Charles. “How-how was dinner?” Pietro clears his throat, hating how much his voice was cracking. Hank and Charles give each other a look. 

“What was that?” Pietro watches Hank step out of the room awkwardly. 

“You missed quite the night.” 

“What happened?” Pietro is suddenly more anxious than he was before.

“Well…without going into too much detail. Your sister seems to have gotten a surprise visit from Aunt flow.” 

“We don’t have an aunt flow.”

Charles expression twitches “it’s her first shark week.”

“Is that what Miss Margo cooked? Shark? Sounds illegal. Sorry I missed it.”

“No.” Charles sighs “your sister is becoming a young lady. Her body is changing-“

“-gross-“

“-Peter Django Maximoff I am trying to tell you that your sister got her first period and you are making it incredibly difficult.”

Oh. 

Oh . 

Oh no! 

Pietros eyes widen “did you-“

“-she came to me specifically.” Charles says looking like he’s having flashbacks “while I’m very touched that she felt she could come to me when it happened I was not..,well versed in giving that sort of talk. I tried my best but I had to hand her off to miss Margo.”

“I’m so sorry.” Pietro feels the second-hand embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m mostly surprised that your mother hadn’t told her about it before. She hadn’t a clue what I was saying when I was speaking with her.”

That tracks. His mother was never the one to explain things. She liked for them to learn things naturally. She never taught him to swim; she just waited for him to stop drowning. She never sat pietro down to give him the talk. He just figured it out the hard way. She never showed him how to cook, she just left the ingredients out so he could figure it out. 

“Thanks for helping her. This kinda explains her mood swings lately.”

“She has been having a lot more nightmares as of late.”

“You help her during her nightmares.”

“Yes, I do.” 

“You shouldn’t be surprised that she came to you. She trusts that you would always help her.” Wanda isn't easily won over. Not when it comes to grown ups. If she trusts Charles then hes in it for life. He doesn't tell the telepath that, pietros sure he's figured that part out already. 

Wanda doesn't have many good role models. Pietro doesn't consider himself  a very good example, considering his face is in the news right now. 

A few days later Teresa announces that the telenovela they are watching wasn’t renewed for another season and suddenly Pietro's world is crumbling all over again. 

“How can this be? This is a travesty.” And he’s being so serious. He is fully invested. He made tshirts . This was criminal. “How can they cancel it? It’s at its peak.” 

“One of the cast members came out as mutant.” Teresa says her broken English makes the news sound devastating. 

Pietro blinks and something in his stomach twists. “They canceled a show because a mutant was involved in it?”

Teresa shook her head her ponytails swinging behind her head “It's not confirmed but apparently they were just going to fire her and replace her but the cast refused to continue the series without her.” Pietro's head spun.

“Who was the mutant?”

“The actress that played the evil mom. Apparently in real life she’s actually super nice and was kinda like everyone’s actual mom on set. Everyone loved her.” 

Pietro thinks there’s something so wholesome about loving someone enough to sacrifice your livelihood over them. To say “fuck it.” And stand by them. In a perfect world it wouldn’t be a problem. The show would keep going. In a perfect world Pietro wouldn’t have to pick another show to watch every Saturday night at 6pm. 

“Everybody loved her and they still canceled the show.” 

“Yeah. I guess…she didn’t wanna hide it anymore. Ever since The Mutant Hero saved the president on the news a lot of people have been revealing themselves. Coming out of hiding.” They shouldn’t have had to hide to begin with. 

“That’s…good then.” Pietro settles “still bummed about the show though.”

Teresa sighs “yeah me too. One more season and Jennifer definitely would’ve gotten married to Thomas.”

Pietro rolls his eyes “ugh no way. She would’ve left him at the altar and ran away with Christian.” 

Teresa and him go into an entire debate. Which Pietro decided he won. Later on the watch the latest episode and anytime the villainous mom would appear on screen he would feel sad. 

Bobby was hogging the phone. Finally getting the nerve to call Romeo. He was on the phone for two hours and Pietro nearly yelled at him to get off cause he was expecting a call. 

His mom is gonna call today. Tomorrow is Wanda’s birthday and he feels it in his bones. She’s gonna call. But the call won’t go through if Bobby’s hogging the phone line.

“They blurred your picture on the news.” Wanda says with a bounce to her step. “Oh yeah? Great, I hated that picture anyway.” He tries to pretend like he was anxious about it the whole time. Charles pulled some favors and was able to take his picture out of the news but not the report itself. They are still looking for a silver haired mutant. 

“You’re the only one that hated it.”

Pietro frowns looking up from his comic book, the one he smuggled from Bobby’s room when he was in class. “Who else saw it?” 

“Jean and Ashley saw it on the tv and Kurt definitely saw it too.”

“What do you mean he definitely saw it.”

“I read his mind so I know he saw it cause he keeps thinking about it.” 

If Kurt saw him on the news and was uncomfortable then that’s probably why he kept thinking about it. Is that why he hadn't seen him all day? Has the teleporter been avoiding him? 

“Is he…upset?” Kurt is catholic, He reminds himself. His morals are far better then Pietros and more then once the speedster has stopped himself from impulsively stealing something at the grocery store because the blue mutant was with him. 

Which is probably why Charles always assigned the two to go grocery shopping together. So Kurt would keep Pietro in line. Clever bastard. 

Kurt might have some feeling over Pietro being a “bad guy.”

“Stop panicking. He just thought you looked really sweaty in the picture.”

“What?” I mean he was running in the picture so he was sweaty. 

“Yeah, something about you being hot.” 

Pietro froze. “What.”

“He said you looked hot.” Pietros face goes warm and he stares at his sister in shock. 

“He said I looked hot.” He must be misunderstanding her. 

“Yes.” Wanda nods sitting on the couch “You did look sweaty and gross.” 

“He said I looked sweaty and gross or he said I looked hot?”

Wanda shrugs “what’s the difference?”

Pietro suppresses a grin “what did we talk about reading people’s mind?” 

“But he was being so loud about it.” Wanda exasperated, throwing her body to the side of the couch dramatically. “Pietro this- Pietro that-he’s always thinking about you so loudly I can’t help but listen.” 

Pietro can’t stop the smile from escaping “oh yeah?” Usually th idea of being perceived outside himself is a strange thing but knowing it’s Kurt only manages to make him really fucking happy.

“It’s so annoying.” 

“We’ll he is my best friend.”

“I don’t think about Jean that much. I don’t think anyone in the face of the planet thinks about a person as much as Kurt thinks about you.”

“Jeans your best friend? Not Frankie? He must be heartbroken.” Pietro teases easily. 

“Frankie’s my boyfriend.” 

Pietro's smile drops. “Excuse me?” 

“Jeans my best friend. Frankie’s my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend? He’s not your boyfriend! You’re too young to have a boyfriend.”

Wanda rolls her eyes at him “I’m ten now. I can have a boyfriend.” 

“you’re not ten yet and Ten is still too young! You can start dating when you’re thirty.”

“No fair. You can have a boyfriend and I can’t?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” pietro says with his sass level to the max. 

“Whateverrrrrrr.” Wanda wails. 

“I’m gonna kill him.” Yeah, definitely.

“You can’t!”

 “Yes I can. It would be so easy. I could just forget he’s allergic to cinnamon when I make his pancakes tomorrow.”

“You can’t do that!” Wanda smacks his arm and Pietro dodged her next attack “I love him!” 

“Gross.” Pietro can believe that Frankie loves Wanda but the other way around makes him want to tear his hair out. Just a few months ago boys had cooties and now she has a boyfriend?

“Frankie’s my boyfriend now so you gotta be nice to him.”

“I'm literally always nice to him.” Pietro may have learned the cinnamon thing the hard way. He got to his epipen in time. 

“Pietro be serious.” Wanda glares at him and Pietro needs to remind himself that she’s not four anymore. She's turning ten now and that brings in a whole new set of problems. “He values your opinion.” 

“I’ll…try. To be nicer.” He will try . 

Charles’ face when he tells him is exactly how Pietro felt. “Isn’t she a bit young to start dating?” 

“How old where you when you started dating?”

“I had my first girlfriend when I was seven. But I was very mature for my age.” Doubt it. “We broke up during second period gym class when I didn’t pick her for volleyball.”

“A true betrayal. She deserved better than that Charles.” 

“It was a low blow.” Charles jokes “but Frankie is different. I mean—I knew he liked her. Anyone with eyes and ears can tell he does but I wasn’t under the impression that Wanda even considered him anything else then a friend.” 

Pietro wishes his mom called today. He was hopeful but she hadn’t and he knew that she would have the perfect words to say to Wanda. 

“Apparently she loves him. I don’t see why. He’s just some scrawny little smcmuck. I could squish him without even trying.”

Charles nods “I’m sure it won’t last.”

It does. Neither of them knew that but Pietro likes to complain that the two of them jinxed it by not knocking on wood after praying for their downfall. 

How was he supposed to know that they loved each in every universe? 

“I fear I might be missing Wanda’s big party tomorrow.”

Pietro stops chewing on his bag of chips looking at the professor in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Charles looks remorseful as he says “there’s…an old friend who needs my help. He seems to have gotten himself in legal problems and needs me to be at his court mandated hearing. To speak on his character and such. It was all very last minute and I much rather be with you and Wanda celebrating but…” Charles grasps for words that Pietro already has. 

“…he needs you. I get it.” And he does. Sure it’s gonna be a hit for the party considering the student to adult ratio is off balance now and Wanda will definitely note his absence. 

“He was an old student. Young and bright but after the school shut down. He went down the wrong path and I’m just trying to get him back in the right one. He hadn’t done anything violent he was just in the wrong place with the wrong people.” 

“You don’t have to convince me Charles. I know you wouldn’t bail on Wanda’s party for some random guy. He’s your student . I get it. Seriously.” Probably one of the few students that are still alive. He knows that must be an extra punch for Charles as well. 

“You think Wanda will be too upset?” 

“She’ll have a full day of activities to distract her from your absence.” He had planned the whole day meticulously just like he did every year. From dusk to Dawn. He had done it to distract her from the fact that their mother wouldn’t be present. It would be the first birthday without their mom and he knows Wanda knows it and he is determined to make her forget that with a pact schedule and far too many sweets and presents to entertain her with. 

Wanda’s birthday tomorrow will go perfectly without a hitch. 

Chapter Text

When Wanda Maximoff's first birthday came along Pietro was only eleven years old and he loved being an older brother. She was his whole world. When Wanda cried at night he was by her side before his mom. When she needed a diaper change, he plugged his nose and he changed her. When she needed a song he sang, when she needed a kiss he kissed and when she laughed it was more than likely he was the one making her laugh. He loved being a big brother. He was made for it. What he didn’t love was Wanda’s dad, David. A constant gray cloud in Wanda’s perfectly blue sky. He wasn’t there for Wanda’s first birthday. Not for birthday the waffles, or for the doggie park, or when they opened the presents she won’t remember opening or for the cozy movie in the living room with all the lights off. David was sitting on the inside of a Jail cell for drunken disorderly waiting for Magda Maximoff to bail him out the next morning. 

But that was fine because Wanda had Pietro and Magda to keep her company. Mom made waffles and put extra whip cream on top, a smiley face with M&ms and syrup. Pietro always ended up cleaning half the waffles off the floor and her face but he just laughed and took too many pictures that would later haunt Wanda. They took her to the dog park and she waved at every puppy she saw. Pietro took her to the grocery store on Main Street to get a free cookie from the clerk  who was always sweet on their mama. They’d eat sugary candies all day and at the end of the night Pietro and her watched movies surrounded by blankets and pillows in the living room. 

Every year it’s more or less the same. Waffles in the morning, Playing outside in the afternoon, watching Movies at night and an unholy amount of sweets in between that. 

Sometimes It was just Wanda and Him, and other times it was all three of them. On two rare birthdays she had her whole class come over for a party and playing outdoors in the afternoon became a day at the zoo with a bunch of rowdy seven year olds. 

But always, without a fail, they had their mamas waffles in the morning. The thing about this tradition is that it’s their moms recipe, the one she never writes down. 

“When you have kids I’ll tell you the secret ingredient.” She told him when he asked a few years back. She was always so protective over it and he knew it was because it was a recipe her mom taught her and had been passed down by generations. 

The waffles are also always done before either of the maximoff kids are awake and so Pietro has never actually seen her make them before. The only science of her cooking espionage being dirty dishes and a dirty apron. So now he’s covered in flour, staring at a batter he’s pretty sure has too much of something or just completely missing something. He’s also coming to the realization that he forgot the waffle maker had been broken. Teresa had used it earlier in the week and had confessed to him that she had zapped it and it blew a fuse. She had been pretty freaked out about it and while the speedster was comforting her telling it would be okay that it was just a waffle maker Pietro had unfortunately actually…I forgot to replace it. 

Even if he could find a functioning waffle maker they wouldn’t taste the same. They wouldn’t be the same because their mother didn’t make them. 

He looks at the phone dangling on the wall. He stares and waits for it to ring. He knows his mom knows what day it is. 

He tries not to think too much about it when the phone doesn’t ring like he hoped.

“Wanda’s waffles are looking a little pancakey.” Hank comes down from his mental hibernation. Pietro knows damn well he hadn’t slept a peep, too invested in whatever trinket he had working in his room to actually catch any rest. He’s crawling from his cave for more caffeine and has caught Pietro's failure at making anything resembling waffles. 

“Unless you have a waffle maker hidden away in your room this is all I’m gonna be able to make.” 

“What happened to the one we had?”

“Broke.”

“How? It was brand new!” Pietro knows that. He was there when they bought it. 

“I dropped it In Superspeed. It’s Crushed to smithereens.” Pietro lied. Not because he wanted to but because Teresa has a confrontational problem. He thinks it has something to do with her mother but she doesn’t like to talk about it and he doesn’t like to push. He just knows that Teresa and Drew were both genuinely freaking out when he caught them trying to toss it. 

“Why didn’t you just come to me? I could’ve helped you?” Pietro had told the two girls who were refusing to meet his eyes. Holding each other in preparation for who knows what. 

“We didn’t want your da-“ Teresa flinches at one of the cats meowing down the hall and looks around just a bit spooked “-is the professor here?” She says in a quietly panicked voice.

Pietro frowns, shaking his head “yeah, he’s grading papers in his office though.” He doesn’t even have to lie. He knows Charles' schedule like the back of his hand. 

“Is he why you didn’t tell me?”

Teresa looks at Drew desperately and the shorter girl fidgets as she speaks in quick succession “we didn’t want him to get mad at us. We knew that if we told you you’d have to tell him and we knew he’d be mad so we tried to fix it but we only made it worse and now we’re gonna get kicked out and we’re gonna go back into the foster system and get separated again.”

Drew and Teresa are best friends. They had run away from their respective foster homes and met up afterwards at a homeless shelter just outside of Indiana  where they used to live. Pietro can only assume they had been foster sisters at some point but then something must’ve happened to have them be split up into separate Homes. They had been pretty beat up, emotionally and physically when Pietro and Charles found them. Teresa and Drew aren’t biologically related. No DNA or blood linking them together at all. “We’re soulmates” Is what Drew explained. Meant to be together. “Sisters in our past life.” Is what Teresa claimed. The two had no similarities at all. 

Drew had short straight blonde hair and Teresa had long curly brown hair. Drew was short and Teresa was tall. Drew was pale and chubby. Teresa was brown and thin. Drew wore pink Teresa wore black. Drew wasn’t a mutant Teresa was. 

Teresa was who they originally traveled to find all those miles away but Drew refused to leave Teresa’s side. Teresa had a panic attack at even the thought of leaving Drew behind. 

It was an easy solution to take both of them. Separating the two hadn’t even been a possibility and Charles was eager to take the girls away from Indiana. Indiana was a rare place to find Mutants apparently.

“Why is that rare?” Pietro had asked at the time.

“Mutants just aren’t typically born there.” 

“Why?”

“Because of the Supreme Court case Buck v. Bell.” He says easily. 

“What’s that?” Usually Pietro would pretend to know, too embarrassed to admit he didn’t know something. Especially something that is meant to be common knowledge. He didn’t pay much attention in school and it shows at times like this. History wasn’t his thing but it is Charles’ and the professor never makes him feel stupid for not knowing things. Never makes him feel dumb for asking questions when all his past teachers would. 

“It’s a eugenic legislation.” And because Pietro’s face probably revealed that he didn’t know what that was, Charles simply prattles on in his definition like it was nothing like it wasn’t an inconvenience. “Eugenic is the practice or advocacy of controlled selective breeding of human populations to improve the populations' genetic composition.” 

To improve the populations’ genetic composition. 

A chill ran down Pietro’s spine. That sounds familiar. Scarily familiar. 

“In 1927, the US Supreme Court case Buck v. Bell set a legal precedent that states may sterilize inmates of public institutions. The court argued that imbecility, epilepsy, and feeblemindedness are hereditary, and that inmates should be prevented from passing these defects to the next generation.”

“Thats-“ fucked up.

“This legislation has evolved to not just inmates but the population of Indiana. It’s at the discretion of the doctor of course but more likely than not any deformity or mutation has been erased.”

Hence the no mutants being born their thing. 

So Teresa was special. Not because she was a mutant that lived in Indiana but because she was a mutant despite living In Indiana. 

She wasn’t going to be thrown back out there because of a broken waffle maker. 

“Okay, woah, pause, rewind.” Pietro puts a hand on Drew’s shoulder and goes down to her eye level making sure he’s looking right at her blue eyes “Charles won’t be kicking anyone out. He’ll give you both that whole ‘I’m not mad I’m disappointed’ speech and he’ll make you both do dishes for two weeks and assign y’all extra homework. That’s it. Also whatever you say to me, stays with me. If you don’t want to tell anyone then I won’t. I’m on your side. Hell I’ll even help you get rid of it if you like, but it’s seriously not a big deal. Charles won’t be mad. You two aren’t going anywhere I promise.”

“You swear he won’t be mad?” Teresa holds Drew’s hand, the matching bff bracelets clasping together as they did.

“I pinky swear. “ 

They hook their pinkies and Teresa sniffles back baby tears that make Pietro's heart clench. He hates it when the little ones cry. He thinks he hates it most when Teresa cries because her tears turn to acid. Burning her skin with every roll of a tear down her cheek. They heal within minutes never truly leaving scars but she still feels it and Drew feels it in her fingertips when she wipes them away from her friends face. 

“Also! that waffle maker was like twenty bucks. I can easily just buy another before he even realizes.” 

He didn’t. 

He should be forgiven for forgetting to actually buy a new one when that was the conversation that came after the event. Punching him in the stomach Everytime he thinks about how scared the two girls had been at getting in trouble. 

“You could always run to the store.” 

“I could but-“ 

“I smell waffles!” Wanda yells as she stomps down the stairs barefooted. 

“-she’s got the nose of a hound.” Pietro finishes and Hank snags a strawberry from his bunch and pours himself some more coffee into his Smurf’s mug. 

“Happy birthday Wanda.” Hank steals the first happy birthday right from under him and Pietro gapes at the betrayal. “Happy birthday Wanda!” He says louder than the blue man. 

Wanda smiles and jumps Hank from behind practically tackling the giant man. It’s only a miracle that he doesn’t spill his coffee. Pietro might have something to do with that. He knows how much the blue man likes his mug. 

“It’s my birthday!” Wanda gushes as if we hadn’t just said that. “yep and as the birthday girl we get to do whatever you want no questions asked ALL day.” 

“Within reason.” Hank adds quickly, looking a bit nervous. Pietro makes a face from behind him he couldn’t see and Wanda giggles. Wanda doesn’t make a big deal about the not-waffles, only asking for more m&ms and a tower of whip cream that makes pietro feel a bit bad for later Wanda. 

The other kids start rising from sleep and Hank crawls back to his room and abandons him after giving Wanda her small wrapped present and promising to be down before the movies tonight. 

Around her third serving of Pancakes Wanda glances at the phone. She’s expecting their mom to call just as Pietro expected her to call. Just as Wanda opens her mouth to talk, Pietro claps his hands together gathering the attention of all the kids “I have a surprise!” He refuses to let Wanda be sad for even a second today. 

So their mom hasn’t called. Maybe she will later tonight. So Charles couldn’t braid her hair today like she wanted. Pietro is the original hair braided in the family to begin with. 

“I bought hair dye!”

Twelve eyes widened and suddenly fifteen more stood in the kitchen as Sebastian and Shane popped out of their sleep as well. 

He takes out the three bags full of multicolored hair dye from under the sink and places them on the table. “Washable of course. Any specific colors?” 

“I want red!” Wanda shouts. 

“Can I have a blue streak?” Bobby adds. 

“I would like a blue streak as well.” Kurt lifts a finger and Pietro raises a brow looking at the blue streak that’s already in his hair “er- maybe silver then. To match you.” Kurt says instead his fangs showing when he smiles. 

Pietro smiles back cockily “if you’re obsessed with me just say so.” 

Kurt’s cheek turned purple and Pietro wasn’t prepared for the hurtle of kids who also wanted silver hair. 

“We can’t decide on a color. It can’t be too girly but if it’s blue the girls will throw a fit.” Shane says. 

“How do you feel about purple?” 

“I dunno…” Shane looks hesitant and Pietro shrugs “it’s the color I’m getting.” This seems to change his mind completely. 

“okay, yeah purples perfect.”

Pietro starts with Wanda, her body bouncing with excitement. He doesn’t scold her when her excessive movement makes hair dye drip onto his clothes leaving a blob of color on his silver outfit. 

He works the silver hair dye onto Kurt’s scalp, brushing out the streaks together gently. The blue boy hums under his breath as Pietro takes care of him. 

Bobby was the genius that wanted his entire head of hair a dashing green color that looks like broccoli. “Why are you taking so long?” Bobby whines and Pietro has enough self control not to yank his ear in retaliation. 

Everyone had hair dye on their head. Even the kids who were more hesitant in the beginning. Pietros hair took well to the purple and he looked a bit strange with the dark purple streaks on his silver locks. Miss Margo dyed the tips of her locks rainbow colors looking way cooler than any of them combined. 

“Better not leave the dye lying about for my babies to get into.” Miss Margo warned “If any streaks are on my kittens furs ill personally have words with Charles.” 

“What's he gonna do?” Pietro laughs, cleaning the floor of any mess as he speaks.

“He’ll be a good father and discipline you for giving me lip.” Miss Margo chortles and Pietro dodges the smack of her cain on his calves. Damn. 

Bobby peaks his head into the room “Pietro your sisters starting a cult please help.”

“Coming!” it didn't even occur to Pietro until after he was unveiling the fire hydrant from the closet to stifle the flames on the third exploded tv that Miss Margo might have the wrong idea about Charles and him. 

It was while everyone’s head was soaking wet from their wash and brushing their newly painted hair that Wanda decided to ask the question Pietro had been dreading. 

“Pie?” Wanda’s voice pulled the speedster out of his thoughts. “How’s mama?” 

He knew she’d ask but he still didn’t have any way of answering without straight up lying to her face. 

“She’s fine.” Pietro hadn’t heard from their mother in two weeks. “She misses you. She misses us. Says to tell you she loves you and happy birthday.” Liar liar liar. 

“She called?”

“Yeah, earlier this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you.” Pietro lied again, feeling the anger bubble inside him but smothering it down his stomach with placating words. He brushes her hair, the teeth of the brush jerking on the knots on her hair. 

“It’s okay.” Wanda says, sounding like it wasn’t okay at all. 

And then She asks  “is mama mad at me?”

Pietro stops combing through her hair and he jerks to look at her in alarm “what? Why would you think that?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from her since the accident. I wanted to tell her I’m sorry that we left her behind.”

Pietro feels like the shittiest brother in the world. Why hadn’t he thought that she’d feel guilty? Why hadn’t that ever crossed his mind? Wanda doesn’t talk about the accident. Pietro was delusional enough to think it was because she didn’t think about it often. 

He was so stupid sometimes. 

“She’s not mad at you. And leaving her behind wasn’t your choice, it was mine. Mama had to take care of some things and couldn’t come with us.”

“She was with Miss Margo. Then she wasn’t. Where is mama now?” 

Of course she knew that. He doubts Frankie could keep a secret from his girlfriend even if he tried. 

“She’s safe.” Pietro lies again. He doesn’t know that she’s safe. It’s why it’s killing him that she hasn’t called. “Okay?” 

Wanda lets out a breath giving Pietro a hard expression “okay.” She pulls something from her bag, a blue gift bag with white and silver paper stuffing. 

“I have a present for you.”

Pietro blinks “it’s your birthday not mine.”

“Your birthdays too far away and I wanna give it to you now.” She extends her gift bag to the speedster who takes in gingerly looking a bit pale. 

“Is it a bomb?”

“No.”

“Poison?”

“No.”

“A bloody knife linking me to a crime?”

“No.”

“A hungry snake?”

“Just open it!”

“I’m now convinced it’s a hungry snake and I don’t want to open it.”

“Stop being a jerk and Open it.” 

“Mkay!” He pulls out a picture frame from the bag and his breath hitches.  

His eyes scan the frame as if expecting it to change the second he looks away. 

The picture was from right after his first race. He remembers his mom making an effort to be there with Wanda in the stands, cheering him on with hand made posters. 

He was so happy that day and it shows in his face as he crowds around his mom and sister as some stranger takes the picture. Next to the picture, pinned gently in a way to not cover up the actual image is the participation ribbon he had received. 

He hadn’t gotten a trophy, everyone who participated got a ribbon and a free lunch. The makeshift marathon was for charity and simply to test out how much progress he had made with his coach. It was a tester. Not really a race but it was important to Pietro. 

He hadn’t known that Wanda had this picture or that she had the ribbon. Or more like stole it since he could’ve sworn the authorities had taken all of the evidence of him being an athlete from his house. They had been thorough in erasing any evidence from his running career. 

“It’s from your first run.” Wanda says as if Pietro wasn’t getting teary eyed just looking at it. “I know you were really sad when they took all the pictures from when you used to run but Hank helped me find this one.”

Hank helped her. 

“And I had the ribbon hidden in my room. I knew it was still there so I had Kurt help me get it from the house.” 

Kurt did what? 

“Did you know that the house was on fire?”

“Yeah…” He had seen the damage when he smuggled his pac man machine into the mansion. 

“I was able to find it though! But it got a little crispy.” She points at the very small corner of the ribbon that seems to be singed off. It was barely noticeable. 

“It’s perfect.” Pietro isn’t going to cry. 

“Don’t cry.” Wanda says boldly. 

“I’m not!” Pietro chokes out his voice hoarse. 

“You’re so emotional.”

“So? Is that a crime?” 

“No, I guess not.” She blinks her eyes going red briefly and smiles widely “Frankie made a surprise birthday cake!”

“Not much of a surprise if you know about it.” Hank says as he enters the room nursing an empty coffee mug and pink eyebrows that Pietro doesn’t remember doing for him. 

Wanda isn’t even listening to either of them anymore as she runs to the kitchen with loud footsteps and a herd of children dashing behind her in excitement. 

“She says you helped.” 

“Only a little. Had to track down your old coach. Tough guy to locate.” 

They probably paid him a handsome amount of money to pretend he never knew him. He’s vacationing somewhere far away with the family happy to forget the boy that made him rich. 

“You didn’t have to.”

“Have you met your sister? She was very insistent.” Hank says and pushes his glasses up his nose with his paw. “It’s a very nice memory.”

“Just wish i had more.” Pietro cant help but let out the sadness leak into his voice feeling like all the hard work h eput into his running career all be forgotten and erased because he fucked up and was himself for less then a second. 

“You know I was an athlete too.” Hank looks at the picture in Pietros hand. 

Pietros feels a joke bubbling up “You? An athlete?” 

“When I went to Bard College I became a very beloved football player.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I am not shitting you. They called me Magilla Gorilla.”

“Shut up.” That's hilarious. 

“I was very talented. But like you-once they found out I was different they more or less forced me to stop playing. They didn’t have a word for what I was yet. Not a publicly known term. They just knew that I was different and they didn’t like it. I know it’s not the same as-as your thing but I get it.” 

“you get it.” Peter nods thoughtfully. 

“I was around the same age as you when you started running.”

Pietros brain restarts “you where playing college football at fourteen years old? Is that even legal?”

“Probably not.” He lifts his pink eyebrows and Pietro snorts no longer bothering to take the blue and pink seriously “When did you sneak down here to get your eyebrows dyed?”

Hank huffs “I didnt. I took a nap.”

Pietro bursted into laughter “Holy fuck dont you have like a million locks in your door?”

He thinks maybe Wanda was able to attempt a lockpicking trick, maybe Jean if she had the patience but the two had been in Pietros line of sight all morning. “It was kurt. He managed to get through an entire eyebrow before I awoke and at that point I would've looked ridiculous with only one pink eyebrow.”

If Pietro Maximoff hadn’t already claimed Kurt Wagner as his best friend then he would have at that very moment. Only Kurt could get past his fortress of locks and only Kurt could get close enough to touch Hanks eyebrows and only Kurt had strong enough Puppy dog eyes to convince Hank to let him finish. 

“I love him.” Pietro is bursting into laughter, feeling himself shaking in superspeed unable to contain the joy in his body. 

“You’ve been a horrible influence.”

“Don’t pretend that you’re not a proud papa.”

“He’s not my kid.” Hank sighs like he’s had this exact conversation a million other times. He probably has. 

“You never know.” Pietro teases looking down at the picture remembering that Kurt had some part in that as well. 

“I do know. He isnt. I took a DNA test.”

Pietro whips his head up towards Hank again face gaping “You did what?! when?!”

“Couple weeks ago. Just to prove a point.” Hank frowns and Pietro couldn’t hide the grin slipping from his face “don’t need to sound so disappointed hankie-boy.”

“I’m not!”

“Sure!”

“It was a long shot and it was stupid.” Hopeful, not stupid. Pietro realizes maybe a bit too late that the topic was actually upsetting Hank and not jokingly hurting Hank. The speedster retreats quickly scrambling to lighten the mood “Frankie made cake. You want some?”

“Is it edible?”

“Probably, I’ve been teaching him how to bake the last couple weeks,” months actually but Hank doesn’t need to know that. 

“You can save me a slice, I still have quite a bit of work to do. I only came down for more coffee and to make sure none of the kids have started baptizing the cats again.”

“Ok. I’ll leave a slice by your door.”

They sang happy birthday. Loud and pitchy like he imagined all birthday songs being sung by pubescent kids would sound like. Pietro sang his song too-Frankie joining along as well.

“Hayom yom huledet, 

Hayom yom huledet

Hayom yom huledet le‘Wanda!”

They sang the rest of the song perfectly. The words practiced and warm and Frankie barely butchered any words. In anticipation of Wanda’s birthday Frankie had approached the older brother in full confidence as always “Brother in law?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Even if it’s true?”

“Especially if it’s true.” 

“Can you teach me the Hebrew Birthday song?”

“You want to learn it?”

“If you can teach me, yes, brother in law. I’d like to wish my love a happy birthday in her words.” 

Frankie wasn’t a quick learner. He was relentless in his practice but he grew frustrated with himself becoming fussy with himself, defaulting back into destructive. 

“Take it slow, Frankie. I’ll be singing with you, so just follow my tone and you won’t mess up.”

And that’s exactly what he did. Even if he missed a word Pietro drowned it out with his own clear tone. Wanda despite her claiming otherwise is a very emotional girl and was already holding back tears halfway through the song. 

Frankie cuts the cake for her and Wanda stares adoringly at the boy in question. Pietro was a bit terrified by how much she was willing to give him. That much adoration shouldn’t be given away so easily. Frankie was-he was easy to love and Wanda was taken by him. Pietro would forget later, a brief sad picture in time but in that moment as Frankie gave Wanda a slice of cake like she was the stars in the sky and Wanda smiled at him like he was the moon he saw them older. 

Wanda wearing red staring at Frankie and Frankie with red skin staring right back, tears in each other's eyes.

It was a quick flash of dread. Of a memory that hasn’t and probably will never pass. Pietro was blinking back tears, pretending it was from happiness instead of irrational fear. 

“Can we leave a slice for Charles?” Wanda asks Pietro looking at the dwindling cake. “I know he’ll be out late with his old student but maybe if he gets home early we can eat it together.” 

“Course, red.” 

Pietro cuts an extra big slice of cake for Charles storing it in the fridge and he cuts another, slightly smaller slice for Hank wrapping it up in cling wrap to leave at his door. It was a delicious cake Frankie really outdid himself. 

Bobby volunteers to wash the dishes with Pietro which was a bit of a surprise but not unwelcome. The kids go outside and play with the chalk, jump rope and bubbles that Pietro had stashed away for the day. They can see the kids playing from the kitchen as they both effortlessly work together and put away dishes. 

Pietro glances at the phone on the wall for the seventh time today, waiting for that wretched call from his mom. Hoping that she was able to get away from David long enough to give them a call. That she bothered to remember what today was.

“They're holding hands.” Bobby says suddenly and Pietro pulls away from his thoughts about his mother. “What?” Pietro looks up and looks out the window expecting to see maybe Wanda and Frankie being all kissy face and having to pull a big brother and separate the two children. He hasn’t seen them kiss but he’s positive that’s intentional on their end trying to avoid his wrath. 

Instead of Wanda and Frankie he sees Teresa and Drew holding hands. 

Bobby makes a face, his face pinched and uncomfortable. “Why would they do that here?”

“They’re just holding hands.” Pietros hands are soapy. 

“Yeah but they’re both girls.” 

Pietro gives the younger boy a long look and he keeps hearing Charles' voice in his head telling him that Bobby respects him, that he looks up to him. “Girls can hold hands.” Pietro doesn’t think Bobby has much experience with girls. He’s still pretty young and doesn’t seem to connect with anyone really. No matter how much Pietro tries.

“Boys can hold hands too.” He adds, thinking of Kurt and Him, comforting each other after a bad nightmare. Grasping for something whole and real. 

Bobby visibly stiffens “no they can’t. Isn’t that wrong?” He wasn’t making a statement, he was asking a question. Hesitant and nervous. 

Pietro frowns trying to find the right words not wanting to fuck up this conversation “no, i don’t think it’s wrong. It’s normal to want to be close to someone.”

“But…”

“But?”

“You don’t think it’s unnatural? For two boys?” 

“Unnatural? like running faster than the speed of sound or making the room go below zero just by sneezing?” Pietro doesn’t realize he shouldn’t use Bobby as a comparison point. The boy puffs up like a blowfish and accidently shatters a plate with how cold his hands got and he slices his hand with glass. 

Fuck. “Careful, kid.” Pietro grabs a hand towel quickly and goes for Bobby’s hands trying to stop them from bleeding. Bobby jerks them away from Pietro, his face going flush. “I’m fine!” His voice cracks. 

“You’re not fine. Let me help you.” He pulls Bobby to the side where he knows Hank keeps the first aid kit and Bobby is fussing the whole time. He puts a wrap around Bobby’s hand thankful that he didn’t need stitches. 

“They are friends.” Pietro speaks clearly, not wanting the conversation to end on a four note. “Friends hold hands. Even…if they weren’t just friends it would be okay if they held hands.” 

Bobby just stares at him like his words aren’t clicking and Pietro doesn’t know if he can change his mind on this. It’s not something Pietro is well versed in. Not something he’s ever had problems coming to terms with. Bobby is from a drastically different household than him. What his parents taught him is not what his mother taught him. 

“The moment we start judging each other for what we are is when we truly become divided.” That’s what his mother told at a very young age regarding all things in life. Pietro has always applied that logic to everything, including things regarding who people love. 

His mother always had the right thing to say at the wrong time. She had impeccable words but horrendous timing. 

“I don’t-“ Bobby cuts himself off looking a bit uncomfortable and that’s the last thing the speedster wants “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Okay. No problem.” Pietro amends quickly, handing the younger boy a bottle of blue bubbles. “You wanna join the kids outside?”

He nods, looking relieved that Pietro dropped it. 

Later that day when all the kids' energy was zapped away from running around and eating shit all day Pietro piled the living room with blankets and pillows. With the help of all the eager children they made a blanket fort and curled up near the tv. It was getting later in the day but not quite the time they usually put in the movie so instead pietro and Hank told Ghost stories. 

Hank had come down just around the time they had collected all the blankets and was now a burrito of hello kitty wool. He looked funny and Kurt took pictures of the blue man in that state of fluffiness. Miss Margo was listening intently to his story, just finishing telling one of hers. She was surrounded by her hurdle of cats Laying on top of her like a blanket and Kurt Wagner snapped a picture as well.

Kurt had been snapping pictures with the professor's old camera. Charles had said he wanted to look at them later, not wanting to miss out on any of the party activities. Kurt had been more than willing to lug it around all day to snap rare candids of the children. 

“Hey pretty boy.” Pietro sits beside Kurt who was sipping on his hot chocolate inside the blanket fort the old camera beside him. Heavy and ancient looking. “Hello, Pietro.” Kurt smiles at the speedster, his tail falling on to pietros' lap instinctively.

“He’s very good at telling stories.” Pietro whispers at Kurt leaning close so he could hear him. His hands find the top of Kurt’s tail brushing it and cradling it in his lap, already second nature to the speedster. A bit of an impulsive reaction by that point. 

“Yes, very good. Very scary.” and he does sound a bit spooked so it doesn’t surprise him when the blue boy reaches for his hand. 

Pietro lets him. He wanted to prove a point to Bobby who was within eyeshot but also because the doll Hank is describing sounds like the one Pietro had found in one of the rooms when he was first cleaning the mansion that first week here. It’s gotta be the same doll currently sitting in a storage container in the basement. He might be getting into the story a bit too much. 

Hopefully it doesn’t actually have murderous intent. 

“Heard you helped Wanda with her present to me.” 

“It was nothing.” Kurt’s accent was thick.

“It wasn’t nothing. Thank you.” Pietro squeezes his hand. 

Hank finished his story and all the children looked like they were going to piss their pants except for Wanda who was grinning like a demon the entire story. “Another!” 

“Nope! Time to watch the movie.” Pietro says quickly and everyone sighs in relief. 

Most of the kids fell asleep halfway through the movie. Wanda was the only one that made it to the end credits her eyes droopy and head bouncing trying to fight back sleep. 

“Just go to sleep Wanda.” 

“Mom didn’t call this morning.” 

Pietro holds his breath. 

“You’ve been looking at the phone waiting for her to call. You wouldn’t do that if she had called already.” She lets out a yawn. 

Perceptive little gremlin. 

“I’m sorry, red. Is that why you’re trying to stay up?”

“No.” She mumbles “was hoping Charles would be back by now so we can eat the cake together.” 

Pietro chuckles “you can eat it with him tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll taste just as good.”

Wanda hums under her breath, already falling asleep on his shoulder as he tries to pick her up from the floor. He steps around sleepy children and dodges a snoring drew from the corner of the fort and places Wanda firmly on the couch surrounded by a forest of stuffed animals and mutant friends to keep her company for the night. 

Pietro kisses her forehead and she whines when he pulls away making grabby hands at him as he stands. He caves and lays down beside her, the couch being big enough for them both to fit comfortably against each other in a cuddle. 

He always falls asleep better with other people and before he knows it his eyes are dropping and he’s abruptly awoken by the phone ringing several hours later. 

It’s two in the morning according to the clock near the door and he curses under his breath untangling Wanda off of him to answer the phone. 

“Hello?” He says groggily into the receiver.

The caller didn’t respond. Leaving behind soft sniffles. He could recognize his mother's voice anywhere even if she’s whispering. 

Even if she’s crying. 

“Mama? Is that you?” He asks quietly, his chest aching to hear her voice. 

“Why are you crying?” No response. Pietro desperately grasps for something to hold her there. “Are you hurt?” 

“Mai where are you? czy on ciÄ zraniÅ‚?”

She lets out a shaky breath and Pietro can’t tell if she’s hurt, if she’s wincing or in pain. He can’t tell and it kills him that he can’t just come get her. He doesn’t know where she is. Doesn’t know where he’s keeping her. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t call yesterday.” Couldn’t not wouldn’t. Pietro has to believe that she tried everything in her power to call Wanda on her birthday. 

“It’s okay.” Pietro says quickly, breathlessly “I can get her now. Wanda will be happy to hear from you.”

“Don't wake her, it’s late.” 

“Mom, she's not even ten feet away from me. It’ll take less than a second. She won’t mind at all she’s-“ Pietro swallows back the bite in his voice “she misses you. She thinks you’re mad at her.”

“I’m not mad at her. I just can’t talk for long.” 

“But-“

“Just tell her I love her and that I’m sorry I couldn’t call. And that I hope her tenth birthday was amazing.” 

“It was. I couldn’t make your waffles though. Are you sure you don’t want me to wake her up?”

“Pure Amaretto extract.”

Pietro blanks “what?”

Magda Maximoff lets out a breath “the secret ingredient in the waffles is Pure Amaretto extract instead of vanilla extract, half a cup of brown sugar and a few teaspoons of cinnamon whisked together.” 

Dread consumes Pietro. There’s only one reason his mom is telling him this. “You can make them for her next year.” 

“You can make them for her instead.” 

“No- Mai. Your scaring the fuck out of me what do you even mean by that? Where are you?”

“Good bye Pietro,”

“No! No goodbye. Where are you? I can come get you, Mama, please.”

“Don’t make this harder Pietro.”

Pietro wants to scream at her more but then the line cuts and he’s listening to static. 

He stares openly at the receiver in shock for several minutes. Or maybe seconds. He’s not sure if he fell into superspeed in his shock. He feels his soul get zapped back into his body when the phone starts ringing again. In alarming speed Pietro answers the phone. 

“Mom?” He says immediately his hope is clear in his voice. 

“Er…nah this is Thomas from Froggys.”

Huh?

“I think you got the wrong number.”

“Yeah no sorry. Some British guys been here since five and he’s kinda all fucked up and we took his keys from him. A card with this number was the only thing in his wallet besides his ID and debit cards so I figured you might wanna pick him up. We close in an hour.” 

Pietro stares at the phone, still mildly confused “You mean Charles?”

“Yeah that’s what his ID says. You gonna pick him up?”

“I-um- yeah I can pick him up.”

“Good cause he’s pretty drunk. Definitely shouldn’t drive.” 

It felt like cold water was dumped on him, his body going rigid. Charles is drunk. 

“Froggys is a bar?”

“Bar and karaoke. We got live bands sometimes. Even selling some sandwiches and chips now. We’re tryna spice things up a bit. Get some new customers in.” 

Pietro does not give a fuck about their rebranding. 

“I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Damn that’s quick as fu-“ Pietro Maximoff hangs up. 

Fuck, okay. 

Pietro hadn’t known where Froggys was so he kinda had to locate a map from Hank's room. That took less than a second in superspeed. Frantic and a bit shaken by the phone call from his mom and then The immediate whiplash with Charles. 

He’s okay. He’s fine. He knows where Froggys is now. It’s not even ten minutes down the road. Although it rubs pietro the wrong way that the professor was only ten minutes away and he hadn’t just gone home. 

He didn’t dwell on it. He couldn’t. He had to go get the professor.

He was in the empty parking lot in less than a second. The open sign flickers off and the music from the inside comes to a roaring stop. Probably starting on their closing. 

He goes inside and nearly runs back outside by the smell alone. It was definitely a bar. A shitty one at that. No amount of fancy cushions and cover up pictures on the walls can disguise the smell of moldy liquor on the ugly carpet. 

“You Thomas?” Pietro asks the tall brown man in the front of the bar. 

“Damn. Two minutes really means two minute huh?” Thomas says and waves him over to a side room “your dads a routy drunk. Tried to start a fight with one of my bartenders.”

The first thing he notices is that Charles is walking. “He started it!” The professor snaps and clutches his extremely large and nearly empty bottle of vodka. 

“Enough yapping. Your son is here to pick you up.”

“I’m not his son.” Pietro says stiffly but Thomas was already walking away to mop the floor behind the bar. 

Charles Xavier looks at Pietro Maximoff for the first time since he got here and has the decency to look embarrassed, wiping away vomit that was clearly on his shirt. 

Pietro grimaced at the sight, feeling his head start to pound. 

“I didn’t ask for you to come.” Charles says. 

“I know. But I did.” Pietro says evenly wishing he hadn’t gone at all. It would’ve been better to let the phone ring instead of watching Charles stumble to get up on his two feet.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Charles says like a damn hypocrite. 

“Neither should you.” Pietro bites. “You said you were helping an old student. What happened to that?” 

“I was. Didn’t go well. Now I’m here.” Charles takes a swig of the vodka bottle, a little bit of it rolling down his chin. 

Pietro takes a breath, stifling back the anxiety of seeing a drunk Charles completely disregard him. Pietro needs to get him out of here without Charles causing another scene. 

“You could’ve just gone home.” Pietro doesn’t know when he started considering the mansion home. Maybe it was when he had more clothes there than his old house did. Or when he brought the pac man machine to decorate his room. Or when he was given a spare key to the door. Or when he stopped locking his bedroom door at night. He was safe there and Pietro supposes that’s all it really takes for it to be his home.

“Needed a drink. Can’t do that at school.” Pietro is at least giving him some credit for being aware enough to know not to drink at the school around students. He just kinda wishes he didn’t have to drink at all. Really wishes he didn’t fuck off domewhere only ten minutes away from the mansion because he needed a drink. 

“You missed a pretty good cake. Wanda saved you a slice.”

“Why?” Charles scoffs and the way he said it with such annoyance made Pietro have to take a deep breath to calm the protective anger that just punched through him. 

Sober Charles wouldn’t dismiss Wanda like that. Pietro knows that. But drunk Charles is a dick and a stranger to Pietro. He doesn’t know this version of Charles as vividly. He doesn’t know how to respond properly. 

“Because Wanda thought you might want some. Considering you couldn’t be there for  her birthday.” 

“I was busy. She knows that.” Charles rolls his eyes and Pietro doesn’t punch him. The speedster is very proud of himself for not immediately clocking Charles upside the head. Even though he wanted to because Wanda was devastated. Even if she pretended she wasn’t. She couldn’t get a phone call from mom and she couldmt eat cake with Charles. She was being a good sport about the whole thing but she missed them both very much last night and Charles just doesn’t care. 

“She wanted you to be there. She stayed up late hoping you’d come home early and have time to share a slice.” 

“She shouldn’t have stayed up late.” Even drunk he’s mumbling about curfew. 

“Clearly.” Pietro grits “you hadn’t even thought of her at all. They said you’ve been here since five.” They were halfway through monopoly at five. He could’ve been there for the round of jenga. He could’ve helped Miss Margo play hide and seek. Instead he was ten minutes away in a bar. 

“Not everything is about her.” Which felt like a giant fuck you to Wanda and that didn’t feel fair at all. 

“It kinda seems like nothing is ever about her. She has one day that is about her and you didn’t even bother to be there.”

“I told her I wouldn’t be. Not everything has to have a huge conversation. I’m not her fucking dad.”

A pause. Pietros brain scatters for just a moment, his face going blank and still. 

Oh. Well. Fuck. 

That had some kick to it. 

Pietro fucking despises drunk Charles. He already knew that. He had just forgotten how much of a fucking prick he was. 

“Right.” Pietro barely recognizes his own voice, feeling like he’s having an out of body experience. “Cool. I'm gonna take this away from you now.” All at once Pietro takes the Vodka bottle from Charles' grasp and in that quick movement Charles swings his hand towards Pietro to slap him. -No towards the bottle. To grab the bottle. To take it back. 

But In that quick second Pietro can’t tell the difference. 

Charles' face morphs into David’s. David is Charles and Pietro visibly flinches away from the man, dropping the bottle on the ground and shattering it into a million pieces. The speedster is in a frenzy, fear pumping through him like second nature “I-I’m sorry.” He sounds unlike himself, small and scared of the larger man and Pietro is acting so stupid. He’s shaking and his brain is filled with bees as he’s kneeling over to pick up the shattered pieces of glass. Which is dumb. He shouldn’t do that. He’s not wearing gloves. Why is he so fucking stupid? 

David in the last three seconds seems to have found momentary sobriety as he looks at Pietro in stunned horror. “Peter what are you-“

Pietro hisses as glass digs into his finger tips and David is next to him tugging at his shoulder to stand up and stop picking up glass off the floor. “Peter, son, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Pietro recoils. He hates that David called him son in this moment. It feels vile in this way. He had never claimed the speedster as his son before and for those words to be thrown at him while he’s piss drunk feels cruel and hollow. 

“Don’t call me that.” Pietro hisses at him, jerking his elbow away from his step-dad. “I’m not your son.” He snaps at David.

No, not David. Charles. 

David isn’t here.

This isn’t David.

This is Charles. 

“Peter…” Charles takes a breath looking clear minded for a split second looking like he wanted to touch him but far too afraid of his reaction if he did “I would never-“ hurt me? Fuck off. He doesn’t need this. 

“-actually, I’m gonna go. You were right I shouldn’t have fucking come. I’ll get Hank to come get you.” 

Pietro thinks it might be a bit of a dick move but he doesn’t care. He does what he does best and he runs away. Like he always fucking does when things get to be too much. 

It’s the only thing he’s good at. 

Chapter Text

Pietro gets to the mansion and wakes up Hank. The blue man was not happy about it. Blue hair disheveled and bad breath “what?” He yawns awake looking beyond dead inside. It was a known thing to not wake up Hank before 8 in the morning and to never talk to him before his cup of coffee but Pietro broke both those rules. 

“You gotta pick up Charles.” Pietro says stiffly. 

“What?” Hank repeats in his half asleep stupor. 

“You gotta pick up Charles. He’s at Froggys.”

“What time is it?” Hank hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. 

“I don’t know. Late. Early?” Pietro says in a clipped voice. 

Hank rubs his eyes looking out of his body completely “did you just say that Charles is at Froggys?” 

“Yeah.”

Hank stands up abruptly, making the blanket fort collapse slightly before Pietro catches it in superspeed, not wanting any of the kids to wake up from the rustle.

“I’ll go get him. You shouldn’t see him like that.” Hank cuts off a yawn and looks like murder as he’s slipping shoes onto his feet. Too late. Pietro saw and he left. 

Hank pats him on the shoulder half heartedly and goes to leave but seems to fully become conscious at that moment, lasering in on the speedsters face. “Have you been crying?”

Pietro nods not feeling the energy to lie. 

Hank blinks owlishly, looking like a teddy bear as he fully faces Pietro, pausing in his movements, still slow from sleep “did you wanna talk about it?”

Hank is a saint for even trying to have this conversation before he’s fully awake and cognizant. 

Pietro shakes his head “not really.” 

“Later?” 

“Maybe.” 

Hank nods pushing his glasses up his nose “okay. I’ll be back in a few.” He leaves to go get Charles and Pietros chest feels heavy. Like a weight had settled there and made it its home. It’s always been there, just as heavy and just as present but it’s shifted and made a mess of what was holding it still. 

Wanda is seemingly having a nightmare. Pietro allows the distraction of something else to take over him. He goes to his sister, bees nesting around in his head, getting busier the closer he gets to her. 

She winces and shuffles and looks near tears, her small face scrunching up in pain. He goes to wake her. Shaking her gently, wanting to pull her away from her nightmare. “Wanda? It’s alright. It’s just a nightmare.” 

“Pietro?” She whimpers and Pietro feels his weight lean and turn and shakes her more, feeling dread consume him. “Yeah it’s me red. You gotta wake up.” 

Her eyes dart open, blazing red, with a gasp and she reaches her bare hand against the speedsters arm. 

The room goes completely dark. 

-

-

-

Pietro is slow. He didn’t see it coming. 

-

-

-

Five bullets hit his body. He falls to the ground. 

-

-

-

Pietro Maximoff wakes up and he’s hiding under the bed, tears staining his cheeks and his small hands clutching a stuffed bunny against his mouth to cover up his cries. 

He needs to be quiet. He doesn’t understand why but he knows he has to be quiet and that he can’t get out from under the bed. He needs to be very very still. 

He is. 

She is? 

This isn’t him. It’s her. It’s Wanda. His sister. Small and shaking. 

His hands are not his hands. And this bed is not his bed. Pietro is not sure exactly what’s going on but he stays perfectly still as loud clanking footsteps enter the room, the sounds vibrating on the wooden floor and making his stomach turn. Not his stomach. Her stomach. 

Another pair of frantic feet followed the angry ones. Fast and heavy. “You can’t just come in here!”

“This is my house!” The other voice spoke and Pietro knew it was David. He knows David's angry voice. 

“This is my moms house. Not yours.” Pietro remembers this conversation. He remembers telling Wanda to hide. To not make a sound. He hadn’t known where she had decided to hide. He hadn’t knwo what room she had decided was safest. 

“This is my house.” David repeats “It’s under my name, the bills are paid by my pension, I pay for all the food and all the things in this house. This. is. my. house.”

Pietro is Wanda. Or he supposes he’s seeing these events as Wanda saw them. He knows that the person speaking to David is him. Younger him. Screaming and yelling every chance he got. Not letting the man take a single word from him that wasn’t true. He hated this man with a passion. And he hated Pietro right back. Equally destructive forces clashing with the other. 

“You don’t provide for shit and you haven’t paid the bills in months. Your fancy pension is barely enough to pay for two bills. And this house is under both your names or have you already forgotten?” Young Pietro never sugar-coated anything with David. Pietro told him nearly every time he saw him just how little he thought of him. And David did the same.

“Because your bitch of a mother forgot how good I am to her. Figured a couple months of paying her dues would set her straight. But now she’s got it in her head that she can do this by herself when she’s clearly drowning with the load of her ungrateful children.” Pietro feels Wanda squeeze her bunny and scrunch her face at his words. 

They both had been showering at school by that point. Sneaking into their respective Gyms early in the mornings to use the showers. They couldn’t afford to turn on the AC so they left windows open and when it got cold they wore jackets inside, layered like the North Pole. Pietro stole groceries. He stole batteries for flashlights so they'd be able to see at night in the house. He stole what he could and bribed and sweet talked whoever he could and as much as he could. 

For months. But it was worth it because David was gone. But that was short lived.

“Great. Awesome. We don’t have running water cause you wanted to be a toxic piece of shit. Fuck you.”

Wanda flinched as she heard a crack of lightning. No, not lightning. A slap, a face cracked in two. “Do not speak to me that way. I am the man of this house and you will speak to me as such.”

“You’re not a man, you’re a weak little bitch.” Lightning strikes again and the feet shuffle and scuffle and he hears grunts and glass breaking and items being thrown and he hears a scream. 

“Fuck you!” He hadn’t known Wanda was in the room. If he had he wouldn’t have been so openly aggressive. So loud in his anger. 

“Piece of shit!” 

She hears something guttural and animalistic. Something you hear in movies. Deep in your chest, crawling out like a beast. It rings in her ears and Pietro hates that this is how she saw it. Half crazed and scared. 

“I hate you.” David spits at young pietro like he was the root of all his problems. “This is all your fault.” 

Wanda was shaking, he felt her chin wobbling and the ache in her chest. He wants to hug her but this is something he can’t change. Physically he couldn’t control her movements, couldn’t stop her from doing a damn thing. He was a pair of eyes cohabiting a memory. 

“You’re a stupid worthless low-life who’s done nothing but cause problems for both your mother and me.” Lightning- “You’re the reason she kicked me out of my own damn house. You couldn’t fucking take it like a man. Grit your teeth and bear it how you're supposed to.” Pietro remembers David having his hands around his throat, pushing and trapping him down to the bed and he remembers he could’ve superspeed away but he hadn’t because he was touching him and some stupid part of him didn’t want to actually hurt him. He was Wanda’s dad and he knew that if he hurt him, actually hurt him, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He was glad that Wanda couldn’t see that part. From this angle all she can see is boots and feet and loud angry words that sting even her. 

Pietro can feel how afraid she was. He can feel exactly how terrified she felt in this exact moment. He can hear her thoughts racing, he can sense her confusion. Her panic and how much she wants to get out from under the bed and help younger Pietro. He’s glad she didn’t, that would’ve been a disaster. 

Pietro has always hated David but he knows that Wanda loved him, that was her dad. Seeing your dad like that, hearing him like that must’ve been a shock to the system. 

She’s heard Pietro and him fight before. Of course. But nothing violent. He hoped she hadn’t seen anything violent at least. He always tried to stop physical altercations in front of her. She was so young. She still loved her dad. 

He knows that Wanda saw good versions of David. That he wasn’t completely horrible to her all the time. He had good moments. He bought her presents and watched movies with her and braided her hair but that love was always conditional. And it was twisted. And sick. He’d pawn the presents later for a couple bucks worth of beer, he’d sit down to watch a movie and get bored and change it to the game, and if he braided her hair he’d do it simply for praise. For that beaming smile she always gave him when he did something right. Rare and pretty. 

David’s version of love was never extended to Pietro. Not fucking once. 

“Where’s my daughter?”

“You’re such a shit ass father you don’t even know it’s a school day?” 

Lightning strikes again and Wanda moves and he knows she’s afraid of thunderstorms. 

“Fuck you! She’s at scho-“ a grunt interrupts his string of curses. 

“Todays her birthday. I want to see her.” Followed by a kick to the groin. It was the first time he remembered. The first time he bothered to make a fuss about seeing her on her birthday. 

This fight was a storm to her. Lightning after lightning. Blow after blow. Rain shattering and words shouting into the void. 

Wanda hates thunderstorms. 

It was all so confusing and quick and young Pietro was just trying to get David out of the house. Away from Wanda. Away from his mother. 

He thought David was gone for good. He had lowered his defenses and he was caught off guard by his presence. 

This is when the memory starts getting foggy, time lapsing slightly as suddenly she’s out from under the bed and beside a bloody Pietro. 

Young Pietro's hair was between gray and brown, and red from splotches of blood and Wanda was next to him on the floor shaking him, her small trembling hands jerking him awake. From this angle young Pietro looked small. He was small. Thin. Young Pietro snaps into consciousness and he feels the relief young wanda felt. He felt the love and the sadness that was taking over her. He wishes she hadn’t felt that at all. 

Past Pietro jerks away from Wanda’s touch instinctively which makes her grimace and back away. He looks around his breath ragged and short. Lips split, both eyes bloody and a gash on his cheek that he still has a small scar from because he kept picking at it even after it healed. 

“Pie?” When she was young she couldn’t roll her R’s and when she was learning how to spell Pietro's name she thought it was pronounced like the food Pie. “You’re bleeding.”

“Are you okay?” Young Pietro touches Wanda’s hand gently and his hands are cold. He hadn’t realized back then that his hands were like ice cubes. Like a dead corpse. 

He feels Wanda’s chest burn and then The eventual tears bursting out of her eyes and the gut wrenching sobs ripping from her mouth. Her vision was blurry and hot. 

Young pietro wraps his arms around Wanda so quickly he must’ve used his speed to do so but he can’t quite remember if he did or not. He does remember his body hurting as he forced his shoulder to extend and his dislocated wrist to bend at her waist. 

“I’ll call the police.” Wanda says and young Pietro shakes his head “no don’t do that. You gotta call mom.” 

“Why? You’re hurt. He hurt you.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Just call mom. We can’t call the police.” He can’t hold a phone. He remembers how much pain he was in. Every inch of his body was bruised.

He should’ve let her call the police. But by this point he had gotten beaten so many times he knew exactly what they’d do. They’d tell him he needs to press charges. That they couldn’t do anything if he didn’t. No matter how bruised or how damaged he was they couldn’t do a damn thing unless he told them who did it. That’s what they always say, pretending they didn’t already know who it was.  

There was one police officer, a fresh faced rookie with a gentle voice who was the very first policeman to come to his front door. He was the first person to ever patch him up and clean his wounds properly and the officer told him he should tell him who it was that left him all bloody and he would make sure they paid. He was ten. He wanted to tell him but his mother had just told him that she was pregnant. He was going to have a little sister and she needed her dad. She needed David. 

Officer Bishop had good intentions but Pietro knew talking would lead to problems. So he stayed quite. Told him he fell. The second time around he told him he got in a fight at school. His excuses became more elaborate and insane and Eventually he stopped asking all together. And eventually he stopped coming at all. Replaced with another mean faced cop who never patched him up or even bothered to ask questions about his bruises. 

“You’re bleeding real bad.” Wanda whispers. 

Young Pietro shakes his head “it’s okay, I’ll heal quick.” That was another thing that came to play. Even if the cops came, by the time they did all evidence of any harm would be gone. Blurred by his mutation. His healing mutation started when he was around twelve years old and David punched him in the face for not buying him beer. He was twelve. He couldn’t buy beer but David wasn’t a very intelligent man when he was angry or drunk. The black eye turned bruised and yellowed out and then completely healed by the end of the day. Each time he got hurt he would heal faster and faster. 

“Dads gone.” Wanda told young Pietro. At this point Wanda still called David dad. He can hear the stumble in her voice when the word dad comes out of her mouth though. Like she can’t quite wrap her head around the fact that david was her dad. That her dad did that to young Pietro's face. 

He looked brutal. He hadn’t seen it when it happened. His face was already healing by the time he got to the bathroom mirror. But He realizes now why Wanda had been freaking out back then. It looks bad. Really really bad. 

“Yeah he’s gone.” Young Pietro says “you did a good job at hiding.”

“I know all the good spots.” Under the bed is not a good hiding spot. But he hadn’t known that that’s where she was hiding. 

“I know you do. You’re too good at hide and seek.” Young Pietro rubs out the blood on Wanda’s hand with his shirt. She got it from his head wound. 

“It's all my fault.” Wanda sniffles and his Vision blurred, her eyes watering with suppressed tears. 

It was so odd seeing everything from this point of view. Young Pietro looks so much smaller from Wanda’s eyes. 

“It is not your fault, why would you even think that?” Pietros voice cracked. He had been going through late stages of puberty, his voice cracking every other sentence. 

“Yes it is.” Wanda isn’t stopping the tears now and young Pietro is wiping tears from her cheek faster then their falling. 

“No it’s not. Don't say that.”

“I’m the reason mom kicked him out. I told her that he was locking your door at night. Dad said it was because he doesn’t like it when I go in there because I’m too big for sleepovers. but he has sleepovers in your room. I see him. I hear you crying. I told mama you were having nightmares and that dad wasn’t letting me help you and she got really angry. And scared.” Wanda confesses “I didn’t know he was hurting you pie. I thought he was helping you. Mom got really really angry and she was saying a lot of bad words and crying and that was four months ago and he’s been gone that whole time but you still cry at night. I hear you.”

She hears him. Pietro remembers feeling like she had punched him in the face. He remembers wanting to throw up because she heard him. Every. single. night. She heard her dad—she heard Pietro getting—he wanted to throw up. 

He remembers he felt so much shame. The thought of his little sister witnessing that, seeing that, hearing that and not even realizing what was going on. It filled him with so much dread and he hates that David managed to do that. He managed to make Pietro feel bad for being wronged, he was a victim and he felt embarrassed. Ashamed. He felt gross. Like some kind of pervert. 

Pietro blocks it out. He thinks his mind tries to protect him from what was going on by erasing most of what happened to him. Of what David did to him at night. 

Sometimes if Pietro's lucky he forgets completely. He pretends the worst thing he’s ever done to him was beat him. 

“He got himself kicked out. You had absolutely nothing to do with that. You did nothing wrong. You hear me?” Young Pietro, and older Pietro love fiercely. He will always think of his sister above himself, he will always comfort and protect her over himself. 

“I did-“

“You didn’t. David is in the wrong. You did nothing wrong.”

Wanda full on sobs now, wrapping her hands around him and young Pietro flinches and hisses in pain but hides it pretty well considering older pietro-or he supposes younger wanda didn’t seem to notice. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong either.” 

“I know,” young Pietro doesn’t believe that but older Pietro does. He never asked for any of it. 

“I’m gonna call mom.” Wanda says and she’s pulling away and going to the door. Her small feet carried her to the distance. 

The door weirdly enough looks nothing like her bedroom door. It doesn’t look at all familiar but he opens it anyway, Wanda’s hand twisting the handle and as the door cracks ajar a flashing, blinding light takes over his vision. 

Pietro is walking out of a school bus. 

Rows of children ahead of him. He’s all the way at the end of the line of kids waiting to be let into the public pool. 

Where is he? His body stays rigid and stiff as he stays in line, no matter how much he wants to step out of line to look around. He's wearing blue and yellow swim trunks, a yellow pool shirt and blue-purplish sneakers. He’s fiddling with a floaty and he’s definitely supposed to be going to the pool. 

Pietro doesn’t know how to swim so he’s never gone to the pool before, it’s also why he was so terrified of running on water again in case he failed miserable and drowned to death instead. 

“McCoy stay with the line!” An uptight looking teacher shouted from the front of the line. 

McCoy. He’s Hank right now. Okay. Good to know. Now he just needs to figure out why he’s Hank right now. And why he was Wanda earlier. 

Preferably soon. 

The line drags but eventually everyone’s inside the pool and checked in with the teachers and Pietro is under the impression that this is a school field trip. To the public pool. The kids in this class seem to be much bigger than Hank though. McCoy couldn’t be any older then seven and these kids were full on middle schoolers. 

Pietro vaguely remembers Hank boasting about being a prodigy. Something about being the youngest graduate in blah blah blah. Something nerdy. He assumes that means he’s skipped a couple grades. He figured that much but he supposes he didn't really realize how weird that would’ve been. To be the youngest in your class. To always be the youngest. 

“You gonna get in, kid?” One of the middle school girls twists her neck at Hank, her ugly face pulled into a sneer that unsettled Hank “you do know how to swim right? Without floaters?” 

“Y-yeah! I know how to swim, I'm not a baby.”

Pietro is also in fact not a baby. He does not know how to swim and he is not at all tempted to do so by this mean girl's taunt, although it seems Hank definitely is. 

He shuffles his feet and after a long dragged delay he toes off his shoes. 

Pietro realizes why he hesitated almost instantly. 

Hank's feet are weird. 

His mutation started with his feet. He remembers he told him that. He sees it. Pietro hears an intake of breath and a burst of laughter and feels Hank stiffen. 

“What the fuck is that?” A red haired boy exclaims from the pool chair. 

“Ew, are those his feet?”

“Why do they look like that?” 

A series of complaints and insults hurled his way and Pietros became angry on Hank's behalf. He can feel Hank's unfiltered internalized disgust over himself and the burning behind his eyes that indicates he’s about to start crying. 

“Henry McCoy, put your shoes back on.” A male teacher said and the voice made Hank jump to put his shoes on, tripping over himself and falling into the water. 

He’s freaking out for about ten seconds before he’s quite literally plucked out of the pool like a flower off a hedge. Rough hands dragging him out of the pool and away from the other laughing children. Soaking wet, shivering, and only one shoe on. 

Secluded from public view the male teacher pushes them to the wall angrily, scraping hanks elbows. He throws a towel roughly at Hank. “What the fuck did I tell you?” The grip he has on Hank's skinny wrist is concerning. Painful. 

“I’m sorry dad. I just thought since we were at the pool I could swim.” 

Dad. Well-fuck off. 

“Don’t use that tone with me, Henry.” Pietro doesn’t like the way he says his name. Like he’s mocking him. 

“I didn’t mean to have a tone, I'm sorry.” 

“Don’t talk back.” He digs his nails into Hank's forearm, leaving moon shapes on his skin. Pietro thinks Hank might be having a visible meltdown. He feels his chest hurt and his heart thumping but he’s not moving, not even a little. He’s completely still. Like an immovable statue. 

“God you’re so smart how can you be this fucking stupid. You can’t follow simple instructions?” His forearm is bleeding now, salty pool water soaking into it. Older Hank would be throwing a fit about bacteria and infections. But young Hank is completely silent in the presence of his dad. 

“You don’t get to go to the pool. You aren’t like those kids. You aren’t a Normal kid.” Pietro doesn’t like this guy at all. In the back of his mind he tells himself that if he ever met Hank's dad he’d knock him right in the nose. 

“I just wanted to swim.” Hank sounds so young when he says it. He’s seven years old. Younger than Wanda. 

“I’m only going to repeat myself once Henry. You can be a normal kid or you can be better. You have an opportunity to be amazing, to go far and become something more important than any of those kids can be. But you must be perfect to achieve that. Do you understand? You can’t have any flaws. Intellectually or physically.” He looks down at his one bare foot. Hard on the physically. “Mistakes like this, they can end your career before it even begins.”

He’s fucking seven. Why the fuck is he talking about his career?

“You can’t be a charity case, that won’t get you far, not as far as I know you can go. Your deformity will only cause a hindrance. You will be othered by all your colleagues and you will be known as a freak instead of a genius. You will be known for your deformity and not your intelligence. Is that what you want?”

Hank is looking at the ground. No, not the ground. At his feet. Pietro's stomach turns and he feels dread as Hank looks at his own fathers feet. He’s wearing the same designed shoes as Hank. They look large, too big for a guy like him but Pietro can only guess. He can only jump to the conclusion that he got his mutation from his father. That he speaks from experience. That In his own fucked up way he’s trying to do right by Hank. He feels the crumbling of Hank's face, straining to keep it emotionless and Pietro doesn’t think his father is justified. 

“No, I don’t want that.” Hank says hoarsely. 

“Then go to the bathroom. Dry yourself up. And cover up your fucking feet.” Hank nods and his father lets go of his wrist finally and it’s all bruised and ugly looking but Hank doesn’t even hesitate to grab the towel from the ground and go to the door behind him connected to the public restroom that’s part of the pool. 

The mirror on the wall next to the toilet is dirty and just a little bit cracked at the edges but no dim lighting can hide the face looking back at him. 

Hank fucking McCoy. His face is chunkier, adorning baby fat, his posture small and fragile. His hair was wet and buzzed short. His face was pale, so pale that the faded bruise around his neck looked gaudy. The bruise looked like a large hand wrapped around his throat. Pietro has seen that handprint on his own skin before. 

He felt cold. Hank looks down at his bleeding forearm and Pietro feels like he understands the blue man a little bit more. 

“You are one of the strongest kids I know.” That’s what Hank told him while he sat in his lab getting his check up and Pietro wished he could tell little Hank the same thing. He wishes he could tell him that his father was wrong. That he became extraordinary, that he became better and kinder than most people and that his mutation didn’t hinder that but enhanced it. He wishes he could tell him that but he has no control over anything that happens, this is a memory. Something that’s already happened and he can’t change anything. He can only sit back and watch as it unfolds. 

Although he has no idea why this is happening. Not a damn clue. But he’d like to leave now. 

Hank opens the door and a blinding light hits him. When he opens his eyes again Pietro is in a colosseum surrounded by people. Hundreds of eyes on him. Gawking and oohing and aahing. Pietro feels his body lock up and anxiety rush through him as he’s pushed to the center of the stage dropping harshly to the ground on his blue hands. Blue hands he’d recognize anywhere. 

Kurt rises from the ground and he pulls on his ragged shirt so it’s showing less skin. “Do your dance schlampe!” Slut. The word makes pietro want to recoil and Kurt actually does. 

“Ich habe gutes Geld bezahlt!”

I paid good money. 

“Stop crying demon!”

He’s not a demon. 

“Show us your scars!” Over and over. Words blurred together, faces became one. Men women and children. All of them looking at Kurt like he’s meat in a market. 

Kurt with shaking hands takes off his shirt. Then he takes off his pants. And then he takes off his underwear. Kurt stood naked and bare in front of ridiculing strangers. The audience laughed and gasped and Pietro feels the rush of shame hit him and he wants nothing but to be able to put Kurt’s clothes back on. To scream and yell at these evil people and to run as far away from here as possible with Kurt safely in his hands. Kurt whispers a prayer under his breath. Quiet and desperate. 

Kurt begs in German, words wobbly and uncomfortable to hear. The older woman holding his life in his hands who watches him with a stone cold expression and a straight back only glares at his pleading. Pietro sees flashes of cameras, kids laughing and squealing at a naked Kurt. “The boss says you stole from him.” A Thick accent Pietro couldn’t pin point. 

“I didn’t! It was my money.” Kurt isn’t the type to steal. Too good and kind. 

“Stupid boy. Whatever is yours is his. You are his property. Your money is his money. Your body is his body. You need to make up for the money you used. One way or another.” 

Pietro is starting to realize why Kurt never uses the money Charles gives him when they go out. Never buying anything for himself. 

Kurt told him about how bad the circus was to him. He told him about the things they used to make him do. Kurt never went into detail though. He would get all small and his tail would tighten around himself and Pietro never forced him to say more. He knew what it was like to relive bad memories and he never wanted Kurt to feel like he had to tell him. 

He told him pieces. Nothing this graphic. Pietro suspected something sexual but never something like this. It felt different experiencing it from his point of view. Feeling what he felt. Thinking what he thought. 

He thinks this is it. He thinks this is all there is to life. Nothing beyond the circus, not for him. 

The thought of Warm and kind Kurt thinking this was all he deserved, all he would get to have twisted something in Pietros gut. 

Whenever he gets out of here he’s gonna hug Kurt. And he’s gonna hug Miss Margo for saving him. 

“The bidding starts at 3,000 thousand dollars.” 

Pietro feels the bile crawl up his throat and when he hunches over to vomit he isn’t surprised by the booing. 

“Number two! Can I get a 3,500 thousand? Number seventeen! Can I get a 4,000 thousand? Number two! Very persistent. Can we get a 5,000 thousand? 5,000? Thirty two! Alrighty can we get 5,500 thousand? Once again lucky number two!”

It kept going. Tediously higher and higher until it reached five digits. Pietro could never concoct this nightmare scenario. He could never imagine being sold off like meat, like property. He feels angry but it was overshadowed by Kurt’s fear, shaking his body that’s still exposed to everyone’s eyes. 

“65,000 thousand! Can I get 65,000 thousand on the night crawler? Going once? Going twi-“

“-100,000 thousand dollars! I’ll take him.” A women’s voice soared over each voice in the function. Confident even with the tinge of a forced accent in her voice. 

Like she was trying to sound like English wasn’t her first language but it definitely was. 

The auctioneer made an exaggerated face “oooh money bags over here! Can anyone top 100 grand?” Everyone’s faces looked perplexed and annoyed. 

“Going once? Going twice? Sold to the pretty blonde American.” Clearly the auctionist clocked the fake accent as well. 

In a whirlwind of motion Kurt is pushed and pulled and grabbed at in all directions and Pietro wasn't sure if he was the one freaking out or if it was Kurt. 

They were taken to a room. They finally get to see who purchased nightcrawler. During the entire ordeal Kurt hadn’t lifted his eyes from the ground. Too scared and too stunned to even lift his gaze upon his potential owners. 

Now he’s face to face with the women who won him at an auction for a 100,000 dollars. 

Pietro recognized the face. He knew exactly who this was and that only confused him further. What the hell is Charles fucking sister doing buying Kurt at an auction? 

He’s seen her picture in his room. Seen the blue version of her on the news. Her face plastered on posters and tshirt merchandise. 

“All yours. You have four hours with him. We don’t provide protection, or toys, and any marks or damages left on him should be reported on before return.” The guard woman spoke as if she was renting out a car and not his best friend. 

She hands Raven his chains and what seemed to be the keys and a remote. “If he gets mouthy this is the control for his collar.” Raven doesn’t take her eyes away from Kurt even for a second her face is completely blank. Emotionless and scary and Pietro feels the fear Kurt felt. He was preparing for the worst. She doesn’t even acknowledge the older lady who simply smirks at Kurt like she’s happy to be rid of him for the next couple hours. 

Pietro memorizes everything about the circus lady. The limp in her step, the scar on her eyebrow, the exact shade of green her eyes are. He memorized the curve of her cheek bones and the crack in her teeth and exactly where the birthmark on her shoulder is. Pietro scans her and commits her to memory. When this is over. Pietro is going to find this lady and he’s going to hurt her. 

The moment the lady is gone, door turning shut behind her Raven's entire face crumbles. She’s fumbling with the keys as she’s frantically unchaining Kurt from his shackles and he doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He’s frozen in his place. A soldier waiting for a command. 

Pietro doesn't understand what’s going on and neither does Kurt. 

Raven takes off her jacket and covers Kurt’s naked body with it. “Are you hurt?” 

Kurt is numb as he shakes his head “I’m not damaged.” He says like he’s merchandise and Raven looks exactly like how Pietro feels. 

Like she’s three seconds away from raising hell. 

“I’m gonna get you out of here Kurt.” She scans the room around her, clearly searching for something.

Kurt stiffens “how do you know my name?” Kurt’s voice is slow and his accent is thick like he isn’t quite used to speaking English but also just isn’t used to speaking in general.

Raven blinks “I know a lot about you. I’m your-“ she swallows her face seemingly contorting into something uncomfortable “I was sent to help you. I was told about this particular circus sex trafficking mutants and freaks and was sent down here to bust it.” 

“Bust it?”

“Yeah, do I look like I carry 100,000 dollars cash? In about ten minutes they’ll figure out I duped them and try to come and get you.” The door starts to wiggle and Kurt is feeling the sudden panic of being in danger all over again. 

“How far can you teleport?” 

“I don’t-“

“-this isn’t time to be coy Kurt. I know you can teleport. How far can you go? How does it work?”

“As far as I can see. Or if I’ve been there before.” Raven grabs Kurt’s hand, firmly but not harshly. “Take us out of here.”

Kurt uses his powers and suddenly the atoms around them shift and change and he's staring at a large pool. 

A boy is struggling to swim, screaming for help. There’s other kids around him, twelve or eleven. Laughing at the drowning boy. 

He knows what this is. Bobby has told him about this day. It’s one of his worst days. The day Romeo was drowning, the day Bobby Drake got his powers. 

Bobby was being help back by his friends. 

Pietro was feeling whiplash jumping. From person to person like this. He needs a second to fucking process. 

Bobby was cursing at his friends, yelling and screaming at them. “Let me help him! He can’t swim! Please!” Pietro didn’t know about this part. 

Bobby always says he stood by and did nothing until the last second. That he eventually overcame his doubt and helped him but it looked like he was fighting his friends from the start. He was trying to save him but they wouldn't let him. 

“Let him struggle for a bit more. I’m sure he can hold his breath for a really long time.”

Bobby was strong. But he wasn’t four boys a grade older than him strong. 

“Must be why he’s such a good cocksucker.” Another boy taunts and Pietros blood boils. No, not his blood. Bobby’s blood. Bobby’s so angry and scared and he must be desperate because he jabs his fist at the older boy's groin and he collapses immediately. He fights off the other two boys. Literally pulling hair and biting. Using every dirty trick to get the fuck away from them and get to Romeo. 

And Pietro gets the desperation of it because Romeo is literally begging. He’s crying and choking on water and breathless and he’s crying Bobby’s name like he’s the only person that will care to save him. 

It was gut wrenching and horrifying and Bobby is fighting tooth and nail and He dives into the water. Romeo was already at the bottom of the pool by the time Bobby got into the freezing cold public pool. 

Pietro can feel the adrenaline rushing through Bobby’s body, the anguish and fear and anger completely enveloping the boy's entire being. A volcanic emotional disaster. 

The water got colder. Fast. 

Bobby’s fingertips touched Romeos and he finally had him. Dragging him to the top through sheer will alone. Just when he gets to the top...thin ice blocks his way out. 

Pietro feels the horror crush his body. He knew that Bobby’s powers manifested here. He just hadn’t realized it was while he was still inside the pool. Slowly drowning beside his friend. 

Bobby screams, air bubbles reaching for the thinnest part of the ice, desperate for the surface. He punches that exact part. His fist sting. 

He punches again. More pain shooting up his arm. He punches over and over again until the ice cracks and the pool is stained red with blood. His knuckles cracking open with torn skin. 

He lifts Romeo above water and the water around Bobby becomes more solid while he’s still inside. He can’t move his legs or his hands or his head. He can’t move at all. 

He’s stuck and he’s cold. Bobby passes out in a block of ice that used to be the pool thinking that Romeo died. 

When Pietro opens his eyes he’s in a car seat in the back seat of a family car. His parents-no not his parent- sat in the front singing joyfully to the children’s song playing on the car. Big smiles and loud unapologetic laughter. 

Whoever he was now was young, legs swinging under his car seat and clutching a stuffed red dragon. Simple thoughts ruling his head. He was happy. Which was a drastic change from the horror show Pietro has endured so far. 

What the hell has even been going on? How the hell is any of this happening? The last thing he remembers is Wanda screaming. She was surrounded, Pietro thinks. By monsters. He thinks. 

He can’t seem to focus on it for too long. The body he's inhabiting, the memory he’s experiencing, is shifting. The snow outside was pretty to look at and his eyes stayed glued to the snowflakes sticking to the car window. 

“I love you.” His mom says adoringly. No-not his mom. “I love you too, babe.” His dad says. No- Not his dad. 

Pietro whines and his parents turn to look at him with matching smiles “don’t be fussy we love you too Franklin.”

Franklin. 

Frankie. 

Frankie has his moms face and his dads hair color. Pietro doesn’t know what to do with that information. He doesn’t have much time with that information before the car is suddenly turning over and he hears screaming. Pietros head is pounding, his head hits the roof, his car seat must not have been fully strapped in. 

Frankie is crying. Even worse he’s stuck in his car seat facing his father. The man died with his eyes wide open, staring right at Frankie with dead eyes and a bloody face covered in glass. 

He stayed like that for a long time. It was cut to a few minutes but Pietro knows that he must’ve been there, looking at his dead father for hours. 

Then the world turns and he thinks the car is crashing again. But he’s in a hospital room. He can’t feel his legs and the hospital gown is too big for him. He’s too small, too tiny. 

“Mama?” Frankie looks over at his mom who is beside his hospital bed leaning over him with a drained face. “I’m here Frankie. Its gonna be okay.”

She has multiple stitches on her face and a cast on her leg and on her arm. She looked three way to hell but she was alive. 

“I can’t feel my legs mama.” Frankie sniffles and Pietro can feel him try to move them. He can feel him try so damn hard. 

“It’s okay.”

Frankie shakes his head. “Mama I can’t move them.” Is she not getting this? 

Pietro doesn’t understand why she looks so calm. Why does she keep looking at Frankie like he’s an art painting she’s trying to decipher. 

“It’s gonna be okay.”

“Dads dead.” 

Her face darkens “I know. He loved you so much.” She fluffs Frankie’s pillow. 

“Mama?” She’s tugging on his pillow. 

“We’ll be with him soon. You won’t have to miss him for very long. It’s gonna be okay.” She has his pillow and Pietro realizes whats going to happen before Frankie does. 

His mother shoves the pillow in front of his face and Frankie struggles. Scared and confused, Pietro suddenly realizes why Frankie doesn’t sleep with pillows. 

He had noticed how the pillows in his dorm were always lined against the wall furthest from his bed every morning when he went to wake up the kids for class. He hadn’t thought much of it. He just thought it was Frankie being his usually weird self. 

Frankie is seeing black spots. His mother is suffocating him and-and-suddenly the pillow is away from his face and a concerned nurse is hovering above him putting an oxygen mask on his mouth. 

His mom was tackled to the ground but she was kicking and screaming before they put a needle in her neck. Frankie watched all of it. 

“You’re okay now kid,” the nurse says as he breathes into the oxygen mask and Pietro knows that Frankie doesn’t believe her. 

Frankie can’t be more than four here. Pietro didn’t know how Frankie lost his legs. He didn’t know what happened to make him go into the foster system and eventually end up with Miss Margo. He didn’t know any of this and he kinda wishes he hadn’t. 

This is private. All of these memories have been bad. Given to him without permission. It feels vile to simply sit back and watch them unfold. 

Pietro doesn’t catch a break. The room around him stirs and shifts and it goes quick. 

Memories fly past his head, too quick to process any of them only catching glimpses of pain and suffering. 

A starving child selling their body for a warm place to sleep for the night. 

Quick quick. 

Two siblings trapped underneath a collapsed house, scared to move. 

Quick quick. 

A Drunk father tortures their wife and forces their son to contribute. 

Quick quick. 

A mother selling their youngest daughter to human traffickers. 

Quick quick.

Broken glass and heavy fists. 

Quick quick

Screaming, crying.

Quick quick 

Hundreds of horrible memories come at Pietro, too quick for even his fast brain to catch. 

“Pietro.” He hears his sister's voice and he’s shrouded in darkness, the pain and suffering too overwhelming for him to see. 

“Pietro Maximoff.” His sister sounds different in this place wherever this is but he knows his sisters voice.

He takes a blind step forward into darkness. 

“I used to have a twin.” He can almost hear her clearly now. He reaches forward his fingers grasping something in the darkness. 

He doesn’t hesitate to grab whatever it is. He pulls and he’s being propelled forward. 

-

-

-

Everything slows down again. Too slow. Almost stopping completely. 

-

-

-

He doesn’t know what’s going on or how he got here. One second he was suffering and the next he was in a picture perfect living room. Sitting between very soft cushions. 

He looks up at a dark haired woman who watches him curiously. 

“Who are you?” He asks, leaning away from the women. 

She smiles, wide and malicious. “I’m Agatha.”

He doesn’t like that smile at all but he also doesn’t want to go back into whatever hellscape he was just in. 

“I’m Ralph Bo-“ his ears begin to ring. Loud and obnoxious. 

“Pietro listen to me!” A familiar voice echoes in his forcing him to stand from the couch abruptly. 

“You know you look a little bit like the silver haired speedster who died.” Agatha smirks her fingers turning purple, her aura reaching for him. 

“Pietro don’t listen to her. You need to come home now.” 

Ralph shakes his head tripping over himself trying to get away from Agatha's weird smoke tentacles. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.” He says to her and she only nods in agreement. 

“I can’t do all the work I need you to run.” The voice says loudly. 

Ralph doesn’t really understand it but he knows he can trust this voice. He’s in danger and he needs to leave. Like right now. 

“Run, Pietro, run!” Ralph runs out the door and he gets chewed up and spit out again.

-

-

-

Pietro wakes up screaming in the Mansion. A million sufferings crammed in his head. 

“It’s okay, it’s alright, love, I got you.” Charles' voice interrupts his panic, his gentle hand touching his forehead. 

“Just breathe with me, Wanda.” Charles says inhaling deeply in practice. 

Right, okay. So he’s Wanda again. 

Wanda’s brain is loud and frantic but she manages to focus on Charles' voice and follows his directions. 

Wanda breaths in. She breathes out. Pietro follows the same movements in Charles. Inhale, exhale. Over and over for ages. Until Wanda is calm and loosening her grip on Charles' hand.

“Are we feeling a bit better?” Charles says kindly to Wanda placing a stuffed bear beside her that must’ve fallen on the floor in her panic. 

“A little.” Wanda shutters and Charles looks conflicted “would you like me to get Peter?”

Pietro can feel Wanda shake her head and tries not to be hurt by that. “I don’t want you to wake him up.”

Pietro would’ve gladly lost sleep if it helped Wanda. He wonders if she knows that. 

“Okay.” Charles nods slowly and eventually pulls his hand away from Wanda “If you need me I’ll just be in the room down the-“

“Don’t go.” Wanda’s voice wobbles grabbing the professors sleeve before he can go too far. “Can you stay here Professor?” She quickly adds a “Please?”

Charles' face crumbles a bit and Pietro realizes that Wanda has the professor wrapped around her finger if one simple please is willing to change his mind. 

“Okay. I’ll be right here Wanda. Don’t you worry. Just go to sleep.”

“You promise you won’t go anywhere?”

“I promise I won’t move.”

Charles' drunken words repeat suddenly in Pietros mind.  

I’m not her fucking dad.

But he acts like he is. The trust that Wanda has in Charles to protect her while she sleeps, to be there when she has nightmares is clear as day. 

Wanda closes her eyes and Pietro opens them  and he’s back at school standing up.

That memory wasn’t bad. It was actually kinda nice.

“Its a happy memory.” Wanda says right beside him and Pietro jumps in alarm. 

“Wanda? What the hell was that?” He looks at his sister who is currently wearing her old school uniform and carrying her Mickey Mouse book bag, hair in pigtails. 

“You were in a different house. Not mine. I had to think of a strong memory to pull you back in. Charles says that positive memories are just as powerful as negative ones.” 

“What?” Pietro hasn’t caught up, his brain fuzzy and cramped. He looks at his sister and it’s all off and strange. 

“You broke into my house when you tried to wake me up. You were inside but then You went to someone else’s house. In a neighborhood not from here.”

“I’m in your head?”

“No, not anymore. We are in yours now. I think.” Wanda frowned “i've never been able to see it with the lights on before. Must’ve gone through some remodeling. It used to be our house.” 

Pietro looks around the mansion seeing furniture that doesn’t belong and pictures on the walls that don’t match any of what they have in the school. Low volume Rock music playing in the distance. 

“We’re in my head?” He repeats. 

“Yeah.”

“Why does it look like The School?”

“Our houses take the image of where we’re most comfortable.” Wanda says easily. 

Pietro refuses to acknowledge that the room they are currently in is where the professor's office usually is. He’s not gonna think about Charles right now when he’s still mad at him. 

“Why are we in my head?”

“I had to push you out of mine. But I got all turned around and we ended up in yours.”

“Right. So the nightmare fueled memories where all yours? How did that work?” He’s trying to joke about it but he’s definitely traumatized. There’s only so much a non-telepath can see before losing it. 

Wanda looks a bit sad “when I sleep I can’t control my powers all that well and my mind wanders. Sometimes I end up peeking through everyone’s windows.” 

“Every night?” Pietro can’t fathom the idea that Wanda has been experiencing that for months. 

Wanda shakes her head “just some nights. Charles is usually here to help me but he must’ve not come back home yet.”

Pietro swallows thickly. If he hadn’t been so upset when he went to pick up Charles the telepath would’ve already been home and could’ve helped Wanda. But he pushed Hank to get him instead so now the only adults that could’ve helped her are MIA. 

Great. Way to go Pietro Maximoff. 

“He’ll be here soon.”-Ish. He doesn’t really understand how time works here. Has he been here for hours? Days? Seconds? He can’t use his superspeed not even if he tried. Everything was so weird in his head. “He won’t be able to help us. Jean either.”

“What? Why not?”

“We’re in your head remember? Telepaths can’t penetrate your mind. It goes too quick.”

“But you’re here.”

“I don’t know. It’s all pretty confusing. I just know we need to go through the doors. It’s the only way to get to the exit.” Wanda grabs his hand gently. Pietro is a little scared to see what's behind that door. It has four locks and a Do Not Enter sign duct taped on it.  

“Pie?” Her fingers twists around Pietro and he looks down at her somberly, just a bit scared “what’s behind that door?”

“I don’t know.”

“Must be important to be locked away like that.”

“Must be bad.”

“Maybe. Or it might be a happy memory.” Pietro sincerely doubts that. 

“Do we really gotta go through it?” 

“Yeah. But we can go through it together. It will be less scary. It usually is when Charles is with me.” Pietro really wishes Wanda would stop mentioning Charles when he’s so pissed off at him. 

“Okay. Together.” He tightens his grip on her, afraid to let her go. Afraid he’ll be alone when he goes through the door. 

He unlocks the first lock. Then The second. Then the third. The walls shook and the picture frames twisted in warning. Pietro lets out a shaky breath and he unlocks the fourth lock and before he could change his mind…he opens the door. 

A bright light takes them both. 

Chapter Text

Wanda Django Maximoff got off the yellow school bus fully dreading the walk home. Stuffed inside her book bag was a detention slip from her teacher Miss Dotty. Fourth grade was hard enough without the mean smelly Miss Dotty. The lousy teacher smells like dirty socks and always has something bad to say about Wanda and her friends. Frankie says he sees her stealing from the offerings at his church whenever she attends so Wanda knows she’s mean and a thief. Wanda also bit her hand when she tried to take away the food Wanda’s brother had made for her at lunch time.  That was probably the bigger reason for the misconduct detention letter and not Wanda calling her a big ugly thief.  

Or maybe both things can be true at the same time. 

But she deserves it. Miss Dotty doesn’t like Pietro for some reason. As a rule anyone that doesn’t like her brother she automatically thinks is a böse. 

Her brother Pietro makes and packs her food for school and He walks her to the gate and the bus stop and he shows up to the parent teacher conferences instead of her mama and he goes to all her art shows and talent shows and miss dotty always has a ugly stank face when he’s around. She very pointedly told Wanda “a parent has to sign the detention slip, not your half-brother.” 

Wanda doesn’t like it when people specify that Pietro is only her half-brother but she especially doesn’t like it when Miss Dotty says it because she makes it sound dirty and wrong and  the last time she did Pietro was in earshot and started a fuss. 

“Your mama must get around.” Miss Dotty had thrown out like bait in water and Wanda hadn’t known what she meant. 

“Around where?” She looked up from her macaroni necklace, the one displayed in the art show. A bit tired from the long eventful day. Pietro Maximoff is beside Wanda so fast that he must’ve used his speed to get there “Excuse me? Whatcha say?” 

Miss Dottys face goes an ugly red but she flares her nostrils and juts out her chin in defiance “I’ve heard some rumors is all. About your mother and her looseness.” Wanda looked between Pietro and Miss Dotty and knew that her brother was about to do something drastic- “one bastard child is bad enough but two bastard children is quite telling.”

“Bastard children? For fucks sake what are we in the 1800s? Why do you give a shit?” Pietro glares at her, his hands coiled securely around Wanda’s school bag, trying to hold himself back. 

“You said bad words.” Wanda taps his elbow, he doesnt even look at her.

Miss dotty smiles “Ive heard about your activities as well, Mr. Maximoff. If that is the type of example Wanda has at home no wonder she is the way she is.”

“Youre out of fuckin’ line.” Pietro snaps.

“I’m just making sure Wanda isn’t living in a unstable household with a bunch of-” Pietro covered her ears and Wanda doesnt hear the rest. She sees angry faces but no noise. Pietro drags her away and they go home. 

Pietro had been upset the entire rest of the day. 

Now weeks later Miss Dotty has given Wanda a detention slip. 

The letter burns a hole in Wanda’s book bag and when she gets home she sees cars parked in the front she assumes mama is having some of her synagogue friends over again. Once a month they meet up at each other house and gossip but theyve only come to the maximoff residence one other time. Wanda is a bit relieved, hoping her mama would be in a good mood after and won’t be too angry about the detention. 

Wanda walks In quietly, tip toeing through the door as to not disturb her mamas friends. 

Its gonna be okay. Maybe Pietro will let her play in his PAC MAN machine and he can fake their mamas signature somehow. She’s seen him do it before but Wanda thinks Miss Dotty may have caught on to the forgery. When she gets to the front door it was open though, which is bad because flies will get in the house and mama doesn’t like it when she has to swat them before cooking dinner. Wanda walks in, floorboards creaking and she sees her brother getting held down. They force her brother's head to the side and inject a needle into his neck like they do in scary movies to the monsters. 

But it’s all wrong because Pietro isn’t a monster. What is going on? 

“You little piece of shit. You deserve everything you’re getti-“

“What are you doing to Peter?” Wanda interrupts, eyes wide and horrified. Her brother is too fast, too clever to be caught so easily and she doesn't understand why he's standing still, why he's not moving away. 

“Who the fuck-“

“Wanda, leave right now!” Pietro uses his big voice, the scary one he uses on David or Miss Dotty when hes really mad but his face looks nothing like how his face usually is when he uses that voice. He looks scared. His face looks all flipped around and upside down, like a wet marker drawing. Weird and droopy. 

Wanda will not leave without getting some answers. “Who are you people? Why are you hurting Peter?” Wanda always asked the most questions in class. Miss dotty calls her a know-it-all but Mister Lewis calls her a genius. 

“We’re just playing a game, don’t worry.” Wanda sees her mama in the kitchen on the ground and she sees blood and she sees guns and she sees a lot of angry and bad men in her house and she doesnt think this is a game. Pietros games are usually fun. They are always fun. This is not fun. 

“Why are they hurting you?” Wanda’s voice is wobbly and she promised herself she wouldn't ever be a witness to Pietro getting hurt again. Not after her dad- after David. 

She can't be quiet. She won't be quiet. Not ever again. She stands firmly in her place. 

One of the men aims a gun at her head and Wanda’s eyes widen and Pietro thrashes, but he doesn't move like he usually does. He doesn't become sound and air. He's not fast like he alway is and Wanda doesn't understand why. Why is the moving? 

“I don’t like this game.” Wanda’s face feels hot with tears but shes not a baby. She’s just overwhelmed and confused. 

There’s a word for that. Wanda can’t remember what it is. 

Either way it’s normal to cry. 

No matter what Ryan from Social studies says. It's okay to cry. Pietro says it's okay to cry. Mama says it's okay to cry. Wanda knows it's okay to cry, especially with a gun to her head. 

Especially with a gun to her head. 

“Stop that! She’s got nothing to do with this!”  Her brother winces and coughs and Wanda smells burnt flesh and the handcuffs around his hands look weird. 

“Mutation is genetic. Right?” Wanda doesn't know what he's talking about. 

“She’s not a mutant. She doesn’t have powers.” 

Powers? Like the man on the TV? Wanda isn't like him. Pietro isn't like him either. He can't move things without touching them. He can only move fast. 

These people are so dumb.

“Can’t really take that chance, can we?” 

“She’s not my sister.” wanda holds back the retort she's about to say because while she's usually offended when other people don't think they are related this is a very serious situation and Pietro sounds scared. “She’s not a mutant. She’s just my neighbor's kid. I tutor her sometimes after school.” Pietro pushed the words out and the men looked contemplative.

Thats a new word she learned this week. 

Contemplative. 

An adjective. 

Thinking thoughtfully. 

“Even so. Can’t have any witnesses.” the bad man was done thinking thoughtfully. 

“Should've just done homework at home.” Another ugly man aims a gun straight at her. 

Pietro looks scared so Wanda gets scared too. She doesnt like guns. She doesnt like them at all. But usually she’d be gone. Pietro would usually save her. He’s faster than Bullets but he’s not moving. He hasn’t been moving fast at all. Allowing fists and punches to hit him without dodging. Without running. 

“Guns are only used for hurting or controlling.” is what Mama always says and Wanda is becoming aware of which version is being used on her. 

Pietro jerks and screams and Wanda knows it's okay to cry but she doesn’t want to die. Are they going to kill her brother too? Or will the Guns be used to control him. 

She doesn't want her brother to die. She doesn't want to die either. She never got her mom to sign the detention slip. 

“Please, please, don't do this!” is the last thing Wanda hears before she hears the gunshot. Loud and cutting the air. 

Boom.

Wanda has never heard a gunshot before. She thought it would be quieter, she didn’t know her ears would ring this loudly. Wanda's heart barely skips a beat and the bullet reaches her and stays right between her eyebrows. Her stomach burns. Hot and hot and hot like a warm drink slowly being dumped all over her. 

Everything is so loud. The birds, the trees, the air, the static on the tv, her brother's harsh breathing. She can feel it all, enhanced and modified to her eyes and ears. It's so loud and so overwhelming.

The world is still moving, just not the bullet. Plucked from time and dangled in front of her like a cookie. 

A red glowing strand wrapped around the bullet that looks like a string. 

holding it in place like yanking string. 

She cant focus on it. Not really. Not when everything is getting so loud and so angry.

She hears voices. Big and small.

Too many to focus on. Too many in her head. Ugly and angry and scared and she can't- she screams. She was trying to hear something that belonged to her. 

She lets out a blood-curdling scream that makes her throat hurt and makes everything in her body burn and freeze all at the same time. The voices get quieter and the windows shatter, the tv fries, the light bulbs blow up and a million pieces of glass fly everywhere. Wanda doesn't want Pietro to get hurt but she can't focus or think or even breathe without it hurting and she just wants all these people gone from her head, she wants them all to be quiet. 

They are all quiet. 

Mute. 

Forever. 

Wanda is surrounded by dead bodies. Her head no longer clouded with noise. 

“Holy shit.'' Wanda isn't allowed to curse but she does anyway because...Holy shit. 

She's falling to her knees and breathing harshly. The voices are all gone but now her house is broken. Covered in blood. Drowning in iron. Glass dug into her knees and palms and she has an ache in her back that makes her want to cry. 

She hurt all these people?

She-no-she didn't mean it. She didn't wanna hurt anybody. Not really. She just wanted them to be quiet. To stop hurting her brother. To leave her family alone. Why does everyone always want to hurt her family?

But now she’s the one hurting. She hurt all these people. 

“Wanda…Wanda.” She hears Pietro more than sees him. She can't see anything really past her tears, her vision spotty and shaky and when she does feel him trying to touch her she panics and pushes him away not wanting to hurt him. 

She doesn’t want to hurt him. She doesn't want to be like David. Pietro wraps around her like a warm blanket. Different from the hotness she felt before. Better. 

“It's okay.”  He soothes, his serious voice gone and replaced with his nicer one. A sifter one. 

“I killed them.” Wanda hiccups, her tears overwhelming her, consuming her entire face. She hears the voices coming back. From farther away. From around the neighborhood. Angry, confused, horrified. She pulls on her hair hating all the voices hammering inside her head.

“Hey, Stop that.” Pietro speaks softly, gently prying her fingers off her scalp and combing her hair with his fingers just like he’s done every time her head gets too loud. But usually it's too loud from her own voice. From her own thoughts. All her. Now it's everyone else's and she can't hear her own. 

“You didn’t mean to.” Pietro begins swaying back and forth with her and she can feel his sadness. Small and far away.

“What's wrong with me?” Wanda asks desperately, avoiding looking at all the bodies on the ground. 

“Nothing is wrong with you. You're just special. Like me.” Pietro is special. He's very fast and not everyone's big brother is fast like her big brother. 

“But I’m not fast.” Wanda doesn't understand the comparison at all.

“No, you're something completely different.” He kisses her head and she doesnt want to be fast or different, or anything. She just wanted it to be quite and now it is. But now shes different and that doesnt seem fair at all. 

“I don't want to be fast, or special. I don't want to be like you.” She liked how she was before. 

“I know. I'm so sorry.” Pietro squeezes her closer to his chest. “What do we do now?” She can feel people coming. She can hear the siren before she can hear them

Pietro says “we go somewhere safe.” 

And they do. Wandas brother knows a lot of weird people in weird places. 

Mr Hank is very nice. He is very tall and kinda looks like her old third grade teacher Mr. Lewis who liked to clap his hands a lot and sing when he taught. Mr Hank doesn't sing but he does have cool glasses and nice organized thoughts. 

“How’d this happen?” Hank asks after he has to take out tweezers to pluck out a particularly deep piece of glass off her calf. It hurts a lot but Wanda doesn't cry. She’s done enough crying for today. 

“I fell.” Wanda repeats Pietro's lie back to him. “Playing at school.” 

You're like me? The girl upstairs asks.

Yeah, I think so. 

Mr Hank doesn't look convinced. “I was pushed. I got angry so I pushed them back.” Wanda says and Hank grabs the disinfectant spray off the first aid kit. 

“I’m sure they deserved it.” He wipes her cut and it doesn't hurt. It usually hurts when the nurse does it. Hank is like a magician. 

“They did. They’re bullies. Mom says bullies are just weak men trying to bring everyone to their level. They need to be put in their place before they think everyone is small and they can rule the world like fascist dictatorship.” Hank wraps up her knees with thick bandages. 

“Sounds scary,” Hank says and Wanda nods in agreement because it was. 

“They were hurting Peter.” 

Is peter your brother? Jean asks suddenly.

Yeah hes the best.

I can’t hear his thoughts. 

Hank looks up at Pietro “they hurt Peter?”

Hanks thoughts are more organized. Calm. Wanda likes Hank's thoughts. Hank wants to help her brother. He is a good doctor. Very good. 

“I hurt them back,” Wanda tells him and Hank's lips form a straight line as he folds through those words. His skin was turning a weird color. Kinda blue. 

His thoughts turn twisty and loud.

Oh no. hes angry. Maybe wanda shouldn't have said that. 

“It was an accident.” Pietro defends quickly before Wanda could say anything. “They were going to-“ kill him. “They were being really rough. Wanda didn’t know how to control herself.”

Are you okay? A new voice says in her head. British. 

Yeah, Mr. Hank fixed me up. 

Very good dear. I'll be right down. Wanda has only heard a British voice on the radio. It's a very silly accent and it makes Wanda want to copy it but she doesn't want to be rude. 

That was the professor. Jean tells her.

Pietro is still talking, still explaining, but Wanda only hears a little bit outside of her own head “-our mother would freak out if she saw us both banged up like this.”

Oh. They left mama.

I hope she won't be too upset about the blood stains on her carpet, it’ll match the dark spot on the kitchen floor. 

“You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” She hears the British man and he is in a wheelchair like Frankie, only bigger and gray. Kinda boring looking. It doesn't have the yellow stone like Frankies does. 

The British man, the professor, had long hair and blue eyes and he looked like a British man. He is the most British looking man she has ever seen. Except she has never seen a British man so she has no example but if she did…. He is it.

British man. How funny. 

“Fuck, man. Did that happen at the White House?” Was the professor not british before? Was he keeping it a secret this whole time? Why was he at the White House? Does the white house not like British people? 

I’m not actually british. Im american. I got my accent from my mother, who was british. The professor clarifies.

This was not amusing to Wanda. She was blind sighted. Her prime example of a British man is now eradicated. 

That's a big word. Not-british man says.

It means to destroy completely or put an end to.  Wanda recites proudly. 

Very good. He says and Wanda smiles to herself. Only Pietro compliments her when she gets her vocab words right. 

“Holy shit.” pietro repeats.

Hank doesnt think the professor should be away from Jean. 

In case I blow up again. Jean tells her.

“Jean is settling in just fine. She’s already made a friend.” Charles smiles at Wanda. “She’s on the third floor, second door to the left.” 

Wanda smiles widely, her teeth showing “Thank you professor.” and Wanda darts up the stairs excitedly taking two steps at a time.

Jean was very cool, and her hair was pretty.. She talked a lot too. In her head.

“Your dad seems like a shit face.”

Jean starles a laugh out loud. 

You said a bad word.

So? It's the truth. David was a shit face too. He's not around anymore. 

Jean laughs and they talk for a good while in their heads. 

Pietro is usually really good at making food but he burnt the pizza. He inhaled some of the smoke.

“Peter, are you okay?’ Charles is by his side in an instant closing the oven door and turning it off completely Hank runs out to get a fire extinguisher from the closet. Wanda mourns the pizza.

“Yes, I'm cool. I’m fine, just a bit of smoke in the lungs, nothing crazy, nothing dangerous.”

“My science teacher actually said that inhaling smoke is actually super bad for the lungs.” Wanda paid attention during that lesson. 

Charles pats Pietro's back, looking panicked. “She's right, maybe you should sit down and drink some water, my boy.”

Hank orders pizza and they eat it relatively quickly, hurtling boxes into recycling bins and washing dirty dishes. 

Wanda usually has a little stool to stand on when she does dishes so she can reach the sink. She is still too short to comfortably maneuver around the sink. 

So instead she helps drying the dishes.

“Professor Charles how come you live in a house so big?”

“It was my parents' home it was given to me in their will.” Charles puts down the book he is reading on the porch.

“They died?” Wanda feels bad for asking. She knows she’s not supposed to ask if people’s parents are dead. 

“A long time ago. We weren’t very close.” Charles doesn’t sound convincing not even to Wanda. He sounds melancholy. 

Melancholy. 

That’s another vocab word. 

She’s been Killing it with those all day. 

Wanda always feels better when Pietro hugs her. He’s like a furnace with arms. Wanda kinda hopes she’s a furnace too only because Charles looks kinda sad. Wanda hugs the professor, placing her head on his shoulder. It was more like she was draped over him with the wheelchair in the way and since he was so much bigger than her she looked like a little monkey on top of a tree. 

Nonetheless Wanda considers it a win when the professor placed a gentle hand on her back. Patting it awkwardly. 

Like he’s not sure how hugs work. 

“I’m sorry for asking Professor. That wasn’t very nice.” Wanda knows never to ask adults about their parents. She learned that from her mama who never liked to talk about Opa and Oma. It made her sad. Pietro told Wanda when she was young that they died way before she was born. Before he was born too. That they were taken from mama too soon by bad people and that’s why mama doesn’t like to talk about them. 

“It’s quite alright, genuinely.” Charles' voice is choppy and he’s patting her hair like she was a doggie at the park. 

Wanda pulls away, giving him a toothy smile, feeling very calm and comfortable around the man. “So you got this big ole house all to yourself.”

“Not all too myself. I shared it with my sister…for a time. Before she left.” 

“You have a sister?” Wanda’s always wanted a sister. She knows that she had one. Before Pietro, there was Anya. 

“Yeah, I do.”

“Is she pretty?” Wanda tries to imagine someone resembling Charles. 

“The prettiest.” Charles smiles. “She was actually around your age when she snuck into my family's homes to steal food. I had never met anyone like her before but I knew that she would always have a place here.” 

“Is that why you made this place into a school?” Wanda wouldn’t know what to do with a big house like this. If she could she would share it with her brother. “For your sister?” 

“Yeah, and for kids just like you.”

“Like me?”

“Mutants.” 

“What’s a mutant?” 

The professor seemed to falter “your brother never…well…I guess the simple answer is that some people are born with a mutation. Sometimes these mutations result in extraordinary gifts and abilities. Reading minds, or bending metal, or shifting form or running fast.”

“Like my brother!” Wanda realizes, excited to have a good example. Nobody runs as fast as her brother. He used to run slow when he was racing at school but now he doesn’t do that anymore. 

“Exactly. Everyone here has something truly special and one day this place is gonna be filled with a lot of mutant kids and they're gonna grow up and they're gonna use those abilities to change the world.”

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if they don’t wanna change the world?” Her mama always said it was good to ask lots of questions. Miss Dotty always hated her constant chatter. It was nice to know that Charles wasn’t getting annoyed with her flow of questions. 

“Id be happy with them simply being apart of the world.” Charles says with a kind expression. 

Apart of the world. “That sounds nice.” And then another question popped into her mind “What is Hanks mutant?” 

“Mutation.” Charles corrects. 

“Mutation.” Wanda repeats with his accent feeling silly for doing it but egged on by the amused expression on The Professors face. 

“Simply put, he is extraordinarily smart.” 

“Me too! I have 96 in math and 88 in history. I’m second highest in my grade level.” Her report card will probably get mailed to the house next month. She wonders if mama will be able to see the good she’s been doing in her classes. 

Charles smiles, looking very impressed. Good. He should be. “That’s very good Wanda. You are an incredible student.”

Wanda glows in the praise. She would’ve liked her mama's praise instead but Charles will have to do for now. 

“Not too good though.” Wanda says remembering the detention slip still in her bag. 

“What do you mean?” The professor adjs curiously and all his attention is on her, fully and thoroughly and Wanda is a bit nervous. 

“Well…” Wanda huffs avoiding the older man’s gaze “I did get a detention.” Wanda isn’t sure why she caved so easily. Charles' face doesn’t change, he doesn’t pull a dissatisfied look like mama does when Wanda does something bad. Maybe that’s why she keeps talking,

“I never got my mama to sign the slip and it’s gonna be on my permanent record now.”

“A detention slip? Whatever for?” 

Wanda feels embarrassed about it now. A bit shameful. Is Charles gonna think that Wanda’s a violent kid? That she just hurts everyone when she’s upset? 

“I don’t wanna tell you.” 

She’s pouting a little bit, but it’s alright she’s feeling a bit sad. 

“That’s alright. But I am gonna have to see it.”

“Why?” Wanda exclaims maybe a bit too loudly. 

Charles chuckles at her like she cracked a joke. She did not. “I’ll have to sign it. I can fax it to your school and get your transcripts sent to me.”

“Only a parent can sign it. Miss Dotty was very strict about it.”

“How exactly will this Miss Dotty know if I was or wasn’t your parent?”

“Miss Dotty-“ Wanda falters. Miss dotty has never met David. She doesn’t know how he looks or what he sounds like. She doesn’t know his name or what his signature is. “-oh. Well I guess you’re right. Okay. You can be my dad.” 

Without a thought Wanda goes to the living room where she left her book bag to go get her detention slip. If she had waited even a second or had looked at Charles when she had thrown the flippant statement out she would’ve seen the exact moment his brain stopped working. 

When Wanda came back to where Charles was, paper in hand, his face had been a bit pale but otherwise she hadn’t detected a difference in the not-British man. 

Charles signs the paper “you bit her?” 

Wanda’s face goes a bit red. She had forgotten miss dotty had written it down on the slip. Along with wildly false accusations. 

“Yeah, it was only her hand though.” Charles frowns and Wanda is quick to plead her case “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“You’ll never see her again so I’m sure that promise won’t be hard to keep, dear.” Charles signs the paper with an expensive looking pen. 

“I’m not a bad person.” Wanda knows bad people. David was bad. Sometimes mama was bad too. She doesn’t want to be anything like him. She doesn’t really wanna be like mama either. 

“I know you aren’t.” Charles says “I could never confuse you for anything other than good.” 

Wanda smiles big and proud. She likes Charles a lot. 

The following days Charles and Pietro had been playing a game in his office. With horsies and knights. Charles tried to explain the rules to Wanda but she quickly got bored and played with Jean instead. Jean and Wanda invaded the second pantry. Conquering the snacks and subduing them in the big lumpy couch. Jean ate too much candy and got a stomach ache. Wanda wishes Frankie was here. She misses him a lot. 

Wanda doesn’t talk a lot. But she thinks a bunch which is super helpful, she’s older then Wanda. Already twelve and She has pretty hair and 

She has nightmares. Wanda’s always had them. Messy thoughts turning into messy dreams. Bad bad things Wanda never wanted to think about. She doesn’t like it when it’s bedtime. It’s only gotten worse since she’s gotten her abilities.

Night time is the worst. 

That’s when everyone has the least control over their mind. Nighttime is when she sees Hank being hit with a belt by his disappointed father. Nighttime is when she sees Jean cutting her arms and watching herself bleed. Nighttime is when she hearts thunder strikes and earthquakes that shatter minds. Nighttime is when all the bad things happen. 

The first week after Pietro and Wanda arrived at the Mansion she had Pietro to soothe her dreams. His calm quiet overlapped her like a blanket. It was perfect. 

Then Wanda had the bright idea to bunk with Jean. Who had the same fate as her when it came to nightmares. 

“It’s alright Wanda. I’m here.” Charles' voice pulled her out of her head, coaxing her to stop diving farther into despair. 

“Let me inside your mind.” 

And Wanda did. She doesn’t know how she did but the very moment Charles' presence was in the nightmare she was pulled into a quiet place. It felt strangely familiar yet completely new. 

“Charles?” Wanda felt the professor close by but couldn't see him. “Behind you.” 

Charles was walking. He was taller than Wanda expected. Taller than David. 

“Charles!” Wanda is beside him grasping his hand in comfort, feeling the floor move and shift below her feet. “Where are we proffesor?”

“We are nowhere and everywhere in your mind. An empty room. When you feel scared you can go in here and you can think of something happy.”

“Something happy?”

“Yes. Anything at all. Trust me. Can you do it?”

“I think so.”

The room shifts and swirls and she’s back home. Her real home. The dining table isn’t long and everlasting like the one at the mansion it’s small and quaint and made of recycled wood that has about seven cuts and dents on it from over the years. She’s sitting on the table with her mother in front of her with a big smile. Wanda was pouting. Her bike helmet beside her.

“You did so good Wanda.” Her mother looked tired but her smile was big. 

“I fell.” Wanda sniffles, small and pouty. 

“But you got right back up and tried again.” Her mai amends massaging Wanda’s hair calmly. 

“And I fell again. And my tooth is gone!” Wanda shows off her missing front tooth. Her mother pouts dramatically, playing up her sympathy “oh Yeah? Good job. Now you have one less cavity.”

“I don’t have cavities!” 

“Your breath would say otherwise.” 

“My breath doesn't stink!”

“Sure does. A real stinky face.”

Wanda giggles and screams as Magda Maximoff makes kissy faces at Wanda tickling her and purposely making her giggle and hiss at her mother. 

The room looks different. Brighter but blurrier then she remembers. The memory only focusing on her mom and her and not the messy dishes or creaky floorboards or the bruises on her mothers arms. 

The memory was happy from far away but the more she focuses the more bad she sees. The broken picture frame, the empty fridge and the bruise around her mothers wrist in the shape of a hand print. Wanda had been blind to it before. Oblivious to the bad stuff. Forgetting it and fixing it in her mind. 

Charles squeezes Wanda’s hand looking thoughtfully at the scene. “Sometimes our mind blocks things to protect us, it’s okay if you can’t remember. Think of a different memory, an easier one. Happier.”

Wanda focuses and tightens her hand on charles hand. She scrunches her eyes shut and when she opens them again shes at the same kitchen with the same dented dining table but Pietro is in front of her this time, stirring a mug of hot coco, hair pulled back with some hair clips that belonged to her. 

“Pie!” wanda is small and has to stand on a stepping stool to reach the table. Pietro makes a face and sprays whipping cream on the two matching mugs and gives Wanda a wide eyed look “open up?”

Wanda opens her mouth wide and Pietro sprays on unholy amount of whipping cream in her mouth. 

“Pietro Django Maximoff, you did NOT just do that.” their mother said from the living room looking properly scolding. Pietro gasps dramatically “oh, oh! Mamas mad. Gotta run.” 

“Run!” Wanda wraps her arms around pietro and the memory blurs into superspeed. They end up on the roof giggling to themselves and Pietro hands her a mug of hot chocolate, hand firmly keeping her in place so she doesn’t fall off the roof.  Wanda tries to look at Pietro more. To focus on his face or focus on what he’s wearing but isn’t able to move away from what she did before. 

“Pie?”

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.” Wanda smiles, warm and adoring and Pietro looks at her fondly messing up the tangle of curls on her head. “Oh yeah? Guess I love you too.” Pietro takes a sip of his hot coco and whip cream ends up on his nose and it make Wanda giggle loudly. 

Wanda is pulled from her sleep and is relieved to see Charles still beside her, holding her hand. 

“You’re here.” Wanda shouldn’t be surprised. He’s always there. Always quick to her aid. 

Wanda has more nightmares. Charles is always there to help her. A calm voice and kind gesture, ready to heal her mind. 

Somehow, someway, in his odd way Frankie Wagner finds her. Wanda couldn’t be happier. She meets Kurt for the first time. Frankie has talked about his foster brother constantly since he’s arrived and he missed to mention that his brother was blue. Which seems important. But I guess not to Frankie. 

“How's school been without me?” She asks Frankie innocently. 

Wanda wants him to say it’s been horrible. That he missed her and that it’s not the same without her there. That everyone misses her and that Miss Dotty was fired and is crying herself to sleep. That would be ideal. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” Frankie looks close to tears and Wanda understands the sentiment. She missed him too. “You can’t go away again okay?” 

“If I did you’d just follow me.” 

“Yeah, I would.” Frankie’s mind is always open. He was always vocal about his love for Wanda. But now she knows he means it. His mind is open and even if she wasn’t actively trying to read his mind she can hear him loud and clear. David had always said I love you to her mom. Easy. Like a habit instead of a feeling and Wanda wonders if she had her abilities back then if she would be able to tell if he meant the I Love You or if it was simply something he said so Magda would say it back.

Wanda Maximoff has only ever said I love you to three people and one of them ended up being a horrible person so the telepath is a bit weary but with Frankie there is no question. No doubt in his mind. 

I love her I love her I love her I love her I love her I love her I love her I love her 

Constantly chanting in his head when he’s around Wanda. Wanda had never said those words back to him. 

Then on a whim “I love you too, you know.” 

Frankie looks at her in surprise. “What?” Barely looking like he’s breathing. Wanda is kinda surprised too. She didn’t think she could say it so easily. But it’s Frankie. Everything with Frankie is easy. 

“I love you too.” Wanda says confidently, straightening her back and looking Frankie in the eye. 

Wanda never lied when it came to saying I love you. Once that honor has been given it would be hard for it to be taken away. She wasn’t sure before but now she knows. 

“You mean it?” Frankie looked completely thrown off.

“Yes, of course. You make everything better.” When she had a cast in her arm for a month and couldn’t play during recess he sat beside her in his wheelchair. He gave her his secret stash of candy and they went through the whole bag together cracking jokes and stories in the sun. Wanda barely realized she was missing out on four square, too busy trying to one up Frankie in her elaborate story. It was the day they met and ever since then Wanda stood beside him. Even after her cast came off she would drag him to go play with the rest of the class. Forcing a game of basketball or simply running at full speed with his wheelchair into a herd of gossiping classmates. He was her best friend. Her favorite person in the whole world. 

“I love you too.” He replies shyly. “You are my favorite person in the whole world.” He says and Wanda wonders if he could read her mind too. 

She smiles, “I know.” And she kisses his cheek and he looks like he’s about to explode. “But I’m not ready for a boyfriend yet.” 

“It’s okay.” Frankie says with ease “My love is everlasting. I can wait. I’m gonna marry you one day.” Which only makes Wanda laugh. Marriage is for old people. 

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious!”

“We’re too young to get married, silly.” They are only nine years old. 

“Yeah but we can get married later. Like when we’re big. Big like your brother.”

Wanda thinks about that for maybe a second “okay. That sounds nice. You’ll have to get my brother to like you though. He’s gonna be your brother in law.”

“Brother in law.” Frankie says in awe. “Brother in law.” He repeats. “Yeah I can do that.” 

Wanda smiles “how about your dad? Shouldn’t I get him to like me too?”

Wanda’s smile falters “my dad?” She imagines a scary zombie creeping in through the window.

“The professor?” Frankie looks completely serious when he says “your dad. Shouldn’t I get his approval too?”

Oh. Okay.

Wanda understands now. 

She looks in his head. Just a little peak into his memories. She sees what Frankie sees when she watches Charles and Wanda together. It’s nice. It makes sense. 

Charles in Frankie’s mind is Wanda’s dad. They have similar powers. They look kinda alike if you squint. Charles takes care of Wanda and Wanda adores Charles. She Looks up to him. Like a dad. It makes sense in Frankie’s mind. It makes sense in Wanda’s mind too.Wanda settles on that information. Shifting it in her head. Folding it into her thoughts. It would’ve been easy to correct him. It would have been easier to tell Frankie that Charles isn’t actually her dad. 

Except…Wanda Django Maximoff is a prankster at heart.

She adores a well executed prank. And all the pieces of a good miscommunication gag are on her lap. Ripe for the taking. Easily woven into a good laugh. A great prank. 

She wonders how fast and how far the joke would go. “My dad already likes you.” Calling Charles her dad felt nice. It rolled off her tongue too easily. That should’ve made her a bit nervous. 

It didn’t. 

“He does?” Frankie was already too happy about it. 

“Yeah. Of course. What’s not to love.” But Wanda knows that Charles calls Frankie “the boy” in his head when he refers to Frankie. It doesn’t sound endearing or fond. Quite the opposite actually but Frankie doesn’t need to know that. 

A few days later Wanda recruited Dr. Hank McCoy to her well oiled prank. 

“So I just gotta pretend that Charles is your dad in front of all the new recruits?” 

“Yep.” Wanda was still getting used to Hanks blue fur, she keeps wanting to brush his hair but he already scolded her for braiding a tangle into his arm last week. 

“Sounds like this will have absolutely no repercussions or emotional damage to any of the real life people involved.” 

“So you in?”

“Definitely. I’m so in. But only if we somehow convince everyone that Peter is his dad too.”

It would be a bit harder but not really. It’s believable. Wanda and Pietro are siblings. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched to include him into the equation. 

“Easy peasy.” It was not easy peasy. 

She decided the more vague she was the better. Maybe Charles is her real dad. Maybe he’s her stepdad. Maybe he adopted her. She never clarifies. She never has to. Everyone jumps to their own conclusion. Everyone is very good at jumping to their own conclusions. 

Everyone knew Pietro was her brother. No one assumes he’s her half brother so they assume they both have the same dad. Charles. 

Then Bobby starts asking questions. The cold boy is very nosy.

Bobby Drake has a crush on her brother. 

“You gotta keep that to yourself.” Jean tells her when she mentions it to her. 

“Why?” 

“It’s a secret.” 

“A secret? How come?”

“Sometimes people don’t like when boys like boys.” 

“People here?” Wanda frowns, getting a bit defensive even though she doesn’t particularly like Bobby. 

“No. Not here. But Bobby doesn’t know that.”

So she keeps it to herself but it makes Bobby Drake extra curious about her brother. 

“How come you didn't live with Charles before?” The cold boy asks curiously.

“Before what?” Pietro was only half listening, painting Wanda’s nails taking up majority of his brain capacity. 

“Before he opened the school. How come you didn’t live with him before?”

“Why would I? He didn’t even know I existed.” Which sounds like Pietro is a long lost son. Wanda wonders if he does know about the joke or if he’s genuinely always that aloof with his responses. 

But Pietro is not in on the joke so of course he spills on them having different dads. It’s troublesome at first but vagueness is the key. Pietro is unintentionally vague even in that response. 

“Mama Margo isn’t my blood but it doesn’t mean she isn’t my mom.” Frankie explains easily, always having her back even unintentionally. The rest of the students follow quickly to that conclusion. 

But again. She never clarified if Pietro is the one related to Charles or if she is. Or neither. Wanda loves the chaos of it all. She definitely likes the fact that her brother has no clue. It feels like she’s pulling one over on him. Wanda feels very adult and very cool having this big of a secret in her pocket. He keeps somehow almost finding out and then just…not. 

It’s been months. 

The joke is getting a bit out of hand and Wanda is certain Charles knows by this point. 

The other kids go to her “can you ask your dad if we can have Ice cream after dinner?”

Or 

“Do you think Charles can give me a room closer to the bathroom?”

Or even 

“When will the professor finish grading my paper?”

Suddenly Wanda was the spokesperson of the students. Every question aimed at Charles is aimed at Wanda as if she would know. It was a strange sort of power to say “yeah he says it’s fine we can have ice cream.” Or “he says he won’t be done till this afternoon.” A weirder thing that it came so easily to her.

She recalls Sally Hummings who was Wanda’s old Principals daughter at her previous school. Blonde Pigtails and a big mouth that snitched on every person who ever made her mad. Wanda wonders if it went to her head…being the principal's daughter. Wanda doesn’t think it will go to her head being the principal's pretend-daughter. Even if it is fake. 

She’ll be humble. For sure. 

Charles had seemed…distracted the last couple of days. His mind is closed off to her so she can’t tell why. He had gone into cerebro. He says it’s like a magnifying glass for his brain. Widening his abilities further. He showed her the tubes and the funky hat he has to wear and she saw the glare he gave Hank when he suggested he could shave his head. Wanda giggles making Hank smile and Charles glares at the both of them accusingly. It would be funny to see Charles with no hair. The professor used cerebro and when he came back out he was sad. 

Wanda saw glimpses of a pretty man with a prickly beard, somewhere far away, and a pretty woman with long brown hair, sitting at a bar. Clinking glasses and smiling somberly. Hesitantly. It was a brief scene in Charles' head. Wanda could feel his sadness but she could also feel his happiness. 

Wanda. It’s private. Charles shut the door of his mind and Wanda gets whiplash as she suddenly feels nothing at all. 

Sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to. Wanda had only felt his somberness and was curious. It hadn’t even been a conscious peak into his head. Completely by accident but they had been happening a lot more lately. 

Pietro says she just needs to practice but the more people that join the school the more minds she’s exposed to and the more thoughts she has to remember to push out. 

“Speed?” Frankie is knocking at her shared room with Jean. “Can I come in?”

“No boys allowed.” She points at the hazardous drawn picture of a boy stick figure on the door. A giant X on top of it. Funnily enough Charles had been the one to draw it and the stick figure did look a bit like Frankie. 

Frankie blinks up at the picture in surprise as if he genuinely hadn’t seen it before. Frankie’s mind was a storm and Wanda’s joking smile faded slightly at his thoughts “But I won’t tell anybody. Come in, vision.” She opens the door wider with her mind, practicing the wobbly control she has. 

Frankie nods and rolls through the door fitting himself between Jean and Wanda’s bed perfectly. 

“What’s on your mind?” Wanda twists her head curiously at him. 

“You could just read my mind.”

“I’d rather you just tell me.” His thoughts are cloudy and gray and his door is open but the screen is in front of it. 

“I’ve been having bad dreams.” 

Wanda knows that. She has his bad dreams too. She has everyone’s bad dreams. Collecting them like cursed objects. But this is different from what she’s already seen. 

“I’m dead in my dreams.”

“You die?”

“No, I’m dead. But I’m moving, and talking and I’m older.”

“You’re not dead though, you’re alive.” Wanda pokes Frankie’s hand, physically making sure he’s there with her. Good. 

Frankie’s eyes widened “Yeah you said that in my dream too.”

“I was there?”

“Yeah, you were older too. Everything was really different. Weirder. It was really scary.” Wanda frowns and hugs Frankie “It’s just a dream.” She says easily. 

“None of it is real. You’re alive. You’re here with me at the X mansion. Nothing's gonna hurt you here.”

Wanda was wrong about that. She didn’t know she was. 

The next week Frankie is sick with the flu and it’s just Wanda taking fourth grade math with the professor. 

“Proffessor?” He’d been trying to teach her an equation. The dashes and dots become funky in her head. 

“Yes, love.” Charles makes it very hard to beat the father daughter accusations when he calls her love and dear as easily and as frequently as he does. She doesn’t call Teresa love. He Doesn’t call any of the Whitleys dear. Only Wanda. 

“Why don’t you have any children?” It had been a thought that she had kept in her head for a while. Charles is good with children. He’s good with her. Good with the older kids too. Charles is good at playing board games and great at setting the table to fit family dinner. He’s awesome at scaring away any monsters in closets or in her mind. He’s there. Constantly. Firmly. Charles would be a good father. Wanda might even say he'd be an excellent father but she doesn’t have a very good examples of those. 

But he has no kids. None that Wanda knows of. Charles falters in his writing looking surprised at the sudden line of questioning “I suppose it was never in the cards for me.” His back was facing her now so she couldn't see his face. 

“You don’t want any kids?” 

“I-“ Charles hesitates, when he turns around in his wheelchair he looks sad, a bit scared. “I don’t think I’d be a very good father…if I did have children.” He looks right at her when he says it, testing, cautious. Well…Wanda has some things to say about that. 

“You are.” Wanda confides “you’re a very good dad.” 

Charles swallows thickly looking like he—oh. That’s not- “listen Wanda I-“ She tried to look inside his head, even for just a moment, just to see what he was feeling, but she was pushed back. Door locked shut. Tightly. And safely away from an overbearing nine year old. 

She hadn’t thought that the professor would be upset. Wanda wasn’t trying to be cruel with her line of questioning. Or with her prank. Maybe she wasn’t thinking at all. 

It’s been months and people have made enough comments and suggestions for him to have realized, surely. Charles is a very smart man. He must’ve figured out who the original culprit was. Guaranteed. 

She didn’t think he’d be so upset. Maybe Wanda isn’t as smart as she thinks she is. In all the scenarios in her head she hadn’t thought that the proffesor would be upset about being thought of as a dad.

“I’m sorry.” She squeaks out, feeling frantic and maybe just a bit scared. 

“Wanda-“

“-I didn’t mean to make you mad Professor. I can-“

“-Dear please-“

“-I can tell them to stop. I can fix it.” Can she fix it? How many misunderstandings does she have to untangle? 

“Tell who? Fix what? Wanda what are you talking-”

“-please don’t be mad professor.” Wanda’s eyes sting. 

“Wanda.” Charles says evenly and he must be livid because he’s trying to hold himself back. David used to do the same thing. He never liked to hurt Wanda so he would hold it in and then let it out on Pietro. The only thing that stopped David from hurting Wanda was that she was his blood. 

What’s stopping Charles here? He wasn’t her blood. 

“I am not mad, Wanda.” Charles’ says and Wanda doesn't believe him, she can see it. Even if he’s locking away his mind she can see it for herself with her own eyes. “I was just…sad.” Charles hesitates but pushes on, gently grabbing Wanda’s hand. 

“Why were you sad?” Wanda says in a small voice. 

“I don’t have kids. I would’ve liked kids. Maybe. I thought that perhaps you had been-“ he doesn’t seem to know how to continue, scared to say exactly what Wanda knows he wants to say “-you were just having a bit of fun. And it was fun. For a bit. To pretend that I was something more to someone like you and Pietro. But I can’t be your dad Wanda. You need someone better, I’m too broken-too worn out.” 

“You don’t want to be my dad?” Wanda pulls her hands away, head twirling thoughts. 

It was so out of nowhere. Or maybe it wasn’t. It felt very justified. Wanda was a bit heartbroken honestly. She hadn’t meant to sound so…emotional about it. It was only meant to be a game. But now it doesn't feel very fun. It felt like she was being rejected. And she never even asked him to begin with which was worse. 

She had just assumed he would be alright with it. And he wasn’t. He isn’t. He doesn’t want to be her dad. 

She hadn’t realized he wanted him to be. But now that she does she wants to cry. 

Charles takes in a shaky breath and he seems to be trying to stay calm and reasonable “Wanda you already have a father.” No. She doesn’t. None of this is reasonable. 

“Why can’t I have you instead?” Her voice quiet and small. She feels small. She feels dumb. 

“That’s not how that works, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart suddenly sounds mean. Kinda like Miss Dotty but Charles isn’t Miss Dotty. He’s supposed to be better. 

“Why not? Why can’t you be my dad instead. Don't you love me?” Wanda grimaces, feeling hurt and overwhelmed. Maybe she’s wrong. How can she be this wrong? “You do love me right?” 

Charles face crumbles looking like a melted painting “of course I do. I love you so much.” And she believes him. “But Wanda…you have a father. At the end of the day I can’t-I can’t replace him. I wouldn’t be a very good replacement.” 

They run around in circles. Wanda doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like that she has to keep explaining it to him. That he keeps side stepping and avoiding. She doesn’t like that he doesn’t want to be her dad. Doesn’t want the title of dad or her at all. 

“Okay. Fine. Whatever.” She kinda sounds like her brother when she says that. 

“Whatever?” Charles sounds foreign, like he doesn’t know that word. 

“You won’t be my dad. Then I won’t be your daughter.” Wanda says angrily. Bitter and sad and she thinks she might hate Charles a little bit. But she doesn’t. She loves Charles. That’s the worst part. She pinched her face together,  trying not to cry, Feeling very stubborn and very indignant. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. 

“Wanda I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s difficult to say but in the end you’d just be replacing one drunk for another.”

“You’re not like David.” 

“Yes, I am.” Charles doesn’t know about David. Wanda avoids dreaming of him, about everything regarding and That Night. She avoids thinking about him. Charles doesn’t know that David was foul and crueler than he could ever be. That he hurt them. That he did bad bad things. David hadn’t been Wanda’s father for a long while. Wanda hasn’t had a dad in a long time and that’s not gonna change apparently. 

“You deserve better than a drunk.” Charles says sincerely and she doesn’t like that logic at all. 

She deserves better but she gets nothing at all? Wanda doesn’t think that’s fair at all. 

“May I be dismissed?” Wanda wants to cry but she doesn’t want to cry in front of the professor. Maybe before she would’ve but not when he’s the reason she wants to cry. “please?” Her voice cracked. She was the only student in this class.  No one else was here but she isn’t a bad student. She isn’t a bad kid.  No matter what Miss Dotty says. Charles was still her teacher and this is still a classroom. 

He hesitates. “You’re dismissed.” 

Wanda leaves the classroom with tears in her eyes and her chest heavy and she was so embarrassed by the whole thing that she closed herself off in her room skipping dinner that night. 

Charles left a plate of food by her door but didn’t come in. Hovering but never even knocking on the door. 

Wanda wishes he had. 

“Are you fighting with your dad?” Kurt asks the next day. Everyone had been welcoming the newest students into the mansion. Teresa and drew. They had a bad night as well. No one batted an eye at Wanda’s mood. 

“No.” Because Charles isn’t her dad. He made that loud and clear. 

“Pietro?”

“No.”

“Frankie?”

“No, I’m not upset, okay. Just drop it.” Wanda sounds upset. Even to her own ears. She pulls her stuffed cat closer to her. The one that Pietro gave her a few months back when he came back from recruiting. 

“Can I sit?” 

Wanda sniffles but doesn't say anything against it. Kurt sits beside her and Wanda hands are heavy with Kurt’s tail seemingly looping themselves around her hands. “Pietro usually plays with my tail. Helps him relax.”

“It doesn’t bother you when people touch your tail?”

“It doesn't bother me when the Maximoffs do it.” 

Wanda smiles and Kurt’s tail does make her feel better. Kurt pulls out a sketchbook and he sketches. Long sharp lines and wonky circles. It’s difficult to draw with only three fingers. He manages. 

“Can I talk instead?”

Wanda shrugs. 

Kurt strokes his chin, as if thinking of a conversation topic “Hank made me take a DNA test. He thinks I didn't know what it was but I did.”

“What’s a DNA test?”

“It’s when they take a bit of your spit and test it.”

“Gross.” Wanda wrinkles “why’d he do that?”

“He thinks he’s my dad but he’s not. I know who my dad is.” Kurt says it casually like he didn’t just drop a juicy morsel of Kurt gossip “i just don’t know how Hank is gonna take it. Finding out he’s not my dad.”

“You know who your dad is?” Wanda isn’t gonna let him smooth past that statement like it was nothing. Kurt is an orphan. This is something everyone knows. Miss Margo is his foster mother. Before her he lived in the circus. Anything before or even during that time is a bit of a blur but Wanda knows he was an orphan. She knows. “Yeah. I met him a while back.”

“Then why did you look at Hank like that when you first got here?”

“Like what?” Kurt frowned. 

“Like you thought he was your dad!” Wanda laughs. 

“I did not!” He gasped.  

“Yes you did. Everyone was cracking jokes! Even Pietro.”

Kurt’s eyes widen and then he takes a breath “well…I didn’t realize I had acted that way. I was trying to be very nonchalant. I just- I never met somebody else like me before. With a physical mutation. Pietro's silver hair is Not really a comparison point to Blue fur.”

Wanda nods. Trying to understand that in her own way. She hadn’t physically changed when she got her powers. Her hair didn’t change colors, she didn’t grow fangs or grow big or small. She didn’t have whiskers or get sharp claws. She was completely the same but was totally different.  

“He’s been really nice to me. I didn’t grow up with my father so I’ve never had someone treat me like that before. It’s really nice and I’m afraid once he finds out I’m not his son he’ll treat me differently.”

“That sounds really complicated. Maybe you should talk to him about it?”

“I could never! I’d be way too embarrassed.” His face flashes purple, he hides his face behind his claws, bashful. 

“Okay then maybe you can do what I do?”

“What’s that?”

“Shove it in your bad emotions room and lock it away forever. Until you die.”

Kurt peaks between his fingers and looks at her in alarm “are you sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No way.” 

That afternoon Wanda catches Hank watching Kurt from the other room. “Watcha lookin at?”

“Nothing.” Hank jumps and Wanda grins. 

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Hank ruffles and huffs and settles in the same gaze again “he’s just different with him.”

Wanda looks over at Kurt who’s currently sketching in his book, swatting away at Pietro who’s trying to peek over his shoulder. Full on smiling and giggling. Her brother was happy with him. “Pietro?” 

“No. Kurt. He acts like a teenager.”

“He is.” Wanda raises an eyebrow but then stops immediately when she realizes that she’s gotten that habit from Charles. The professor raises his eyebrows a lot and Wanda had picked up on it instinctively. 

“Yeah, but most of the time he acts older. He’s not always this…carefree. It’s nice. It’s good to see.” Hank fixes his frames “he’s been through a lot. Way more then any kid should go through.”

“Isn’t that everybody?”

Hank looks at Wanda “what do you mean?”

“Everybody’s been through a lot. I can see it. Locked doors and black rooms filled with bad things. Cracked windows. Cold hallways. Bad. Everybody has a lot of bad.” Wanda wishes she didn’t always see the bad stuff first. She wishes she could meet new people and not know something bad about them. Something sad or scary. 

Wanda misses her mom and her soft sweaters and watery laugh. She misses going to her old school with Her old friends. She misses her crowded classes and her bus stop. She misses walking to school and sometimes she even misses Miss Dotty. It was a weird thought to have just then. But it was a thought nonetheless.

“Does the bad ever stop?” Hank looks at her. His thoughts are usually organized. Reasonable. Cause and affect. Wanda knows it’s because his entire life has been one cause and effect. Wanda knows too much about Hank. Too much about Hank's dad. Wanda thinks that Hank is what Pietro would’ve been like if David had been Pietro's dad. If Pietro actually cared for David’s opinion then he would be like a version of Hank. Stuck in time. Finding answers to problems that don’t exist.

“No. It’s always there. Always louder than everything else. But…” Wanda thinks about the whitleys. A giant mind. A building of thoughts and memories all trapped in one body. They were like an apartment building. Memories building off of each other. conjoined yet separate. She thinks about how some rooms are closed off, bolded up and cold. Despite the vastly different rooms and different personalities inhabiting them she thinks about the soft carpet in each room. Shaggy and comfortable. She thinks about how each personality combines and melts and adjusts to each other. She thinks of the picture frame in the center of their minds. A woman with a butterfly on her nose, smiling and surprised. A good memory surrounded by everything bad and dark.

 A small light at the end of the tunnel. 

“…Everyone has something good. Even something small.” Wanda looks up at Hank.

 Hank looked at her with open surprise “when did you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been smart.” Wanda says smugly. 

Hank thinks deeply. His brain is like a web. Connecting one thing to another. Running in circles trying to find an answer. “You can go, you know.”

Hank gawked “I was here first.”

Wanda shakes her head “I mean the school. You don’t have to stay. The professor is going to be okay. He won’t be upset if you go.”

Hank stills, looking down at his mug like he’s still trapped in the last ten years. Hank was alone for a long time. Even when Charles was here he was alone.  “Charles still needs me…You guys still need me.”

“Yeah, we do.” Wanda can’t imagine this place without Dr McCoy “We’ll miss you. But you shouldn’t stay just cause you feel like you have to. NASA offered you a job. You can’t turn down NASA.” 

“I could turn down NASA.” 

“But you shouldn’t. Don’t you wanna see the stars?” Wanda always liked the stars. 

“I wouldn’t be going to space, I’d just be studying it.” Wanda isn’t actually sure what NASA does but she knows it’s a big deal. She knows Hank is throwing away a big deal. 

“But instead you’d rather gloom in your room?”

“I’m fixing Cerebro.”

“You’ve fixed cerebro. You’ve been stalling. I know it. You know it. Charles knows it.” 

Hank sighs looking away from Wanda, “Pietro isn’t nearly as confrontational as you.” 

“You should take the job. Do something more with your big brain.”

Hank looks at Pietro and Kurt again, watching with sadness. 

I’m gonna miss him. Hank whispers in his mind. 

We have a phone. Wanda tells him and she knows he won’t decide now. That he’ll take a while to weigh his options, consider his cause and affects. He’ll find answers to problems in his head and run in circles for a bit longer before he makes a choice. 

It’s okay. 

That night Wanda's dreams turn away from her classmates and morph into her own. Dreams turned into nightmares. 

Wanda was six and on stage with her class. Humming to a song they had practiced all week for the talent show. Her eyes searched for her Mom. They searched for her dad. They landed on Pietro, pointing the family camera at her and grinning up at her encouragingly. Afterwards he gushes over her telling her how she stole the spotlight even though she was in the back row and had no solo. 

“Where’s mama.”

“She couldn’t make it.”

“And papa?”

“He’s the reason she couldn’t make it.”

Wanda didn’t have time to be sad, Pietro didn’t let her be upset, instead he declared that they would be going out for celebratory dessert. 

“You got me a present?” Wanda looks at the gift bag in her hands. Her father had just come back from a trip and was in a relatively good mood. 

“It’s Christmas. Of course I got you a present.” Wanda wrinkles her nose and looks at her brother in question. He was standing stiffly beside David a cut in his lip and arms crossed defensively. 

“We’re Jewish David. We don’t celebrate Christmas.”

David rolls his eyes and Pietro pointedly avoids looking at Wanda “well I’m not and Wanda’s only half Jewish so she can celebrate Christmas too.” 

“That’s not how that works.” Pietro scowls “if you wanted to give her a present then give her a present.”

“I didn’t ask you how it worked Peter. I’m telling you how it is. It’s a Christmas present.” He flits his eyes towards Wanda a fake smile smoothing his face “don’t you wanna open your Christmas present Wanda?” 

She feels small and confused and Pietro nods at her, permission granted and received. She can open it and he won’t be mad. Wanda looks down at her gift bag and slides it over to her dad with a determined expression. “It’s okay. I don’t need any presents.” Wanda manages to add “I’m just glad you're home.” She placates, not wanting to step on any toes. Her dad was easily angered and Wanda was trying to avoid a fight. 

He didn’t like her rejection. His face flashes with something evil and by the time Wanda had stood up from the table he was grabbing her wrist, shoving the present back in her hands. “I didn’t raise you to be selfish.” By the time the words had left his mouth Pietro was already in front of him and Wanda was securely placed in her room through superspeed. 

Pietro cursed and her dad cursed right back. By the time Wanda came back out her dad was gone, taking the money from the money jar and Wanda’s present in his person. Wanda tried not to cry when she saw her brother's bloody face. The bigger bruises fading away within minutes into a weird ugly yellow color but not completely gone. 

“Did you want the present?”

Wanda shakes her head and Pietro looks like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

“If he wanted to actually give you a present he would just give it to you without the excuse of a holiday or birthday. Your dad should give you a present because he wants to.” Pietro looks like he’s about to run and grab the present anyway. Snatch it from her father and give it to her anyway. 

“It was probably something stupid.” Wanda says and Pietro eventually nods looking a bit conflicted. 

Wanda never found out what the present was. She never gets the chance to ever again. After that day Her father never presents her with a gift. 

Then her dream shifts again to her father screaming at her mother. Beer bottle in hand and her mother frozen in place standing straighter than she usually does.  She remembers Pietro telling her to hide in her room when he got like that. He wasn’t here. Pietro wasn’t here to protect them. She didn’t know where he was and her mom wasn’t moving. She didn’t look like she could move. “Go to your room, lock the door and cover your ears.” That’s what Pietro always told her to do but she didn’t this time because David broke her door. She can’t go to her room and lock the door if she has no door. 

“What is Wanda gonna think? Seeing her whore of a mother going out everyday and doing fuck knows what? What kind of example is that?” David swings his bottle and some of it spills on the ground. 

“I’m just going to the synogogue.” her mothers voice was stiff. 

“The synogogue my ass. I know you meet your little criminal boyfriend and you fuck him like the easy slut that you are. Opening your legs to anytime that gives you even a little bit of attention.” David slaps Mom across the face, the sound vibrating up Wanda’s spine like thunder. 

Magda Maximoff barely stumbles looking directly at her husband “David, you sound belligerent. I haven’t been cheating on you. I haven’t done anything.” 

“You’ve been unfaithful before. I know you have. You can’t hide that from me. Wanda is-“

“-Wanda is yours! She is your child! She is your flesh and blood. She is no one else’s. I-I have been unfaithful before. I’ve been a bad wife, I’ve relapsed in my judgment but there is no doubt that Wanda is yours.”

David scoffs his face inches away from her mother, spit from talking so aggressively hitting her mother in the face. She doesn’t flinch, she stands perfectly still. “I’m not a damn fool. I knew that you cheated. I just wanted you to admit it. At Least now we’re even.” 

Her mothers face flashes with something “No, we’re not. Me fucking my ex who I haven’t seen in years is not the equivalent of you-touching him.” Her mothers eyes are watery and yet somehow still. She looks settled. Decided. What has she decided? 

“Is that what this rebellion is about? Peter? He told you I touched him? He’s a liar and a slut just like his mother. Soon Wanda will be the same.”

“You will do nothing to Wanda.” Her mother growls. 

“I haven’t done anything at all. Pay the fuck attention! I just said I didn’t touch him. I roughed him up, I slapped him around. He needs the discipline. He acts like a damn child.”

“He is a child. He’s fifteen. And you’ve been doing things to him for a long time David. You’ve hit him, and you’ve touched him and you’ve fucked him. You were suppose to act like his father and instead you ruined him. You won’t ruin Wanda too. I won’t let you.”

“What makes you think you can do anything bitch? Not that I’m admitting to a damn thing you just said but why now do you suddenly think you’ve got some fucking will power to stop it?” 

“Because I’ve been practicing.” 

“Practicing wha-“ Wanda’s mom pulls out a steak knife that she had inside her sleeve and she stabs David.

David winds his hand back, bottle in his grasp and swings. He’s too slow. Wanda’s mom stabs him again. Again. Again. 

She hears the crack of his knees hit the ground and he spits blood and folds over and Magda Maximoff stabs him in the throat, his head hits the table and then he collapses on the floor with a thud and a squish. Blood spreading all over the floor. 

Oh. 

Mom killed dad. 

Wanda pretends she didn’t see it happen. She goes to her brother's room and she locks the door and she covers her ears and she pretends it didn’t happen.an hour later when her mother comes to Pietros room and finds her crying she pretends it’s because of the yelling and not because it finally stopped. 

She pretends she doesn’t notice the dark spot on the kitchen floor. Pretends the crack on the table was from a roller skating incident and not David’s head. She pretends they’ve only ever had three steak knives. When Pietro comes home Magda sits them both down and explains that David has been taken away by the police. Wanda pretends that’s the truth. She pretends that she didn’t see her mom kill him in the kitchen. Wanda is great at pretending. She cries and Pietro comforts her but he looks relieved. And she is too. 

“What did they charge him with?”

“A number of things. Mostly abuse.”

Pietro looks anxious “do I need to talk to the police?”

“No. That won’t be necessary.” Magda says confidently. Wanda is surprised by how easily she lies. She’s surprised by how real it sounds. If she hadn’t seen it with her own two eyes she would’ve believed every word her mother said “I’ve taken care of everything.” Truth. 

“How long will he be away?”

“A long time.”

“How long?” 

“Five years.” She lies again. “But you won’t see him again. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Wanda pretended David was in prison. But she knew he was close. In the backyard just below the tree her mom planted the day after he died. She pretended not to see the dirt underneath her moms nails or the way she always stares at the tree with a far away expression. 

Wanda pretended until she couldn’t. Until she just forgets completely.

Until one day, just a bit over a year after the event, she’s eight and during a very bad thunderstorm Wanda looks at the tree in her backyard. Crooked and ugly like veins. She looked long enough to see lightning strike the ground and spread the sky with light. If not for the sudden brightness of the night sky she wouldn’t have seen the hand shoot up from the roots. 

Wanda clutched her stuffed animals and saw piece by piece, limb for limb as a man dug himself out of the tree. As the man cracked his neck back into place and stretched his back like he was getting off of bed. This man looked an awful lot like David. No longer dead. No longer buried. One foot in front of the other David walks away from the house and Wanda- 

Well-

How is she meant to process that? Her dead father who nobody knows is dead is actually no longer dead. A zombie. 

Wanda wakes up screaming like she has been the one being stabbed. She wakes up screaming like she was the one to wake up from the dead. Tears in her eyes, face flush and David's name on her throat. Grasping at a zombie. 

“Go away! Leave me alone!” Wanda whines at the creature next to her bed. Claws reaching for her. Snarling lips. Claws that turn into hands, a snarl that turns into a frown. A creature that turns into a man. 

“It’s me. I’m here. I’m here. Take a breath love.” 

“Dad?” Wanda can’t see, not really.

She doesn’t know if she’s still dreaming or not. “Yeah, it’s me Wendy. It’s Charles. I got you.” His claws that are just normal hands reach her hand, looping his fingers around hers gently, comforting her in the way that he always does. 

“You’re here?” She chokes out clutching his hand. 

“Of course. I’ll always be here. Are you alright?”

“I don’t know.”

“That nightmare, was that- just a nightmare or did that actually…” Wanda doesn’t know. She was seven when David went away and she always hated the tree in the backyard. She doesn’t know if that was a dream or if that was actually how it happened. She tends to misremember things about her childhood. Tends to block things out and change them. Hank says it’s a trauma response but Wanda can barely remember any of the trauma unless she’s asleep. 

“- i want Pietro.”

Charles let’s out a startled breath “you want Peter? Not me?”

“Not you. I want Pietro.” Wanda doesn’t have time to think about whether that’s mean or not because Charles is out of the door moments later. He comes back in less then a minute with a sleep deprived Pietro at his tail. 

“Pie.” Wanda wobbles and Pietro is practically sleepwalking as she goes to her side, nudges her slightly to scoot over and lays beside her. Without even a word he’s wrapping his arms around her and cradling her in his arms. Wanda melts and warms beside her brother. “Sleep.” He croaks, sounding like he is beyond tired but still wanting to comfort her “my mind is quiet.” He says and Wanda sighs in relief. 

“Okay.” Wanda looks past his arm and at Charles who watches the scene with a unique expression on his face. His mind was blocked from her so she can’t tell if it’s a good or bad expression. 

The Maximoff siblings fall asleep in a pile and wake up just the same way. Drool and eye crust dressing their faces. 

“Any reason why Charles said you wanted me instead of him last night?”

Wanda shrugs. 

“I love you. It didn’t bother me, It was just surprising. You usually prefer to let Charles help you. Is there a reason why you wanted me this time?”

Wanda shrugs. 

“Is there a reason why Charles looked hurt when he said you asked for me instead?”

Wanda huffs. 

“So there is a reason. Are you mad at the professor?”

“No.” Wanda snaps. 

“That’s a yes then.”

“I don’t know what Hank is talking about. You’re plenty confrontational.” 

“He said that?” 

“Yeah.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Very confrontational.”

“I am when it comes to you. I’d fight demons for you.” Pietro says truthfully and Wanda knows he’s telling the truth. “I know.” He has fought a demon for her. 

Wanda thinks he might’ve gotten it from mom. But everything is still a little fuzzy. 

“Do you want me to fight Charles? I don’t, like, want to. But if I had to, I’d hate it but I’d do it. I’d fight the fuck out of him. It would be easy. He’s super slow.” 

“I don’t want you to fight Charles. I’m not mad at him.” 

“Okie dokie but I can get away with it. Just remember that.” 

It was about two weeks of this before Charles stopped teaching in the middle of class. “Frankie you're dismissed.”

“We’re in the middle of Fragmentation theory.” Frankie frowns, table covered in pencil shavings. 

“We’ll finish it next time. Just head out. I need to speak with Wanda.” 

Wanda avoids looking at Charles and at Frankie feeling cornered after two weeks of blatantly ignoring the man. 

Frankie says “I can stay.”

Wanda shakes her head telling him to go. Frankie rolls out of the classroom hesitantly and Wanda watches him go.

“I want to start off by saying sorry.” Charles voice brings her back to the classroom. 

“Dear,” he cuts himself off “Wanda.” He fixes it and she isn’t sure if she likes that he did. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened. Our conversation wasn’t something I was prepared for…I didn’t say the right thing or do the right thing and I’m sorry for being insensitive.” 

“Making you cry is never something I want to do.” 

“I didn’t cry.”

“In front of me. You didn’t cry in front of me. I’ve been trying to think of a way to make it up to you but…” Charles takes out a box. Perfectly wrapped with red paper and a white bow that makes Wanda smile at how gently made it looks. “…I’m a bit rusty in taking care of other people.”

“A present? For me?”

“Yeah, a gift.”

Your dad should give you a present because he wants to. That’s what her brother said and Wanda took that to heart. 

“For my birthday?” It’s a bit early, but it is just three weeks away. 

“No. Just cause I want you to have it.” Charles places it gently on her desk and Wanda barely waits a second before she snatched it and starts pulling at the ribbon. Soft and expensive. She almost doesn’t want to break the paper but it’s unavoidable as she tries to unwrap the small box. 

When she open the lid of the small black box her eyes catch on jewels and she immediately closes the lid again in shock. She jerks her head towards Charles m, eyes wide. Spine straight. He’s only smiling nervously at her. 

“Is that-“ she cuts herself and opens the lid again. She snaps it shut again, face going red from shock.

Holy shit. 

Language. Charles laughs. 

She opens the lid and stares at the long skinny silver necklace with a giant ruby in the center. 

“Is that a real ruby?”

“Why would I have a fake one?”

“Why do you have a real one?” 

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“You-“ Wanda stumbles over her words “-you’re giving me a family heirloom?” 

It’s phrased as a question but Wanda knows it’s a statement. She can see the initials of its previous owners on the parchment below the necklace. Names and dates going back three hundred years. 

Rebecca Anne Xavier

Angelique Anne  Xavier 

Theresa Anne Xavier 

Marie Anne Xavier 

Marie Anne Xavier 2nd

And then

Wanda Django Maximoff 

Written in permanent Ink on a piece of paper that looks older then historical documents. It should be in a museum not in the sweaty hands of a nine year old Jewish girl. 

“It’s from my fathers side of the family. It’s meant to be passed down from father to daughter but my father never had any daughters. Just me. So it’s been sitting in a crypt collecting dust.” Charles lifts the necklace from the box, Wanda had been too afraid to touch it. 

“Red is your favorite color so I figured it was better to actually be worn by someone who’d appreciate it.” Charles moves the hair away from Wanda’s shoulders and puts the necklace around her neck. He fidgets with the hook for a few seconds before he gets it in correctly. 

It’s a little bit on her. A little too long but it doesn’t bother Wanda. She’ll grow into it. 

“Are you sure you wanna give it to me? I’m not…family.” Saying the word daughter felt like talking with chalk in her mouth. 

“I’ve never been more sure about something in my life.” Charles' voice is sweet and warm and Wanda looks up at the professor because she wants to see what expression he’s making to make his voice sound like that. 

His mind is open. She looks inside for just a moment. 

She sees a baby in his arms, gray and still. Born without a breath in the living world. Charles is crying, singing to the  unhearing baby and kissing its cold forehead. “My sweet Wendy.” 

The name Wendy is so close to Wanda that the telepath pulls away from the memory and jerks out of her desk to wrap her arms around the professor. Close to tears. 

He holds her tight. Tighter than usual. Like she might slip away. 

She had asked him why he didn’t have kids. I suppose it was never in the cards for me. He said. Back turned away from her. 

An attempt had been made. He did have a daughter. He wanted kids. He was supposed to give this necklace to a different little girl. A different daughter. 

You won’t be my dad. Then I won’t be your daughter. 

That’s what she had said all those weeks ago to Charles. It’s only now that she realizes how pointed those words had been. How cruel they must’ve been to the professor who lost a daughter. 

“I’m sorry professor.” She cries into his hair, feeling small and stupid and mean. 

He rubs her back, soothing and soft “I’m sorry too, dear.” 

They stay like that for a long time. Hugging each other in a classroom filling in the empty space left by other people. 

Chapter Text

The first time Child Protective Services came to Pietros Django Maximoffs house he was seven years old and his mother Magda Maximoff wasn’t home. 

“Is your mother around?” A tall woman with Ginger hair tied in a bun smiled at Pietro not unkindly. Tired eyes peering past the door through her square glasses. A clipboard was on her manicured hands. She had a blazer and long dark pants. Too many layers for the amount of heat that was terrorizing the city that summer. 

He hadn’t any clue where his mama was at the time. Sometimes Magda forgot things, simple things that anyone would remember. She’d forget Where she left her keys or Where she bought her jacket from or at What time her favorite show started or even Where she left her Kid. She always remembers in the end. She left her keys next to the cigarettes. She bought her jacket at Ross. Her favorite show starts at six. Her kid is at home. Alone. Sometimes it took her too long to remember. 

Pietro shook his head at the lady who looked sweaty and a bit uncomfortable in the outside humidity. 

He let her inside. 

He climbed on to the stepping stool to reach for the glass cups on the cabinet and he filled up the cup with water to give to his guest. He rarely had guests but he assumes that offering them water when it’s so hot outside is customary. 

Officially Magda Maximoff was charged with child neglect and endangerment. Pietro didn’t feel particularly neglected or In any form of danger, he had leftover kosher macaroni in the microwave and had cartoons on in the tv to keep him company but the ginger lady who came inside his house didn’t think The Aristocats movie was a proper babysitter substitute and the burnt macaroni was not a good bribe for the already judgy civil servant. 

Before he knew it Pietro was taken from his house and plopped into another. Too small beds far more freaky than his and a shared bathroom with three other kids in the same mind frame as him. 

They put him in a foster home for three weeks. The foster family Pietro had wasn’t very nice to him but they weren’t even particularly nice to their real children who actually tried to help pietro settle into the guest room that was once a dog room. He wishes he could recall exactly what thing they did that made his seven year old brain think they were mean but he couldn’t. It could’ve been that they didn’t like The Aristocats or that they didn’t like how he ate his food or maybe something equally as stupid as him not liking curfew. It was stupid. It could’ve been worse. It will be worse. But to his seven year old mind being told he couldn’t see singing animated cats on the tv twenty four fucking seven was a crime against humanity. He was dramatic. When he finally saw his mom again she hugged her so tight she started crying. But maybe it was for a different reason. Pietro didn’t ask, he just thought it was because she missed him. He missed her too so he stuck to her like glue for days after. 

During that time Magda’s immigration status fluctuated. Green card holders must follow all federal, state, and local laws, as well as the laws of their state of residence and local jurisdictions and according to New Jersey police and child protective services Magda Maximoff was accused of Child abandonment. 

Suddenly The Maximoff family was at risk of being deported. The year was 1961 and Germany was in the middle of the Berlin crisis and The United States Government wasn’t feeling so hot about the Jewish residents that fled to their country. Shit was in the balance. Thin fucking ice. And it was all cracking underneath them. Of course he had no clue about any of that, he was seven. As far as he knew he had a long sleepover at a stranger's house and then he was back with his mom in his house like normal. It was business as usual. But it wasn’t. Pietros Mom wasn’t sleeping and she was barely eating and alcohol was her primary medicine. 

“Peter.” Magda Maximoff had started calling Pietro -Peter- even in the privacy of their own home. He wasn’t used to it yet. His face buffering to recall the name as his own. “I want you to meet someone.” 

She gestures at a man he’s never met before. He’s tall with blue eyes and long brown hair that was combed and gelled back. He had a bit of a scruffy beard and a very clean three piece suit. He looked like he was the boss of somebody. Like he had a big person job doing big people stuff making big people money. The man smiled at Pietro, looking down at him like a giant. Pietro doesn’t smile back, only staring at the taller man with open apprehension. 

“This is my friend Mr. Strucker.” Magda gestures towards him, smiling shyly and Pietro can already tell something was weird. Something was off. His mom doesn’t have any friends. Not any he doesn’t already know about. 

“Mr. Strucker, this is my son Peter.”

“Good to put a face to the name.” He extends his hand towards him as if he’s about to close on a business deal. Pietro puts his hand on Strucker's hand, the size difference between them feeling ominously humorous. He shakes it twice and Pietro feels like he was bonded for life, chained to the devil. Like maybe this actually was a deal for his soul and he just gave it away without a fight. 

Idiot. 

Magda smiles at Pietro comfortingly, her honey eyes being the only form of comfort he felt in that moment. Mr. Strucker lets go of his hand and the young boy retreats easily, searching for his mothers embrace. His immediate discomfort around the man should’ve been hint enough. “Mr. Strucker is a lawyer. He’s going to help us stay here so we don’t have to leave.” His mother says soothingly. 

Pietro nods slowly. “Why would we have to leave?” 

Magda strokes her sons hair out of his face looking a bit heartbroken “well-“

“-your mother is under hot water after you let the police report her for child abandonment. I’m here to make that go away. Win her case.”

Pietro shrunk a bit at the implication that this was his fault. That he let the police do anything. He may be seven but he wasn’t dumb. 

“Mr. Struckers here to help us.” Magda says amiably and his eyes shine with something. Pietro back then mistook it for compassion. 

“Magda, please. Call me David.” 

The two of them easily became entangled with each other. Sneaky touches and lingering looks when Pietro was around but he knew that Mr. Strucker- David- wasn’t just his moms lawyer. He stayed later then he should. He brought food when he came. He gave his mom back rubs when she was winding herself up. 

He was good to her. Magnanimous to Magda. 

For a time. 

Pietro wonders if it’s ethical for a lawyer to be dating their client. He wonders if it’s normal for a man to start kissing a woman but have his eyes on her son.

It was a weird sort of slow realization. A moment here. A moment there. 

A slow turn. David seemed to only tolerate Pietro, like he would prefer if he wasn’t there at all. But other times he almost seems to thrilled to be near the seven year old. He stared a lot. Especially when Pietro didn’t have a shirt on. He made any excuse to touch the boy. He patted his back, touched his arm, and squeezed his shoulder. Each touch lingering too long. Too rough. 

Pietro got used to wearing shirts in the house. He got used to avoiding looking at them when they kissed to avoid accident catching his eye. He got used to dodging David’s hands. It will pass. Magda Maximoff has had a lot of boyfriends over the years. She’s only introduced three other boyfriends to her son before and only when it was getting serious. This was the first time she had introduced a boyfriend before they even started dating. It was all moving pretty quickly. Fast and sudden. Big moves in little time. 

Usually Pietro didn’t like his moms boyfriends. 

Pietro hadn’t liked Thomas. That was his moms ex boyfriend from the synagogue who was a widow. He was an intrapreneur which Pietro now realizes was code for jobless. Thomas had dated his mom for nearly six months before he was introduced to him. He was four and called the man a stinky face. Because he smelled like he was a dumpster diver. Apparently he was. His mom had a bad nose so she couldn’t tell that he absolutely reaked. She found him digging into their trash for spoiled cheese that she had tossed and she broke up with him on the spot. 

The second boyfriend the hyperactive kid had been introduced to was Steven. Steven was older than mom, sprouting grays in his head and when he smiled his eyes wrinkled with age. They had dated for three months before Pietro found them making out in his moms car when she was picking Pietro up from school. Pietro didn’t like Steven because Steven was married with kids and he went to school with those kids and they sucked majorly. Pietro thinks he’d suck majorly too if his dad was a cheating whore. He told his mom and she broke up with him shortly afterwards with a hearty slap to the face. 

“Men suck, baby.”Magda declared afterwards combing through her sons browns locks. She forces him to look at her, twisting him forward at eye level.  “Promise me you won’t ever cheat on a woman, Pietro.” 

He knows she’s serious because she uses his real name in that tired voice of hers. “I won’t cheat on anyone, Mai.”

“Anyone huh? That’s good to know. You’re a good boy.”

Magda’s third ex boyfriend she had introduced him to was a biker with brown tattooed skin and bulging muscles that looked like party balloons. His name was Randall and he was actually the only ex boyfriend of his mom that he liked. Randall had been dating his mom for nearly seven months before Pietro met him. He was big and scary looking but he always brought Pietro cookies when he came over to see his mom. He worked at a bakery and he always gave him the Kosher sweats. He was benign, talked to him like he was grown up and not like he was a baby. 

Pietro called him dad once. His mom swears that it wasn't the reason but he broke up with her shortly after and Pietro never saw him again. He swore to never get attached to his moms boyfriends after that. Not to Steven. Not to Thomas. Not to Imar. Not to Carmen. Not to Freddy. Not to Tyron. Definitely not to David. Pietro never called anyone dad again. He definitely never called David dad. Never even thought to. 

“We’re getting married.” Magda Maximoff had only dated David for two months when she told him and Pietro thought she was joking. It wasn’t a funny joke but humor wasn’t Magda Maximoff expertise. 

“Why?” Pietro couldn’t hide the disgust in his voice. Pietro hadn’t told his mom that David didn’t like it when he locked the door to his room. He got angry when he couldn’t get inside but pretended he wasn’t when Pietro got scared by his yelling. 

“If I’m married to an American it would help me with my green card…And we like each other and he’s good to you isn’t he?”

Seven year old Pietro loves his mom.

He wants her to be happy but at that point he would’ve preferred it if she married stinky face Thomas or became Steven’s second wife rather than her marrying David. “Yeah. He’s…nice.” Pietro could barely believe it when they went to the court house. Married within the week. 

It happened quickly. David moved in within the month, his things cluttering the house and he kept changing everything. Replacing his moms things with his own. The comfy and worn couch was replaced with a slick black leather couch that he owned. The miscellaneous picture frames around the walls were replaced with additional clashing pictures that made the walls look like the sketchbook of a crazy person. The fine china was put away in storage replaced with his shiny new plates and kitchen utensils that matched with each other too perfectly. The soft greenish rug in the hallway was rolled up and put in the garage because David did not like taking off his shoes when he walked around the house and the rug kept getting dirty. 

The Maximoff House was being taken over and Pietro wants to cry when David hogs the Tv and prevents him from watching The Aristocats. 

Everything takes an execrable turn when Magda Maximoff gets fired from her job. One moment she is a secretary at a dentist office and the next she’s jobless. Five years down the drain because of budget cuts. 

Suddenly David was the only one paying bills. The only one buying things. The only one with power. David is nice about it at first if not just a bit annoyed. He hides it well, stiff comments and low jabs that would sting for a while. He was sharp with his words. Only his words. Until it wasn’t just his words. 

The first time David slaps Magda Maximoff Pietro flinches with her, his toy slipping from his hand and on to the floor. He apologizes almost immediately. Quick to beg. His mom was quick to forgive. Desperate to forgive. Their marriage was the only thing keeping them home, keeping them together in America. Thin fucking ice. 

David hits her again. Drunk and irritable and Pietro doubts he remembers. His mom does, she had the bruise to prove it. 

The first time Magda complained about something tedious in the house but being done he was quick to yell and Magda was quick to yell back. David didn’t like when his mom talked back. That afternoon Pietro finds his mother black and blue on the kitchen floor crying and David nowhere to be seen. 

Pietro was seven when he saw his mom cry for the first time. She was a rock to him. Resilient and strong. Until she suddenly cracked. Broken down into dust. She was curled up on the kitchen floor barely able to open her eyes because of the bruising. Pietro was seven when he realized if he was annoying enough, if he was bad enough, if he was in the way enough that David would hit him instead of his mom. 

So that’s exactly what he did. 

Pietro had a broken nose for his picture day at school. His mom didn’t buy the picture that year, tossing the order form in the trash with the rest of the garbage. No funky magnets with his bruised face to plaster on the fridge. No stickers with his abused face to decorate notebooks. No mugs with his beat up skin to collect dust in his cabinet. She didn’t want the reminder. Neither did Pietro. 

Although the ugly picture was put in the yearbook. He didn’t know that because he didn’t ever get the yearbook. He never did. He looked like a bad kid. He looked like he got into fights and lost them. Bruised and mean looking. Pietro cried for weeks when he found out the other kids had been avoiding him because they thought he was a thug. Black eyes and Chipped tooths not doing him any favors. He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter. It was a dumb thing to be upset about. Out of all the things, a stupid picture in a stupid yearbook shouldn’t be the thing to make him cry. 

“You’re a good boy Peter. They’ll come around.” His mother didn’t see it. She didn’t see the shift in how they looked at him. She thinks the other kids are gonna simply learn that he isn’t all bad. 

But they didn’t. His face kept getting in the way of David’s Fists and Pietro was labeled the Violent kid every time he walked into school with a bruised eye or broken lip. 

Pietro was treated like a bad kid so he became a bad kid. 

He was eight when David got so drunk that he went into his room instead of his own. Maybe he thought he was his mom. Maybe David was confused or turned around. Maybe-or Maybe he wanted an excuse to crawl into Pietro's bed. Maybe him being drunk was the only way he would have an excuse. The only way to claim deniability. He was a lawyer after all. 

Pietro didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t-he hadn’t known what David was doing. He didn’t even know what sex was. 

He just knew it was wrong. If doing something makes you cry then it's probably bad. David was gone when he woke up and Pietros sheets were sticky and covered in blood. 

Pietro maximoff was Eight when he started doing his own laundry. Washing his own sheets. He was eight when he had his first kiss. He was eight when he had sex. He was eight when he gave his first blow job. He was eight when he lost his last baby tooth. 

He was eight. He shouldn’t have been eight but he was. 

He didn’t tell his mom. He didn’t have to. She saw David leave his room in the middle of the night far too many times to count. She started drinking. She drank until she forgot that she ever saw a thing. She started going to the synagogue more regularly. Praying and crying and Pietro doesn’t know what she’s praying for but it must hurt a lot. 

Denial was a strong thing. 

Pietro Django Maximoff was nine when he had his first crush. A chubby girl, with curly hair and chocolate eyes. Robin was the only girl in his elementary school that talked to him despite his bruised knuckles and big loud mouth. A little black girl new to town and oblivious  or maybe indifferent to his “thuggish” behavior and as the only Jewish boy in the school their teachers paired them off together. The token diversity kids that no one wanted to sit next to so they sat next to each other. 

Solidarity was a strong origin for friendship. 

The first time Pietro realized he thought Robin was pretty was when she smiled at him when he got an answer right in class. Pietro smiled back, his face flushing with the praise. When he realized he had a crush on her it was like he was punched in the stomach. No butterflies. No goosebumps. No giddiness. He was scared but he didn’t understand why. 

She asked him out, he said yes, his rib cage becoming drumsticks, looking equally as bashful. They held hands under the table. They laughed and joked and It was satisfying to like someone. It felt good. Robin laughed at his jokes and doodled on his arm like scrap paper. Little drawn butterflies and flowers accompanied the bruises. It was a good distraction. 

But then Robin tried to kiss him. 

Which-that’s fine-that’s normal. Boyfriend and girlfriend’s kiss. Except most boyfriends don’t have panic attacks when their girlfriends try to kiss them. 

He couldn’t stop seeing David. The man tainted everything with Robin. They never stood a chance. 

“Do you want to break up?” She asked one day. Maybe she thought he didn’t like her? Maybe she thought he didn’t want to kiss her. He did. He just always tended to freak out when she got too close. Confused and frustrated. Robin was nice, gentle, so maybe she was just tired of seeing him so upset. She was kind in that way…never asking about the cuts and bruises but drawing little smiley faces near them to distract him. “Yeah.” Pietro doesn’t want her first kiss to be with a boy who hates to be kissed, who fears to be known. Pietro thinks Robin is too good for that. 

So Pietro gets his first heartbreak at nine years old. 

“Plenty of fish in the sea.” His mom says comfortingly, placating his sadness over the loss. Pietro looks at her black eye and the half empty bottle of wine in her hand. “Plenty of fish in the sea.” He tells her as well. She looks away from him. 

Yeah, well. Maybe he’s allergic to fish. Maybe the smell of fish makes him want to throw up. 

When he was nine Pietro went to the synagogue alone. He knelt and he clasped his hands together and instead of praying, instead of speaking to the man upstairs, he cried. A waterfall of salty tears ran down his round cheeks and it was so overwhelm and painful as he attempted to take a full breath. 

Places of worship are the only place where it’s socially acceptable to have a panic attack. He cried for hours, shaky breaths matching shaky vision. They spoke the Tanakh. They sang hymns. They raised their hands in group prayer. The cantor began and ended each chant in Hebrew. Pietro cried. He cried and he cried until his salty tears turned into a baptized river. He left the chapel sluggish but clean.

Pietro was nine when he found out what the word rape meant. He was nine when David pulled at his hair enough that he had to get a buzz cut. Trimmed short and ugly in a way that made him avoid mirrors. 

He was nine when Robin moved away. A sad wave goodbye to him on her last day before she’s driven away from the school parking lot. Pietro doesn’t wave back. 

Pietro was ten when David got arrested for the first time. Something small and minor. He’d be locked away for a month, maybe two. Pietro felt relaxed for the first time in a long while. A full breath finally leaving his lungs. 

“You don’t have to bail him out. You can leave him there.”

“Peter I can’t do that.” Magda had already ransacked the house to find any spare cash to use for bail. Cushions flipped, piggy banks broken. 

“Yes you can!” Pietro was furious, already too angry to have a proper conversation with his mother. He hated how much effort she was putting into trying to get him back in their house. 

“Do not raise your voice at me Pietro.”

“Oh now I’m Pietro?”

“Enough. You’re being rude. I’m bailing David out and that’s final. He’s done so much for us and he-he isn’t perfect but he’s trying. We can’t just leave him there.” 

It was the worst thing she could’ve said to the already agitated ten year old. Face flushed and chest beating like a drum. 

“Yes we can! He can stay there and we don’t ever have to see him again!” That wouldn’t have worked. Pietro knows that now. He wouldn’t have stayed gone forever. It was just hopeful thinking. A ten year olds pipe dream. 

“We can’t do that-“

“-why not?” Little Pietros whole face was red with anger and hurt. So much anger in such a small body. Barely Contained.

“Because he’s my husband. He’s your stepfather. He’s-“

“-I hate him!” His words angry and vibrating in the room. Interrupting his mothers big speech felt like he was finally taking back control. “I wish you never met him, I wish you never married him, I wish-“ he said the only thing he thought was justifiable. He said the real thing he wanted to happen. He said the truth. “-i wish he would just die.” 

“Pietro Django Maximoff take that back right now. How can you even think-“ Magdas own face was flushed red too, angry and irritated by a ten year olds temper tantrum. Pietro interrupts. “-we can go. You and me. We can be gone before he comes back.” He has a bag. He calls it a go-bag. Not a very large go-bag but it has everything he thought he needed as a scared ten year old trying to run away. He had it in his closet at the bottom of his laundry basket and everyday he picked it up and everyday he put it back down. He constantly thought about his mother. He couldn’t leave her alone with David. Everyday he worked himself up to pick up the bag and everyday he settled himself back down, forcing himself to put the bag back down. 

David was his boogey man and Pietro couldn’t let him devour her. Not if he can save his mom. 

“Oh Pietro…” Magdas voice was sympathetic and sad and twisted up in his brain “I can’t leave. Not now.”

“Why?” Pietros crestfallen face was spreading into his voice, cracking and shivering in his throat like falling rocks on concrete. His mothers eyes melted like warm chocolate and her long lashes brushed her cheeks like a broom. She touches her stomach, somber and tired. “I’m pregnant.”

The room went silent. The words seem to echo in his head like a declaration. Pietros entire face dropped. All the expression on his face erased in a single sentence. Gone. 

This was the moment Pietro lost all sense of self. Two words. Gluing his legs to the ground like cement. 

“You’re going to be a big brother and David is going to be a father. He’ll be kinder with a baby. It’ll be his own flesh and blood.” His mom was hopeful and Pietro was ready to poke holes in her theory. To pull on the untethering string that was entangled in her heart. 

“He’s a monster. A baby won’t change that.” Pietro is wise enough to know that David would never change. 

“Pietro this wasn’t exactly planned but-“

“-I don’t want to be a brother.” Pietros words had been charged with rage and sadness and he hadn’t really meant most of it. Whenever he thinks back to this conversation, to this argument, he cringes at these words. “I don’t want you to have his baby.” Ten year old Pietro doesn’t know what an abortion is. He doesn’t really know what he’s implying or saying he just knows that a baby would mean they can’t runaway. It means David would be a permanent fixture in his life. Forever. No take backs. “He doesn’t deserve a baby.” 

In no version of reality does David ever deserve anyone as good as Wanda Maximoff. Although that isn’t what young Pietro was concerned about. Not really. 

“I’m sorry.” Magda says and Pietro can only say things that he knows will hurt, things that will haunt him later for years. Things he will deny he ever said. 

“I hate you. I will never forgive you.” Pietro isn’t even looking at his mom when he says those words. He’s looking at her stomach. Cursing at a fetus that isn’t even born yet. Already damning a child yet to breathe the air he breathes . 

This is the day that Pietro Maximoff gave up on trying to runaway. The day all hope for a life without David vanished before him. Because of a baby. Because of Wanda. He resented her before she was even born. 

Pietro was ten years old-nearly eleven when he heard his mother curse for the first time. He was ten when she screamed and cried and sounded like she was dying or something worse then death. “Don’t you dare call a fucking ambulance Pietro. I’m not going to a damn hospital.” Hissing right at his face, enraged and young Pietro is more scared of his mother dying then he is of her anger. 

Magda Maximoff has a visceral reaction when it comes to hospitals. Fear and rage and grief all wrapped into one place. Pietro maximoff often tries to forget this happened. He tries to forget how exactly this day went. 

The day Wanda Maximoff was born his mom was filled with so much fear and rage that she would’ve preferred to have died bleeding in David's ugly leather couch than to step foot into a hospital. Baby be damned. David was absent so all the brunt of her wrath was aimed directly at her ten year old son. 

Pietro was scared of losing his mom. Selfishly, he had no concern over the baby, Wanda, but was only afraid that if his mom died the only person he'd be left with in this world would be David. 

“Fuck you! I fucking hate you!” His mother was not his mother. Sweat and blood and curses in her mouth, damming her one son, it didn’t feel like her. It didn’t sound like her. He pushed it far away even back then. Pietro became small and he shook beside a furious mother. Venom in her tongue.

The ambulance could be heard, the siren echoing in the house like a bomb dropping and she was unconscionable. 

The richoches of screaming and crying broke Pietros heart and as the Nurses and doctors strapped his mother down as she struggles Pietro feels his worst panic attack trickling In.  

“You’re hurting her!” Pietro follows the doctors past the ‘no guest allowed’ sign at the hospital face covered in sweat and eyes wide with horror at the scene. 

A nurse looks at Pietro, the only nurse to properly look at him since they’ve arrived at the busy emergency room “She’s hurting herself. And the baby, we need to strap her down so she doesn’t hurt herself or anybody else.” They tighten the straps around her wrist to a painful angle and Magda Maximoff looks like a woman possessed. Thrashing and screaming profanities. 

“Take the kid away.” One of the nurses yanks little Pietro's hand away from the bed frame that was keeping his mother hostage. 

Stubborn and scared he stayed in his spot and refused to go quietly when nurses began to drag him away from his pregnant mother. 

The day Wanda was born an earthquake shook the earth like a baby rattle. It caused dozens of car accidents and the crumbling of many family homes that scattered the coast of the city. Pietro would see later in the news that dozens of people died. 

Pietro Maximoff to this day has no idea what curse was put on the Maximoff family to have such bad luck. The ground shook. The hospital emergency lights flickered and the shelves’ content collected on the ground. The earth spun until the walls began to crack and the ceiling began to split. If Pietro didn’t know any better he’d think it was in his head, a panic attack sneaking its way into his day, but the floor genuinely shook and the startled expressions of the staff couldn’t have been imagined. 

Nurses run down the hall looking frantic “she’s bleeding too much! We need hands!” 

Pietro tries to pull away from the nurses holding on to him. He bites and slaps and punches his way out of captivity. A police report would later say that he was a danger to the staff, leaving two nurses with cuts and bruises and a nasty concussion. 

He refuses to stop fighting and they put him in a wheelchair. The ones meant for psychos. He saw it in a movie once. He’s not meant to be in it. He’s not a mental case. He’s not a serial killer or a crazy person, he just wants to see his mom. They strapped him down and Pietro remembers the bruises on his wrists for days afterwards. He remembers the untethered fear he felt when they started wheeling him away, away from his mother who looked like she was dying. He remembers feeling useless and scared and like he messed everything up by doing the ‘right thing’. 

In that moment as they wheeled him away the roof caved in. Collapsing into the emergency hallway like a giant foot on a ripe pumpkin. 

Pietro had the tendency to over explain things in his head. To simplify things that aren’t meant to be simple. Too imagine things as other things. David is the boogey man. The bus is a dragon. The hospital is a pumpkin. Big things become small things and it makes things more bearable. 

Pumpkin seeds scatter the hospital floor. Gooey and lumpy and smelly. 

Pietro blacks out. When he wakes up the first thing he asks for is his mom. 

“She’s still sleeping.” A nurse had told him but Pietro found her room regardless. He knew that she wouldn’t be happy about waking up in a hospital. 

Pietro calls a taxi to come pick them up, using his own money to pay for the fair and he manages to get his half unconscious mother out of bed and on to a wheelchair to roll her out of the hospital. It was difficult for him to do it by himself, all of the nurses advised against it but Pietro refused to let his mom wake up in a place that would make her panic like she had the night before. He got down the hall, barely strong enough to pull the wheelchair down the twisted and rubble filled hallway before he was stopped. 

“Aren't you forgetting something?” An older nurse smiled knowingly at Pietro and the young maximoff boy looked at her with a twisted expression, confused. “No?” 

The nurse, pink scrubs and tight rows of her curls on her head raised her tinted eyebrows at the young boy and points at the window on the left wall. Past the window was a room revealing rows of baby’s in cradles, a rainbow of skin tones and pink and blue hats with sleeping faces snuggled in their confinements. 

Pietros face drops with the realization. 

He had been so focused on getting out that he forgot why they came to begin with. He has a baby sibling now. They are in that room right now. Someone in that room has his DNA and it makes him want to run away faster. 

“Don’t you wanna see your sister?” 

Sister. He hadn’t known if he would get a baby sister or a baby brother. He hadn’t cared to know. His mother wanted it to be a surprise and Pietro refused to even acknowledge the fact that he was going to be a brother half the time. He has a sister. She’s in that room. 

A part of Pietro considers telling the nurse that he doesn’t want to see her. In fact he wants to tell her that he doesn’t want her at all. He could leave his sister here and never claim her when the hospital calls. He could. His mom is asleep. He could leave. The baby can be gone and he wouldn’t even care. 

He doesn’t care. It’s just David’s baby. Anything that belongs to David is bad. Evil. He doesn’t want a sister that belongs to David. 

He wants to tell the nurse this. Instead he says “I guess.” 

Pietro stubbornly walks into the room, gazing at all the swaddled babies in the room, lingering in each baby girl trying to decipher which one is the most evil. He couldn’t tell which one was his sister. 

“You must be the brother.” Apparently she hadn’t been in any of the cradles she was being rocked by another nurse who had walked in just as they had entered. 

“She’s as healthy as can be.” The nurse smiles and all Pietro can see of his sister is whisks of brown hair and Pietro already wants to leave. “Here you go.” The nurse bends and extends the baby. 

“No, I don’t want to-“ before he could protest, a baby was in his arms. 

Pietro blinks. Startled at the weight in his arms. Are baby’s meant to be this light? He looks down at the infant. His sister. 

He looks at her, like really looks at her, and he can’t look away. 

Oh. 

She doesn’t look like David at all. She looks like his mom. Her eyes, her complexion, her hair, her ears. Something shifts. Clearing his mind. The little human in his arms goes from being The Baby to His Baby. That’s his sister. 

Holy shit he has a sister. 

He’s holding his sister right now.

She’s so tiny. “Is she meant to be this tiny.” His voice wobbles. Thirty seconds ago he would’ve wished death upon her. He wouldn’t have cared if she was a bit skinny, he wouldn’t have even blinked. 

But suddenly nine months of pretending she doesn’t exist is kickstarting his guilt trip. He has a little sister now. Did he ever make the crib in her room? He can’t remember if he ever bought the diapers his mom asked him to get before she was born. 

He can’t- “she’s a bit smaller but nothing out of the ordinary. She’s perfectly healthy.” The smaller nurse commented, her glasses reflecting off the warm lights in the room. 

Pietro wants to cry as he holds his little sister in his arms. “She’s going to be okay?” His voice wasn’t coming out how he wants it to. He feels like he’s moving so slow and he feels so emotional and confused by what he’s feeling. 

He didn’t want a sister. 

But he supposes now he does. 

He changed his mind. 

It was a swift kind of flip. Like the moment he really saw her, the moment she was safely in his arms a switch clicked in his head. He was no longer an only child. It was something he was supposed to have been realizing. He had nine months to come to terms with it but it was only until she was here, in front of him, in his arms that it finally made sense to him. 

He’s a big brother now. He thinks maybe he’s fine with that now. She looks like his mom. The baby giggles, his sister looks up at him with a smile. 

He knows baby’s can’t actually smile, it’s a reflex, maybe she’s gassy. But it didn’t matter. 

Her smile looks like moms smile. 

Okay. 

Okay. 

He takes in a deep breath and pulls her closer to him, firmer and more secure. 

Okay. 

He’s a big brother now. Nothing bad will ever happen to this baby. He’s hers now. 

“You know if your moms picked out a name yet?” The nurse asked softly after a few moments, letting Pietro have his little freak out. 

“Yeah..” Magda Maximoff had a list of names tucked between pages in a book next to her bed. The list was long and hadn’t shrunk in the last month. She had about thirty four boy names. She only had one girl name. “Wanda. Wanda Django Maximoff.” 

“That’s a beautiful name.” 

It was. 

David had wanted a boy. Something in the back of Pietros head was almost happy that Wanda wasn’t. Out of spite. Magda had vetoed the name Andrea immediately after David suggested it. 

His mother gained consciousness in the taxi drive home. Pietro barely noticed, too focused on looking at his sister's sleeping form. 

They got home and Pietro was on autopilot. Magda was in and out of consciousness for two days. 

For two days Pietro Maximoff took care of his sister. She cried only once when she was hungry and slept equally as long as his mother. 

Pietro changed her diaper. One, two, three, four times before he realized they needed to buy more. His mom breast fed her and Pietro made food on the stove for the two of them. 

Pietro Maximoff had to adjust. Despite David he had to figure out how to fit his sister into his life. He had to protect her.

“She only stops crying when you hold her.” Magda frowns as she hands her infant child to her ten year old son. 

“She’s used to me.” It wasn't meant as a jab at his mother. He had been the only one to properly hold the baby for the last two weeks. His mother was on bed rest and David was nowhere in sight. Pietro was used to her and Wanda was used to him. “Wanda się do ciebie przyzwyczai.” Pietro soothes. 

“Your polish is getting choppy.” Magda says instead. Her face is still holding the frown. 

Pietro rocked in the rocking chair. Feeling warm and safe and he hadn’t realized how much love someone can have for another person. It was jarring. It felt strange to think about him just a month before he had been dreading Wanda’s birth. He hadn’t wanted her home and now it seems like he’s the only one taking care of her. 

His mom had gotten sad after giving birth. Drained for weeks afterwards. Unable to hold long conversations. Only showing face when David would make an appearance for a couple days before fucking off. 

Then one day Pietro came from school and found a full dinner on the stove, his mom was moving around cleaning and cooking with a jittery aura. 

“Davids here.” She says simply and Pietro knew the bubble had popped. He found his stepfather in Wanda’s room sitting in the rocking chair holding his daughter. Pietros sister. He wanted to rip her away from him but instead he just watched David while he sat and looked at his sleeping daughter. He didn’t rock on the rocking chair. He just sat on it, too big and wide to properly look comfortable in it. 

“She doesn’t look like me.” David says and Pietro watches something dark pass through David’s face and the boy fumbles for a remedy. “Moms making dinner. Chicken. Your favorite.” 

David rustles a bit and it wakes up Wanda who immediately bursts into tears. David refuses to let Pietro hold her which only makes Pietro more anxious.

It’s like that for a while. Tense and awkward and thirty days after Wanda was born Pietro took her to the synagogue for her public naming. Her name would be announced and a prayer for his mothers health is spoken. 

“Blessed are you, source of living water, who revives the soul of all living.” 

The words echoed in the large ancient building and were repeated by the mass. His mother wasn’t present, David had kept her busy all morning and it left the ceremony all up to Pietro. 

He knew that she wanted to be there. It was tradition for her to be there but David was David and things happened. 

“When the angels visited Abraham and announced the birth of his son Isaac, Abraham greeted them by washing their feet, symbolic of their status as honored guests. Today we will greet Wanda Django Maximoff as our guest of honor, by washing her feet.” 

Water was poured over the infant's feet, gentle and warm and Wanda looked at ease as the water tickled her. 

Her Brit Banot was concluded when a tallit was wrapped around her. The prayer shawl had belonged to his mother, who got it from her mother who got it from her mother. It was the only thing she was able to save from her past life. Before the camps. Before any evidence of her family and culture was burned to ash. The only semblance of a family heirloom of sorts. It was used during Pietro's naming ceremony and it was used during his older sisters as well. 

The Rabbi led the chapel in a farewell prayer and song and everyone eventually left after greeting his sister and sending their own personal prayers over the infant. 

“Is something bothering you young Pietro.” The younger boy had barely realized the shal had gone empty leaving the Jewish leader and himself alone with his resting sister. 

The mans voice was soft, rarely rising above a casual stroke of a whisper. 

Pietro has a sneaking suspicion that Rabbi Stanley knew about David. 

Although he was a timid man he often made efforts to keep Pietro at the synagogue for longer when he knew David would be home. He was Always asking if his mother was coming or if the two would like to join him and his wife for dinner. They never obliged. 

“No, sorry, I’m good. I’m fine. I should get back home.”

“Would you like to help me set back the chairs? It shouldn’t take too long but I have bad knees.” He knocked on his knees lightly with his wooden cane smiling quirkily. 

“Yeah…okay. I can help. But I gotta head home right after.”

“Of course.” 

And they moved the chairs against the wall. Rabbi Stanley began wiping the tables down as well and Pietro followed his lead as well. Then he began dusting past the window sills and the younger boy picked up a duster as well. He ended up staying for an extra two hours.

Suckered into cleaning the chapel completely. It was only when Wanda began to rustle awake that they came to a stop. Rabbi Stanley went to the back room before coming back to Pietro. 

“Thank you for your help Pietro. I have this for you. As a thank you.”

Pietro blinked up at the older man looking a bit puzzled when he placed a cassette player in his hands. Shiny and silver. “I can’t-“ he blinks down at the machine in his hand “I can’t take this.” He tries to hand it back to the man but he shakes his head. 

“It’s been in the lost and found for a while now. Used to belong to a kid around your age but his family moved away. You can have it. It won’t be any use to anyone in a musty box in a storage room.” But it was spotless. The cassette looked new, not a single nick or smudge on its surface. 

He also knew that technology in the synagogue was strictly prohibited. Not heavily enforced but strongly implied. The idea of someone leaving it behind seemed careless but the idea that a seventy year old rabbi would go out of his way to buy it at all felt more unlikely. 

“But i-I don’t have any music. I don’t even know what music I would play.” Just as Pietro said it he recalled a music store a few blocks from the grocery store. He remembers passing it. He feels a little numb. He wonders if Rabbi Stanley could’ve bought a cassette player there. 

“I’m sure you will figure it out, kid. You’re smart.” And then he just smiles “music is a powerful tool to have.” 

Pietro looks at the silver cassette and feels his chest inflate with something like happiness. But it’s dumb to feel happy about cheap metal. He shouldn’t be this caught up about it. 

But it hadn’t just been Wanda’s naming day it had been Pietros Maximoffs birthday. He is now eleven years old. It had caught him by surprise that morning. Getting dressed in his best outfit, practicing his naming speech as he briefly looked at the calendar. It had barely registered to him. Barely made a blip in his brain. His mother hadn’t mentioned it, neither did David but that was no surprise by the argument that had unfurled between the two. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten a gift on his birthday. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a gift at all. 

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will.”

He went to the music store right after and purchased a pair of headphones but pocketed two tapes. He listened to The Rolling Stones for the first time on his eleventh birthday.

He was eleven years old when his sister started teething. Eleven years old when she cries for hours at a time. He was eleven years old when he had to steal diapers because David spent all their money on booze. He was eleven when his hair started sprouting random grays. He was eleven years old when he got a growth spurt. He was eleven when he began to starve. Constantly wanting to eat but never having food to actually consume. He was eleven when David bolted the pantry doors closed so that Pietro couldn’t eat any of the food without his permission. Pietro was eleven when he realized he wasn’t supposed to be able to count his rib cage. He was starving and graying and he didn’t understand what was happening. 

“Your body’s just changing. It’s normal.” His mom said and David looked at Pietro as if he hadn’t noticed. As if he hadn’t touched all the parts that had been changing. Pietro looks away from them both feeling strange in his own body. 

He thought it was normal. He thought that it was all standard, normal puberty stuff. That’s what his mom told him. That’s what David said. 

He was talking too fast at times. Hyper and fidgety. More than usual. Enough to be sent to the front office more than once. He was living up to expectations. He was always hyper. Always moving faster than others but it seemed to become a problem now. Because now it felt like everyone else was just going slow. 

He listens to music, and his panic over it all eases slightly. He wonder if this is what Rabbi Stanley meant when he said that music was a powerful tool. 

He wouldn’t get to ask though because Rabbi Stanley passes away. Cancer. Pietro wonders if the real reason why he kept asking Pietro to help him clean up the synagogue after the service was because he genuinely just couldn’t do it by himself. Too sick and too stiff. Dying slowly. Pietro threw up when he found out. 

Rabbi Stanley had his funeral in the synagogue the very following day after his death. Buried, unembalmed and enclosed in a simple wooden casket. The service was was led by a rabbi from another location, a close friend to Rabbi Stanley. He led them in quiet prayer, barely able to contain his own tears. They followed the Hearse into the place of burial in silence. 

They lowered his casket and buried him beside his sons grave. Pietro. His sons name was also Pietro. He had died only a year before. He had only been a year older than Pietro. 

Rabbi Stanley’s son had died at twelve years old. His name matched Pietros. And when Pietro looked closer at the boys tombstone he realized they shared the same birthday as well. 

With horrifying clarity Pietro realized where the cassette player had actually come from and why it had looked brand new. It belonged to Stanley’s son. His dead son. With pietro's name and Pietros birthday. Maybe he never ended up giving it to him. Maybe he had and he couldn’t really use it before he passed. 

Maybe Rabbi Stanley wanted to help the maximoff so badly because it was like a do-over for him. Maybe he saw something in Pietro that the younger boy hadn’t realized. He missed it. Maybe it meant something different for Rabbi Stanley when he gave him the cassette player. Maybe it meant something different to him when he said his given name so gently every time. Like a prayer. Like a plead. Maybe. 

So many maybes and Pietro and in true Pietro Maximoff fashion didn’t have enough certainty. He’ll never get to know. 

He feels almost cheated on. Rabbi Stanley didn’t actually care about him because he was a good kid he cared about him because he thought he was someone else. Because he was getting something off of it. Using him to deal with his own grief. It made Pietro feel like…well not good. Like that’s all he’s good for. To be used. 

He doesn’t ever ask Rabbi Stanley’s wife why he hadn’t told the community he was dying. Pietro doesn’t go to the shiva. He doesn’t go back to that synagogue. Not ever again.  

Pietro wants to throw away the cassette player. He almost does. He throws it in the trashcan in his kitchen. Even going as far as to throw old ketchup packets on top of it. One minute later he’s frantically pulling it out of the trash bin looking incredibly remorseful. He wipes the ketchup off the surface of the cassette player and apologizes profusely to no one at all. 

When his mother asks about the shiva he lies and she nods to herself, clearly also affected by the rabbis passing. 

She never talks about it again and in return neither does Pietro. 

Pietro was eleven years old when he realized that he felt different then everyone else because he was. 

Pietro Django Maximoff was eleven years old when his sister started to crawl. The day his sister started to crawl was the very same day that the eleven year old Pietro got his powers. 

The light consumed the room and as if they had always been there Older Pietro and Freshly ten year old Wanda split into the memory. 

The day Pietro got his powers. Locked away behind an opened door. 

Chapter Text

Ever since Pietro Django Maximoff got his powers, time has been something he had plenty of. “Time is a social construct.” Some people say that but Pietro knows it’s true. Time is completely and utterly at his disposal. He’s got nothing but time. Nothing but seconds dragged onto minutes dragged onto hours. 

Sometimes Pietro feels like he has too much time. Too much to spare. Too much to meddle with. So he does the little things to keep himself busy or else he’d lose his mind. He plays Chess with Charles, a long and slow game nearly every single day for however long it takes. He hand washes the dishes and hand dries them because he has the time. He braids Wanda’s hair and Jeans hair and Drew's hair and anybody’s hair that wants to be meticulously braided. He counts the students every morning and counts them every night. He has plenty of time to watch the sunrise every morning and fall every single night. He makes breakfast, and he runs laps around the school and Pietro Maximoff still has thousands of hours in his day. Hours stretched into minutes stretched onto seconds. He does the small things and the big things. He mows the lawn and waters the plants and teaches Kurt to parallel park. He watches tv and eats junk food and plays video games and does everything he can to pass the time. 

What’s an hour to a man with an infinite amount of seconds? What’s a day compared to a lifetime? 

But before he had hours to spare and days to splurge, Pietro had minutes. He had seconds. Regular minutes and regular seconds that didn’t stretch too much or too far. Before he was Quicksilver. Before he got his super speed he was just a little Jewish kid taking care of his crumbling family. His mom. His sister. That’s all. To the best of his capabilities. 

He missed moments. He lost time. He was too late for things and didn’t have time too think or breath. When Pietro Maximoff was eleven years old he had no time at all and everything happened far too fast and was far too heavy. 

“We’re back at the house.” Wanda observes looking at the slight difference ten years made to their now burnt down house. The walls had a different, brighter paint to it then the faded green that was barely visible in the later years. The furniture was arranged slightly differently, small Knick knacks gone from the walls and shelves. It looked the same but different in a very off kilter way. 

Pietro and Wanda had just walked through the creepy door in Pietros mind and landed right back to their childhood house. Pietro doesn’t want to think about the fact Wanda doesn’t refer to the house as home anymore. He doesn’t want to think about why he doesn’t either. 

Pietro holds on to his sister's hand even though they’ve safely entered the memory already. He’s unsure of what is happening and he needs the physical reassurance that she’s safe. “Is that me?” Wanda looks down at her younger self. A toddler. Not even a year old. Playing with a squishy ball that Pietro most definitely stole. He remembers knabbing it as he was getting the grocery’s rung up and feeling a hit of endorphins pulse into him.

His impulse for stealing started early. Becoming less of a bad habit and more of a necessity in the later years. 

“Looks like it. She’s got your big ass forehead.” Pietro pokes her forehead mockingly and Wanda scoffs rubbing her forehead “it’s my birthday! You can’t be mean on my birthday.”

“Is it still your birthday?” It’s been a very long twenty four hours. He isn't quite  sure how time works in the mind. Has it been minutes or hours? Has it been days? How long have Wanda and Pietro been stuck in each others weird vortex mind thingy? Pietro doesn’t have an answer. 

“It was morning when I got back. Definitely the day after your birthday at least.” 

“Got back from where? Where did you go?” Wanda had asked casually but Pietro point blank refused to think about the whole Charles thing. Mostly because it’s still fresh and also because they are in his mind and he’s afraid he’ll accidently trigger the memory and he’ll end up having to hear Charles say those things again. 

“Nowhere, just went for a run. Got a bit angsty.”

“You’re lying.” Wanda pouts.

“Boo, stop cheating.” 

“I’m not cheating if we’re literally in your mind pie. I can tell when you’re lying now.” 

“Now I know how everyone else feels.” Pietro bemoans. 

“Now you do.” Wanda agrees with a funny face. “Where are you?” 

“I don’t think I’m here.”

Wanda points at her baby self “well it’s not my memory. You gotta be here somewhere if you have this memory.”

Pietro hums, understanding that logic. He looks around the house barely catching the ruffle of brown curls, sprinkled with gray streaks, climbing down the family kitchen. 

The door suddenly opened, harshly and smacking against the door frame. Wanda and Pietro both flinch as David stumbles into the house. The door had nearly hit baby Wanda and Little Pietro was rightfully upset about it. 

“What the hell! You coulda hurt Wanda.” Little Pietro huffs, clambering to set the grocery’s on the counter. 

“How’d you get that food?” David had ignored the younger boy's accusation. 

“I bought it.” Little Pietro spat. He’s never seen his face when he gets this way, agitated and hollow. It doesn’t look good on his young face. 

“With what money?”

“My money.” 

“Have you been stealing from me you little shit. I was down a few dollars this morning. Did you take them from me?” David snags the box in pietros hand harshly making. They both mutually glare at each other. “To buy this shit?”

“That’s baby formula. For your daughter.” Little Pietro always liked to make that distinction. He now realizes it wasn’t out of bitterness but out of fear. Because Wanda doesn’t look like David. He didn’t want him to forget they are related. He didn’t want him to treat her the same as him. 

“He looks different.” Wanda says quietly, looking at her father strangely. 

“He’s drunk.” Pietro clarifies, not able to look away from baby Wanda as she stares at the open door. 

“I know. But He sort of looks like Charles.” She says and Pietro does a double take. Tugging at that particular string like a toy. Oh.

David looks like Charles.

He hadn’t really put too much thought into it but the moment Wanda said it he couldn’t unsee it. Blue eyes, longish brown hair, short trimmed beard, a long slope to his nose. Pietro can even swear that he’s seen Charles wear that exact tie. It was a disturbing comparison to have. To see someone he—-cares about—-in someone that’s hurt him so badly. 

He didn’t look like him. Not really. But he kinda did. They had similar things. Things that made Pietro's chest hurt just a little bit. Things that made Charles’ addiction feel like an echo of something else. 

He wonders what Wanda must feel. Pietro wants to ask but his mouth doesn’t seem to want to speak. Eyes  trailing back to baby Wanda. Paralyzed as he watches her from a distance. Unable to properly do anything. 

“Are you sure we can’t change anything?” Pietro asks numbly, feeling like a million miles away. 

Little Pietro is shouting something and David is hissing and all Pietro can focus on is that this was the first time Baby Wanda started to crawl.

Babies usually start crawling between seven to twelve months old. That’s what the home nurses said when they stopped by the house. Clipped voices and cold tones. Distant from the family in ways Pietro never understood. Wanda was only six months old when she started to crawl. Already ahead of the curve. Always rushing to those landmarks. Too fast and too early. That’s why little Pietro hadn’t thought to scold David about closing the door. That’s why no one paid attention when little Wanda began to crawl her way towards the open door. Eager and chunky and wide eyed at being able to move without assistance. 

“There i go.” Wanda says to little Wanda, only half joking but Pietro is realizing which memory this is. 

This is the day Pietro got his powers. Baby Wanda takes a minute to maneuver around the porch, past the front lawn in a relatively normal pace. Fast for a baby though.

“Stealing is a punishable crime Peter. Don’t you know that? You can go to jail. You know what they do to little boys in jail? Little boys that look like you? They bend them over and break em’.” 

“You’re disgusting.” Little Pietro screws up his face dodging David’s hands as they attempt to clasp around his wrist. “I gotta feed Wanda.” 

“Don’t pretend you’re doing this for Wanda.” David glares down at Little Pietro and if Pietros fingers weren’t itching to go outside, to go to baby Wanda, then he would’ve been equally as irritated by the scene as current Wanda is. Pietro can only watch in horror as baby Wanda manages to crawl her way of the house and into the lawn. 

“Everything I do is for Wanda.” Little Pietro gets slapped in the face, he can hear the smack bounce in the room but Pietro refuses to look away from the baby that is clearly in danger.

“We can’t change anything?” Pietro asks again before he really knows he’s speaking. 

“No.” Wanda was staring at the scene in front of them, probably the thing little Pietro was focusing on at the time but big Pietro knows better. He knows that ten seconds from now a driver is going to swerve into the street, unstable and dangerous and will barrel right into baby Wanda. Only six months old. 

“What’s wrong?” Wanda grips pietro's hand tightly managing to rip her eyes away from the violence in front of her and gaze up at her brother in worry “you're scared. What’s wrong?”

Fuck.

“I remember now.” 

Pietro can’t look away as the very truck he didn’t know he hates until this second, barreled down the street, full speed and honking his horn. Pietro can't use his powers here. He tries to run to baby Wanda. A fruitless attempt at changing her fate. 

When Pietro tries to pick her up off the ground his hand fazes past her. A mirage in a solid memory. Unchanging and cruel. In normal speed he could’ve gotten her he realizes. If he hadn’t picked a fight with David he could’ve still saved her. 

He could’ve ran even without his powers he could’ve saved her.

The car comes closer, immovable and harsh and the last honk is what alerts little Pietro to the scene. Wanda’s eyes widen as she watches her younger self get toppled over by a truck. 

Crushed and killed. It happened all so fast. Yet in slow motion.

Wanda screams bloody murder. Frantically she grabs on to Pietro, tears in her face. This is the exact same thing that Little Pietro did. Wanda and little eleven year old Pietro scream in high pitched unison at the blood bath. 

He realizes now why he had blocked it out. The blood. The gore. The pain and agony he felt at failing. At not doing the one thing he was supposed to do. At watching a child die.

“No! No! No!” Little Pietro felt all the guilt and all the sorrow and Pietro now remembers what comes next. 

He knows how this plays out. 

He watches in breathtaking horror, never seeing it from this point of view, as Little Pietros body shook. Faster then it should. Faster than he’s ever been even in Pietro's super speed. He remember now why he was always too afraid to push it. Too scared of how fast he could really go. He remembers feeling his skin boil but seeing it is a whole different feature.

He was a fucking storm. 

Little Pietro brown curls went away almost instantaneously. Silver grays overcame his face, and his skin turned paler as he ran. 

Not forward. 

But backwards. 

The room shifts and the scene moves back to the beginning. Wanda and Pietro watch in amazement as Little Pietro sticks his head out of the pantry, faster this time, head a full silver and before David could barge into the room like before, leaving the door open, eleven year old, freshly mutated, Pietro Django maximoff locks his stepfather out. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Little Pietro repeats it over and over and over and he’s rocking in a corner too afraid to pick up Wanda because his hands are shaking and they won’t stop. 

They shake like blades on a blender, fast and deadly and little Pietro doesn’t know how it works—he doesn’t understand that he won’t hurt Wanda. 

All he knows is that he already had and he refuses to do it again. 

“I don’t understand. What just happened?” Wanda still had tears in her cheeks, looking at her brother having a very clear mental breakdown. 

“I saved you. From the truck.”

“How? I don’t understand? Did that happen or not? “

“I don’t know. I think so. It-it felt real. I remember...Smelling your blood. Being afraid of hurting you. I remember being stuck like that for a long time but I-i didn't realize it was because I had seen you—fuck!.” He remembers the day he got his powers like a movie. Watching it from someone’s point of view. Polished and clean and horrific in a way that most mutant coming out moments are. He recalls it like it was someone else telling him the story. Like he told himself enough times that it wasn’t real that suddenly…it just wasn’t. 

Pietro had blocked it out completely. Erased and altered in his brain. 

Pietro doesn’t realize he’s being hugged until he heard Wanda’s voice whispering in his ear. “Thank you for saving me Pietro.” She says gently, and her arms are too small to fully wrap around Pietro but he melts into them regardless. Becoming almost like putty in his sisters arms. 

“I’m so sorry.” Pietro hadn’t realized the weight of those words coming out of his mouth. If unveiled another dam of tears. 

Pietro feels like he’s been crying a lot lately. 

“I’m so fucking sorry red. I should’ve-I should’ve closed the door. I should’ve seen you leave I-“

“-You weren’t the one to open it. You're not the one that’s supposed to worry about me leaving. You didn’t do anything wrong. You saved me.”

“I killed you.”

“You saved me.” 

“I killed you.”

“You didn’t. You saved my life. I’m alive. I’m right here.” 

“You died. I saw you.” Six months. She hadn’t even made it past six months. How could he forget something like this? How can he forgive himself? 

“I’m not dead Pietro.” Wanda pulls at Pietro, forcing him to face her, to look her in the eye “you saved me. I don’t know how you did it but you saved me.” 

“I don’t know how I did it either.” Pietro didn’t even know that he did anything to begin with. The day he got his powers always felt like a vague memory. Something only recalled in fragments. He remembers being afraid to touch Wanda. He doesn’t remember why he kept crying, why he kept going into panic attacks, he just knows that it was bad. 

Pietro thought maybe he had hurt Wanda. Maybe that would explain his fear of touching her, of holding her even out of super speed. He assumes that eventually he got over that fear. Forgave himself in some way. But he didn’t really remember. Not really. His mind, in some fucked up way of protecting him, decided to compartmentalize the memory. Away and gone from sight, trapped behind a locked door. 

He didn’t know. And now he does and he can only see small broken limbs and a crushed skull and blood. So much fucking blood that Pietro found a new example of the color red. 

“I’m so sorry that happened to you Wanda.” Pietro holds his sister because it’s the only thing he can do. Wanda was shaking too. She did just see herself die. Anybody would be shaken after that. He doesn’t know what to do. Baby Wanda is crying and eleven year old Pietro is crying too, shaking to the point that he can’t be seen and everyone is visibly upset. 

The room shifts and Pietro curses under his breath. Wanda refuses to let go of pietros arm. Not even for a second. 

They are in the living room. Magda is beside eleven year old Pietro on the couch, a bottle in one hand and her other hand combing through her son's hair.

He looked like he hadn't slept, his hair is completely silver now. Magda Maximoff gently holds her son but is unable to shake the discomfort from her face. “You know Pietro, my kochanie, I once knew a man who was special just like you.”

Little Pietro rubbed his baby tears and sniffles up a storm and refused to face his mother. He hadn’t told her what had happened. He hadn’t told anyone. She had simply found him panicking in a corner phasing in and out of sight in superspeed, half the house was destroyed and in shambles from his frantic running and Wanda was left on the floor crying with a dirty diaper. David had passed out on the front porch and little Pietro couldn’t pull himself out of superspeed to pick Wanda up from the floor without fear of hurting her. 

He felt like the world around him was going insane, melting into madness, too slow to even fathom and then too fast all at once. He thought he had lost his head. Falling adrift into madness. Alone in a bubble of his own creation. 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, he could control metal. Move it with his mind.”

“How?”

“He was born with something special inside him just like you.“ 

Pietro digested that information with as much grace as any kid would and made a face. “And where is he now?”

Magda didn’t respond, gazing sadly at her son “some people don’t like when other people are different. They try to make them bend to their rules and if they don’t bend they break.” Magda looks deeply at her son. 

“Which one was he?”

“Neither. He did the breaking and the bending. You’re a lot like him. You’re strong.” 

Little Pietro fell silent. 

He feels those words cool around his neck tightening like a noose. He doesn’t know who his mom thinks he is but unbreakable seems like the farthest thing from the truth. Unbending? Strong? It feels like a lie. 

“I love you.” Little Pietro mumbled out even though he felt like dying, even though his mind was mush and his heart wouldn’t stop skipping in his chest. 

“I love you too.” Magda says with heaviness in her voice. 

Wanda looks at at eleven year old Pietro and he could only imagine what she could be thinking. “Was it the man on the tv?”

“What?” Pietros voice was hoarse. 

“The man that mama knows who can control metal. Was it the man on the tv? The one that tried to kill the president?”

Erik fucking Lensherr.

“I don’t know.” Pietro had thought about it briefly when he met the metal bender. Bumbling and eager to make a connection. Making small meaningless conversation with the freshly out of prison mutant. “It would be crazy if she did though.” 

The odds of his mother knowing the man that attempted to kill two separate presidents of the United States of America is pretty slim. The odds of Pietro Maximoff meeting the same exact mutant is also pretty fucking slim. And bizzare. 

Pietro adjusts his palm on Wanda’s palm, feeling a cold sweat hit him all at once. 

Baby Wanda starts to cry and her screech bursts the scene in half shifting the room again to another memory. 

“Give me a fucking break,” Pietro groans his head pounding. Why can’t he just take a breath between memories? Maybe a small pause? 

“I feel like-“ Wanda tightens her grip on Pietro's hand. He looks down at her in alarm, catching the hitch in her voice. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t-I-“Wanda blinks rapidly “-i think I’m waking up-“ her eyes glow red.

“That’s good. Isn’t it?” Pietro is relieved that they won’t be in here much longer. 

“No, Something’s wrong. I don’t-I think something happened.”

“In here?” Pietro looks around the collapsing memory feeling panicked and overwhelmed but that isn’t necessarily new.

“Out there.” Wanda shakes her head and clutches on to Pietros hand frantically, both hands clasped. “We’re separated.”

“I’m right here.” Pietro says not quite knowing what’s going on or how to help her. The room is shifting. It’s been shifting a lot longer than it has before. It gets loud. The vacuum running in the air like oxygen. 

“No! Something is wrong Pietro! We’re waking up but its too early-they are forcing us to wake up.”

“Who’s they? Whose making us wake up? Charles?” 

“No, he’s not here. I don’t know where he is. I can’t see him. I can’t see anyone. I can’t feel anyone.” Wanda looks scared and now Pietro is catching up. If she can’t feel anyone that means no one is there or—no. 

“Fuck-“

“-we’re going to wake u-“

“-I’ll be right there when you are u-“

“-I love you pie-“

_

_

Pietros flesh gets torn in half.

_

_

It’s stitched back together again.

_

_

Fuck.

_

_

When Peter opened his eyes again he couldn’t move. He was staring straight at a white light and a loud beeping noise made his heart beat faster at every beep, beep, beep. 

What the fuck? Is he dead? 

He thinks he might be dying, as he’s looking into the bright looming light just before his last moments and instead of the expectant relief he felt only fear. 

He didn’t wanna die. 

Then he saw the face of an Angel. He had brown eyes and tan skin and he wasn’t an Angel. Pietro wasn’t dying. Pietro was in a hospital bed. He tried to move but every part of his body refused to do so. 

The not-Angel smiled at him and it didn’t look evil. “Hello, Mr. Maximoff, nice of you to join us.”

Pietro can’t respond, his tongue itching to do so but completely still in his mouth. Why can’t he move?

This isn’t a hospital room, this is a surgical room. The air smelled stale and thin and Pietro couldn’t move because his wrist and his legs were strapped down to the bed. No, not a bed. A table. 

He was strapped down to a cold table looking at a not-Angel.

“I’m so glad you’re awake for this part. It’s not nearly as enjoyable in silence.” He wore a dirty lab coat and Pietro thought of Hank and his spotless white Coat, always so cautious to keep it clean. This man's lab coat was covered in blood. Pietro doesn’t know if it’s his or not. It probably is. Although he doesn’t remember, which happens to be a running trend as of late.

“How attached to your lungs are you?” 

Physically? Very attached. His mouth was numb. Pietro doesn’t know how this sociopath expects him to respond. 

“Right, well, don’t you worry. We’ve already got a fresh new one just for you.” 

The beeping became erratic. Pietro only then realizes it’s a heart monitor. His heart monitor. Because he’s in a surgical room about to be cut open by a crazy man. 

Holy fuck is this real? Is he in another memory? Is he still asleep or is this actually happening? 

“This will hurt.” The man pressed the scalpel onto his sternum and Pietro doesn’t really feel the pain when he punctures his skin but he definitely feels it when it slices down his chest, gliding through flesh like pizza. 

Fucking fuck!

Pietro squirms and hisses and he can’t move and all he can really do is scream with a still mouth. Wordless screams, that echo in the room and make a smile grow on the devil's face as he continues to cut into Pietro like he’s just flesh and muscle. 

Why is this happening? What is going on? Tears are burning his eyes and runs down his face into the hard table. 

Pietro passes out. 

He wakes up again mid-procedure and he sees his lung in a jar connected to tubes, still pumping and the man’s hands digging and scooping into his insides like two day leftovers. Pietro screams bloody murder and falls back into unconsciousness moments later. 

Pietro wakes up screaming, his head pounding like a church bell. His body hurts and his chest feels like a million splinters. He feels vomit crawl up his throat and huddle back down to his stomach like a game of peekaboo. Pietro is in so much agony that he can barely peel his nearly naked body off the cold concrete ground. He profusely sweats which makes him sticky and gross. 

He doesn’t know where he is. He’s not at the mansion. He knows the mansion. He knows all the rooms, all the crooks and all the crannies. He’s searched and dusted and cleaned all the rooms on every floor. He knows every single one, even the ones he’s not meant to know about. He knows the mansion like it’s his home. He’s lived a lifetime there in such a short time. He isn’t in the mansion. He would know. 

Also-more horrifically—-

—-Wanda isn’t with him. The ache in his chest triples. Where the fuck is his sister?

Where the fuck is Wanda and who the fuck was that guy? 

“Welcome back, Peter.” A familiar voice spoke, hoarse and delicate and it made Pietro flinch even though she was quiet with her words. The room was bursted in light. Bright hospital-like lights that made his eyes squint, and his head pound even more than it already was. 

Pietros eyes located a Whitley from across the room, curled in on themselves and staring unblinkingly at Pietro, deep bags underneath her eyes and pale sweaty skin to rival his own. An empty cement room with no visible door. Empty except him and the unnamed Whitley. 

What the hell is going on?

He attempts to get up from the floor with a groan and hiss. “You’ll pull on your stitches.”

He settles on sitting propped up against the wall slipping his hand under his shirt and feeling the grooves on his skin, cuts and bumps of what seems to be hazardously threaded stitches. 

“Why do I have stitches?” He asks outloud because he isn’t fully convinced he isn’t still in his head. Trapped in another memory he doesn’t remember. Maybe this whole thing is another hellscape that belongs to someone else. 

“They had you for a long time.” Whitley says numbly and Pietro feels sick and he can literally feel his pulse through his shoulder, loud and fast “who’s they? Where are we?”

“They came at night. They took all the mutants and have kept us here in this room for several days.”

Days? Pietro has been out of it for fucking days? 

“I don’t remember. I-“ Pietro clamped his mouth shut when he realized that Whitley looked about three seconds away from crying, crinkled chin and watery eyes that stare into nothing. Fuck. Shit. 

Pietro takes in the heavy set of bags and sweaty face that looked pale and sickly and the shake to her hands that never settle. This was more than the result of a couple days adrift. This was something else. 

Something he’s only seen once before when the Whitleys slept in different rooms for more than a day and didn’t morph at all. The first sign is usually a bit of sweating. By that point they are too tired to stay separated and tend to blend back into one body. 

From the looks of it. They aren’t all there. From the extent of the damage that Pietro can see he figures maybe one or two alters are gone. 

He doesn’t know what the consequence of distance is but if it’s any worse then what it looks now he doesn’t wanna see it. 

“How many of you are gone?” He asks quietly, feeling the dread seep into his bones. He’s memorized almost all their names. He’s played Pac-Man with Sophie, he’s pulled pranks with Samantha, he’s talked about boys with Sky, he’s braided each and everyone of their hairs. He couldn’t imagine losing any of them. 

“Sebastian and Shane never merged. They are stuck.” 

The boys. Pietro knows them. He’s spent time with the boys. He’s bought baseball cards for Shane and taught Sebastian how to skateboard. Two alters. Two boys. The only boys. Two minds with no tether. No way of coming back to their girls. 

Sebastian and Shane are the protectors. Without them the other alters are left unprotected and in danger. Shane and Sebastian were born as a result of trauma. All the alters are. It was a way for the original host to cope and Shane and Sebastian are the skeletons of the original creator. They endure so the others don’t. To them, it’s their duty. They are, in all ways that matter, the older brothers to a herd of sisters. 

As an older brother Pietro knows exactly how they must be feeling, not knowing how their sisters are doing. The guilt must be eating at them, leaving a hole in the center of their mind. Scared and probably just as sick as the girls. Pietros knows they are because that’s exactly how he feels right now. Thinking of Wanda. Thinking of Jean. Thinking of all the mutants that were under his watch. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t awake to stop it.” 

“There’s nothing you could’ve done. There were too many of them. Too well planned and…”

“…And what?” Pietro doesn’t know what he thought the rest of that sentence was but he would’ve never guessed what she actually said. 

“Miss Margo is gone.”

Pietro flinches, his mouth snapping shut. He doesn’t need her to repeat it. Not really. He knows what she means. But-

“She-she tried to save as many of us as possible. Hank and Charles weren’t there and she couldn’t save everyone.” She rubs her eyes “they only wanted mutants. They didn’t touch Frankie or Drew. They wouldn’t have killed her if she didn’t fight so hard to save us.”

-She would’ve been home, pruning her garden surrounded by her cats, homeschooling her foster children. She would be alive. And now she isn’t. 

Pietro liked miss Margo- is the thing, but Miss Margo, who cooks like death, and laughs with her shoulders, and dresses like she has a costume on every single day, is dead. Pietro is reminded of Rabbi Stanley. His death was just as upsetting and sudden and horrible and Pietro can’t help but think about the fact that she wouldn’t have been in the mansion at all if Pietro hadn’t come to her house. If he hadn’t knocked on her door with fresh flowers and smelly shoes then she would’ve been alive. 

Pietro thinks of Kurt. He thinks about how another parent is gone from the teleporters life. He feels that shroud of darkness around his head. The thought of how Kurt must be feeling is the reason he asks “and Kurt? Is he okay?”

Whitley looks at him, lips forming a straight line as she flicks her head behind Pietro “i don’t know. I-“ her eyes drop and her back straightens, brows lowering. 

This is someone else now. 

“-These stupid fucking collars won’t let us multiply so we only got one body to talk through.” Sylvia hisses. Her thick New Zealand accent bouncing off the cement walls. Pietro suddenly looks down at the heavy collar around his neck, just now realizing he’s wearing one. That explains why he’s not healing fast. Or at all. He’s never actually had to deal with pain to this degree since his mutation surfaced. He’s never needed stitches. 

Is this how it usually feels when people go through surgery? Did Pietro go through surgery? It feels like he did. Is it bad that he can’t remember any of it? Just weird painful flashes. Damn. It probably is super bad that he can’t. 

“Sylvia who was I just talking to?” He had been so out of it he forgot to even ask. 

“None of your beezewacks fuckface.”

“Chill out, man! At least she was actually answering my questions you’re just straight mean.”

“It was Alisha.”

“Alisha as in-“

“-The original host. Yeah. She rarely comes out.”

“-why did she go back in?” 

“-it’s about to be our turn. And she can’t be the one on the line when they get us.”

“Your turn for what?” Pietro tries to stand up again but only groans and winces as the muscles around his stomach pull at his stitches. Fucking hell.  

Fucking fuck that hurts. 

She winces “for whatever they did to you.”

Pietro throws up all over the cold cement floor and as if to kick him while he was down the collar around his neck rang electricity through his entire body. So did Whitleys. They both gasp and scream at the sudden jolt. 

“What the fuck!” 

The wall behind Whitley melts. Dropping until their was a human sized hole in the center. A large man in a black outfit dumps a body on the floor with a thud and a stiff man in a lab coat followed behind him with a clipboard. His heels clock against the cement floor. 

“Who the hell are you?” Pietro hisses, trying to stand but another jolt hits his collar that makes him collapse immediately. Fucking shit. 

Neither responded. The doctor pointed at Whitley who’s expression turned blank and her trying to pull a brave face hurts Pietro's heart more than it should. The man in black steps forward to grab her and Pietro stands up, ignoring the ache in his bones and the threat of electricity in his skin, he moves as quickly as he can in this state. “Please, she's just a kid.” He stands between the two, preventing the dark man from taking her. 

The doctor looks up sharply, his cold eyes familiar in a way that confuses Pietro. “Nobody is just a kid.” His voice was like a snake, smooth and slippery in a form that rubs between his ears and grabs him with nasty talons.

Pietros grimaces “you won’t get away with this.” He wishes he could show more confidence in his declaration. 

He is very aware of how much they’ve probably already gotten away with. He thinks of the homes they’ve raided, the mutants they've taken with no pullback from the government.

“They already have.” The man in black says. 

Pietro notes that the man also has a collar around his neck. Hanging more tightly around him to the point that it looks seared into his skin and his eyes never meet Pietros or Sylvia’s, emotionless and stoic. His face marks a giant M on the side of his skull that looks burned into his flesh. 

Some people break and bend. 

“I think your friend may need some help.” The man in black gestures at the slump body he had just dropped on the floor. To pietros horror he realizes that it’s Kurt. He was wearing a blanket that covered up most of him so Pietro hadn’t noticed him under all the bandages. 

While he was distracted by this revelation The man in black grabbed Sylvia and Pietro jerked forward to grab her but in his sluggish state it was easier to predict his moves. No superspeed to block or aim any attacks. “We’ll be okay.” Sylvia says and she couldn’t quite hide the fear in her voice. That fear grabbed Pietro and gave him the willpower to practically throw himself at the man in black, the man in the lab coat perfectly safe behind the hulking man. 

That’s when the electricity struck him once again. By the time the buzzing around his head stopped they were gone and the wall was smooth and spotless, no evidence of any breakage at all. 

Fuck. Pietro didn’t care. He touched the wall as if maybe it would melt under his hands as well. It didn’t. He slapped it and ran his palms through it, pushed and jabbed and punched and clawed at the grooves until his fingernails bled. Desperate and terrified of what they were doing to Sylvia. Terrified that they might be doing the same thing to Wanda. 

“Yosef?” Kurt’s voice is the only thing to pull him back, sluggish and dripping with a thick accent. 

“Kurt, baby.” Pietro is by Kurt’s side scarily fast for a guy with no powers. “It’s me, it’s Pietro.” 

“I’m sorry Yosef! Please! Stop I’m sorry!” Kurt cries, thrashing and jerking. His tail curled around his body protectively and tears shed behind his closed eyes. 

“I’m not Yosef. You’re not at the circus. You’re with me. You’re with Pietro.” Pietro desperately wanted to say that he was safe. That he had nothing to worry about but he wasn’t. Pietro had no idea where they were and they are currently the least safe they have ever been. 

“Yosef, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Kurt cries and Pietro feels another ache in his chest, he hates that Kurt thinks he has to ask for forgiveness at all. 

“You did nothing wrong Kurt. Yosef was a bad man.” He’s gone. Pietro has to remind himself that Kurt’s demons aren’t ones he can fight for him. Yosef is a bad man. Kurt has told him enough, and if a peak into his nightmare was any hint at what kind of shit he put him through then that man deserves to be six feet under ground. Dead and rotting. 

“I can’t-I don’t want to-please.” Kurt’s voice falters and Pietro holds his hand face crumbling at the boys pleads “you don’t have to do anything, blue. You don’t have to do anything ever again. Just rest. Please just rest.” It felt like a promise, an oath. One Pietro doesn’t know he can guarantee. 

Kurt stops fighting, stops whining in his sleep and his eyes open slowly, a bit foggy “Pietro?” 

“Yeah that’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

Kurt sits up and leans close to him, suddenly wrapping his weak arms around the speedster, letting out a wet laugh. “I thought you were dead.” He sobbed and Pietro wraps his arms around him too even though it hurts to move at all. 

“I’m glad I’m not. Are you okay?” Pietro touches Kurt’s face, more to inspect for any bruises or swelling but also because he just wanted to feel that he was actually there. Present and with him. 

“I’m not doing great.” Kurt says honestly and Pietro wipes the tear that snuck past Kurt’s cheek. “Did they…do anything else to you? Besides—cutting you.” Pietro looks at the jagged stitch running down Kurt’s bare chest. It was the first time he’s seen Kurt shirtless and it’s the first times he’s seen the dozens of cuts and scars scattering his ribs and stomach, not just the giant one slashing the center. Old ones. Pietro looks away respectfully, wrapping the blanket more snuggly around his friend. 

Kurt shakes his head but says “I don’t think so. At some point I just passed out from pain.” His eyes drift, looking heavy. 

“It’s okay, you can sleep.” Pietro adjusts himself into a sitting position. 

“Don’t go.” Kurt barely says, his voice already melting into the clouds. Pietro lets him fall towards him, letting the blue boy lay his head on his lap as the speedster leans his back against the wall. He adjusts Kurt’s blanket so that it covers his shoulders as well. 

“I’m not going anywhere, blue.” 

He doesn’t think he can. They are trapped in here for the foreseeable future. 

“Promise?” Kurt lifts his pinky and he wonders how many times he’s seen Pietro do that with the little kids for him to think that was how all promises were made. 

“I pinky promise.” Pietro loops his cold pinky with Kurt’s and the teleporter falls asleep just like that—with there fingers looped in a promise. 

Pietro looks down at his thin shirt and sees the patch of dark liquid soaking the front of his shirt. 

He hopes he can keep that promise. 

Chapter Text

Pietro maximoff blames Hank McCoy for how absolutely hungry he is right now. Not only did the well meaning scientist feed him high calorie food he also got him used to eating it consistently. The little pudge on his stomach is proof enough of how much his health and eating habits had improved. He got less headaches and he could run for longer periods of time without craving any food. Usually that would be a good thing except now Pietro Maximoff after seemingly a few days of not eating is absolutely famished. Starved actually. 

“A hundred and forty two. That’s five more pounds then last time.” Hank McCoy had told him, writing the new numbers on his annoyingly noisy clipboard. Pietro hadn’t thought he was underweight before but the way Hank's face had grown ashen pale the first time he weighed him still haunts him. He had been used to counting his ribs and seeing the gap between his thighs. He didn’t know anything was wrong. He thought the slight constant rumbling in his stomach was his ADHD and not his stomach begging to be fed. 

Hank nearly force fed Pietro all the food in the house when he told him about the rumbling. “I know the meal replacements don't taste good but it’s just to bring up your metabolism and keep you stable. I’m really glad you’re still taking them.” 

When he tells Charles about it afterwards he smiles softly at Pietro “I’m really proud of you.” He says and Charles' approval gave him a bit of a dopamine high for days afterwards. Pietro kept replaying the words “I’m really proud of you” like a chorus in one of his favorite songs. Sticking in his head like an ear worm. Now the speedster is regretting getting his body used to a high calorie count because he suddenly has absolutely nothing to work with. Pietro is fucking famished. He’s also really fucking cold. 

Pietro has grown accustomed to the cold in the last couple of months. He was used to Bobby’s fits and tantrums that ended in indoor snowball fights and icicle sized holes in windows. Pietro was used to Bobby’s anger changing the temperature of the mansion and the drastic imbalance of the occasional indoor snowstorm. Pietro has been woken up more than once by the clattering of jeans teeth and had grown accustomed to doubling up on blankets when he put the kids to sleep. It was an adjustment but not necessarily a problem for the speedster. 

It wasn’t that Pietro couldn’t feel cold, it was just that it didn’t affect him as much considering his body moves faster than the speed of sound and works over time at all times to keep it warm and pumping. His body is a damn furnace--eternally warm and cozy. Bonus points: it's great for cuddling. 

As long as he has his powers of course. Which unfortunately he does not at this current moment. The metal collar suppressing his abilities made it hard to forget that. 

It was cold in the doorless cell, their breaths marked the air around them and Pietro could see a fresh layer of ice forming on the wall. His body vibrates and maybe if he had his silver jacket it would be more bearable but that was taken away and he was left behind with cold bare arms and thin clothes that had no form of protection from the elements. 

Pietro knew this was probably another form of torture. His skin burned with cold and his insides felt like ice cubes being crushed. A disgusting icee of organs and blood. The collar around his neck was heavy around his neck and weighed him down. 

“Did you know-“ Kurt’s voice sounded like a beacon and Pietro turned to him, desperate for the distraction. “-that in the circus I had to wear a collar just like this.” Kurt fitters a bit with his own metal chain. 

He did know that. He saw it during his very invasive dream jumping. “Maybe they sell mutant suppressant collars at Costco or something.”

“Who’s Costco?”

Pietro fights back a grin “it’s a store. They sell things in bulk.” 

“They sell mutant items?”

“No-that was-I was making a joke. I was kidding.”

“I don’t get the joke.” Kurt frowns. 

“I-nevermind. It wasn’t really funny.” Sometimes Pietros jokes go over Kurt’s head and usually the speedster is willing to explain the punchline to the blue boy but the ache in his stomach and the coldness in his stomach, along with the stretched stitches in his abdominal and arms—made it so that he was a bit too antsy to have the patience to do so. “Tell me about the circus. Or anything.” He just wants to hear Kurt talk—his voice is soothing and warm and the only thing keeping Pietro sane currently. 

“In The circus we’d travel to cold places and our trucks and trolleys weren’t very weather resistant so we’d all kinda just stay in one truck so it would be warmer since our bodies created a natural heat. The kids usually paired up and tried to stay warm that way.” Kurt speaks and a puff of cold air circle around his mouth. 

“Who’d you pair up with?” Pietro rubs his palms together trying to create some form of body heat and Kurt just shakes his head. Pietro can see it now. A group of circus performers pairing off for warmth and leaving poor Kurt all by himself shivering in a corner. 

“Not many people in the circus liked me. Only Dolly.”

“Who’s Dolly?” Pietro adds to the conversation in small doses. 

“She was another mutant. She had spikes for hands so they didn’t put her with the other mutants.” Kurt got a far away look on his face, his bruised up face making Pietro pay close attention to how he hugs himself in a self soothing way. “Everyone was always so afraid of her because she was so prickly but most of the time she just wanted a hug.” Pietros mind supplies him with the image of the scars all around Kurt’s stomach and back. It felt like a rock dropping in his stomach. 

The only form of comfort Kurt Wagner ever got was like a slice of a knife and he welcomed the pain with an open heart and a grateful smile. 

“She was a good fighter.” Kurt says with something heavy behind his eyes. He’s thinking about the cage where the circus had them fight in. Kurt has told him about how they made the mutants hurt each other. He never goes into too much detail and Pietro never pushes. “I hope she’s okay.” Kurt slips out, his voice barely above a whisper—he hadn’t meant to say that part out loud. 

“I’ll be your pair.” Pietro wants to break the sadness that’s overwhelming Kurt and he doesn’t know how to do that when they're in such a shitty situation. Hungry, freezing and bleeding. “I’ll keep you warm.” Pietro was already beside him scooting impossibly close to the teleporter, joining him in his space. Joining him in his sadness instead of making it less. 

“I-I don’t-“ Kurt cuts himself off, his voice becoming mush when Pietro's warm breath hits his shoulder blade, his skin equally as exposed as his. 

“It’s alright.” Pietro wraps one arm around Kurt’s stomach, the other around his shoulder, sitting behind him and keeping his back warm. 

“Is this okay?” Pietro was going slow. Kurt is looking at him like a deer in headlights, startled by any quick motion. A week ago he would’ve let Pietro hold him but a week ago they weren’t in a place where they needed to keep their guard up. The speedster is a tactile person and equally as touch starved as his blue friend. Pietro doesn’t want him to feel  uncomfortable so he treads carefully. 

“Y-yes. It’s okay.” Kurt’s teeth chattered and the blue mutant wrapped his arms around Pietros' arms as well, rubbing them and soothing the cold away very very slowly. 

They melted into each other.  “Mama Margo’s dead.” Kurt says suddenly into the dark room and he feels him take in a shaky breath. 

“I know. I’m so sorry, baby. I know she means a lot to you. She’s-“ Pietro can’t seem to regard Miss Margo in the past tense. “She’s a fucking force. It doesn’t seem real at all.”

Now that she’s dead Pietro realizes he can’t remember if he ever thanked her for taking in his mom when she didn’t have to. He suddenly realizes that he kept postponing that knitting lesson with her. He recalls that he never actually did tell her how much he appreciated her time and her banter. Pietro thinks the thank you’s and I’m sorrys are pretty useless when the other person is dead. He feels sick and he’s been holding back tears for what seems like ages; trying desperately not to upset Kurt who is taking it far worse than him. 

“She told me to hide. I didn’t listen-I-“ Kurt lets out a shaky breath that sounds like paper being torn in half “-it was my fault she died and now I can’t ever tell her how much I love her. I can’t tell that to me she wasn’t just my foster mother. She was my hero.” 

“She knows. Trust me even if you never told her she knows that you love her. She loves you just as much.” 

Pietro thinks of the bouquet of Lilly’s that made Miss Margo smile and the way she defended her home ferociously and how she in the same breath defended Pietro even though she was only his neighbor. Insignificant but still worthy of her help. She was kind. Maybe one of the kindest people he’s ever met. 

She collects lost souls. Isn’t that what she said? 

Kurt cries. Fuck it—Pietro cries too. 

Pietros actually hiccuping, like some three year old with bruised knees after rough housing at the local park. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to suppress the overwhelming grief he feels but it’s a lost battle. Like Pietro's entire stupid life. Hopeless in every shape and form. He cries not only for Miss Margo but for Kurt and for Frankie and for six month old Wanda who never got to live. Because hell—he was trying to forget about it and move on because shits getting real right now but he just can’t. 

Everything has gone to absolute shit. 

“When I was in the mind prison thing with Wanda I saw her die.” Pietro spits it out like it was poison in his mouth. He had told Kurt yesterday about the memory jumping he did with Wanda’s gifts but didn't go into detail about the memories he saw. It felt still too surreal and trippy to think about. Too painful and invasive to speak them outloud. 

“But Wanda is alive.” Kurt says. “She wasn’t taken with the rest of us. She’s back at the mansion with the professor and Hank. She’s safe and they're going to find us.”

Pietro nods, relieved to have the reassurance- once again- that his sister isn’t in any danger. Wanda is with Charles and he would never let anything happen to her. He knows that much. 

“Any day now.” Pietro reaffirmed. “They’ll find us any day now.” He’s been saying “any day now” for days and the more time they stay here the less confident he is by that statement. 

“Tell me something good.” Kurt asks quietly— his voice drowsy and tired. Pietro hums and tries to think past all the bad in his mind—something good he can say so that Kurt goes to sleep and doesn’t have nightmares. 

“I think I know who your mom is.” Kurt turns his head, craning his neck and his nose brushes against Pietro's jaw accidentally making the speedsters pulse skyrocket. “My mom?” Pietro can feel Kurt’s breath on his neck. Goosebumps run up his arm. 

Okay, calm down. This is okay. 

Pietro rushed out the next sentence to cover up the sudden flush to his cheeks “when I was memory hopping. I saw the lady that saved you.” Pietro looks Kurt in the eye, turning his face downwards slightly and Kurt is staring up at him with big yellow eyes that droop slightly. Kurt’s so fucking cute, Pietro can’t stand it. 

“The lady that saved me.” Kurt repeats his words slurring together slightly like he really is on the brink of sleep. Poor thing must’ve been trying to stay up to watch over Pietro. The speedsters' wounds were very touch and go for a while there. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that was Raven. The professor's adopted sister, I’ve seen a picture of her in his room. And she’s also mystique.”

“Mystique?” Kurt mumbles. 

“From the news.” Pietro clarifies. 

Kurt just hums his eyes closing softly “I don’t watch the news.” Pietro blinks and thinks about how much sense that makes. Kurt wouldn’t have recognized her on the tv as the woman who saved him because she was in her blue form but also because Kurt Wagner apparently didn’t watch the news. Airing on every news channel was a new anti-mutant debate and another law or legislation being passed or overturned. Mutant acceptance has been at an all time high but mutant rejection and segregation has been implemented as well. One good mutant doesn’t account for general fear of the unknown. The public saw a display of mercy but they also saw a display of destruction. Things have hit the fan since the day of the White House incident. Kurt Wagner doesn’t know how much good Mystique has done. 

“She’s a hero. She saved the president. She saved you. I think she might be your mom.” 

Kurt stays silent but rubs circles around pietro's arms which are still wrapped around him. 

“It’s just a theory of course but she must’ve had you before Xavier opened the school…the first time around. I don’t know how she would hide a pregnancy from Charles but I mean she’s a shapeshifter so she probably just, like shifted into a non pregnant person—“ Pietro feels like he’s telling Kurt about an insane conspiracy theory.

He sounds fucking mental. 

Meanwhile Kurt just nods and listens like he’s listening to one of the kids tell a story that has no plot and makes no sense and is eighty percent of them just ranting nonsense. “—you have the same eyes.” 

“Just because someone looks like someone else doesn’t mean they are related.” Kurt says and Pietro recalls a similar conversation with Bobby when he first arrived at the mansion. “And the color of our eyes aren’t that similar.” Kurt says gently and opens his eyes lazily as if to show him.

As if Pietro doesn’t have Kurt’s eyes memorized by heart. 

“I meant the shape of them. They wrinkle at the ends when you smile. Hers do too.” He can only see the smiling face of Raven framed in a faded picture next to Charles bedside. It was something he couldn’t pinpoint right away but now that the connection was made in his head it seemed obvious.

Or completely off the mark. 

“Yeah, they do.” Kurt says with a content smile and buries himself deeper into pietro's arms, looking properly exhausted. “Thank you.” He says “I hadn’t realized we had anything in common.” Sounding genuinely pleased.

Pietros eyes widened a fraction “so you believe me? That ravens your mom?” He’s surprised by his trust in him but he’s also surprised by how well Kurt is taking the news.

It’s not everyday someone tells you you’re related to a very famous mutant. 

“No.” Kurt sounds groggy “ravens not my mom.” 

“But you just said—“

“—She didn’t give birth to me.” Kurt says easily. 

Another piece fits into the string of theories in Pietros head.

 “—is she…your dad?” It makes sense in a way. She’s a shapeshifter. She can be anyone. 

Kurt nods into his chest letting out soft tired breaths “myeah-thinkso.” His words glue together-choppy. 

“Then who’s your mom?” Pietro voices out loud feeling a bit insane. He has a million and one questions but only voices that one. 

“Margo.” Kurt mumbles out just before he is completely clonked out. Pietro just sighs and adjusts his grip around Kurt’s person. Eventually they both fell asleep just like that. Tangled in each other like their one singular person. 

When Pietro woke up seemingly hours later the two had been wrapped around each other shamelessly. Kurt had curled himself smaller and was flushed against his front, at some point twisting to be facing Pietro, his legs tangled with his and his arms leaching onto Pietro's ribs, one of his hands slipping underneath his shirt. His tail seemed to have gathered interest on Pietro's leg. Wrapping around the limb like a sleeping snake.

It didn’t feel weird. He knew Kurt was asleep and didn’t have any full control over that particular part of his body. Even when he was awake Kurt’s tail reacted to things differently then Kurt did. 

Pietro once saw Kurt’s tail take the tv remote and hide it from Kurt himself. The poor blue teleporter looked for it for forty minutes while Pietro was laughing his ass off. 

The room made a loud siren sound that pierced his ears and made all the sleepiness evaporate in a second. Kurt jerked awake and was in immediate fight or flight mode ripping his body away from Pietro and standing up in alarm. Hands balled up in fists and tail still holding on to Pietro. The speedster patted the tail gently and it eventually loosened its grip on his ankle but was still on high alert even before the voice came booming from the walls. 

“Hands on the wall.” It said simply and they must’ve hesitated too long because the electricity around their necks buzzed and Pietro cursed. 

“Hands on the wall.” The voice repeats. 

“Fuckers!” Pietro hisses “alright! give us a literal second.” and they both place the palms of their hands against the wall looking at each other with unease. 

“What goi-“ the wall began to melt beneath their fingers and enveloped their hands and arms and within seconds swallowed us while. Pietros heart went straight to his ass. What the actual fuck. He was part of the wall. He was the wall and suddenly he’s being spat out on the other side of the wall like they where there the whole time. 

Cold and wet and yet completely dry and warm. It was all very uncomfortable. 

“Am I having a mental break?” Kurt mumbles and Pietro snorts. Kurt gives him the stink eye “I was just a wall.” He says fully in distress. 

“Yeah, me too. It was weird.” 

“I’ve never been a wall before.”

“It would be weird if you had been, blue.” 

“I didn’t like it.”

“I wasn’t a fan either.” 

“I didn’t think you were ever a fan.” 

Pietro let’s out a unintentional snort “No- that’s not what I meant I mean-“ Pietro abruptly stops talking when his eyes meet another. They aren’t alone. Not that they ever were. But he can see them now. 

They seemed to be in a lunchroom type area. Long strips of table and chairs chained and bolted to the ground and- One, two, three-other people in the room with equally as famished expressions and matching restraining collars. 

“Another blue one?” A girl with floor length pink hair slits her eyes towards Kurt, tan skin and purple freckles on her nose like girly constellations. She’s about three feet tall with a beaver tail. 

“He doesn’t look very strong.” A boy with yellow eyes and black spiky hair jerked his pointy chin towards Kurt. His muscular hands bounded in front of him with a weird metal contraption. 

“He is.” Pietro's voice was like ice. He steps in front of his best friend protectively and Kurt’s tail curls around Pietro's ankle. He watches as every eye in the room darts to that contact. A small girl- maybe three feet tall, with a beavers tail and two gaping teeth protruding from her mouth - lets out a delighted squeal. 

“How lovely. They know each other.” The boy sitting on top of the table glares at them-he was missing a hand and he had a scar running from the top of his bald head all the way to his chin and because the brute is shirtless he sees two scars on his chest, like an unfinished autopsy. That sounds morbid. 

“I love his tail.” Beaver girl says, a slight lisp to her voice. She smiles devilishly “I want it.” 

Oh, okay. 

Fuck no. 

“His hairs cool.” Bald guy says touching his own hairless scalp in wonder. Pietro has a bad feeling in his chest. 

“Where are we?” Pietro interrupts feeling more then a little claustrophobic by another room without doors. 

“The kibble room.” The bald guy says, not taking his eyes away from Pietros hair. 

“The kibble room? What the fuck? Why is it called-“ Kurt’s tail tightens at his leg instinctively and Pietro looks at him in alarm. The blue boy looks like he’s gonna throw up. The tubing above the lunch table shook suddenly and from the vents above the latch opened and all at once dirt began to pour out of it and clutter onto the table. No, not dirt. Kibble. Pietro has fed enough of miss Margo’s cats to know what kibble looks like. To know what it smells like. 

All three mutants- Pietro assumes they are mutants- began to scoop big chunks of kibble with their hands and eat it. The boy with clamped hands simply created a pile with his arms and ate it off the table—like a dog. 

They're being fed pet food like they're not even human and they just eat it like it’s normal. Like it’s a damn treat. 

Kurt begins to moves towards the lunch tables like a robot and Pietro is so startled by this turn of events that he follows him as well. He tries desperately not to make a face when he sees Kurt take a handful of the chunky kibble and put some in his mouth. Pietro is surprised by how easy Kurt made it seem. Like it wasn’t the grossest thing ever. Like he’s—

Kurt has definitely eaten kibble before. 

“Before Miss Margo’s house I hadn’t ever had a proper home cooked meal.”

That’s what Kurt told him not too long ago. 

“I guess anything is better than nothing at all.”  If the comparison to miss Margo’s food was literal dog food then Pietro would also prefer the devilish food prepared by the blind lady. No competition. And It all comes to Pietro now. Watching his best friend chow down on kibble like he was once treated like an animal. He feels gross and sad and horrified and everything all at once but he doesn’t judge Kurt when he offers Pietro some of his kibble. Looking small and genuine. Pietro is so hungry. He’s so fucking hungry he can feel his stomach eating itself. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. 

Is kibble really better than Nothing? Kurt can eat Miss margos food with a smile on his face. He can eat kibble without complaint. Kurt is far stronger than anyone gives him credit for. 

“I don’t want any.” Pietro forces himself to say. He can’t stand the idea of proving these people right. He isn’t an animal. He doesn’t deserve this. 

“Please eat it.” Kurt looks at Pietro with a tired expression when he speaks. “It doesn’t taste that bad.” Kurt lies. For his benefit. But it’s a lie nonetheless. Kibble can’t possibly taste good. 

“It’s not the taste I’m against.” Pietro frowns, watching the others grab another handful of kibble like candy. 

“It’s all they're going to give us. Please. I don’t want you to be hungry.” Kurt says with such genuine concern that he remembers that Kurt was there when he forgot to eat for a whole day once and passed out near the lake. It was the same day Charles volunteered to try the meal canisters as well. As a way to motivate Pietro to not skip meals perhaps. Kurt never made it a big deal but he was the one that found him face down on the dirt and it’s no coincidence that every meal time Kurt decides to sit beside Pietro. After that it was “isn’t this rice good? Try some.” Or a more subtle “I'm full, can you finish my plate?” Because Pietro hates to waste food. Kurt knows Pietro has shit metabolism. He knows that Pietro has a weird on and off relationship with food and he doesn’t ever make him feel bad for it. 

But right now Kurt can only do so much. “Please, Pietro.” Kurt says gently and Pietro caves almost instantaneously not wanting to see that worried look on his blue friend's face. 

Pietro takes some off the table and just barely puts some in his mouth, feeling more than a little crazy for doing it. 

“I like his purple streaks.” Bald guy says like he isn't in the room. Like Pietro is a celebrity on the tv and not standing two yards away from him. Pietro forgot about the purple streaks in his hair from Wanda's birthday. Kurts own silver streak has long faded and only shows as a reminder of how long they've been in this awful place. 

Pietro chews on the kibble– it felt like rocks in his mouth and was hard to swallow. 

They eat in silence. 

“Hands on the wall.” the ominous voice says again. 

All five of them put their hands on the wall like the good obedient animals they are. Pietro is glad Wanda isn't here.

They are back in their room and it feels smaller somehow and they both let out deep breaths.

“What was that about?”

Kurt wipes his hands on his pants and lets out another breath “I knew him.”

“Who? Bald guy?” 

“Estevan.’’

“How do you know him?”

“Circus. They use to pair him up with dolly a lot.” Kurt says with a uncomfortable expression. “Wasnt dolly a little kid?”

“Yeah. she was seven.” and Estevan is probably in his mid twenties. Pinning a kid with a grown adult is kinda vile and doesn't sit right with Pietro. Nothing that damn circus ever sits right with pietro. “She was the one that took his arm.” 

“Damn.” Pietro said out loud. “She’s definitely a fighter.” A bit proud. 

“But he isn’t a mutant.” Kurt’s says seriously “or at least he wasn’t a mutant before.” 

“Maybe hes a late bloomer?” Pietro tries to recall something Hank said “sometimes it takes something traumatic for the mutation to appear. Like with Wanda.” Or Pietro himself. But he’s not gonna think about that right now. 

“It’s just really weird.”

“I mean…what other explanation is there?”

Kurt stays silent deep in his head. Pietro gets stuck in his own head as well. He voices a thought that’s been creeping into his head since they’ve taken the Whitleys. “Next time they go through that wall they’re going to take me.”

Kurt shakes his head. “I won’t let them.” Which was an empty sentiment. They have no real way of escape. No real way of how to even get out of this room or how to defend themselves without their powers. 

“If anything happens to you I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” Pietro start by saying but Kurt glares at Pietro—looking offended, “and how about you? you think I want them to hurt you? You think I’ll fare any better?” 

“I think you’ll be alright.” And Kurt flinches like Pietros slapt him in the face. 

“You’re so mean sometimes.” His face contorts and he looks like he wants to simultaneously hit me and hug me tightly. Like he’s fighting against his politeness to say something rude. 

"I’m not-“ suicidal. “-Thrilled about it. I mean I don’t want to get tortured, Kurt. But if one of us had to…” 

“You won’t make it another round of torture pietro! They stitched you up all wrong and they had you for days last time. You need more time to recover. If you die, who will sing Wanda to bed. Who will play chess with Charles or annoy Bobby or cook with Frankie or make Jean laugh. Who will be my bestfriend? I can’t just not have a best friend Pietro! I-it was so empty before I had you.” Kurt is full on having a panic attack now pacing the floor irritably and Pietro regrets saying anything at all. 

“I’m sorry.” Pietro reaches for Kurt but the blue boy nudges his hands away with a broken expression. “Take it back.” 

“What?” Pietro lets out a breath feeling off balance.

“Take it back.” He repeats firmly and Pietro let’s out a breath wiping a hand down his face. 

“I can’t exactly stop them from torturing me, Kurt.” Pietro has no say in the matter. 

“Then say you won't provoke them.” 

“I won’t provoke them.” If it erases the look on Kurt’s face right now then he’ll say anything. Kurt doesn’t look convinced. As if sensing the shift in the room the walls begin to cave and melt and the man in black drops in, wearing a new black leather outfit that seems weirdly sexual especially with the metal collar around his neck. A different doctor stepped into the room as well. He had glasses perched on his nose and he had blonde hair perfectly gelled back. Something about him seemed unsettlingly familiar. Pietro can’t quite pinpoint it. Kurt immediately stood in front of Pietro and it took everything in Pietro to let him.

“I want the fast one.” The Doctor said simply and the speedster watches a switch flip in Kurt’s head. 

Pietro would never categorize Kurt as intimidating. Not to say he isn’t strong—he’s seen him wrestle off half a dozen school kids off his back— he’s very strong. He just sings too much Abba and wears too many soft sweaters to be considered anything other than a sweetheart in Pietros eyes. If you had asked the speedster ten minutes ago he would have told you that Kurt didn’t have a single scary bone in his body. Ten minutes ago Pietro didn’t see the Kurt he sees now: baring his fangs and slamming the man in black against the wall and keeping him up there like he was a little kid and not a 200 pound man who can literally kill them both. In this altered reality Kurt was the one to be feared. He was the dangerous one. It reminded Pietro that Kurt actually does know how to fight. He’s fought for survival for years and He’s won. Kurt is a fighter and a damn good one.

“You won’t be taking him anywhere.” Kurt’s accent slipped through his tongue thick and rough and Pietro knows he’s currently staring at the infamous Incredible Nightcrawler. Kurt’s soft edges sharpen and his muscles flex and his face darkens like an angry Angel. Righteous and dangerous. Kurt is strong and he’s protective and Pietros Django Maximoff is all kinds of fucked up in the head because he finds the sight of his best friend all swanked out and protective to be stupidly hot. 

Now is seriously not the time to be checking out Kurt’s biceps but where else is he supposed to look? Kurt’s tail grabs at the mans collar as well 

Pietro shakes his traitorous little thoughts away and let’s out a breath. “Kurt they can still—“

Their collars buzz and pietros is on the floor coughing a lung. Kurt is on the floor as well fresh tears in his face. The man In black…is also on the ground catching his breath. Which is weird. Why would they punish him as well? 

“—do that.” Pietro finishes, still catching his breath. Kurt’s tail reaches for Pietro in the mix of electricity and Pietro feels the comforting limb swoop around his waist protectively. 

“Just grab him.” The scientist huffs In annoyance, eyes boring into Pietro. 

“Just hold on for a bit longer!” Kurt shouts as a set of hands grab onto Pietro and drag him away. The room they take him to isn't one he recognizes. Small and compact. They strap him down easily onto a metal table that looks like it’s connected to a tanning bed. Pietro watches as the blonde man takes notes on his little clipboard. He checks the little knobs and buttons on the machine. He writes something down and then Pietro sees him close the tanning bed door on him. Pietro has barely six inches of space in front of him and feels dread bubble in his stomach as he hears the crackling of the machine turning on. 

It wasn’t a tanning bed. He wasn’t coming out of this with a sun kissed glow. No fucking way. He was burning. Sling broiling and Pietro realizes suddenly that he has his powers. His healing factor is coming to his rescue. Except it’s working slower than usual and the burning sensation on his skin feels like it’s going faster than the healing process. He keeps burning and healing-constantly in a series of breaking and mending. He can’t get out of the machine. For some reason his hands won’t phase through the flimsy  cuffs or shatter the non-tanning bed glass. Pietro also realizes that now that he has his speed back he has time. 

And time is the enemy of pain. 

It feels like he’s been burning for hours-breaking and bending-screaming his lungs raw and crying hot tears. But it’s probably only been minutes. It’s been almost nothing at all and it feels like Infiniti. It feels like hell. He closes his eyes once he realizes his eyes are blurring. Becoming dry from the heat and Jack of moisture. His tears turn to Vapor the moment they are shed. 

His throat is raw and Pietro maximoff tries to think of something happy. He hears Hanks solid voice in his head—telling him to take deep breaths. But he can’t breath without feeling like he’s inhaling lava. 

Pietro grasps at something. Anything. He thinks—he thinks—he thinks of Charles. 

Pietros fractured mind supplies him with a long car ride. Charles on the yard with a singular yellow balloon with a smiley face attached to his wheelchair handle. 

He held a faded little whiteboard while the children presented him with new little tricks they developed. 

They called it a Talent Show but Pietro knows it was actually so Charles could see how they had developed their gifts. It started to backfire when Drew instead of presenting her abilities in a cool way decided to start straight up breakdancing. 

Pietro couldn’t stop laughing. It took another turn when Frankie began to do magic. He had a whole set up with a top hat and a rabbit—that may or may not have peed in his pants pocket—Margo even taught him a cool trick with a coin. It was actually pretty impressive and Pietro still doesn’t know how he guessed the right card he had Charles pull from a deck. Charles kept rating each talent and hilariously just kept giving everyone a ten writing the two digits in big blotchy fonts on the whiteboard. 

Burp the alphabet? (They forgot H) Ten!

Beat boxing on the spot? (It was mostly spit) Ten!

Doing a cartwheel perfectly? (It was mostly rolling on the grass) Ten!

A cool drawing of a cow. (Pietro only guesses it’s a cow) Ten! 

The professor would wave around the whiteboard with the numbers in praise as if he was ever going to give them anything less than a perfect score. The children hollered and giggled and had such a good time. Pietro remembers Bobby smiling too, making the air a bit colder so that the kids can see the small snow petals fall from the sky: a nice rate moment from Bobby. Pietro remembers the sudden snowball that smacked dead in the face. Pietro recalls the coldness of that day and how he swirled around trying to find the culprit of the attack only to find Charles Xavier’s hand still extended from his miraculous throw. 

In a flurry of vengeance Pietro practically buried the professor in snow. His fingertips stung with cold and his face strung tight with a stretched smile. He tries now to remember that cold. Or at least he tries to remember something that isn’t hot. Burning hot. Anything that can pull him away from the scorching pain his skin is enduring currently. Ripping and mending his flesh. 

Any day now. 

He wishes Charles was here. 

Just as that thought crosses his mind Pietro sees a familiar hand hover above the little claustrophobic window above pietro's head. Then he sees Charles blue eyes looking through that very window. 

Chapter Text

Pietro Django Maximoff momentarily forgets that he’s pissed off at Charles. In this moment his complicated feelings towards the telepath are overshadowed by how fucking relieved he is to see him. As the days had passed with no sign of help the speedsters' hopes had begun to dwindle. But he’s here. Charles is here to save him and Pietro is so relieved and so horrifyingly happy about the development that the second Charles lifts the death contraption of the tanning bed, face pinched in concentration, Pietro is wrenching him forward into a hearty bear hug, tears brimming his eyes. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed that he didn’t use his superspeed and that he’s hugging him at regular speed so he can definitely feel him breaking down on him. 

“You’re here.” Pietros voice was hoarse from the screaming and Charles’ arms wrap firmly around him as the speedster  practically goes limp on the older man, unable to stay stable in his spot. “Of course I am.” Charles says and pulls away from Pietro—cutting the hug short. Charles scans his face which Pietro is fully aware has gone pale and sickly in the time he’s been here. 

“We need to go now.” Charles pulls him up from where he’s sitting on the tanning bed table, his shackles loose and unbuckled, Pietro doesn’t know when he did that. Pietro is a bit fuzzy when he stands and when he reaches for Charles' arm to stabilize himself—the Professor stills, and looks at him weirdly. Pietro manages to stand up straight by himself and when the Professor goes to the door in a rush Pietro stumbles behind him but not before asking. 

“H-how did you get in?” Pietro asks, suddenly feeling completely off. Like the axis of the world is slightly off by a centimeter to the left. 

“I’m a telepath remember? I have my ways.” He jokes and Pietro lets out a breathy laugh even though it’s not a particularly funny joke.

“And Wanda?” 

“She’s good.” Charles says peeking through the door window looking down at his watch impatiently. Pietro doesn’t even remember their even being a door there but he was also drugged out of his mind and in incredible pain so he might not be remembering things correctly. 

Pietro frowns “Did she get hurt? Kurt Said she didnt but-“ Kurt would never say anything bad if he knew Pietro would be upset. 

“She’s fine.” Charles looks him in the eye when he says that “don’t you trust me?”

Pietro startles a bit by the seemingly pointed question “I mean-yeah of course I do.” And the speedster actually means it. Which is surprising not only to the speedster but to the professor as well who looks at him with a slightly surprised expression before he covers it up with a kind smile. 

Charles nods slowly “right, of course. Then you gotta trust that your friend is safe and sound.” 

Charles goes to open the door and—

“My friend?” Pietro stops dead in his tracks.