Chapter Text
She thought that Steve was a hallucination.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d seen things; stars and black spots and even her own blood at the edge of her vision.
But then he cut the collar and the straitjacket off… if it was a hallucination, Wanda decided, it was better than what was currently going on; she’d go with it.
Clint appeared in the doorway of her cell. He smiled at her and came closer to where Steve was helping her shed the shell of material that had been making it hard to breathe for too long. “We’re getting out of here, Wanda. Cap, go ahead; I’ll help Wanda along.”
“Sam and Scott are outside already. I’m here to get the two of you,” Steve replied. He glanced back at where Wanda still sat on the floor of the cell, her position barely changed from when he’d cut her loose. “Wanda, we don’t have much time. If you can’t run, I need to carry you.”
Her arms hurt from staying pressed against her chest. She couldn’t remember when last she’d eaten. Or spoken – she didn’t even want to try. She nodded slowly at Steve, hoping he understood.
He did. “Come on, Wanda.” She tried not to flinch as he swung her into his arms and kept his grip tight around her. She knew he had to. But she had to close her eyes and try to focus on the feeling of actually moving, so that she wouldn’t get sucked back into that straitjacket.
If Steve was worried by her lack of reactions (he was), Wanda didn’t have the energy to feel guilty. She didn’t think she’d be able to explain herself even if she did. She had no idea how to start describing the black and red mess her head had become. Or the bruised, aching mess her body had become.
Wanda found herself in a quinjet. A blessedly familiar quinjet. When Steve set her down on one of the bench seats near the back, she curled up onto her side. She was starting to feel dizzy, and she didn’t want to fall and hit any of the sore spots that dotted her body.
“Wanda.” Steve put a hand on her shoulder, not sure if she was sleeping or blacked out.
In a burst of crimson, he was thrown to the opposite site of the quinjet. Wanda scrambled to her feet, stumbled as her head spun, and promptly fell to the floor, where she covered her mouth with her hands and kept her gaze trained on the man slowly getting to his feet across from her.
“I’m sorry –” her voice caught and she swallowed, feeling tears well in her eyes.
“It’s okay, Wanda. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that,” he replied, kneeling and studying her face. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. Steve smiled. “Good. Can I help you lie down again?”
Wanda allowed him to, because she couldn’t do it herself. She knew that all the months of training at the Avengers compound had been wasted, because she was so much weaker than she should be.
Steve passed her a bottle of water. She took a sip and set it aside, ignoring the pity in Steve’s eyes. She knew she must look like shit.
“We’re going to Clint’s farm. I need to know that you can control your powers enough not to hurt anyone,” he said softly.
It’s my fault. People died. I’m dangerous I should be locked up –
“Focus on me.” Steve’s voice brought her back from the torrent of voices in her head.
She blinked slowly, forcing them back from the tiny spot of sunlight in her mind where she could still think clearly. “I… I don’t know. I think I could.”
“I hope so, Wanda. I hope so.” Cap left her to talk to Clint, so she closed her eyes and let herself relax for the first time in far too long.