Chapter Text
Westview wasn’t a large town. Mostly it was small town suburbia and a central shopping district, with a few small apartment complexes. After the events of the Maximoff Phenomenon, rent went down as many feared going anywhere near westview - with good reason. But the prospect of a nice 1-bedroom in budget right near your new job in this economy was more than you could pass up. So pretty soon, you were moving in.
Your landlord, Mary, was the first person to warn you about the strange tenant. As you set the first load of things down in your new living room, she spoke gently as she handed you your key. “You should know there’s a tenant here who’s... a little different than the rest of us.”
You were surprised, but you gave her a well-meaning smile. “I’ve had weird neighbors before,” You joked gently, silently hoping they were quiet.
Mary pursed her lips. She glanced behind herself, as if making sure the door was closed, then quietly explained what she meant. She explained that there was one woman in town, Agnes, who had never been freed from Wanda Maximoff’s magic. The details were complicated - according to Mary, no one was sure what was accurate and what wasn’t. Everything she knew was an amalgamation of different stories of those who had witnessed different parts. What they did know, was that when everything ended, this woman had been locked up in the town, a permanent prisoner of her own mind, rather than being freed like the others. There were plenty of rumors as to why, but no one knew what was true. And apparently, the woman had been settled in this very apartment complex.
A million questions ran through your mind as concern welled up inside you. “Is she dangerous?” You asked.
Mary let out a light laugh. “Oh no, not that we know of. She’s very friendly. Just… a little off.” She glanced down at her watch. “I should be going. If you meet Agnes, just… tell her you’re busy. She’ll give up eventually. It’s what we all do.”
You forced a smile as the landlady said her goodbyes and ducked out. It was certainly a strange situation. You’d known about the briefly bewitched town, everyone in the country did once the hex was taken down, and you’d done your best to prepare for your move-in. But a still-cursed neighbor was not on your list of expectations. Turning back to your boxes, you did your best to distract yourself as you began to unpack.
It was only a few days before Agnes knocked on your door. The only people you knew in town were your new coworkers and landlady, neither of which had announced any plans to stop by. Curiosity getting the best of you, you crept to the door anyway and glanced out the peephole. Outside stood an unassuming brunette woman, wearing a gray sweater, holding a covered plate, and smiling at the closed door.
This must be Agnes. You remembered your landlady’s words. In the days since your talk, you’d even casually asked a coworker about her, without mentioning your proximity to her. He’d told you some wild rumors about Agnes having been some kind of empowered individual, who even went toe to toe with Wanda Maximoff. Your other coworkers had scoffed and told you not to listen to him. They insisted she was just some harmless neighbor. Looking at the grinning middle-aged woman standing outside your door, you couldn’t imagine her being anything dangerous.
You remembered what Mary had said ‘Tell her you're busy. It’s what we all do.’ But when you’d thought on it after your chat, you couldn’t help but feel empathy for this woman, being pushed away constantly. It must be so lonely, you thought. It couldn’t hurt to greet her once, right? To just say hello and acknowledge her, since others wouldn’t?
You opened your door cautiously. “Hello?”
“Hi there!” The voice that greeted you was high-pitched, and almost impossibly sugar-sweet. The woman standing in front of you gave you a wide grin. Her brunette curls fell down her shoulders, and her sweater and jeans combo looked straight out of a Kohl’s catalogue. An oval black cameo brooch was pinned to the center of her collar. “I’m Agnes, from just down the hall!” She confirmed.
Her enthusiasm felt almost unnatural as she held out a covered pan in your direction. “I heard we had a new neighbor, and thought I’d bring some homemade cookies for move-in fuel,” She chuckled gently. You tried to smile, but your heart wasn’t in it. There was something unnerving about interacting with her. People didn’t greet new neighbors like this these days, not in your experience anyway. Is she really under mind-control? Looking at her standing in front of you, it felt impossible. But stranger things had happened since the battle for New York so many years ago - plus it seemed unlikely that everyone you met would collectively insist on something if it was untrue. Maybe it was the intensity of her grin, or maybe it was just the idea that this interaction could all be unwilling, but you felt your stomach twist. You felt anxious, and almost… a pang of concern? Whatever it was, this was all too overwhelming. You wanted to turn her away. To stop being around… whatever was happening to her. But your concern won out.
“Oh, ah, thank you,” You said nervously, accepting the cookies. The pan was warm in your hands. “I’m Y/N.”
“Well, lovely to meet you Y/N!” Her tone had a musical lilt to it, the type of tone you’d expect to hear on a stage or in a tv show, not in a conversation. “I’d love to see the new place if you have a minute doll,” Her smile was unwavering. “Are you finished unpacking?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Oh, no, not nearly,” You said anxiously. “Sorry, I wish you could stop in,” you lied.
“Ohhhh hon, that’s alright!” Looking into her blue eyes, for a moment, you thought you could almost see something. Her mouth was twisted into a grin, but you realized then that her eyes didn’t seem to match it. There was something performative behind her smile. You held her gaze for a minute. There was an intensity behind her eyes. She looked down to the cookies. “Just pop these in the microwave if they cool down and they’ll be nice and soft!” She patted the tin foil twice before taking a step back. “And I’m making a ham this weekend if you’d like to stop by for a nice home-cooked meal. Nothing quite like a good honey ham!” She laughed again - it was loud and unnatural. You forced a gentle laugh to match her.
“That’s very nice of you,” You said nervously. In a way, it almost reminded you of interacting with a friend who’d had too much to drink, and became unexpectedly loud and friendly. But this woman seemed sober. Just… off. It made you nervous, and you didn’t want to be around it. The more you did, the more she truly seemed to be under some kind of curse. As crazy as it all was, you found yourself starting to believe the stories. “But I think I’m going to be busy unpacking all weekend.”
“Ohhh, I know how that is!” She said playfully, elbowing you gently. “I’ve invited a few people, but no one seems enticed by a good ham these days.” She folded her arms, shaking her head, but still smiling. “I tell ya, this town wouldn’t know how to socialize if it bit them on the ass!” She laughed again. You held her gaze again, as if her blue eyes would offer you some sort of clue as to what was beneath. But nothing.
You cracked a pitying smile. “I’m sorry, Agnes.”
“Oh don’t you worry,” She flipped her hand, as if brushing off the concern. “I’ve been spending lots of time alone these days. You sure get used to it, don’t you!” She started laughing again. And there it was in your chest again, that pang of pity. You took in a breath, head swimming. Don’t do it. You thought. She’s crazy, how are you supposed to spend an evening around this? Just thank her and get out.
But you didn’t.
“Hey, uhhh…” She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll have some time to spare Friday. ...Would you like that?” You asked her genuinely, as if the true Agnes could somehow awaken and answer the question. You didn’t want to bother her, but you also found yourself hating the idea of leaving her alone like this. Being alone for so long sounded like torment.
“Why of course darling!” Agnes’ grin looked like it might burst off of her, though her eyes still looked strange and unreadable. She clasped her hands together. “Wonderful!” She reached out, putting her hands on your forearms. You were a bit shocked by the sudden contact. “I’m in 3B down the hall, and dinner will be at 6:30pm Friday.” She released you, clapping her hands together again. “See you then!” She waved as she started down the hall. “I’ll have plenty of wine!” She called back. Thank god.
You watched for a moment as she left, then ducked back into your apartment, setting the still warm cookie tray on your counter and locking the door. You closed door for a moment leaving a hand on it. What am I doing? You knew the stories were true - something was wrong with that woman. She really did seem to be trapped in her own mind. But if so, and if it was because of an Avenger, had she done something to deserve it? Could it be that she really was dangerous, like your coworker had said?
And if she was, what were you doing talking to her?
What if whoever was beneath heard you?
You let out an annoyed breath as your mind spun. Maybe you would have a cookie after all.
Between that visit and friday, your mind went back regularly to Agnes and her situation. You thought of movies or books you’d read with something as horrific as being trapped in one’s own mind. There weren’t many you could think of, and they were all dismal. The more you considered its real life implications, the more worried you became. How long had it been since the Maximoff phenomenon? A few months? Had she been alone that whole time? Was she really just… prattling around in this strange persona, stuck in her own head? The thought gave you chills. It truly sounded hellish.
And the more you thought on it ...the more you began to want to see her again. To see if it was real, maybe. Or maybe, to see if underneath it all... she was okay? You knew it was a crazy thought, and doing so would probably be impossible - you couldn’t exactly just ask her how being possessed was going. And if she was dangerous, it could be incredibly stupid too. But you wanted to know.
Dinner was strange, as you’d expected. You’d thought about cancelling, or blowing her off entirely, but just couldn’t bring yourself to. You couldn’t shake the urge to be around her, since no one else seemed willing. Leaving her alone felt wrong. Maybe your coworker was right, and she’d done something to warrant this. Maybe she hadn’t. Either way, perpetual loneliness sounded cruel. You wanted to see if she needed someone. And maybe, you were even a bit curious. Who was underneath this neighborly persona? Did she miss having other people around? Or maybe you would be annoying her. Pestering someone dangerous. Unfortunately, there was just no way to know.
Agnes had led you into her apartment by taking you by both hands with an unnatural level of enthusiasm. You hadn’t been able to help but blush at the unexpected contact. Her living room looked like something straight out of a catalogue - and maybe it was. Everything was laid out perfectly in a modern, minimalist aesthetic, with nondescript decorations and fixtures. There were no family photos on the wall, no souvenirs from old trips or photos with friends. Just… things. Paintings and flowers and even a “Live Laugh Love” sign near the door. She had to be cursed to willingly display that.
The first half of the meal was full of awkward pleasantries. Agnes sat across from you at the small table, and asked where you worked, what brought you to Westview, the standard “new neighbor get-to-know-you” session. You talked about your job, your intimidating boss, and your move in. At first, you tried to return the questions like anyone would. But all of Agnes’ answers were vague. She either turned everything into a joke, or dodged the question entirely. It almost felt scripted. She offered no information about who she was, and no hint about her past or her predicament.
What she did offer was gossip. As it turned out, she was incredibly nosy. The couple in 3A fought a lot, and loudly. The family in 1B had a new baby. She thought a man upstairs might be cheating. You feigned interest, but your acting wasn’t exactly convincing.
Agnes didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did, deep down. But whatever was controlling her kept prattling along, smiling and laughing the whole time. You watched her face, waiting for any sign of emotion besides joy or humor, but nothing. She was like some kind of walking, talking, sitcom trope.
You could still see it though - that difference in her eyes. She was selling it everywhere else - she was loud and vibrant, and constantly smiling or making expressive faces as she told stories and sipped her wine. But her eyes often seemed somehow separate from it all, her smiles not changing them. Sometimes they lingered too long on yours as she spoke. You searched them for any clue. Was she awake in there? Could she hear you, and was she grateful for the human contact? Or had you angered a dangerous woman? Still, there was no way to know.
You took a ship of chardonnay. The meal was finished, and you’d learned nothing besides far too much information about your neighbors. But somewhere during her rambles, you’d come to realize - you wanted to try to reach her. You wanted to find out what was beneath this woman, and what had gotten her into this shape. Mostly, and maybe the driving force behind it all, was wanting to know if she was okay in there. It sounded like hell, and the thought of leaving her alone worried you. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was even dangerous. But you still wanted to try.
“How long have you lived in town, Agnes?” You asked with a smile.
“Oh goodness, it feels like forever!” She laughed, not offering anything else.
You nodded, your eyes traveling along the lace pattern on the tablecloth. “So, you were here during the Maximoff phenomenon?”
It was as if she hadn’t even heard you. “Did I tell you this wine is from Italy? It’s simply to die for,” She took another sip, then held a hand up next to her mouth as if she was sharing a secret. “Not like the box wine the Stevensons next door brought in the other day.” She laughed.
You forced a smile. “Agnes, I don’t want to be rude,” you said nervously. “I’ve just heard of the phenomenon, and... I can’t help but be a bit curious.”
A grin covered Agnes’ face. “The only phenomenon here is that ham turning out as good as it did! It’s been far too long since I’ve cooked one. So did you like the wine, dear?” She perched her chin on her left hand, swirling her wine in the other.
“Yes, it’s good,” you said earnestly. “But I’d really like to know more about you, Agnes.”
“Not much to know!” She winked. “I’m much more interested in your story, darling.”
You pursed your lips. Direct questions were getting you nowhere. Maybe, if you could just make it clear that you knew, that could somehow get through. Is she hearing me at all? Is she even conscious in there? You wondered again. But something in you knew that she was. If this was truly the same kind of control the townsfolk had been in, then the answer was yes. And it sounded terribly lonely.
“This is… going to sound strange.” You swallowed, trying to gather your courage.
“Oh hon, nothing as strange as what I’ve heard coming from 2A!”
You didn’t respond to the gossip. Instead, you took a breath, and looked directly into Agnes’ blue eyes. “I’ve been told you’re under some kind of mind-control, Agnes.” Your neighbor blinked, her grin unchanging and unnerving. “And if that’s true I just… wanted you to know that I know.” You looked down then, unable to hold her gaze. “I know you can’t really answer me. But if you need anything… I’m here.” You looked up nervously. Agnes’ grin had softened a bit, but her lips were still turned up in a soft smile. Her expressionless eyes were locked on yours. You took in a breath. “And whoever you are in there… I hope you’re okay.”
For a moment, Agnes just blinked, her soft smile unwavering. “Can you believe how cold it’s been this week?” She asked suddenly, her eyebrows raised and her grin back in place. “I mean, mother nature, please, we’re ready for spring!” She laughed.
Your heart sunk. You’d known there would be no answer. And you knew there’d be no indication that she’d heard you, or even cared. But still, maybe you’d hoped for one. And you couldn’t help but become frustrated. It stung. And the concern inside you was welling up into serious worry.
Agnes stood up then, gathering her plate in her hands. “I tell ya, winter seems to last longer and longer every year! We’re ready for the sun!” She came around the table then, reaching for your plate.
Before you could stop yourself - maybe before you even knew you were doing it - you reached out, and grabbed her wrist. For a moment, you froze, just holding her arm.
“Silly me, you wanted to put it away yourself didn’t you? Be a good guest and all that?” She didn’t move or pull away as she spoke, and her tone was light and sweet, as always. “You could’ve just said so!”
You didn’t look up, afraid you might lose your nerve as you held on to the woman in front of you. Instead, you took in a breath. “I’m going to leave soon. I just… wish you could tell me if you’re okay.” Your voice became soft. “I hope you’re okay.”
You released her, and looked up. Agnes was, of course, still smiling. She grabbed your plate off the table, setting it on top of hers. She looked from the plates to you, and playfully patted your shoulder. “Say, how’s the move-in coming? I completely forgot to ask!”
It was then that something strange happened. Agnes’ unchanging face was smiling down at you, waiting for a response. As you opened your mouth to speak, a tear appeared at the edges of Agatha’s eyes. You stared, wide-eyed. They began to roll down her cheeks. Her numb blue eyes were trained on you as you waited for her to react, or at least wipe it away. But she didn’t.
“Did you hear me sweetie?” She said, her tone unaffected as the tears continued. They rolled down to her chin, and came to rest on her mauve sweater. She made no move to dry her face, or acknowledge it, and she didn’t continue to cry. But you knew what you saw.
She’s in there. You thought, heart racing. She’s in there and she heard me.
Your heart pounded. You swallowed, refocusing on her question. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” you said. Through all of the worry you’d had, you couldn’t help but feel some kind of relief. Maybe even excitement. You’d reached her, somehow. You had succeeded, at least a tiny bit. “It’s been tough unpacking everything, there’s a lot.” You smiled, staring at her blue eyes. “But I’m definitely making progress.”