Chapter Text
Chapter one
There is a ringing in her ears that hasn’t stopped since the fight at the airport, when War Machine had blasted her with something that Tony Stark had added to that suit of his. Of course it was someone like Tony Stark to add such things to a mechanical suit that was already filled to the brink with deadly machinery. She wished she could put her hands over her ears to make the noise stop, but the straight jacket held her arms tightly crossed over her stomach.
Instead the only free movement she currently had was tensing her jaw in the hopes that she could invoke pain there and make it leave her ears, if only for a few seconds of reprieve. Her shoulders were aching from the forced position they had been in for days on end now.
How long had it even been? A week? A month? Just a few days? Maybe she was hallucinating and it had only been a few minutes, or maybe she was so far gone in her own brain that it had been a decade. No she was certain it wasn’t that dramatic yet.
It had been long enough though, to have her hair start to feel greasy, and her head was starting to itch from it. She was sure she looked horrid. The electric shock collar didn’t help either. She could still feel the occasional twitch go through her body from how the guards had abused the funny red button that made the Sokovian cry out in pain.
Oh how they had laughed at her when she was brought down to nothing more than a shuddering mess on the floor of her cell, tears streaming down her cheeks. They had jeered at her, mocking her that she couldn't use her funny red powers now. No. She was powerless.
It brought her mind back to how powerless she had felt when that bomb fell down into her living room. Ready to explode. Little red light blinking at her, mocking her just as these guards did. You have no power to change anything in this situation. You just have to wait like a little girl with no way to save yourself until someone comes for you . However, no one came for her. Her parents were dead. Not even closing her eyes and wishing against all hopes that it was just a bad dream had helped. The TV playing on loop. Mocking her too, because there, it had been just a dream. Here, it was the stark reality. Oh the irony of calling it her Stark reality.
Her mind really liked playing with her, she had found. Seeing irony where it shouldn’t be, and playing some of her most horrible memories on loop. What else was there to do when one was in solitary confinement. Interesting that solitary confinement is seen as inhumane for how it tortures a mind, and yet here she was left alone without a care. She doubted she was even seen as human by any of them.
Was she even seen as human by anyone? Pietro sees her as human. Correction, he saw her as human. Her twin. The one person on this entire planet, no in this entire universe, that understood her. He was always in her corner, helping her, listening to her. Making sure that she was taken care of. He always said it was his duty as an older brother. 12 minutes older , but it has still been enough for him to always treat her as his baby sister. It was a feeling she had treasured. She had felt so safe when he looked out for her.
Her brother was the one that suggested getting out from under the rubble. He was the one that had held her hand, pulling her out. He was the one that had looked for food. He was the one that had looked for shelter. She had followed, trusting in her brother, that he would still care for her. Who would help her now? Who would care for her now?
No one. That was what she would need to accept. Steve wasn’t coming for her, too busy focusing on his winter soldier. She could hardly blame him. They seemed to have a connection that shouldn’t be broken. Natasha wasn’t coming for her. She understood, she had gone against Natasha’s wishes by helping Steve. During the fight she had even hurt her with her magic. She had harmed Natasha. Not once, but twice. Even if Natasha had told her that she had been forgiven for the first time when she invaded her mind, Wanda knew that it was an unforgivable action.
She had done so much harm, too much harm. A few weeks of stolen moments where they had cooked for one another and watched sitcoms wasn’t enough to erase that. She had longed then, to lean in and press a kiss to those soft looking lips. Or to run her hands through her red locks as they sat on the couch together. But, she hadn’t, she had restrained herself. Only friendly touches. A hand on the shoulder, a quick hug goodnight, a soft hand squeeze for comfort. Oh how she longed for one of those touches now.
Her thoughts are interrupted as she hears her cell door being opened. Four guards enter her cell. Always four guards. In the beginning they had been six, so she guesses she should count herself lucky they find her at least two guards less dangerous. She closes her eyes as they close her cell door behind them. Click…click…click , the sound of the three different locks being locked on her cell door. She listens to the footsteps, identifying them. The one guard that had continued administering shocks until she saw black spots in her vision and fell unconscious isn’t here this time. Their footsteps are burnt into her brain.
“Well, you know the drill. You do anything, we shock you into oblivion.” One of the guards with a smooth voice tells her. If it weren’t for the malice in that voice, she could come to enjoy hearing it, she guesses. Instead she finally opens her eyes and looks at the guard that spoke.
She can’t tell if their eyes are blue or grey, the shadow the helmet of their uniform casts makes it difficult. But since a mask covers the rest of the face, the blue or grey eyes are the only tidbit she gets. She gives a slow nod. Oh, moving her head hurts. She hadn’t realized she had a headache. Too deep in her own brain perhaps.
A different guard then the one that had spoken, steps forward. She knows this is a female guard. It’s because she only complies with any physical touch if a female guard does it. She doesn’t trust the men. The first time they had given a male guard the task of feeding her and giving her water. She had used the last bit of magic she could muster in her state and slung him against a wall, before muttering she doesn’t want a man close to her. She’s been burnt too much to know what men in positions of power are capable of.
When the woman gets close enough Wanda recognizes her. She is one of the few that doesn’t look at her like she is a bomb ready to explode. There is a bowl filled with something in her hands. The metal spoon in the bowl shows her truly how horribly she looks. Her reflection is one that she loathes seeing. She had sworn she wouldn’t ever be under someone’s thumb again after Hydra and Ultron, but here she was. Worse than then.
The food doesn’t taste of anything and it makes her want to gag. She misses the moments she was granted with Natasha. When she had been allowed a glimpse of what it would be like to be domestic with someone. She cooked as Natasha sat and watched. She had cooked her favorite once, Paprikash. She had only ever shared the dish with Pietro before, so giving Natasha this part of her was a big deal, but she had done it without hesitation. The redhead had been so impressed with her, the compliments and praise could almost make her smile now. Almost .
She is pulled back to the present when a guard addresses her with words again. However, she had been so far away in thought that she didn’t catch what was said. She looks over all the four faces to place who spoke, but she couldn’t read it from any of them. A sense of dread fills her as she sees one guard’s hand reach down to an all-too-familiar remote. Apparently she was looking threatening enough for the guard to be scared.
The silence fills the cell as she waits for one of the guards to repeat themself. Her eyes flitting from one face to the other. The female guard that had fed her had now taken several steps back. Had she scared her? Does she also see her as a monster after all?
What Wanda doesn’t see, is that in her attempt to read the guards, to see who had spoken, her eyes had sparked scarlet for a split second. What she doesn’t see now, that in her stress growing, the green is drained from her eyes, replaced by red. Magic on autopilot .
What she does see is one guard opening their mouth to speak to her. This guard is cut off by the one furthest in the back, the one with their hand on the remote, as they press the red button.
Electricity pulses through her system as she cries out in pain. The band around her neck burns and her body spasms in ways she can’t control. Somewhere far away she hears the female guard, the kind one, gasp and call out for it to stop. She hears another answer in a low voice that Wanda had threatened them by using magic. Another answer from someone else stating that this has been enough. She can’t hear them well over the ringing in her ears and the burning in her body.
Then the electricity stops. The ring lowers and she slumps over, no energy left to keep her body in an upright position. Her eyes can’t focus as the world around her is blurry. She sees a pair of combat boots step close to her. Feels a pair of hands on her shoulders as she is set upright again. The world spinning for a moment as she is helped. Her eyes focus again and she sees the brown eyes of that kind one staring back at her.
She swears she hears her mutter a soft I’m sorry before the guard retreats back to her colleagues. The tense atmosphere hasn’t really abated yet, and now she questions if she has ruined her chance at drinking something. She’d only had food before this happened.
When the guards start to carefully open each lock, one by one, she is sure. Her little mishap has cost her her water for the day. She closes her eyes again willing the thoughts of thirst to dissipate. Footsteps walk further away from her. A door closes, and three clicks follow it. She is alone again. For at least a day, but who knows how long they will leave her alone here. According to them she had used magic to threaten them. A transgression that could lead to a punishment. A punishment like no food for a day, which could grant her loneliness for two days straight. A whole 48 hours before she would see someone—anyone— again.
She doesn’t know how long it's been since the guards have left her cell, but the after-tremors of the electricity have finally gone down again. Her hands unclenching from inside of the straight jacket. She wonders if she will ever be let out of here. Or, if this is the fate that has been assigned to her now.
Perhaps she deserves this. She did cause all those deaths in Lagos. If she had just been able to control her magic better, she could have turned that explosion away from the building. She could have saved so many lives. However, she apparently wasn’t destined for that. From what she had seen of her own life, it seemed like she was only here to cause damage. To cause harm to others, to be used as a weapon.
She feels herself spiral. She knows it's what she’s doing. It is a common occurencesince her parents died. Normally Pietro was there to coax her out of it, or more recently even Natasha had been able to help her. Instead she was all alone, in a cell, trapped in a way so she couldn't even move her arms or hands.
With her eyes closed she can almost imagine herself in a world where she can move her arms. Curl her hands around her magic. Walk freely along the Avengers Compound. See her dearest friend Natasha. But Natasha looks at her with disappointment. Looks at her like she is a killer. She is. Looks at her like she is a monster. Is she? This imagined scenario isn’t fun anymore, but she can’t shake it off. Instead she hears Natasha’s voice. Hears the berating words, the accusing tone. Feels her hands connect with her shoulders as Nat pushes her away. “ You betrayed me” it bounces as an echo in her skull.
This is why no one will ever rescue her from here. The one person that was her actual friend, she betrayed. She wonders then, if Natasha had maybe already freed Clint? They were best friends after all. He was even pulling his punches during the fight at the airport. They had a bond that couldn't simply be broken by a little spat like that. No, Natasha would definitely free Clint. He deserves freedom, he belongs with his wife and children. He has a family he can return to. She doesn’t. She doesn’t have anything. Doesn’t have anyone. Why would anyone care about her being here?
She finally shakes off her imagined scenario with Natasha. She can still feel the point of impact where she was shoved by the redhead. Almost as if it really happened. Or maybe she just feels the remnants of touch where the female guard had helped her upright.
She really needs to pull it together; to separate her imagination from reality. It was a difficult feat, close to a Herculean task. When you don't see anyone for almost 24 hours on end, and only get a break from the loneliness for minutes at a time, it gets fuzzy. The lines blur.
Unaware of the passage of time,she drifts off and falls asleep a while later. In her dreams, the death of her brother gets replayed. Again and again she feels her connection with her twin be severed in the most brutal of ways. His warmth ripped away from her. His lifeless face, his chest filled with bullets as his suit was colored crimson instead of blue. She wasn’t even there to stop him from dying. She wasn’t even there to at least hold his hand as he went.
She wakes up in a cold sweat and with Pietro’s name on her lips. Her joints are stiff and her back aches. She looks around for any change, but it's still the same old walls of her cell. She wonders if the others are also separated from one another, or if they only saw fit to do that to her. She was the only one with powers after all. Maybe Clint, Sam and Scottk have already been rescued. Maybe they were even just simply released. It seems that they were most scared of her anyway. She didn’t see any of them being restrained like she was. Fitted with a shock collar like she was.
But then again, they weren’t a monster like she was. A freak of nature. The word “monster” echoes in her head. The hateful looks from the guards only fanned the flames . Their words are still fresh in her mind even if it was… days ago? Weeks? The ringing in her ears resumes once again. She wonders if this was an actual medical result of the blast during the fight at the airport, or if it's just because she is spiraling. Could be both.
Time feels diluted here. She can’t seem to keep a grasp on it. One moment she had just woken up from her nightmares of her brother, and the other her cell door was being opened once again, but after her transgression she doubted someone would enter her cell so soon. Was it even soon? Maybe it had already been 24 or even 48 hours. She has lost her sense of time in here like that before.
She hadn’t heard the three clicks of the locks either. She looks up to see who this is, what is happening. Instead of seeing masked faces with helmets and heavy combat boots, she sees a face she knows? It’s missing the usual red locks of hair to frame it, though. Now short platinum blond frames a face that had given her great comfort once. Now she is sure she is losing it. She didn’t know she had it in her to hallucinate such a realistic vision, but it doesn’t surprise her either.
She can’t reach out to check if she’s real, but how could she be? She betrayed her. She does wonder why she has hallucinated Natasha with blonde hair. She has never seen her with hair like this.
Natasha stands still in her cell, doesn’t move closer to the broken woman sat on the floor of the cell. If she were real she would have gotten closer already. Would have helped her. Or maybe if she were real this is exactly what she would do. Look down upon Wanda, see her get what she deserves. A punishment that fits her crimes. With her eyes half lidded from exhaustion she looks Natasha straight in her eyes.
The malice she expects to find there, the one she saw in her imagined scenario, isn’t there. There is shock, the mouth open, audible gasp kind of shock. Not that she hears her gasp, the ringing in her ears is too loud for that. But she can imagine it. She’s been imagining a lot of things lately.
Then this hallucinated Natasha moves closer to her. Mouth moving, forming words that don't reach Wanda’s ears. Why listen to what the hallucination is saying, when all her imagination can give her is hatred. Better to listen to whatever is going on in her ears, than try and hear words.
A hand touches her cheek and she startles. Is she still dreaming? A hallucination wouldn’t feel real like this, right? Maybe her waking up from her nightmare wasn’t her waking up at all. Maybe she is still asleep. The hand immediately retracts when she reacts physically to it.
Again words are said but they sound so far away. Then, hands move to the contraption around her neck. She braces herself for the pain that surely comes, but it doesn’t. Instead the pressure is taken off of her neck and she is freed from it. Before she can compute what is happening, the straight jacket is loosened from around her form. Her arms finally, finally , free to move again. She wants to cry, what a good dream she is having. How could she deserve such a good, sweet dream like being given freedom by the one person she wanted to see the most.
She tries to not enjoy it too much; waking from this would crush her, she thinks. No, it would end her. She would have to accept that she would probably never be free again after having tasted it like this in her dreams.
Strong but gentle arms lift her from the floor. Why is she being touched with such gentleness, such kindness? More far away words are spoken, but she doesn’t want to register them. Too afraid it would break this moment and wake her. The arms try to get her to stand on her own, but her legs after weeks of little to no food and almost no movement, won't carry her. She starts to sink to the ground, but those gentle arms catch her.
She is encircled by these arms, and lifted from the floor. One arm under her legs, the other holding her waist. A bridal carry, oh brain how could you torture me so? A touch she has longed for so intensely, now being given to her in a dream.
She finally begins to doubt this is a dream when she is carried into an aircraft that she hasn’t seen before. Or if she had, hadn't registered it enough to remember the details that she was now witnessing. She was carried to a room with bright white lights and medical equipment. She hears voices talk. Some sound surprised, others sound angry. She doesn’t hear any of them over the questions that keep repeating in her mind.
Finally a soft whisper leaves her mouth “это правда?” Is this real? Is this real? Is this real? The question repeats in her mind. Her mind is quiet enough though, to hear the response from a voice she has missed so intensely.
“Yes Wanda, this is real.”