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Erik stood in front of the worn down cabin.
It had been a long time since he had been there and even longer since he even thought of stepping foot back on the grounds that in the distance grew to mountains. The air was colder out there, cleaner and colder. Filling and emptying his chest with every breath. Memories that seemed to wrap around his throat, pulling at his soul and mind as if it was Charles in front of him and not a mere cabin.
Erik inhaled deeply, trying to push it all away. The grief that never left. The pain he couldn't escape. The anger. The anger that always threatened to ruin everything he held so closely, his grip turning to the metal he always favored and crushing all he loved. He exhaled, feeling it fade but never leave. It never did. Just as he knew it never would. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to walk forward, his boots crunching on the old dirt. Grass was growing through the dirt that had once gone up in flames with all Erik had once known, moss creeping up the sides of the cabin that he had rebuilt years and years ago, in an attempt to bring back what he had lost.
Erik swallowed as he walked up the steps, hand hesitating over the door.
If he was a better man, a man like Charles, he would know what to do. What to say. He would knock and know the perfect thing to say and way to act.
He was not a better man. And he was not Charles. He knocked. And when he did it was full of fear and unknowing. Erick knocked without knowing a single thing of what he would say or do, he knocked full of fear. He knocked feeling as human as he had ever had been since he wore those damned stripes. So he knocked, full of fear, and full of emotions that he had pushed away so many times over the years.
The door slowly creaked open.
There stood his daughter.
Her curly dark red tinted brown hair was frizzy and untamed, her layers of skirts blew in the wind, old oversized shirt hanging off of her too small body. She had deep circles under her eyes that seemed to carve out lines on her face under those pale green blue eyes that seemed to echo his in a thousand ways. She looked so sad. She looked so broken.
At the mere sight, Erik felt his heart crack in two.
"My daughter," He whispered, voice fracturing
Wanda's eyes filled with tears as she stepped forward across the threshold of the cabin.
She looked so grown up. So grown up and broken. Pain etching it's way into her face, her face that he had known to be so full of life and joy. In a way that reminded him of sweet little Anya, in a way that seemed to be the same joy that Magda always emitted. It was all gone now. Nothing left but pain and guilt, nothing left but an echo of himself.
It made his heart jump in his throat, pushing against his throat, making him want to scream and cry and hold his daughter all at once. He had wanted to protect her. So many times, so many bad choices and and all he had every wanted was to protect her. Protect her from the cruelness that humans inately forced upon those who were different. Protect her from all that he had suffered from. Protect her even from her brother who claimed the want to protect her too.
"I-I am so sorry Wanda," Erik whispered, "No parent should ever have to bury their child."
Wanda took another step, tears falling down her hallowed cheeks, skin sickly tawny color so pale from her tanned skin. The wood of the porch creaked under her bare feet, and in the distance the trees whistled in the wind. She stepped forward and fell into his arms, sobs racking her form.
Erik caught her swiftly, falling to his knees as she crumpled to nothing. He felt tears fall down his face as he held his daughter. Oh how the world had broke her, beaten in her ways that Erik knew all too well, and Erik hated it. He hated how he could not save her. Could not help her. Could not fix everything. He hated that he could not protect her. He could not protect his daughter.
Erik hadn't been able to protect little Anya.
And he hadn't been able to protect Wanda.
She cried, tears leaking from her eyes to his shirt as Wanda sobbed, broken and tired. He held her, rocking her softly, hand in her hair. Erik remembered when she was young, screaming for help after a nightmare about the villagers who threatened to burn her alive, she had been so small and young. Pietro curled up next to her, trying to calm her down, but nothing helped. Not until Erik showed up, soothing her and telling her promises that she was safe and he would protect her. Pietro had known it was a lie. Just as Erik did. He could not protect all he loved.
"I am so sorry my daughter," Erik choked, eyes clenching shut, "No one should ever feel such pain. You should never feel such pain."
Wanda just cried harder, hands clenching his shirt, her rings cutting into her skin.
He knew this pain would haunt her for the rest of her days. The loss of a child was something that never left, this he knew well. The grief would sneak up from behind, attacking when everything seems to be okay, stealthy like an assassin, and the blade of a god that could not break. It cut. And it cut deep. The reminders. The reminders in a mother walking by with a child. The reminders in an empty spot in old pictures. The reminders in days passing and years going on. Birthdays passing and unable to think of how old they would be.
Anya's death haunted him.
William and Thomas's death would haunt his daughter.
And they would haunt him too.
His grandchildren he would never get to see grow old. His grandchildren he had seen fade to nothing, and the Harkness witch's fingers glowing purple as she unwound their souls and the reality his daughter had created. His grandchildren he would never get to know. Another chance he was given, another chance at having a family, a chance he knew he didn't deserve, a chance ripped away. Not only from him. But from his daughter. His daughter who was far more good than he ever was. His daughter who had left him and his cause, just to do the right thing. His daughter who never wanted to kill or hurt someone. His daughter who was good, light and life itself.
"Father," She whispered, voice full of so much pain Erik broke for her all over again, "Father I am so tired."
Erik shut his eyes tighter, tears falling as he held her closer.
He could not save her from this pain. From this immoveable and unavoidable pain that will consume her. He could not protect her. He could not fix it nor solve it by bending metal. He could not craft things from iron to help or place a force field around her to block the pain.
He could not do anything but hold her.
---
The cabin door stood open still and the mountain air clear and crisp around them, cold air brushing against their skin. For once, in a very long time, a father held his daughter as she cried. The world was not quiet in their grief for a life lost, time did not stop, and the world did not freeze in their pain. The birds chirped in the distance around them and the trees rustled with every gust of wind. The old wood floors of the cabin creaked with age and the wind chimes that hung on the porch sung melodies of better days.
The father was not Magneto. He was not a soldier, not a victim, not a killer or villian.
The daughter was not the Scarlet Witch. Was not a fighter, not a manipulator, or a liar.
The father was not a grandfather to twins.
And the daughter was not a mother to twins who still lived.
The father did not share blood with the daughter.
And the daughter didn't have the same last name as her father.
Maybe in another life things were different. Maybe the daughter was a mother, bright and full of joy like she once was. Maybe she held her sons proudly in front of her father as they babbled randomly. Maybe the father was a grandfather, holding his daughter close simply out of happiness and not grief. Maybe the father knew how to find the words that choked in his throat. Maybe in another life they didn't have to bury their children. Maybe in another life the daughter was raised with another sister. Maybe in another life the twins were raised with another aunt.
Maybe in another life things were different.
But that is not their reality.
Wanda clung to Erik until the skies turned to dusk, painting orange and yellow across the mountains.
Witch and mutant.
A childless mother and a father who never wanted one of his children to know that pain.
Magic and metal.
Daughter and father.