Regrets and Age Old Grievances (Wanda)
When Wanda would think about it later, actively thinks some on all that had led her here, she’d regret the whole of it all.
When she’d have the chance to dwell, reconsider, and take in the events of the last several days, the last several hours if she was honest, she’d weep and regret every part of it, some parts more than others obviously.
She’d regret it in that moment, she’d regret it later on, and she was certain she’d regret it all for the rest of her natural lifetime.
But that was later, this was now and in this moment. And here, now, she had to focus.
Focus, like she’s struggled to in Lagos, focus like she had in Strucker’s tests, focus on Steve’s commands- Focus.
Focus on herself, on Clint lying partially sprawled on the floor a few feet away where he’d been practically dropped from Vision’s arms, focus on oh dear sweet Vision being practically folded in half into the floor before her. Focus.
Focus, she thought. With that moment, Wanda flexed her hands again, her wrists almost creaking with the weight of it, and her power pulsed and flared again. The sparks and energy twists almost feeling hot, the energy of it all humming in her very bones.
With every pulse and twist of her energy, her magic as pietro had occasionally called it, Vision was sent bending even farther back from her, his synthetic bones whining and hinging as he moved against the floor, which crackled and splintered underneath him. Bit by bit by bit, the synthoid grew heavier, his joints hissing and hinging with every moment, falling farther from the brunette and her trembling hands. He’d try to speak to her then, call positively on their conversation and get all this to stop- but here and now, Wanda couldn’t bring herself to stop, couldn’t bring herself to breath and cut the power as it flailed between her fingers.
Though, even now, in this moment of tension and of stress, the upset of choosing sides, Wanda couldn’t really help but reflect, recall. She thought back to their kitchen conversation, their kind words and shared moment.
When she and Vision had spoken before, the attempts of Visions’ cooking still wafting in the air, they’d spoken. Spoke of their differences, their experiences, and of all the things that made them strange on a team surrounded by strange people, they’d connected. Wanda could admit that she’d been high-strung and almost buzzing with the energy of the day, the feeling of the world’s eyes pointed squarely on her while there was still sand and dust in he hair- it set her teeth on edge. She would absolutely say that she’d appreciated Vision’s efforts, the moment of connection and affection she’d felt in that moment had helped to make her a little more whole, a little more breathable. She would also absolutely say that those feelings were, admittedly, tapered slightly with the sharp realization that she was not permitted to leave the compound, that vision specifically was discouraging her leaving. And yes, she could understand why.
She knew, admittedly, on a theoretical and removed level. The news reports, the politicians, and the crowds were a very constant reminder that she and the team had a world of eyes on them, that she in particular was being watched. It stung, more than she’d wanted to admit, a numbingly sharp reminder that outside these walls, she was questioned and picked apart by people who didn’t even know her or her story, that she was different, strange, and the whole world knew it. She knew what was being said, that there were people in the street shouting for her head and name, she knew.
But that all seemed like noise now, as her fingers stung and her powers flared in the air around her.
But then, when she and Vision had spoken about their abilities, Vision had been candid, honest, and open. It was expected of someone like Vision, who was so young and so yearning for connection, but when he spoke so openly about the stone that sat blindly on his brow-line, he was honest beyond was expected.
When he spoke of the stone, The stone that granted Wanda her own powers, she’d thought passingly then, the stone used on her, on Pietro, on all those that had joined up with List and Strucker, He’d spoken of it all. The strengths, the controls, the fear he held at his lack of knowledge for it and the source of it’s powers, or why it allowed the abilities it did. He’d confessed deeply that he feared it in some ways, feared the sheer power of it and the capabilities just waiting behind a wall of knowledge. Wanda had confessed the same, a fear of powers at he command and a hope for a normalcy she feared she would never receive, she’d appreciated it. The conversation, that moment between them, had help to ground her in this moment of strung fears and anxieties, even if the initial interaction ended unpleasantly, she would still recall on it positively.
And again, Wanda could confess that she appreciated and sought out that connection, it was now hers. That connection of confessed fear and confusion- it was now her advantage.
When Wanda had said she couldn’t control other people’s fears, she hadn’t meant it to be a lie, she’d wanted so truly to mean it.
“I can’t control their fears,” she’d said, and it was a lie, such a vicious lie it tore up her tongue as she said it. “I can’t control their fears, only my own.” She’d lied, because when it came down to it, that’s what she did. Controlled, created, twisted and made.
She couldn’t control their fears of her, because she couldn’t even bring herself to control her own, not now, and wasn’t that just a foolish waste?
When she and Pietro had been in Sokovia, they’d gone through hell to get to where they ended up. The loss of their parents at 10, the years of struggling through poverty and scrounging to make it through a day, only to meet List. They’d been freshly 18 or so when they’d met him, young but old enough as her father would say, and List had promised them the world, the chance to change the world as he wanted, he’d said. They’d agreed, what else could they have done? All the poking and prodding that came with List’s experiments, the nonstop pressure and pushing from Strucker to be his next great weapon, his miracles as he called them, the training to control their newfound abilities, and the tests to push themselves even furthur than before.
All of it, it had been grueling, tormenting even, and some days she’d wished she’d never passed the exposure to the stone and scepter.
Those, though, were distant thoughts now. Distant thoughts, especially now that Pietro was gone and all she had left was her little sparks between her fingers, all she could at least recall Strucker’s first and most prominent lesson: control.
Some of the first control she properly held after she received her powers was over others. Control over others, and specifically their fears, she thought hypocritically. The training, interrogations, experimentations, all to work on controlling the feeling of that red spark between her fingers, to control so she may twist, create, move, and tear apart with the thread strings that were her powers. Strucker often called it a miracle, called her a miracle for the powers she had, she would always call it her inner strength shown true.
Yet, here she was, after all this time and all of that training, and she was failing. She’d so deeply wanted to believe her prior own words, wanted so desperately to believe herself despite the lies pushing past her teeth, because the loss of control over her own fear was a loss to herself and everything she’d done, all she’d lost and gone through to get to here. She would admit later on when she sat alone, shaking and quiet, that she was taking after the passive Red Room training even Natasha couldn’t seem to shake after all this time, far more than she’d have liked.
Taking what was then meant to be a comforting conversation, a moment of connection between the two of them, teammates who could relate to each other, what with being so powered compared to the others on their team all while being so far removed from the every-man.. and here she was, using it to her advantage not an hour later.
But now, with the last few days and their events; the dust and sand that sat heavy in her lungs that she felt she’d never get out no matter how much she coughed, those heavy looks of fear in the marketplace as they continued, the fire and ash in the air, the men on the tv berating and tearing her down, talking about her as if she’d never hear, it was driving her mad. How close she’d gotten when she’d thrown the knife at Clint was reference enough, every thrumming muscle on end just barely keeping her from burying that blade in the blonde’s head, she could feel the weight of it all in her bones. And that’s what it came to, at the end of this day. Everyone telling her what to do, where to go and where to stay, how to feel, how to fear.
She was tired of it, so tired of it she thought her teeth would crack from the tense pressure of it all. Her powers humming inside of her this whole time, her nerves almost on fire with it all.
She could and would admit that, especially since Pietro’s death, her powers offered a comforting wake, even now in this moment of aggression, of fight. A silent strength, a force to be reckoned with deep in her soul.
She was done, now. With all of it, this had gone on for far too long.
Coming back to herself, forcing those thoughts and those fears away, Wanda flexed those unsaid strengths from within her.
She rolled her hands, feeling the mass of energy twist in her hands as Vision folded farther away from Wanda, farther into the floor. The concrete tiles of the compound floor spider-webbed out from underneath him, crumbling with every added pound. Even from where Wanda stood, she could feel the flex of the floor, the tiles shifting and the deep-set rebar folding away from beneath the synth. Even in this moment of everything pouring free between them, she could feel Vision’s heart through her connection to the stone. That word again, a connection between them, the idea felt almost bittersweet now.
Her anger, her budding resentment at him, at Stark, at Steve even, at everyone was slammed headfirst into the brick wall that was his uncertainties, his fear and unease as he lost more and more control of his body. His feelings budded more and more, so fresh, so new, unused to these feelings spilling forward, it all reached a would-be peak as the floor finally gave way beneath him.
The floor gave way, the dust of the concrete and tile filled the air, and Wanda could feel her control, still strong, lessen more and more as the remaining floors slammed past the synthoid. With every floor, every bit of concrete and rebar and force, thump, thump, thump.
A different kind of dust filled the air and with it, blinding her for a moment before she’d turned to Clint. With that, the crumbling of concrete and the dust in the air, Wanda felt freer than she had in days.
They had to move, and quickly. The night had only begun and the morning light ahead of them held more grief to bare.