forcing a smile
Walking beside Iron Man and Black Widow through the Avenger’s compound feels strange.
I’m a homeless teenager with a lengthy criminal score, and yet, superheros flank me on both sides. Our feet move in synchronicity, and despite the ocean of morals and privileges that separate us, it almost feels like I’m one of them. A white knight with the confidence of a god and the authority of a president. For a minute, it feels good to be revered as I walk down the halls. Compound employees buzz around, but almost everyone that we pass takes at least a glance in our direction. The immunity of the heroes spills onto me, and for the first time in nine years, I’m met with eyes that hold respect instead of scorn.
I’m not sure where we’re headed, but unlike the last few days of being yanked onto buildings, flown across states, and locked in prisons, I don’t feel afraid to get there. I finally feel like there’s a sense of trust between me and these people, however precarious it might be. I’m getting my answers, one way or another.
A familiar voice hits my ear. It’s distant at first, but quickly approaching. Steve Rogers rounds the corner, walking towards us with a young boy who speaks to him enthusiastically. Their words are nearly lost to the bustling noises of the wide hallway, but I manage to make out their conversation. “I won’t break it, I promise. Actually, I don’t think I could even break it if I tried.” The boy is a few inches shorter than Steve, with curly brown hair and eyes like coffee.
Steve smirks. “You’d find a way.”
“Please, Mr. Rogers,” the boy begs, having to walk much faster than the captain to keep up with his pace. “It’s a physics class. Your shield defies the laws of physics. It’s the perfect thing to do my project on.”
“Peter, how are you planning on explaining to your classmates how you got Captain America’s shield?” Steve asks. But his voice isn’t the familiar one I heard.
The boy, Peter, has a distinctively youthful voice with a light tone and warm inflections. It’s one that I’ve heard before and remember well.
In an alley, calling me to the rooftops.
Peter tilts his head thoughtfully. “I didn’t think of—” His eyes meet mine as we pass, and color rushes to his cheeks. His face is plastered with recognition. He knows me, and by his reaction, I’m suddenly sure that I know him.
I turn around, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Spiderman,” I say.
Peter’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t look back. Steve does, and all he manages is a sigh.
“Oh, hell,” Stark complains, noticing our interaction. “Parker, what are you doing here?”
Peter spins around. “Mr. Stark!” he exclaims, flustered.
Stark looks at his watch. “Don’t you have science class right now?”
“Analytical mechanics,” Peter corrects. His eyes flick over to me awkwardly.
“Nice to see you again, Spidey,” I smirk.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never met you before in my life.”
“Let’s not do this again.” His denial on the rooftops comes back to me, and by the defeat in his eyes, I can tell it comes back to him, too.
He crosses his arms begrudgingly. “How did you know?”
“Your voice,” I explain.
He presses his palm to his forehead. “I am such an idiot. I shouldn’t have come here.”
“It’s not you,” I clarify. “I’ve got a knack for this sort of thing, remember?” I think back to that night, when I unraveled his secrets before he’d barely spoken a word.
“Hey. Parker.” Stark calls his attention back. “What are you doing here?”
Peter huffs. “I just wanted to borrow something for a project,” he mumbles.
“My shield,” Steve reveals.
There’s a brief silence. “Normally,” Stark starts, “I’d be offended that you went to someone else with a physics question. But we’ve got more important things going on. Hit the road, Pete.”
“What kind of things?” Peter asks, glancing at me.
“Rogers, I’ve been calling you for an hour,” Stark scolds, ignoring Peter.
Steve pulls his phone from his pocket, holding it like a wet sock. I can immediately tell it’s a 2011 Samsung Trender— I remember shoplifting one of those from a pawn shop the day after the taxi. “Is that what that buzzing was?”
“You fought Nazis in the forties, but answering a phone call is too difficult?” Stark asks.
“I’m from a different time,” Steve defends, and judging by the collective groan from the others, I’m guessing this is an excuse he uses often.
“You’ve been living in this time for fifteen years.” Stark shakes his head. “When we’re done with this, I’m getting you a phone from this century.”
“Done with what?” Peter asks.
“Do I need to tell Aunt May that you were skipping class?”
“Come on,” Peter argues. “I’m an Avenger, remember? I can help.”
“No chance,” Stark insists. “This is above your pay grade.”
“Please, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s voice is full of ambition. “Let me help.”
Stark sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Come back after class,” he concedes. “After you do your homework.”
Peter nearly jumps for joy. “Yes! Thank you, Mr. Stark.” He turns, running down the hall in excitement.
Stark watches after him wistfully. “He turned twenty in August and he’s already halfway through a doctorate degree,” he remarks, his pride evident in his tone.
“Weren’t you working on your second at his age?” Steve asks.
“We can’t all be geniuses, Rogers,” Stark quips. He turns to me. “Come on.” He waves me forward. “Let’s get the ugly stuff over with before Doogie Howser comes back.”
“Uh,” I squeak nervously. “Ugly stuff?” But Stark is already walking away. I jog to catch up, Steve and Natasha following. “Hey,” I pant. “What ugly stuff?”
He turns a corner, and we’re faced with a reinforced steel door. There’s a panel on the wall beside, composed of a small, dark screen. Stark steps forward, and the screen flickers to life. A red line of light drags across his face vertically, then horizontally. The glimmer lasers in on his left eye, scanning over his iris with a glowing red grid. The screen repeats the process on his right eye.
“Retinal scan complete.” A feminine computerized voice emerges from the panel. “Identity confirmed. Welcome, Anthony Edward Stark.” At that, the steel door opens with a mechanical clang.
Stark pulls the door open wider, stepping inside. I hesitate before following, doubting his integrity. Wondering if I can really trust these people, or if this is another trap.
But I do follow, because even if I don’t trust Stark, I do trust Natasha. She promised to give me the answers I’ve spent my life searching for. As she trails into the room, I know there’s at least one person in there that I can count on.
The space is massive, with sixty foot ceilings and at least five thousand square feet of open floor space. The roof is glass and the space is bright. I take in my surroundings, noticing the racks of weapons on the walls. Axes, swords, knives, bows, guns, and everything between litter the sides of the room. There’s dozens of different sizes and designs of each. Enough firepower for a militia, just decorations on the walls.
I spot the row of punching bags along the left wall, and the dozens of workout machines along the right. The middle area of the room is unobstructed by machinery, marked by a raised section of padded floor that almost looks like a wrestling court.
And in the center of the mat is Wanda Maximoff.
She’s dressed casually, in gray sweatpants and a black tank top. Her auburn hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and her eyes are bright with curiosity. I can see her mouth move in the shape of my name, and although she’s forty feet away, I can hear her voice calling me softly, as if her lips are beside my ear.
Stark makes a sound of protest. “That never gets less creepy,” he complains. At my confused expression, he clarifies. “Mind games.” He taps his temple. “You heard her whisper your name, right?”
I nod, aghast.
“So did I. Except I heard Tony.” Stark looks over at the others. Natasha and Steve nod in agreement.
I try to keep my jaw from falling on the floor. I’m sure that whisper trick was barely a shadow of her true potential, and it has still left me speechless. Wanda’s powers are truly remarkable.
Maybe terrifying is a better word.
“Wanda,” Stark calls. “Be a human for a minute, alright?”
I watch in awe as her form begins to glow, lit by scarlet light. Her sneakers lift off of the ground, and all at once, she’s being propelled through the air by nothing more than her mind. She floats over to us, landing with grace.
“Violet.” Her features twinkle with a hint of a smile. “Nice to see you again.” Her hand stretches out towards me.
I shake it gingerly. It’s warm and soft, and if I didn’t know what she was capable of, her radiance might be enough to charm me into trusting her. But I’ve seen her power firsthand, and I’ve heard enough stories to know the rest. The Scarlet Witch is not someone you want to get close to.
“Thanks.” The word surprises me when it bursts from my lips. By the look on her face, I can tell it surprises her, too. “The explosion,” I explain, feeling a flush of colour in my cheeks. “You contained it. You put the ring back on my finger.” I stop my rambling there, but when her eyes flare with the tiniest hint of crimson, I know she hears the things I don’t say. You stopped me from doing something really horrible. You saved their lives.
I hadn’t realized how grateful I felt to her for limiting my destruction. I may be afraid of the things she can do, but she’s the only reason that my accidental detonation didn’t destroy the entire compound and kill five Avengers.
“You don’t have to thank me,” she says.
“Yeah.” My mouth feels dry. “I do.”
That same whisper of a smile lightens her eyes. “Violet, do you know why you’re here?”
I look over at Stark, then back to Wanda. “No,” I admit.
She mimics my movement, glancing at Stark. He clears his throat. “Training,” he says simply, as if that’s a sufficient answer.
I raise my eyebrows. “Training?”
“If you’re going to be out of that cell, I need to know that you’re not going to accidentally destroy my compound,” he explains. “You’ll learn to control your emotions, and in turn, your powers.”
I huff, exasperated. “I don’t even know what my powers are,” I complain. “How am I supposed to control them?”
He nods towards Wanda. “She’ll teach you.”
I cross my arms. “This is ridiculous. I don’t need training.”
“So you meant to obliterate the common room?”
“You know I didn’t,” I snap. “That was an accident. But I can figure this out on my own.”
“Your power almost killed you,” Stark reminds me. “You let your emotions take over, and it nearly tore you apart.”
I’m suddenly hit with the memory, transported back to the moment the ring left my hand. When I felt the tornado of power whisking my life force away, consuming me like fire devours the air.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to…” I swallow, steadying the quiver in my voice. When I look up at Stark, there’s a streak of honest compassion in his dark eyes. “I don’t want to do that again,” I breathe, knowing that despite the fact that he can’t read minds like Wanda, he can hear my subtext. I don’t want to cause another explosion. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to use my powers.
He watches me with that dark stare, his eyes shadowed by the years. “I know, kid,” he mutters, almost to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose in that anxious way that he does. When his eyes find me again, the compassion has been covered by apathy, as if he needed to erase his care. “But this is your life now,” he tells me. “If you don’t learn how to live with it, you won’t survive.”
His words feel like a blade, scraping across my spine. It’s ominous, almost like a warning.
“You’re safe here,” Natasha assures me. Her eyes flick briefly over to Stark, something like turmoil clouding her features. “You’re in good hands.”
Steve nods, joining in on the reassurances. “Wanda’s kind of an expert in this field.”
Wanda hums with amusement. “I’ve done some reading.” She places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We’ll take things slow. Only as much as you’re comfortable with.”
“What if I’m not comfortable with any of it?” I ask.
She considers this. “Then we can just talk.”
“Really?” I ask.
“The first step is controlling your emotional responses,” she answers. “You don’t need to use your powers to learn that.”
I look around at the hundreds of weapons and training machines. This doesn’t really seem like the place to just talk.
But if I know anything, it’s that I don’t want to be responsible for another blowup. If all I have to do to avoid that is chat with a superhero, then I’m willing to try.
I nod. “Okay.”
Stark claps. “Alright. Get to it,” he orders, turning to leave. Natasha and Steve follow.
“Where are you going?” I call.
“To do a deep dive on your past,” he replies. “We’re going to figure out how this happened.”
“Wait,” I say. “Let me help.”
“Nope.” He grasps the door handle. “You’ve got more important things to do.”
I scoff. “It’s my life.”
“And I’m trying to save it,” he snarks. “You’re welcome.”
“Hey!” I shout.
But then there’s a distinct tinge of purple at the edges of my vision, and a familiar ache in my chest. I pull in a deep breath, reigning in my tendencies before I blast Stark to bits. My vision clears, and my heart slows. “You can’t just rummage around in my past without me,” I say. “Let me help.”
Stark pauses, one foot out the door. A deep exhale lowers his shoulders. He looks towards the ceiling, murmuring something that I can’t quite hear. “Two weeks,” he proposes. “Show me that you can control yourself in fourteen days, and then you can help.”
I feel my mouth itch to form the unfamiliar shape of a smile. “Deal.”
***
“Don’t be scared.”
Wanda’s voice is as smooth and warm as ever, but the way her eyes flicker scarlet and red light dances across her skin tells another story. Her body is doused in the glow, as if she’s preparing for a fight. When she raises her energy-covered hand towards me and tells me not to be afraid, it’s not the easiest ask.
“Um, okay,” I mumble, trying my best to keep a level head. I know the things she’s capable of, but I have to believe she’s not going to hurt me.
“How does this make you feel?” she asks.
“Fine,” I reply, almost out of habit.
She tilts her head. “This isn’t going to work if we’re not honest with each other.”
I huff. “Alright,” I mutter, trying to think. “I guess I feel…uncomfortable?”
“Okay.” She smiles. “That’s a start. What else?”
I watch her hand in anticipation, biting my lip in concentration. I focus on my heartbeat, the way it flutters with uncertainty. I listen to the mumblings of my mind that whisper warnings. Knowing I’m at the mercy of her power isn’t a comfortable state, but it’s more than that.
“Scared,” I admit, even though she had told me not to be. “It makes me feel scared.”
“Why?”
I consider this. “You could kill me right now, if you wanted to.”
“But why does that scare you?”
I want to laugh. It’s almost comical to ask why someone wouldn’t want to die. But nothing about her question seems funny to me at this moment, because I know she sees more of me than what’s on the surface.
Logically, I shouldn’t really be afraid to die. I don’t have family or friends who would miss me. There’s no one waiting for me to come home. I’ve had to live a horrible life with no end in sight. I should want to disappear.
But I am afraid. Not because I love my life or there’s someone depending on me, but because I haven’t really lived. I can’t remember how my life started, and I want to before it ends.
“There are too many unanswered questions,” I say. “Too many things I want to see and places I want to go. I haven’t had anything worth living for, but I want to. And when I die, I want to know who I am.”
She nods. “Fear is a strong emotion. It can make you do things you wouldn’t normally do. It taps into your deepest survival instincts and overwhelms your senses.” Her light flares dangerously bright, and the doubt races back to the forefront of my mind. My shoulders tense, and I know she notices. “When your senses are overwhelmed, your mind isn’t clear. And when your mind isn’t clear, everything becomes impulse.”
She steps towards me, and I can feel her power growing. I feel it whispering in the back of my mind and prickling along my skin. “Your instincts are telling you to defend yourself.” Her fingers move strangely, energy curling between her knuckles. “And the best way your body knows how to protect itself is by using your powers.”
As if to punctuate her statement, she launches a blast of energy towards me. It hurtles at my head, like a fireball, but more horrifying. I gasp, throwing my hands in front of my face instinctively. My eyes squeeze shut.
Something pushes against my hands. It’s fluid and pulsing, almost like water. Light flashes behind my eyelids like fireworks. I peek an eye open, anxious breaths rattling my chest.
A horrendous mixture of red and purple dances in front of me. Violet wisps emerge from my fingertips like tendrils— my own brand of power. It explodes into a chaotic ball of messy energy, somehow catching and dispersing Wanda’s blast.
Like a miniature shield, defending me from harm.
The red light dissolves, beaten by my force. In an attempt to stop myself, I drop my trembling hands, but the power won’t leave. I can feel it curling up my arms, the whole room shrouded in its brightness.
“Yes!” Wanda exclaims. “You did it!”
I watch as the blood vessels beneath my skin burn with ultraviolet light. “Now how do I stop it?”
“You’re lucky,” she says. She hasn’t let her own power dissipate, perhaps as a precaution. “Most people are never able to control their fear because it’s all in their head. But yours is real, and tangible. You can feel it in your hands right now.”
I squeeze my hands into fists, and I can feel something rush away from the space my fingers occupy. The power is there. It’s real. My fear, personified into something that scares me even more.
“It’s yours,” Wanda says. “Yours to succumb to, or yours to control. There’s a choice.”
I filter out all other noises, letting my eyes fall shut. No distractions— only the panic and the power. It comes from within. It’s born from my mind, and that means it’s mine. I can harness this unruly force. I have the potential to bend it to my will.
Focus, my mind whispers. Control your emotions. I let myself feel the fear, all of it, and instead of trying to turn it off, I let myself be afraid. Trying to force a different emotional response in the face of terror is never going to work. I need to allow myself to feel my anguish, and choose to be brave in spite of it.
This power is mine.
I release a breath, letting all of the turmoil rush out into the room. I let the tension fall away from my muscles, and let myself relax. I won’t be controlled by this thing inside of me. If I want it to be contained, then it will be.
Peace washes over me. The fear dissolves, and when I open my eyes, the purple light has disappeared.
Wanda smiles widely. “That’s it!” she cheers. She closes the distance between us, wrapping me in a tight hug. I feel a type of numbness after being forced to wrangle my own agony, but I welcome her embrace. “That was incredible,” she says, pulling away and keeping her hands on my shoulders. “I’ve never seen anyone learn that quickly.”
Pride makes me shift uncomfortably. She’s proud of me, and I don’t know how to feel. I can’t remember the last time someone was pleased with something I did. “I thought we were just going to talk,” I stammer.
She shrugs, her face still lit by impressment. “I thought you needed the push.”