What Are They Waiting For?
Peter had never really been one for plans. It was simply never something he was good at. Growing up, he’d always been more of a ‘wing it’ kind of guy and that’s always worked out great for him… well until now that is. Anyway, Peter hated plans. Hank and Charles on the other hand, did not share the same opinion.
The two had been talking back in forth and around in circles for what seemed like a lifetime debating what course of action to take in preventing anyone from putting two and two together. It didn’t seem like something that needed to be made so complicated if you ask Peter. Get in. Destroy evidence. Get out. See? Easy-peasy. But to these two yapping hyper-fixated dorks, it was a lot more complicated.
The silver-haired teen had no clue what the two adults were talking about. Something about having to avoid striking? or whatever; It was all very over his head he’ll admit, but he did his best to act like it wasn’t. That included nodding along to whatever smarty-pants Hank said and occasionally shrugging as if he was even paying attention to the conversation anymore.
To be honest, he zoned out probably only two minutes into the conversation when he realized how long it would take them to make up their minds about how soon they needed to make a move. Sure, he occasionally caught a few phrases here and there, he wasn’t entirely ignoring the conversation, just selectively listening while he daydreamed about home and a particular memory from about six years ago when Lorna was playing dolls with Wanda and Lance. Lance had gotten himself upgraded from a horse with digestive problems to a fashionable one-armed doll with red pen drawn all over its face (because it had a case of chickenpox) named Charlie. It took four months of Lance kissing Lorna’s ass before she finally let him have a speaking role, so long as he promised he’d stop making Buttercup (the horse) or Charlie shit on her doll.
The memory made him smile, but when he heard Charles mention something about controlling minds, Peter felt himself tense. Did they know about Wanda? Were they planning on dragging her into his mess too? Peter desperately hoped they weren’t. He doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if he put her or any of his family in more danger. This was his problem, not hers. She would already be suffering enough consequences for the actions he’d previously taken by freeing their… their father. Fuck. He was not going to get over that anytime soon.
“Please calm your mind,” Charles spoke as he pinched his temple like one would when fighting a nasty headache.
But wait… did he just tell him to calm his mind?
“What?” Peter asked. Maybe he had heard the man wrong because that just did not make any sense. What the hell does calm your mind mean?
“I’m afraid it’s giving me a headache. If you could just settle your mind that would be greatly appreciated,” The wheelchair-bound man said as if that explained anything.
“Look dude,” Peter starts, hoping he doesn’t sound rude, but he’s beyond confused right now and it’s usually the people around him, not Peter who have trouble keeping up. “I have no clue what the hell you’re saying. I don’t know what ‘settling your mind’ means. Is that some old-fashioned British phrase? I know I’m typically a hyper person but believe it or not this is the least antsy I’ve been all week. I’m not sure I could do any better considering my nerves due to the situation, but I’d think you’d understand that…” Peter said trailing off for a second before asking, “do I need to get my ears cleaned? Am I hearing you right?” Peter repeats once more only to watch as Charles nods his head.
“Your thoughts are comparable to a tornado on a rampage. They’re so loud, but I can’t make heads or tails of anything because they’re moving much too fast. It’s amazing, but as a result, it’s giving me a headache. Even just trying to tune out your thoughts is draining on me. If you could please just calm your mind, it would help greatly,” Charles patiently explained through the pain, though it didn’t help Peter much.
“What?” Peter dumbly asked once again, because seriously? What the hell is this guy talking about? Obviously, he must still be on drugs to be spouting nonsense like this and Peter just hadn’t realized it.
“Have you tried caffeine?” he suggests because the only thing he’s understood so far out of Charles’s mouth was that he had a headache. Normally, Peter would suggest ibuprofen, but if the man was already on something, it’s best not to mix with other drugs because you never know how they’ll react with one another.
Lance once told him in middle school that his mom said birth control pills don’t work with pseudoephedrine and that’s how she wound up pregnant with him. They both know that wasn’t true though because birth control wasn’t popular back then. His mom just wanted yet another way of making Lance feel like a mistake and disappointment, but it’s ok. He’s since become an unofficial Maximoff.
And the point stands. Drugs are weird. But wait… isn’t caffeine technically a drug?
Shit.
Think fast Maximoff.
“Maybe try massaging it instead of just pinching?” Peter suggested instead, which only served to further confuse Charles and Hank.
“What?” Charles asks completely befuddled. Great. Now Peter’s even more unsure of what’s happening. And he didn’t think that was possible.
“What?”
“What?” Charles asks again.
“I’m so lost right now,” Peter explains with a shrug and shake of the head.
Based on the soft laugh turned into a cough, Hank seemed to connect the dots.
Both turned to look at the scientist utterly clueless as to the humor he found in their current situation while Hank managed to stifle his laughter and eventually explained to Peter that Charles is a mutant.
“Cool,” Peter says giving Charles an awkward thumbs up partnered with an equally awkward turn of his lips to form a smile. He still did not completely understand, but he already felt like too much of an idiot to ask any more questions, and instead opted to play along. He only held it for a second before he realized how awkward he looked and pulled his hand back in his lap.
That was it clicked, and the puzzle pieces slid into place.
Geez, for someone as fast as him, it really took a while.
“Oh. ‘Controlling minds.’ That makes so much more sense now,” he says before pointing an accusatory finger toward Hank. “You know, that’s a big detail you left out of your story there, Glasses. Way to make me look like an idiot here,” Peter says though there’s a smile playing on his lips and no malice in his voice.
He heard as Charles muttered under his breath that he ‘didn’t need Hank’s help for that,’ which served as another reminder that the drugged-up man Peter remembered and this new version were not twins playing a good switcheroo on Peter, but the same person.
“Wait, what number am I thinking right now?” Peter eagerly asks with his knee bouncing up and down excitedly. It was so cool to think that there was another ‘mutant’ with a similar… skill set as his sister. And while he would never tell Charles about her in an attempt to keep her as far out of all of this as possible, he’d definitely be sharing with Wanda.
And just imagine if Wanda did get to know the former drug abuser? Maybe he would help his sister with controlling her abilities because Peter – despite how hard he tried – was ultimately unable to. Wanda’s powers were all centered around her mental stability and control, whereas for Peter it had all been physical. And while Wanda’s abilities were probably still different from Charles’, seeing as how he doubted anyone was capable of the madness Wanda could cause, the man would probably have far better luck in helping her than he could, as much as it pained him to admit.
In his spiraling thoughts, he forgot to consider the fact that he’s trying to keep Wanda out of these guys’ radars, which means thinking about her after asking a freaking telepath to look inside his head was probably not the wisest idea. Shit. And he hadn’t even thought of a number. Fuck. Well, seven’s always been his go-to, so seven it is.
“I can’t read your thoughts. Like I said, your mind moves too fast to comprehend anything,” Charles explains.
“That’s weird,” Peter thinks aloud before realizing it.
“What’s weird?” Hank asks.
“Nothing. Just –” Wanda can always see his thoughts. Maybe she just built up a resistance to the mental whiplash he’s giving Charles “— didn’t consider the fact that my legs aren’t the only part of me that moves fast.”
“Do you think you could slow your thoughts down?” Charles asks, but Peter just shakes his head no.
“That’s not really how it works. I don’t speed up. I’m always going fast,” he says shrugging before offering an apology. “Is it a vicinity thing? Do you need me to leave? Would that help?”
Peter was used to people having headaches around him. It almost always was fixed when he left. As upsetting as it would be to be kicked out of the castle before being offered a proper tour of the place, he didn’t want to inconvenience these guys too much. They were willing to help Peter stay under the radar, so it feels like the least he can do is try and prevent the one dude from having a headache.
“No need. I’ll be fine,” Druggie tells him, though Peter can’t help but somewhat feel guilty. “Now, I was thinking we could do a follow-up visit and go through the Pentagon’s Visitor Entrance much like last time before making a detour down the…”
And Peter once again tuned out the conversation and began to wander around the office. He ran his fingers along a fancy old wooden desk to find the familiar coating of dust that appeared almost everywhere he’s seen so far (other than the kitchen – which is good for that. Peter may have been starving for food but eating dead skin cells and bacteria did not sound appetizing in the slightest). The speedster found himself mindlessly humming the tune of Pink Floyd’s song “Time” as he began doodling in the dust like a child with shaving cream.
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
Fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
He had finished drawing an outline of a triangle as well as lines that passed through it before drawing old ᚱand ᚦ runes he remembered from his mother’s old books when he was a kid. It was as he got lost recalling the memory of him and Wanda making a secret code using the runes that he noticed a certain nameplate on the desk. Lifting it toward him and brushing off the dirt, he saw it read Professor Xavier, much like the business card Peter held in his jacket pocket. The speedster almost laughed to himself as he tried to think of the man overseeing a group of school children. It just seemed humorous to Peter, having remembered how patient he was when they first met. Peter understands he may have been a lot upon first impression, but that guy was clearly no fan of kids… well, that version of the man was no fan of kids. This one may be great with them for all Peter knew.
Now that he thinks of it, the silver-haired teen does remember Hank referring to Charles as ‘the professor’ a few times during their little game of catch-up, but –
“Peter, what are you doing?” Hank asks, jostling Peter from his thoughts.
“So, you really are a professor, huh?” Peter asks instead ignoring Hank’s question and looking toward the other man in the room.
“I was,” he tells Peter with a gentle smile and eyes that appeared to be clouded by thoughts of the past. Shit. He hoped he hadn’t overstepped when Charles continues, “I hope to be again soon though.”
“What made you decide to become a professor?” Peter wonders causing the man to smile in memory.
“Well… I wanted this place to be a safe haven for young mutants and get a proper education all the while helping them to understand and control their mutations better without the threat of being persecuted.”
“Seems like the world could use that right about now,” Peter tells him causing the Professor to grimace.
“Now more than ever I’m afraid.”
Peter nodded his head, agreeing with the man, but finding himself distracted once again; this time it was due to fighting hunger pains. In Peter’s defense, all the school talk made Peter nostalgic thinking of lunch. It was his favorite time of day, other than gym and music because he finally didn’t have to worry about smuggling snacks into all his classes.
In hopes of delaying the inevitable growling that would soon come from his stomach, Peter opted to distract himself. He glanced at the bookcase and decided to read the titles of every book. He only recognized three of them, but that didn’t surprise Peter. What did surprise Peter was that the guy was far more obsessed with evolution and human biology than Peter knew was possible. He guesses it makes sense because he was likely studying mutants, but still, Peter caught himself mouthing ‘what the hell?’ several times when his eyes caught on a slightly disturbing title.
It was almost three o’clock when Peter’s stomach finally gave in and began growling.
“Hey, I’m going to go get some food. You guys have any suggestions? Anything you want?”
While being the delivery boy is not typically something Peter would have been so eager to be, right now he was bored out of his mind and in desperate need of food. So, fuck it. He’d be the delivery boy.
After getting himself two whole pizzas from a local pizzeria, eating them both then ordering a third for Charles and Hank, he zipped back to the abandoned school he’d been at for a day now. When he returned, he was happy to see that the two adults were willing to take a break from their boring planning.
“I think we’ll be able to sneak back into the Pentagon and wipe the majority of the guards’ memories tomorrow during visiting hours. If there is anyone else who was present yet not working tomorrow, Hank and I will visit them afterward. Do you want to stay another night, Peter?”
“Hm?” Peter asks, swallowing the piece of pizza he had shoved into his mouth literally seconds before. He’s aware that he had already eaten two whole pepperoni pizzas, but he’s still hungry. He always is and when Hank and Charles got out another plate for him not thinking he’d already eaten, the speedster wasn’t about to correct him. “Oh, yeah, thanks. That’d be great. So, I take it you two are done planning?” he asks them with a quirk of an eyebrow.
“For the most part though there are still details to take care of,” Hank tells Peter causing the teen to groan.
“More details?” Peter groans. “What? Do you need to coordinate your outfits still? What details are there left to plan for?” He asks before realizing how he sounded and adding a “no offense. I’m grateful for your help and all…” he trailed off before he could dig himself into a hole.
Hopping into his second car with these two, they drove to DC. Peter had called shotgun the second the car was in sight, but Hank and Charles immediately booted him to the back as they loaded up. They had no respect for the rules of shotgun.
The ride took forever, and Peter was terrible with long car rides. He tried to politely listen to his music, popping the headphones over his ears and tuning out everything else, but Peter guesses he must have started humming because Hank told him to “stop it” not long into the drive.
As a result, Peter decided to make conversation, which served to only bother the two men more. Peter could hear the scientist sigh and mumble something about how he should have just left Peter be. Oh well, lesson learned.
“So, you two knew Erik, huh?”
“Do you ever listen when people tell you to shut up?” Hank groaned. The man wasn’t trying to be a dick, but he was clearly regretting getting into a car with the speedster. In Peter’s defense, he offered to just run back to DC. If it weren’t for Charles saying he might as well just ride with them, he would have done just that.
“Not usually, no. So, we’re you guys ex-friends or something? You didn’t exactly seem eager for a reunion, but he clearly knew you both.”
“A long time ago,” Charles told him in hopes to get across that Peter was nearing a sensitive topic, but when he looked back at Peter, the man saw his eyebrow raised as if to ask ‘and?’ The professor simply sighed and turned back to watch over the dash as the drive continued.
“Is that seriously all you’re gonna tell me?”
“We worked with the C.I.A. together,” Charles told him still looking out the dash.
Peter would have applauded the man while making a joke about ‘how that wasn’t so hard, now was it?’ if he didn’t hear that word: C.I.A. Peter felt his eyes widen in reaction. Thanks to his mom as well as Peter’s own experiences, the silver-haired teen had always been wary of government people. Why they lived outside of DC, the heart of the U.S. government, Peter didn’t quite understand, but he knew better than to blindly trust the government. And the C.I.A. was the big leagues. So… being trapped in a car talking about America’s most wanted with possibly two at least former C.I.A. agents probably wasn’t the brightest idea when a) said most wanted was biologically related to him and b) he was trying to not ever let that little tidbit of information slip and c) one of them can read minds (and if he’s C.I.A. than he could be lying about not being able to see into Peter’s head to gain more information that somehow Peter has an abundance of). Shit.
“You work for the C.I.A.?” Peter asked hoping the slightest waver at the end of that statement wasn’t noticed by the two adults.
“No, but there was a time when Erik and I had worked together to form a mutant task force for the C.I.A.”
Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t let out a sigh of relief at Charles’ words before they truly set in and he found himself burning to ask like a child,
“The C.I.A. has a mutant task force?”
“Not after Cuba,” Hank’s bitter voice adds.
“What happened in Cuba?” Peter asks.
“That’s a story for another day,” Charles tells him with a defeated sigh.
Peter still didn’t understand how it took a whole day to plan their break-in. They had just done this a week ago and security had not changed since. There were more guards, but it was insignificant considering what Charles was capable of. Also, it should be noted that it was oddly unsettling to see the professor just freeze everyone in place. Sure, Peter was used to people slowing to near stillness when he ran, but not like this.
Waving his hand in front of the secretary’s face, he turned to look at Charles and asked,
“Can they see us?”
“No, I’ve simply frozen their minds. They won’t register that any time has passed when I let go. They’ll just resume their lives none the wiser.”
“But they’re still breathing, right? You didn’t freeze the part of their brain that controls that too?” Peter asks somewhat worried, placing his hand under her nose to see if he could feel her breath.
“They’re still breathing. They are in no pain.”
Sure enough, the woman, Theresa according to her nametag, was still breathing.
“Huh. Nice trick,” Peter tells him before smirking to himself when his eyes caught on a cup of pens and one sharpie marker. What can he say? He’s immature as fuck. In less than a second, he had sped over to twenty-six different people drawing a range of different ink on their skin. Several workers, visitors, and one very lucky Hank were all victims of Peter’s need to entertain himself. Laughing, he put the marker back in the cupholder and waited eagerly for Hank to turn in Charles's direction so he could get caught.
It only took until the end of the hall before Hank looked behind him, that the professor noticed. Peter watched as realization hit the man’s features and he turned to Peter with an eyebrow quirked up.
“Your work I presume?” he asks in a voice that’s amused but also attempting to sound disappointed and annoyed by Peter’s antics.
Peter, being the little shit simply played affronted by the accusation.
“Me?” he asked raising a hand to his chest, before smirking and adding, “I’m not even holding a sharpie.”
“You better hope we don’t pass any mirrors,” Charles says before looking back at Hank who was very much confused.
Peter was on paper duty. Stupid paper duty. It sucked. His last visit to the pentagon had been a lot more fun, but now that he had to clean up his mess, he was about to die of boredom. All paper evidence in the security rooms, he’d been tasked with gathering and ridding. He understood why. They were on a tight schedule so that nobody noticed the gap in time that would pass, and Peter would be able to sort through everything before Glasses and the former druggie even entered the room. But that didn’t make it any less boring.
The most enjoyable thing he’d done was pick the lock on a filing cabinet.
hardly anything… that is until he got to the filing cabinet. Each drawer was locked, but Peter was good at picking locks. Grabbing a paperclip from one of the guard’s desks he made quick work of the locks and began sifting through the files. That was when he noticed in the second drawer there was a whole file labeled Maximoff.
He froze.
They knew his name.
Peter wasn’t prepared for this. The file wasn’t exactly small either.
Fuck.
“Peter, did you find something?” Hank asked coming up beside the speedster who’d been unusually still for the last while. His voice snapped Peter out of his thoughts, causing Peter to lift the file out of the cabinet and set it on the desk.
The manilla-colored folder thudded on the desk making it sound thick, which it was. Peter was scared to look inside. What all could they have on him?
Carefully, he flipped the folder open finding the sketch of his face, he’d already seen several places around the place as well as photos of the scene he’d left during their escape. There was a transcript of what the guard he’d duct-taped in the elevator claimed to have witnessed when interviewed, as well as a few others who claimed to see him during the breakout. After he looked through those, he saw another folder tucked inside this one with the seal of the C.I.A. because of-fucking-course the C.I.A. has a freaking file on him.
At this point, both Hank and Charles were watching over his shoulder, but he refused to open whatever lay inside with them around. He liked them, but he didn’t know what was inside enough to trust these two to see. Up until this point, all information on him he’d seen had pertained to Magneto’s (which is a stupid name by the way) prison break.
Running his hands through his hair, he looked behind him and asked in the politest way he could,
“Could I get a bit of privacy please?”
“Of course,” and “Yea, no problem,” were both chorused before the two turned around and focused back on sorting through any digital evidence on the off-chance Hank’s camera trick didn’t work.
The manilla folder, as unassuming as it looked from the outside, contained almost his entire life’s story inside. He immediately darted his eyes to a copy of his Sokovian birth certificate enclosed and let out a breath he’d been holding when he saw that only his mother’s name was listed.
‘Looks like the C.I.A. does not know everything,’ Peter thought to himself relieved.
After jumping over that hurdle, Peter wasn’t as shaky flipping through the rest of the documents. There were some which made his heart skip for a second, like the note of the bombing that killed his parents, and the mentions of Arnold Dane. But overall, nothing major, which was a huge relief. No official marker saying MUTANT in all caps, no mentions of Arnold Dane having been accidentally murdered. However, it was curious how even though it had all of his schooling listed, It didn’t even have the fact he’d been expelled, which led Peter to believe the Pentagon people had known about Peter for more than a few days. So why hadn’t they arrested him yet? What were they waiting for?
He closed the folder and went back to the filing cabinet. There had to be something he was missing here, right? He’s no detective, but he knows when things just don’t line up. Peter backtracked to the L’s and saw Lehnsherr’s folder, grabbing it and setting it atop of the cabinet before looking for the X’s, which were in the bottom drawer, and sure enough, there laid Xavier.
“Hank, what’s your last name?” he called out gaining the other two’s attention.
“McCoy. What are you doing?” Hank asks as Peter lifts another hefty file out of the drawer. He didn’t answer Hank. Instead, he set all three files next to each other on the desk and flipped them open. Sure enough, there was information about the breakout concerning each one of them.
“They knew it was us. They’ve known it was us. Have they tried to arrest you guys yet? They haven’t for me, and my name, home address, everything is right in there,” he tells them with a gesture toward his own now closed file.
“So, what are they waiting for?” Hank says, speaking what each one of them was thinking.
“What are they waiting for?” Peter restates.
“Unfortunately, we don’t have much time to ponder the question. Grab everything that’s evidence and we’ll destroy it later. We have to go soon, or else people are going to notice the gap of time in their memory.”
“What’s Logan’s name?” Peter asks as he began speed sifting through the files looking for the L’s in case that was his last name, but it turned up empty.
“Uh… good question,” Hank tells him as he looks back at Charles.
“Don’t know,” is all Charles was able to offer before giving them one last look that they were running out of time.
Holding the four files in his arms as well as the sketches of his face and photos of the Pentagon Prison crime scene, the three of them left, with no one the wiser about their visit. All the guards’ memories were wiped, Hank double-checked that they hadn’t been caught on any of the cameras too.
On the car ride back, Peter was unusually quiet, as Charles and Hank chatted in the front. Peter had no interest in whatever they said though because inside one of the folders on his lap was an extensive amount of CONFIDENTIAL information concerning his father. Peter tried as best he could to ignore the manilla brick, but it was heavy. The rest of their folders were all a decent size, but Lehnsherr’s was a whole other beast, and inside was important information concerning the terrorist he just recently learned he was related to.
He knew better than to sneak a peek at what was inside. It was a complete invasion of privacy, and hadn’t he just asked the two in the front to give him space as he looked through his own, but… doesn’t he deserve to know some more about this guy?
“Peter?”
“Hm?” Peter hummed back, not quite paying attention yet.
“I asked if you wanted to be dropped off back home…” Charles asked before trailing off when he looked in the backseat to find Peter looking deeply at the Lehnsherr folder. “You don’t want to see what’s inside of that,” he told the teen causing Peter to finally look away and meet the sorta professor’s gaze.
“Why?” Peter asked more curious than defensive.
“I’m afraid there’s going to be a lot of dark things,” Charles answered.
“Like Auschwitz?”
Peter saw the moment Charles’ eyes widened. Even Hank’s driving immediately slowed, his foot lifting off the gas, taken back by the fact Peter knew what he now realizes he shouldn’t have said. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to know that.
“How do you – how do you know that?” the man asks startled.
Think fast Maximoff.
Peter pointed to his arm. Sure, he didn’t see the brand on Erik’s forearm during the break-out, and even if he did, he had no way to explain why he knew Erik was in that concentration camp in particular, but he was hoping Charles would just accept it and let the topic change.
There was a beat of silence.
“He’s not someone you should look up to,” Charles eventually spoke.
“I don’t.” And he didn’t. He didn’t even know the guy aside from the little tidbits and the news this last week. “I just want to understand him,” Peter tells them with a simple shrug, which is true. How on earth would his mother and aunt have been close with someone who would later go on to kill presidents and declare war on people?
Nobody said anything for the rest of the trip, but it wasn’t long until they arrived at a motel. Peter would be running back home soon, but first, he wanted to know why these people had waited before going after them.
“Maybe they couldn’t figure out who Logan was? Maybe they were trying to figure that out first?” Hank asked aloud as he paced the motel room’s dirty floor. They had been trying to determine why the government hadn’t tried to arrest them yet. So far, they couldn’t find the answer even after hours of brainstorming.
“So, what? They’ve just been watching us?” Peter asks him, only for Charles to beat Glasses to a response.
“No, I would have felt their presence if that was the case.”
“Maybe they were trying to find out how we even knew this guy,” Hank suggests, gesturing toward Peter who was lounging on the futon eating a pack of strawberry twinkies he’d gotten from the vending machine when entering the place.
“What if they’re just using us to see if they can get to Erik?” Peter asked unsure, before giving it more thought, growing more confident as he explained, “he’s the big bad wolf here, right? What if they think we’re going to be in contact with him again? Mean, you guys were work friends, right? So, there’s a history there. If they found a way to flush him out, what’s the likelihood he would get in touch again?”
“But then they’d have to have been watching us and Charles would have noticed if that was the case.”
“Is there any way that you might just not notice if someone was spying on you?” Peter asked the man, who sighed and rubbed his temple. Peter was probably causing the man another headache.
“If they had another telepath on their side. It’s possible.”
“You think Emma’s working for them now?” Hank asks, to which who the fuck is Emma? Peter’s so lost in this conversation, but that’s what he gets for zoning out a couple of milliseconds to throw his twinkie wrapper away.
“Maybe, but it hardly matters much anymore. It’s getting late, and Peter should probably be returning home soon. You and I can take care of the two other guards who weren’t present today tomorrow morning before we leave. Do you need a ride home?” Charles asks, turning to the speedster who just shakes his head.
“Nah, it’s not far from here, but thanks, prof. And thanks just in general, to both of you.” Peter says offering one last smirk as he puts his goggles on and runs out the door disappearing into the night.
Fuck. Wanda’s going to be pissed when he gets back. So will his mom.