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Wanda awakes in the same manner she always does; on her tiny twin cot pressed into the corner of her side of the bedroom, the one she shares with her twin brother, Pietro. Much like every morning, her first waking thought is consumed by Pietro. His well being, his presence, the pace of his breathing.

This morning begins the same as every morning this month; Pietro sleeping soundly in his corresponding bed, one arm lazily strewn over his eyes and the other resting vertically against the wall. He had always been the taller twin—just recently surpassing 6 feet—but he somehow never seemed to quite fit into the spaces provided for him. He always looked cramped, like his body was begging to break out of the small physical realm that constrained him.

(Or maybe Wanda was just being dramatic, because she knew damn well that Pietro deserved more, and that's why it hurt so bad to see him sleeping in a too-small bed that could in no way be comfortable. They both deserved more, even though that was harder to convince herself of. But either way, no 17 year old deserves to live in a trailer—or rather a gutted van illegally parked at some random neighborhood dog park. They probably should've gotten a parking ticket by now, since they really deserved one ages ago).

However, no matter the space provided, Pietro always seemed to be larger than life—as if he was completely unconcerned by the world being consistently against him. He just always had such a comforting aura about him, no matter how terrifying life got, and his welcoming energy seemed to seep from every facet of his being. It was surprising that in such unfortunate circumstances he could be so lively—so completely full of life—but Pietro never failed to exceed her expectations. Above all, he always found a way to make Wanda feel safe, and she tried her damned best to always return the favor.

Wanda, on the other hand, found herself attempting to occupy as little space as possible. She wore sweatshirts, even in the summer, and had a habit of pulling the sleeves over her palms, practically consuming herself in the fabric. She was a naturally cold person, but it still wasn't reasonable to wear sweatshirts in mid-July (even New York got hot around that time of year). She got looks, of course, but she wasn’t sure if it was directly related to her out-of-season stylistic choices, or if it was because sometimes her eyes glew. Plus, the looks she got would be worse if she wore tank-tops, thanks to the ungodly amount of scars littering her arms (thanks to Hydra, mostly, but she’d be lying if she didn’t admit there were a few self-inflicted ones).

Although Pietro struggled with anxiety and PTSD just like Wanda, he didn’t externalize it in the way she did. He wasn’t afraid to fully inhale and exhale, because he didn’t feel like his respiration was a waste of oxygen. Wanda was not as fortunate in terms of self worth.

So yes, the twins were different, but in all the ways that mattered, infuriatingly similar. Their differences are what made them whole; they perfectly offset each other, and filled the void left by their parents' lack of love. And Wanda was sure she’d never loved anyone more than her twin. Who, during all of her internal contemplation this morning, was still sleeping rather uncomfortably.

Begrudgingly, Wanda throws a pillow at Pietro’s sleeping form (she was sick of being alone with her thoughts, and it was time to wake up for school anyway. Although, Pietro hardly ever followed her construct of time). Much to her dismay, instead of waking up, he turns to the wall with a grunt and shakes off the pillow. This is quite unsurprising.

With a quick glance to ensure the makeshift blinds are still drawn over the van’s windows, she summons a small amount of the crimson energy constantly tingling under her skin and rips off his covers with a twitch of her finger. This wakes him with a start, and she almost feels bad when taking in the startled expression on his face. Suddenly her brother, hair disheveled from what looks to be a very good sleep, is standing in their makeshift kitchen on the opposite end of their home. At least it was effective.

“Why good morning,” Wanda says as she sits up in bed.

“Have you ever considered an alarm clock? It is too early for your wiggly woos,” Pietro replies, feigning annoyance even as a small smile falls upon his lips. He looks so innocent in the morning, his disheveled hair giving him a look of youth. Wanda finds herself wishing life hadn’t taken that away from him.

“I do not like alarm clocks. I much prefer waking to the sun,” Wanda says with a giggle. Both of the twins have much thicker accents upon waking up, their Sokovian drawl unmasked in their fatigue.

“There is not even any sun. The blinds are drawn,” Pietro shakes his head, making a lazy gesture toward the window as he walks back to bed, clearly about to attempt going back to sleep.

“Nuh uh, we have school to attend, remember? The sun is up, so we are up,” Wanda chides, telepathically moving their shared nightstand to block his path back to bed. He walks right into it, almost tripping over the sudden change in scenery.

“What time is it anyway? Again, most likely too early for ‘that,’” he says as he gestures to the red energy filling the air between them.

“Seven am. But there is never a time too early for ‘this’” Wanda says with a smile, laughing as Pietro grumbles in response. Before she even realizes what's happening, he's back in bed and the nightstand is back in its original place between their twin beds, the only indication that he used his powers being the sudden gust of air blowing through her hair and the faint electric blue energy crackling in his wake.

“Hm. It seems as though there's a breeze coming from the windows. Maybe we should look into that before it gets too cold. Wouldn’t want to freeze here in the winter,” Wanda says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The air goes stagnant, as does Pietro’s mood, and Wanda watches his face fall at her comment. Mistake number one of the day: never mention the future, especially the immediate. She always has a way of saying the wrong things, it appears. This has to be a new record though, upsetting Pietro not even 5 minutes into the day.

‘Hey, I’m sorry,” Wanda says as she begins to stand, but Pietro promptly cuts her off.

“I just— are we really going to be here through winter? I thought we were going to try to figure things out by then,” he says with his eyes resolutely fixed on his lap.

“Hey, no. We are. I should not have said that. We are going to get out of here, especially before then,” she says as she sits back down on her bed, giving up on the notion of physically comforting him.

(In all honesty, Wanda had no idea how or even if they were going to get out of here. The only reason they had any shelter at all was because she was able to coerce a man selling his van on the side of the road to give it to her for free—is it still coercion if it's mind control? She thinks so. And even finding this van was the luckiest thing that's happened to them in years. So gathering enough money to rent an apartment, or let alone finding a landlord that would rent to two, foreign seventeen year olds? Unlikely. And highly improbable. But Pietro couldn't read her mind, and so she told her most convincing lie. She told him that they were finding a way out of this, and that they were going to be okay. Mainly, she told him all the things she couldn't bring herself to believe. Maybe if she pretended enough, her lies would become reality. But she hasn’t yet figured out a way to magically manifest money out of thin air, and so for now, the twins were utterly and royally screwed).

If Pietro had any reservations about her assurances, he kept them to himself. His downcast eyes found her own, and the small smile returned to his lips. She sighed, knowing that this was just a facade—because Pietro wasn’t stupid, and he knew just as well she did that there was no foreseeable way out of this. But bless his heart and whoever up above gave her such a selfless brother, because suddenly he was back on his feet and offering up his hand for her to take.

“You are right. We will figure this out. And for now, school,” he says reassuringly, pulling Wanda to her feet with such strength she almost loses her balance. Something inside Wanda recoils at the obvious change in subjects, because Pietro’s incessant optimism was clearly just an overcompensation for the utter hopelessness that had fallen upon them. But who was she to judge? They were both deceiving themselves, but for now, that was their only way to survive.

And so, Wanda smiles back at her brother and tries to replicate his same optimism, “School.”
***
Within the half hour, Wanda and Pietro have begun their trek to school. (A small perk of living in a makeshift van-home is the ability to park it anywhere, and therefore live anywhere. Given that the twins were broke, they didn’t have a car aside from their van, and in order to avoid suspicions from onlookers, they agreed not to drive the van aside from changing parking spots once a week. So, as circumstances would have it, they walked practically everywhere—albeit with some protests from Pietro, since he could just “speed them wherever” anyway—as if a neon blue pair of teenagers cruising down the sidewalk at inhuman speeds wouldn’t worsen their already slim chances of fitting in).

Nevertheless, it was a relatively short walk, thankfully, since their parking spot of the week was a random, hopefully somewhat-vacant dog park (more like a drug dealership, really, if it were named based on what type of people frequented it the most).

It’s with that thought that Pietro breaks the silence. “Are you nervous?”

“About what?” She didn’t have to ask, not really. She knew what her twin was referring to, and even if she didn’t, it wouldn't have been hard to assume. Her and Pietro were always on the same wavelength.

“You know what. School. The dreaded American education system. I have heard very scary things,” His words are lighthearted as they always are, but his tone exposes the truth. He really is nervous.

“After all that we have been through, I feel that school is not something to worry about.” Before Pietro can interject, she continues. “But yes, I am nervous. Are you?”

“I think. Yes. I am nervous. What if they find us? Maybe going is too risky?”

“I doubt HYDRA has spies stationed at a highschool. They are not brave enough to deal with the things those teachers go through,” Wanda's joke falls flat, her attempt at alleviating his fears failing. His face remains solemn.

“You know how they are about their ‘subjects.’ It would not be unheard of,” Pietro replies. Wanda contemplates this, pushing away her own anxiety on the subject. She doesn't know where HYDRA is, but she does know that it is much too early to succumb to a panic attack over the bastards.

“Today, we worry about mathematics. Tomorrow we worry about HYDRA.” Wanda says as she nudges her shoulder into Pietro’s. This earns her a smile, although small. Her heart grows warm.

“That is certainly something I’m worried about too,” Pietro says with a light chuckle, recognizing her need for the HYDRA talk to be over. Always so selfless—almost to a fault. She decided then that after school, they would develop a plan for moving forward. A plan for dealing with HYDRA and staying hidden. That would console him more than any empty words she could conjure up now.

For now, Wanda takes the bait and follows his subject change. “It has been a while. And I signed us up for Precalculus, since that was the required course for seniors. How much calculus do you think that entails?”

‘More than I know how to do. But I guess that’d be none.”

Wanda wants to laugh, and she does, but she knows Pietro sees through it. Truthfully, she doesn’t find it funny; she finds it sad. It's not that it isn't true—they hardly know any math further than the eighth grade requirements. The tragedy is, if it weren’t for their circumstances, they’d probably be excelling rather than drastically failing.

(Wanda had always been very smart, and Pietro’s brain moved just about as fast as he did, which meant he picked up on things very quickly. However, his speed came with impatience, and thus the inability to sit still and learn, especially when things got overwhelming. As for Wanda, most of her conscious (and unconscious) thoughts were spent worrying and devising plans to keep her and her brother safe, so there went her shot at catching up in school. In other words, they were not in an ideal place academically, and things weren’t exactly appearing to be hopeful in terms of catching up.)

“We will learn. I heard that this school has very good teachers,” Wanda says after a moment, maybe trying to convince herself just as much as Pietro.

Pietro eyes her skeptically at this. “What, did you read a yelp review?” Wanda responds with a slap to his arm—or at least, what was supposed to be his arm, but is now just the air where his arm used to be—scoffing as her hand misses dramatically. Stupid super speed.

“No, dipshit,” she says back, then mumbles looking down, “rate my professor.”

Pietro laughs loudly. “Did you just say ‘rate my professor’? As in the website?”

“Maybe.”

“Professor is for University though, is it not? I thought they were called teachers here,” Pietro says.

“Is there a difference?”

“You are answering my question with a question.”

“That is because I don’t know the answer to your question,” Wanda says with a giggle.

“Americans,” Pietro rolls his eyes, but she knows he’s the furthest thing from annoyed.