My random fan fiction story; I don't own x-men or probably most things I get ideas from. That includes other people's fanfictions. I have a scene with Wanda and Pietro talking that was inspired by a story I read of them playing tag when they were five.
Prologue:
The darkening sky caused any electric light to cast an eerie glow in the already rain soaked street. An uneasy knot in my stomach didn't help matters much. A dark, gated building loomed up out of the shadows. Suddenly, two men in white uniforms moved out from under the overhang of the structure. Before I could react, my hands were tightly bound behind my back. Struggling to break free, I called out to my father for help, but he remained where he was, staring coldly at me. My brother, though appearing horrified by this occurrence, did nothing to help me and simply looked at the ground. I managed one final cry, before I was dragged inside and the doors shut behind me, locking me away.
I swiftly sat upright in bed, my spine rigid, a cold sweat drenching my face and neck. A light was switched on and my father rushed into the room "Wanda, what's wrong?" Breathing hard, on the verge of crying, partly from relief, I gasped, "I had a bad dream, Daddy." "It's alright, it was just a nightmare," he comforted. I reached out to him, only to touch emptiness as he faded. My eyes flickered open for real this time, to find the cold, blackness of my cell surrounding me. Then it hit me; he wasn't coming back.
Chapter 1: Four years later
I sat in the corner of my prison, staring at the opposite wall. The iron door was opened and a couple of guards came in, with several more stationed in the hallway, ready to with strain me at a moment's notice. As I was pulled to my feet and shoved into the passageway, I realized something unusual. My hands, which were bound frequently to prevent me from using my powers, weren't properly tied. There was room, the smallest amount possible, for my fingers to move. I glanced around at the asylum workers; none of them had noticed this discovery. Maybe…would it work? I mentally brought up the layout of the hospital. We were swiftly drawing near to a back door leading out to, a side alley, I guess. This might be my only chance. I have been in this… place… for four years. I have been here since I was nine years old. A flash of memory came. I could picture the rain starting to pour and could see myself as I struggled to break free of my captors.
I started breath harder, and began to resist the death-grip on my shoulder. "Hey, keep moving," one of the men said, nervously motioning for one of the others to get a tranquilizer ready to knock me out. No, no! I tried to block the image, but I could clearly see everything in my mind's eye" Father, father", my memory self cried out. Thoughts were racing through my head. Why won't he help me? Why won't he come and get me? Unconsciously, my hands began fidgeting.
"Stop her, quick!" My bonds began disintegrating. Several workers rushed forward just as my hands were free. I stretched out my arms and they flew back into the walls. The light bulbs overhead exploded; a crack formed in the ceiling as if the building were in the midst of an earthquake. I sprinted in the direction of the door. Reaching it, I tried to force it open. It didn't budge; the emergency locks had been activated. I could hear shouts as the guards ran toward me. I stood back and extended my arm. The handles (and locks) melted away, and I burst through the exit. Running away, I glanced back and caused the door to become white hot so that no one else could use it. Then I ran, as far and as long as I could.
