Hesperia, Michigan
1975

She had never liked the dark. As a child, she never slept without a light. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she was afraid. Contrary to what people told her, she knew better. There were indeed monsters lurking in the shadows. Those that didn't believe in them simply hadn't encountered them yet, and not many who did lived to confirm the stories.

She tightened her jacket around her as an icy breeze traveled through the streets. Tonight she'd have to find somewhere to lay her head. Somewhere warm if she wanted to survive. The town was small, but there had to be at least one place that would remain open during the night. Or at least late enough for her to hide in the back room and get a few hours of rest.

There was a distant crackle and she practically jumped out of her skin when the light above her burst. There was another light up ahead, but where she currently stood had been swallowed up by the darkness. She immediately froze, every hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She held her breath, eyes darting around blindly as she looked for any movement within the shadows. Nothing. She took a step forward, then another. A soft sigh of relief left her chapped lips and she tucked her hands underneath her arms again.

Then something stopped her. It was like a cold hand had grabbed hold of her ankle, yanking her backward with such force that she barely had time to scream before she hit the pavement. Her legs burned as she was dragged further into the dark and she struggled to get her bag off of her shoulders. If she could just get inside— She let out a pained cry when the same hold on her legs went for her arms, restraining them at her sides. It lifted her up, leaving her bag on the ground. Fear consumed her thoughts. The street was empty, the buildings abandoned. No one would hear her scream, though she still tried. The grip tightened, ripping her voice away. She closed her eyes, fully prepared to let the darkness consume her.

Instead, she was dropped with a thud and greeted by a bright light. When she opened her eyes, she saw a man standing in front of her, holding the flashlight that had rolled out from her bag.

"You dropped this," he stated as though he hadn't just saved her from a hostile shadow.

He helped her to her feet and she looked behind her. The shadow was gone - for now at least. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." The man shrugged, giving her a small smile. "You wanna get somethin' to eat?"

"So, you wanna tell me what that thing was?" The stranger, who had introduced himself as Jeremy, popped another fry in his mouth.

"Fear," was the quiet response.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like a girl who's easily spooked." It was an honest assumption. Her head was shaved, studs decorated her face, and he noticed the ink covering her neck and hands as she slid off her coat.

"Have you ever had one of those nightmares," she began, hesitantly reaching for a fry, "where you can't really tell if you've woken up at the end of it? It's like, even if you are awake, something from your dream followed you? You're checking every corner and waiting for whatever scared you in the first place to jump out and grab you?" Jeremy nodded once, eyes wide. "That's my curse. My fear comes to life. I should-I should be able to control it, you'd think I'd be able to control it." Her blue eyes grew glassy and she pushed her plate away, biting her lip. "The irony is, I'm too scared."

After a period of tense silence, Jeremy let out a low whistle. "Are you staying anywhere in particular?"

Being back out in the cold wasn't so bad, not with an arm around her shoulders. She couldn't help but smile at Jeremy as he let her towards his apartment. It was rare for her to find someone so open-minded, so caring to someone like her. With everything going on in the world, she had feared being truthful, especially to strangers. Yet there was something about Jeremy. Something different, something safe.

"So, what's yours?" she finally grew the courage to ask.

Jeremy glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "What's my what?"

"You're a mutant, right?" She nudged him playfully. "C'mon, I haven't met a human who's so open to taking someone like me to his house before. I was honest with you, now it's your turn. What do you do?"

Jeremy sighed, a small smile playing at his lips. "You caught me," he admitted, stopping and turning toward her. He couldn't help but beam at the hopefulness in her eyes. She had finally found someone who understood, someone who would make sure she never felt alone. "You wanna know what I do?" Before she could answer, Jeremy had already placed a gun to her neck. It let off a hiss as he pulled the trigger and her wide eyes suddenly clouded over. He kept her upright even as she went limp in his arms, sighing softly. "I rid the world of afflictions like you."

Washington D.C
1976

Wanda hated love stories. Well, maybe hate was a strong word. She was jealous of them. In every single movie she watched, every book she read — she found herself envious of the main character. The female protagonist was always young, beautiful, and she never failed to win over the best looking guy in town. But most of all, Wanda envied the fact that she was normal. She could have regular relationships; friends that stuck by her side and a cute boyfriend who would tell her that he loved her no matter what. She didn't have to worry about stifling her emotions; she could laugh, cry, and yell without something terrible following suit.

She wasn't a freak.

Huffing a frustrated sigh, Wanda got up and turned the television off before crawling back onto her bed. She lifted her pillow and pulled out a red leather book. Her mother had given it to her three Christmases ago and in it she wrote all of her dreams; basically her imagination running wild on what it would be like to have a normal life. A normal family, a normal boyfriend. She clicked her pen a couple of times before beginning to write, putting herself in the shoes of the main character in the movie she had just watched. She was so enthralled by the tale, she barely even noticed her bedroom door creak open until it was too late and her journal was ripped out of her hands.

She stared at the empty space blankly for a total of two seconds before she sat up. "Give it back, Pete!" she hissed, eyes shooting daggers at the silver-haired boy that was now leaning against her closet doors.

Her brother responded with an overly dramatized gag as his eyes scanned the page. "Okay, I'm pretty sure that never happened," he stated beginning to flip through the rest. "This entire book is just a bunch of—ew. Are you trying to become a writer, Wanda?" Wanda pressed her lips together, cheeks flushed as Peter suddenly appeared next to her, comfortably sprawled out on her bed. "I bet it'd sell even better if you added the part about you having badass superpowers."

"Give it back, jackass," she demanded. Peter made another face before tossing the book back to her, hopping up and returning to his place on the wall before his sister could kick him. "Don't you have, like—I dunno, chores to be doing?"

Peter glanced at her incredulously. "I finished those an hour ago. I beat all my games. I thought about going to get another one, but mom told me to stay here and bug you."

Well, damn. She understood her mother's concern, to a point. Her brother had always been a bit of a kleptomaniac, starting a couple years after his powers first developed. Lately, he had been into grabbing bigger things and had practically turned his room into a miniature arcade. "Are you sure she didn't mean Katie?" Although they were twins, their six year-old sister was much more apt to put up with Peter long term; they had they same maturity level, so they got along just fine.

"Ha-Ha," Peter rolled his eyes. "Mom dropped Katie off at Todd's this morning. It's his weekend." A split second later, he was back on the bed, arm thrown around Wanda's thin shoulders. "It's just me and you, sis'!"

Wanda scowled, elbowing him in the ribs. "Remind me to add in my novel that I'm an only child." Peter stuck his tongue out at her before not-so-gently yanking on her hair. She waved her hand just as he got up and she bit back a smile as a red wisp caused him to tumble just outside of the door. The smile faded when she heard something break in his fall.

"Mom! Wanda broke your vase!"

"How long do you think it would take me to run around the world?"

Wanda rolled her eyes, making a face at the ceiling. It had officially been two hours and she was actually surprised that she hadn't knocked her brother out. His constant chatter was slowly evolving into torture as opposed to a simple punishment. It turned out the vase had been their late grandmother's and their mother had appeared rather distraught upon finding it destroyed. She was quiet and didn't scold them—which was terrifying in itself—instead picking up the shards and weakly telling them to 'stay together'. Wanda assumed it was her way of punishing both of them; forcing Peter to be confined to the house and forcing Wanda to be with him. "You'd get distracted before you reached New York."

Peter opened his mouth but opted not to argue. She had a point. Considering how slowly he viewed the world, it wouldn't be unlike him to get preoccupied by a rainstorm or a leaf falling from a tree. "I bet it'd take less than an hour," he concluded with a determined nod. "We should try it."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, turning on her side to eye the boy suspiciously. "Right now? You want to run around the world right now?"

An impish grin appeared on his face and Wanda felt her stomach churn. She tried to fight the excitement that bubbled within her, knowing that it wasn't her own. She knew that look. It was the same look he'd get before he went on a 'raid'.

"Why not?" he laughed, stretching his arms out. "It's not like we're going to do anything else. You can't tell me that you don't wanna get out of this dump." Wanda didn't respond and Peter took her silence as a cue to continue. "I know you do. Every single page of that dumb diary of yours takes place somewhere other than here." He suddenly grew quiet and the excitement vanished, replaced by something calmer but no less determined. "We don't even have to go around the world. We could just... leave. Go some place where people won't look at us funny or make us feel like freaks. Wouldn't have to worry about school, about people calling us names and making fun of us. Wouldn't have to worry about breaking mom's stuff or upsetting her all the time because we can't get a grip."

Wanda knew that he was no longer talking about the both of them. She, of course, shared the trials that came with being a mutant, but their experiences differed. Wanda was naturally introverted. She could survive without friends, without acceptance, though she secretly craved it. She was able to control her gift, to an extent, in public. Most first impressions labeled her as a regular teenage girl, and she never allowed anyone to get close enough to see otherwise. Peter, on the other hand, stood out and he needed acceptance. With his silver hair, pale skin, light eyebrows and striking dark eyes, he was far from the average teenager and that made him a target to be bullied or ostracized. Not to mention he was impulsive. His emotions were never hidden and he let them control his decisions and actions. That's why he had over a thousand stolen sweets stacked up in his room.

Wanda placed a hand on her brother's arm, fully prepared to give him a half-assed speech on how everything would be okay, but she was interrupted by the door practically flying open. Startled, she sat up with a hand on her chest. "Mom, what the hell? Knock much?" she joked, but her amusement was short-lived as she took in her mother's appearance. The color had drained from the woman's face and she appeared to be on the verge of tears. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"I didn't do anything," Peter immediately whined, grabbing a pillow and covering his face with it. Muffled, he added, "I've been here with Wanda the entire time—"

"Peter," both Wanda and her mother tried, but the boy continued to talk over them.

"—bugging her, just like you said. We were about to get into a really deep conversation though, I could feel it. But mom, I'm really sorry about the vase, don't—"

"Pietro."

Both twins fell silent at their mother's voice and Peter tossed the pillow aside and finally sat up. His mother never used his birth name — not even when she was angry with him. When she was angry, Peter hardly gave her time to say anything at all before he ran off and left her to rant to Wanda about his wrongdoings. That aside, all it took was one look at the woman to know that she wasn't about to scold them over some old vase.

Peter was by her side in less than a second. "Mom? What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you need me to call 911? Sit down, okay? Hey Wanda—"

"Sweetie." She silenced her son by placing a trembling hand on his cheek and Peter noticed the glassiness gathering in her eyes. "I need both of you to listen to me very carefully. You need to gather your things—no," her eyes darted around the room, wide and fearful as though she expected the walls to cave in on them at any moment. "No, I don't think there's time for that," she muttered before gripping Peter by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You have to—You must go. You must go now."

Wanda slowly got to her feet. She could feel her mother's hysteria — fear, terror and so much guilt. She was also picking up Peter's confusion and worry, if it wasn't already obvious by the boy's wide eyes. "Mom, you aren't making any sense. Where do you want us to go? What's going on?"

Her mother stepped back suddenly, hands covering the lower part of her face as her teary eyes looked between the two teenagers. "God, what have I done? I should have realized sooner—I watched all the programs and I heard the warnings but—Oh, God."

"What the hell is going on?" Peter finally demanded, voice much louder than intended. Wanda knew that he was afraid, she was starting to feel the same way.

Pulling herself together, their mother took a deep breath. "Earlier this week I noticed a van, dark windows, patrolling the block. I thought maybe it was security for one of the neighbors, but—God, I was so foolish. Of course it wasn't for them. I should have known," her voice broke off into a sob. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't understand," Peter admitted, but his voice had lowered to a whisper and Wanda felt his fingers slowly curl around hers.

"They've been watching us," Wanda slowly clarified, eyes widening.

Her mother shook her head and Wanda could almost hear her heart breaking as she spoke. "They've been watching you. Both of you. At first, I thought it was because of Peter's run-ins with the law, but—" her voice cracked and she shook her head. "There's no time now. They're going to be here any second. You need to get out."

Peter released his sister's hand long enough to hand over her purse before disappearing. When he reappeared a moment later, he had a backpack of his own. Wanda grabbed a journal and a few of the photos from her desk, shoving them into her purse before rummaging for her keys. "I'll drive," she offered.

"No!" Her mother snatched the keys from her hand. "You two are leaving on your own. Don't take the car. You need to get as far away as possible," Wanda's heart fell into the pit of her stomach and her mother's eyes fell on Peter, "as quickly as possible."

Peter tensed up and he grabbed hold of their mother's arm. "No—No, you're coming with us. We're not going to leave you here. That—That doesn't make any sense. Wanda, tell her!"

Wanda remained silent. She knew better. She knew that her mother had no intention of going with them. It made sense, Peter would put his life in jeopardy if he had to make two trips, and he wouldn't get nearly as far if he tried to transport them both. She gave her brother a look and his face fell.

"Pietro, darling, don't worry." She cupped the boy's face, though tears streamed down her cheeks. "You have to be strong for your sister. And you won't—you won't be alone for long, I promise you. He'll find you. I know he will."

Wanda picked up on her mother's murmuring and tugged on her arm lightly. "Who?" she whispered. "Who do we find? Is there someone that can help us?"

Their mother opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. The bedroom window shattered and Peter's eyes widened as a small metal tin landed on the floor between them. Wanda heard him yell something intelligible and before she knew it there was a hand on her back and the room became a mess of blurred colors. She was suddenly thrown to the ground and distantly she heard more glass breaking and what she feared to be footsteps. She could still feel the room spinning and she tried to steady herself using leaning against the couch. It suddenly clicked that she was downstairs and surrounded by chaos.

Though her vision was foggy, she could see the dark figures approaching her. They were armed, she knew that much, and when she heard Peter cry out she was thrown back into reality. Her hands shot up in front of her, crimson sparks flying from her fingertips. The men groaned, knocking into each other before collapsing and she took the opportunity to make a dash for the kitchen. She held out her hand, a knife flying into it just in time for her to turn around and dig it into an intruder's torso. She tried to run back into the living room when she heard her mother scream, but she was pulled back by an arm around her throat and something cool resting on her right temple.

Peter hated the sound of bones cracking, it made him cringe, yet he still twisted the man's arm behind his back, trying to ignore the slow popping that would undoubtedly progress to a full-blown break by the time the attacker realized what was going on. He could hear Wanda screaming in the kitchen but another line of masked bastards blocked his way. They had guns, but bullets had never been much of a problem for him. What was a problem was the fact that his sister was being held in a headlock with a barrel to her temple, while his mother was being cornered by not one, but three figures. Peter approached his mom first, knocking two of the men's heads together and readjusting the third man's aim toward them. He heard the low rumble of a gun being fired to his right and he made his way to the kitchen, shoving the man away from his sister and yanking her from his arms just as the bullet grazed her hairline.

Wanda let out a pained wail as she fell on top of her brother. Her head was throbbing and she was almost sure the wrist in his grip was dislocated. "Are you okay?" she heard him ask, but his voice was muffled by the sound of a gunshot.

Peter disappeared, but Wanda immediately knew he had been just a second too late by the way he suddenly stopped by the stairs. She screamed when she saw her mother hit the floor, and she wasn't sure if the sudden overwhelming horror was her own or Peter's. She saw two of the gunmen collapse just as Peter vanished and she took the chance to run her mother's side.

"Mom?" she cupped the woman's paling face. "Mom, no— Just— Just stay with me, okay?"

Her mother's glassy eyes were already unfocused and she weakly shook her head. "He'll— You won't... be alone... If he knows... He—" Her voice was cut off by a sharp inhale. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and Wanda barely had time to cry before she felt arms wrap around her torso. Her hands were extended toward her mother's limp form for only a moment before she disappeared from sight entirely.

When the girl hit the grass, she could barely breathe. The queasiness had settled in, but the grief was much worse. Peter collapsed beside her, and she could feel him trembling as he pulled her into his arms.

She didn't know how long they sat there — she wasn't even sure where they were. It felt like ages and she could only imagine how slowly time was passing for Peter.

"I want to go back," she whispered finally. Peter didn't respond so Wanda tried again. "I can't— We can't just leave her there." She tried to get to her feet, but she was met with an overwhelming burning sensation in her head that sent her tumbling back down.

Peter caught her just before she hit the ground. "We can't go back. Some would probably be waiting for us if we did. Mom told us to run..." He paused, rubbing at his eyes. "I think we should listen to her, for once," he added quietly. Wanda felt tears burn her eyes and she let out a broken whimper. She ran her fingers through her hair, a sign of distress, but hissed in pain. When she dropped her hands, she noticed the red staining her fingertips. "We need to get you to a doctor."

"Oh yeah?" Wanda shut her eyes. "Where do you want to go? If they came after us because we're mutants, the hospital will just hand us back to them." Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. "They don't care about freaks like us, Peter."

Peter took a deep breath, staring blankly at the ground for a moment before a memory played in his mind.

How do I know I can trust you?

Because we're like you.

It was a long shot, but they didn't have any other options. He gathered his sister in his arms and she immediately pressed her face against his chest.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispered into her hair. "I know someone who does."

Author's Note: Welp. I'm not really sure what this is, to be quite honest. I just really wanted more Magneto&Quicksilver interactions, so somehow I came up with this idea. Also note that Wanda is a little more empathetic and AoU-esque. I dunno if I'll continue this, I may just write a one-shot or two. Buuuut, anyway, congratulations on making it through this un-beta'd, messy chapter! Reviews/constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!