Disclaimer: I do NOT own X-Men Evolution or any of its characters. I don't have any rights toward it, and I'm not making any money off this. This story belongs to me and is purely for entertainment purposes only.
Oh Brother Mine
My name is Wanda Maximoff. I am a mutant; a very, very, powerful one. You ask me what my power is? I'd tell you, but I'm not too sure myself. The only way to describe it is might be to say that I can alter probability, whatever that means. All I know is, I am powerful enough to destroy you without even touching you; without even breaking a sweat. Powerful enough that my own Father, the 'all-powerful' Magneto, was afraid of me, so much afraid that he locked me up. Even with all this power, however, I am unable to escape, so what good is it?
I sit here now, in my dark cell room which is no better than a dungeon. There are no windows, no lights, no nothing. Just a bed, a mattress, really, with only feathers and hay for stuffing, so it would be impossible for me to use as a weapon. My hands and arms are tied up with a straight jacket and lots of rope, so much so that it burns. My feet are shackled with a heavy iron chain to the wall.
The room is always monitored closely, so I have no privacy. I can't tell where the camera is, but I know it's there, not to mention the half a dozen guards and employees always around my room, ready to burst in with sedatives or beatings, in case I needed it.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes, exhausted from inaction. A trickle of blood rolls down my forehead and onto my closed eyelid, but it's not like I can brush it away, so what's it matter? I got the cut from banging my head into the wall repeatedly. It hurt, but not so much more than the punch that guard gave me to make me shut up. It's better than the injections, so I won't complain. I need pain sometimes. I inflict it on others often enough; whenever I can, actually. It's no more than they deserve. Besides, pain just reminds me that I'm alive. Physical pain helps take my mind of my never-ending mental anguish, so I need it.
My thoughts wander, as they always do. I have no company but my thoughts. I am in an asylum, so people obviously think I'm crazy. I was never crazy; at least, I wasn't when I was first brought here, but now I'm not so sure. I know that if I remain here much longer, I most certainly will become insane. It would be impossible not too.
I have lived here in my dungeon room for almost 6 years now and never once have I been allowed outside the compound. How could I be, with all my attempts to escape? The people here don't wan't me to escape. They blame me for it. It's stupid, of course. They have me locked up against my will; who wouldn't try to leave?
Then, as always, however much I try to prevent it, my wandering thoughts always end up at a certain memory, with certain people. That memory is enough to make me go berserk. Something in me snaps, and that's it. Even shackled up like this, with my hands bound so tightly that circulation was cut off, the memory of my Father, my own Father so heartlessly abandoning me in this hell, and of my once-dear brother watching, doing nothing, was enough to make my iron shackles bend. I screamed with helpless rage and my feather bed exploded into a thousand pieces.
Then, as always, in came the guards with the tranquilizer guns. The big male nurses who looked more like professional wrestlers than medical assistants came and held me down, pinning my arms and legs together as another one injected me with a strong sedative. This happened every time. The same thing. I thought I was getting better at controlling my anger in front of them, but sometimes I slipped. Never once had they let me work out my rage, and just as I was thinking that, the medicine overtook me, and I fell as always into a disturbed, drug-induced sleep.
"Hey Wanda, come and catch me!" A nine-year-old Pietro challenged.
"Okay...Hey, no fair Pietro! You can't use powers and stuff!"
"Why not?" Pietro demanded.
"'Cause, you, you just can't! It's not fair. And besides, Father always gets mad when we do, remember?"
Pietro opened his mouth to correct his twin, telling her that no, Father only got mad when you used your powers, not when I did, but for once in his life his mind worked faster than his mouth, and he thought better of it.
Instead he replied, "Okay, fine. I won't use powers if you don't. But I can still beat ya!" With that he tapped his sister on the shoulder, yelling "Tag!" and ran off as fast as he could without using his super speed.
Wanda shrieked happily and ran after her brother, knowing that she probably wouldn't be able to catch him, even if he ran at a normal speed. He was always faster than her, even before their powers manifested. However, after some time, Pietro would slow down and let Wanda catch up. He always did, even though he denied it every time. No matter how much of an ego Pietro developed, even at that early age, he would always slow down for his sister, even though he didn't for any one else.
When Wanda finally caught up to him she leapt on her brother, tackling him to the ground. The duo tumbled down in a giggling heap, trying to tickle each other. Pietro, always and forever the sensitive one, begged mercy first and the pair calmed down.
Pietro and Wanda finally felt a little tired (they had been playing for hours,) and so lay on the grass and looked up at the clouds, getting in and out of petty everyday arguments, dropping into old familiar games, trying to guess what the clouds looked like, and talking in a way that no one else would be able to understand. After a while, they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Wanda broke the silence first.
"Pie-Pie?"
"Hmm?"
"Where is Father gonna take us tomorrow?"
"I dunno. He didn't say. But he usually doesn't even tell us that we're going somewhere in advance, does he?"
"Well, he never really goes anywhere with us at all, remember?"
"Oh yeah."
"Hey, maybe he's taking us on a vacation! 'Cause he told us to pack and stuff."
Pietro turned his head slightly to look at his sister and frowned. "He never told me anything about packing."
Wanda looked at her twin in puzzlement, an identical confused frown on her face. "But he told me this morning that I had to pack all my clothes and stuff. He told the housemaid to help me, so I'm all ready. He didn't say why though. Are you sure he didn't say anything to you?"
Pietro propped himself up on his elbow. "Uh huh. I was with him all morning for the training thing remember? He never told me anything about packing. It's okay though, I can go pack later."
"I'll help! I'm good at packing stuff."
"Thanks." Pietro said, laying back down. "But it is kinda weird that Daddy never told me."
"Yeah..."
The two just lay silently for awhile, enjoying being alone with just each other, instead of all the servants in the mansion bugging them to do stuff, and with their Father getting mad all the time.
Suddenly, Wanda jerked up and looked at her brother, worry written all over her face.
"What is it?" Pietro asked her, turning at her sudden movement.
"Pietro, what if Father didn't tell you on purpose? What if he only wanted me to pack?"
"Why would he do that?"
"Maybe he's gonna make me go somewhere, all by myself! I don't wanna go anywhere without you!" Wanda said, near hysterics. It was her greatest and almost only fear; that she and Pietro might get separated, that she might have to go to a bad place. Considering her past, it wasn't surprising.
"Wanda!" Pietro said, getting up and going to his sister. "Don't be silly; you're not going anywhere without me. We have to be together always, remember? We're twins," he said, as if he thought the idea of him and Wanda being separated was ludicrous.
"Yeah, but then why didn't Father tell you?" Wanda asked, close to tears.
"He probably just forgot." Pietro said unconvincingly, for he was starting to get a little worried himself. He put his arms comfortingly around his sister.
"But-"
"Look Wanda," Pietro said, cutting in firmly, "I'm not gonna let anybody take you away, okay? Never. I'll protect you, because we're going to be together always and always, remember? Forever."
"Promise?" Wanda sniffed slightly, looking up from her place against Pietro's chest.
"Promise," Pietro said solemnly, meaning every word he said.
Wanda smiled, a little trembling, and then suddenly threw her arms around Pietro's neck, hugging him tightly.
"Oomph! Wanda, you're squishing me!" Pietro said, trying to get away, just like any nine-year-old boy would do when attacked with sudden female attention.
Wanda simply hugged him harder and gave him a sloppy, very affectionate sisterly kiss on the cheek. "I love you Pietro," she said, still hugging him.
"Aww, Wanda!" Pietro whined slightly. He loved his sister more than anything else in the world; he couldn't imagine being without her, but sometimes Wanda could be such a girl.
Wanda looked up at him, eyes shining, forcing a slightly goofy, brotherly grin to appear on Pietro's face.
"Aw, heck," Pietro muttered, dropping all pretense and hugging his sister back, just as fiercely. No one was there, after all, and it wasn't as if it was school where people might tease you. Come to think of it, he didn't really care if people were watching, this was his twin, after all.
"I love you too Wanda." Pietro said, hugging his twin in return.
Unknown to both children, however, there was someone watching them, which definitely didn't work out to their advantage, although neither child could have known then. It was a cloaked figure, standing and watching from the third floor.
AN: Okay, so what do you guys think? I wrote this story quite a while back and there's more to it. I need to know whether or not to post the rest, because there's no point if no one's interested. So, Review!!!
