Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel's Avengers: Age of Ultron
Rating: T for violence
Author's Note: My one-shots on Wanda and Pietro turned out to be very popular, so I've decided to create a fanfic of short stories of them before the events of Age of Ultron. Please enjoy, and feel free to check out my other Marvel works! (I do notknow how many chapters this will turn out to be)
Story 1: The Beginning
Wanda runs through her home. It isn't a nice house, and there's hardly any furniture, but to her parents and her twin brother, it is home. Their parents sleep on a mattress in the kitchen by the fireplace, and the only other rooms are the twin's bedroom, the entry hall, and the bathroom. Small, but large enough. They are thankful they have as many as four rooms in such a desolate and poverty-filled country.
Pietro follows her into the kitchen, but not quickly enough to beat her. She instantly reaches for her mother, who's setting the tiny table with their cracked and stained cutlery. Their mother turns, a wooden spoon in her hand as she looks at her children sternly.
"What now?" she exclaims in an Eastern-European language.
"Pietro took my things," Wanda says. "He took my favorite doll."
Pietro only looks a little ashamed, though he looks up with his adorable, angelical eyes. He's such a cute ten-year old, and it's a good thing he's so cute because he's a kleptomaniac and an overall master of mischief.
"Pietro!" Their mother points the wooden spoon at him threateningly. "What have I told you? Time and time again?"
Wanda looks satisfied as Pietro rolls his eyes and hands over the raggedy doll. Wanda clutches it close and beams up at her mother. The woman sighs, places the spoon on the table, and kneels down to their level.
"Your father is getting home soon, and you know how tired he is," she tells them gently. "All this racket and mischief has to stop soon. Settle down, or go run outside. Give him some space. You know how hard he works for what little we have. Don't take things from each other, and please, don't bother him." Then she smiles cruelly. "Or I'll make you help me. There's always cleaning to be done, food to be prepared, and laundry to wash, and you two are just the perfect candidates. What do you say, eh?"
Pietro squirms away, a disgusted expression on his face. "We'll go outside and not bother you anymore. Come on, Wanda." He pulls on her hand and they run out of the house, slamming the door behind them.
"One day she'll make good on her threat," Wanda warns him. "Just you wait and see."
"If she can catch me," Pietro replies, sprinting away. His sister follows, though she isn't as fast as he. No one is quite as fast as her brother when he starts running. Finally he slows down enough for her to catch up. "You now you're a tattle-tale, don't you?"
"And you're a thief," she shoots back, her eyebrows raising. He smiles. "That I am." The twins start running again.
They weave in and out of alleys in the neighbourhood and cause a lot of ruckus for a while. When they hear their mother calling from the doorway of their house they head back, all their energy spent. Mother points to the well, instructs them to wash off, then herds them into the house. Their father is sitting wearily at the table, a plate of steaming food in front of them.
Taking their seats at the table, the twins pile up their plates with the simple meat and stew. While their family isn't destitute, they aren't exactly well off, either. Meals are twice a day and simple, and the only furnishing in their house is the table, chairs, wood stove, a mattress their parents move to the kitchen and sleep on, and a rusty old bed frame with a straw mattress in the twin's room. Their father works hard every day to make sure they have that much.
Pietro immediately starts digging in, but Wanda elbows him in the side. He looks over innocently, cheeks puffed out with food. Their mother takes her seat and glares at him.
"Before we eat we'll say a blessing," she comments, the sentence directly aimed at Pietro. He swallows quickly and smiles back guiltily.
They eat dinner in near silence, and in the middle of the meal their mother stands up and reaches into the stove. "I almost forgot," she says. "Today when I did the governor's laundry he tipped me extra. I managed to get a good deal on some flour and oil." She pulls a small loaf of bread out, cooked golden brown. Bread is a rare treat, and after dividing it in four pieces the family used it to clean out their plates.
After dinner the family cleans up, talking while they do. This is how they bond, through work. Wanda and Pietro tell about school—what little education they get, since the "school" is not much more than a young woman being paid to teach poor children simple maths, sciences, history, and reading—and their father talks about the mine and how no new coal hotspots have been discovered lately.
"Does that mean…" their mother trails off, a worried expression dancing on her face.
"It might," Father confirms, a serious expression on his face. "I'm going to start searching for a new job tomorrow after my shift. Things might get tight."
Their mother exhales deeply. "While I washed the governor's laundry I overheard one of his conversations with another official." She lowers her voice. "Terrorists are getting closer and closer every day. Any day they'll be upon our village."
"And what's to stop them?" Father asks bitterly. "There's nothing here, just an odd collection of tiny homes and poverty-stricken people. We're just another little village taking up the space. The authorities will probably be glad we're gone."
"There's talk of a man who's trying to stop the terrorists," Mother replies. "Stark. He's an American, a rich one. He got his fortune off of designing and selling weapons. He'll do anything to stop the terrorists, and he's not afraid of collateral damage."
"I detest rich men like I detest the devil. They think they can do anything, can control anyone. They're all bad, do you hear me?" He turns to his children. "Rich men will be the downfall of our world. They meddle in things they do not fully understand and think everything will be alright because, hey, they're rich. Never trust one."
Pietro and Wanda nod, though their young brains understand only a little. Pietro thinks being rich sounds nice, and Wanda tries to understand what people could do with enough money to throw half of it away and still be unaffected.
The loud shaking interrupts the conversation. Shaking isn't new for them, as earthquakes are quite common, but the noise usually isn't this loud. Then the screams start, and all of them know this isn't an earthquake.
"They're here!" Mother cries, gathering up Wanda. She picks her up and runs her to the room. Father grabs Pietro's shoulders firmly.
"You watch out for your sister, alright? You stay with her, and no matter what, don't leave her. She needs you, okay? Never let her out of your sight. You do whatever it takes to stay alive, and do it for the both of you. Understand me?" His father's gaze is intense and so tight it almost hurts Pietro.
"I promise," he says, though he doesn't understand. All he knows is that bad guys are coming, and his parents are going somewhere and leaving him alone with Wanda.
"Good. Now go to your room and hid under the bed, and don't come out until it's safe. Go!"
Pietro follows his instructions and sees Wanda hugging their mother tightly, tears streaming down her face. Wanda rarely cries, so Pietro knows something is up.
Their mother runs out to join their father, and Wanda pulls her brother with her under the bed. Nowhere is safe in their house, but staying under the bed provides some protection. As Pietro slides under he grabs Wanda's favourite doll and hands it to her. She holds it tightly to her chest, a scared look in her eyes.
"It's going to be okay," he reassures her. "I'm here."
Mother sets down Wanda gently in the room, then embraces her and whispers into her ear. "Your father and I need to go out and see if we can help the others. You stay here with Pietro, understood? Don't come out. I love you Wanda, and I love Pietro, but you need to protect him. Stay with him, watch out for him. He's impulsive, and he needs you to help him think things through. Stay with him and everything will be alright. Hide under the bed, now. Make sure Pietro follows suit. Okay? I love you, baby."
"I love you too," Wanda sniffs. "I'm scared, mommy. Are you going to be okay?"
"I hope so, baby, I hope so." Pietro comes in, and her mother lets her go, exiting the room. Wanda follows her mother's instructions and leads Pietro under the bed. He gives her her doll, and she holds it closely, relieved to have something familiar and nice.
They lay for a few seconds after Pietro tells her it's going to be okay, listening to bombs and gunfire everywhere. Less than a minute passes by before their entire house shakes, cracks webbing the walls and the whole opposite wall exploding.
"Do you think…do you think Mother and Father made it out?" Wanda asks, scared to hear the answer.
"I don't know," Pietro replies honestly. His childish face is scrunched up in pain and concern. "I can go see." He starts to slid out, but Wanda stops him.
"They told us to wait here," she tells him. "We need to listen to them."
For the next few hours they hide, their little minds tramatized further at every scream, every gunshot, and every bomb that hits close. They shake with fear, their hearts racing the whole time.
Finally their worst nightmare comes to pass. A bomb falls and lands right in the rubble from the wall, only feet away from them. Wanda closes her eyes and huddles closer to Pietro, whispering prayers under her breath. Pietro also closes his eyes, though a few seconds later he opens them. Once he sees the lettering on the weapon his eyes narrow and he nudges his sister. "Look."
Inscribed on the missile in red lettering is Stark Industries.
"Why do they take everything away from us?" Wanda cries. "We barely have anything to start with, and yet the rich people take more and more."
"Greed eats them up," Pietro agrees. "They never have enough."
Then the two of them hold each other and wait for the bomb to explode, shallow breaths and racing hearts the only thing they can hear in the moment. Finally they drift off to sleep, each knowing they won't wake up.