A/N: "Holland Road" belongs to Mumford and Sons. Characters belong to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Lyric interpretation is my own, but in no way definitive. (It may not be what the original songwriter intended) Enjoy . .
I am sick of this place. The same walls, same furniture, same screaming frustration bouncing around in my skull. My fingers pick absentmindedly at the bed. I can't help but notice my nails, chewed down to the nub, the black nail polish severely chipped. I have been bored out of my mind.
I suppose it's better this way. Those eleven lives lost, they leave stains on my hands. I can't shake the guilt, the desperation building inside me. I'm a ticking time bomb, always on edge.
Natasha has helped, though. She sought me out a few days after the accident, the day the Sokovia Accords had been proposed. I recall her words now.
"You won't ever be able to wash that blood off your hands. It's best to keep working for the better cause. It's why we do this, Wanda. Those eleven deaths could have been forty if it weren't for you. You saved a lot of people, don't beat yourself up over it."
I suppose she understands. After her soliloquy, she opened up about her past, as an assassin. She was, after all, raised as a mindless killing machine She's got blood on her hands, too. People saw her as a killer. She told me how she worked her way up to become an Avenger.
I have a new respect for Natasha Romanoff.
It has been a year since Ultron's downfall, and my becoming an Avenger. That also means, painfully, it has been one year since my brother's death.
And it tears me up every single day. Sometimes I wake up and I've forgotten how to breath.
We went into HYDRA's experiments together. We came out of it together. The testing, the pain, the excruciating process of becoming superhuman, even alien. He was there, holding my hand, for all of it. He never shed a tear, never faltered.
My brother was the definition of strength. I will never doubt that.
They day Pietro and I lost our parents, he made a promise to me. I recall his words now, as we huddled under that bed, waiting for the goddamn bomb to go off. He promised me he would protect me. No matter what. No matter the battles we faced. I didn't think much of it then. I think about it all the time now.
He never broke his promise. Until the moment those bullets ripped through his body, he was protecting me. I owe him. I hate owing people.
Vision brings me news. Bits and pieces. The scare in Vienna, the bomb. Thank God Nat's alive. The last few days, I have heard nothing. So I'm stuck here, in the dark, waiting for some inkling. Waiting for a chance to get back into action.
I have to remind myself how unpredictable I am. I can't be near a fight. The thought eats me up inside. I think of Stark and Rodgers. I wonder if that's how they see me: A wild animal that cannot be contained.
Vision does his best to comfort me. He makes it his mission to entertain me, to keep me from going insane. We watch movies long into the night. I dig out an old chessboard. I even teach him to paint, something I haven't done since long before Pietro and I joined HYDRA.
He helps me practice controlling my powers. I rearrange the furniture with telekenisis. He launches random objects across a room, and I deflect them. "This isn't going to work, Vision. You know I can do this. I need to practice with the Avengers' lives hanging in the balance, and a bomb ten yards away." I say, somewhat sarcastically. Vision stares at me. There's a shadow of pain in his eyes. I look away, pretending not to notice.
One morning, he insists we go out, take a walk. My mood darkens.
"I believe I'm on house arrest, Viz."
"We won't leave the facility."
So that's what we do. We make our way across to the grass, staring over the Avengers Facility.
"Your mood changes. It drifts like water, like snow." Vision says. I suppress a laugh.
"Okay."
"What are you thinking now, Wanda?"
"I can't tell you. Mostly because I don't know myself." I say, averting my eyes. "I cannot erase what happened in Lagos, the deaths. I spent my life chasing the Avengers, chasing Stark. He murdered my parents, others, too. When I became an Avenger, I thought maybe I could change things. I thought I could protect civilians, maybe even make up for the lives Stark and HYDRA, and Ultron took. When I launched that bomb, I destroyed that hope." I stop talking, looking at him.
"Do you know how many people died because of me, Viz?"
He doesn't say anything. I know he knows the answer. I say it anyway, wanting to hear it out loud.
"Eleven. Eleven people, dead by my hand." I say, pressing my palm into my forehead. I want to make the screams disappear. I dig my fingernails into the skin on the inside of my arm, trying to ground myself. I need an anchor. Vision's hand hangs awkwardly between us. Maybe he was thinking about touching me, embracing me? I don't know.
"It wasn't your fault."
"It was." I say, because it's true.
"You are in pain. You are in pain often, Maximoff."
I meet his eyes.
"I suppose the pain is what drags my sorry ass out of bed in the morning. Without it, my heart would be a stone, and I'd go down without a fight."
"Mumford and Sons."
"What?" I say, genuinely confused.
"And I will not tell the thoughts of hell. That carried me home from the Holland road. With my heart like a stone I put up no fight. To your callous mind, and from your corner you rose to cut me down." He recites to me. It's a song, and I've heard it before.
"Forgiveness. The song is a plea for forgiveness." I say, slowly.
"Yes." He nods. He holds out a hand. I take it.
"Wanda, you need to know. You are forgiven, in my eyes. In Rodger's and Stark's and Natasha's as well. You don't need to ask anymore."
That night, I turn Vision's words over and over in my head. I even say them out loud, searching for solace in them. I know he means well, of course. But part of me refuses to accept his reasoning. If they had forgiven me, they wouldn't have locked me up. And their forgiveness, in no way, equaled the forgiveness of the families whose loved ones I have murdered.
I think back to the painful hours huddled under the bed, staring at Stark's name as my life bled out under me. The day was colorless and silent. Save for the beating of my brother's heart.
I have become my own enemy. I have created the thing I fear. I spent all those years chasing revenge on Stark, only to turn around and become him. I don't deserve anyone's forgiveness.
I find the song buried in billions of audio files. I slip earbuds in, and turn the volume up, leaning back in the chair. I pull my knees to my chest, staring at the darkened window.
"So I was lost, go count the cost. Before you go to the holland road, with your heart like a stone you spared no time in lashing out. And I knew your pain and the effect of my shame . . .
But I'll still believe though there's cracks you'll see. When I'm on my knees I'll still believe. And when I've hit the ground, neither lost nor found. If you'll believe in me I'll still believe"
Vision believes in me. I suppose I should believe in me, too.