The Cradle of Life (Or: Aich is a Weenie and Loves the Twins too Much)
Summary:
It is hard to live, when half of you is gone. The twins had never been apart for long, and to be divided by death only made the usual ache of it worse. Wanda still remembers the feeling as her brother was torn from her, the pain that she felt from his mind, and the sudden vanishing of his consciousness.
Authors Note: You can read only the first Chapter, and the story make sense. The last two chapters are simply aftermath of the first, and ultimately making a few points about the twins. Consider Chapters 2+3 appendixes, more than anything.
Chapter 1
Wanda sat often in the morgue, when she wasn't training. When the nights were too dark, or aches from training hurt too much for her to sleep, she went down to the morgue they'd been forced to build, and she would sit by Pietro.
She had not yet let them bury him.
The morgue was a small room, and cold, so she would wrap herself in a shawl, and curl up small, perched on a chair beside the tray that held her brother. She missed his presence. Missed the constant chatter of his mind, missed his constant movement, missed how he would loom behind her if he thought she was being threatened, and how he always listened and helped her when she asked.
She had missed it from the first moment his mind had been ripped from hers, a hail of bullets causing brief agony and then… nothing. She had killed Ultron for it, but it did not help. She wanted to tear him apart again, and again, and again, until it was as though Ultron had never been there at all. Until her brother stood beside her again.
The morgue was peaceful. Soft sounds from the state-of-the-art air conditioning Stark had had installed, the sound of her breathing. The lights never hummed, because she never turned them on. Just sat, in the dark, until she felt alright.
Her dreams had been different since the battle. Usually she would get dribs and drabs from her brother's thoughts, fragments of memories from the experiments that had shaped them, but now…
They were memories from her brother, with only a few of her own. Events matched with his affectionate sarcasm, a running commentary like Pietro used to give on one breath of air. Memories of her own, sometimes. But always, always, the memory then from his perspective. His commentary, his laughter. She had always known, instinctively, that he would protect her. She had not realised quite how far that was true. She had no nightmares those nights.
"Are you alright?"
The voice startled Wanda, where she was perched by her brother, as did the lights as they hummed on. She curled smaller, turning her head to catch the silhouette of Natasha by the door.
"J.A.R.V.I.S. said you would be down here. Nightmare?"
Wanda considered shaking her head, but spoke instead, "I could not sleep. Sitting with him helps."
She heard the scrape of a chair being dragged across hard concrete, and a thunk as it was set down. Natasha herself was only a whisper. "You can't let him stay in there forever, you know. Doctor Cho wants us to take him out and put him in the Cradle so he doesn't rot before the funeral."
Wanda twitched at the thought, "No."
"Then you will bury him?" Natasha's voice probing, pushing.
Wanda's was quiet, "No."
"So you let him haunt you? You can't go on like that. Ask Steve, or Sam, or Colonel Rhodes. Ask me. Sometimes you have to let people go."
Wanda laughed; a dry, cold thing. "Like you did Banner?"
"Hulk doesn't die that easy."
The unspoken words hung in the air, hovered in Natasha's mind and Wanda could feel them. Pietro did.
They were quiet for a while. The soft sounds of the air conditioning, the hum of the light, the rhythm of their breath. Wanda glanced to the door that stood between her brother's body and her. It was cold, she knew. She had opened it once, and promptly been sick. It was hard to see her brother dead. Almost, she reminded herself, as bad as feeling him die. She did not touch the door any more. It kept the cold in, and kept Pietro preserved. That was enough.
"J.A.R.V.I.S. has been going over comms from the battle." Natasha's voice was soft, and Wanda barely listened. "Will you answer a question for me? Is it true what you said to Ultron? That you felt your brother die?"
Wanda's flinch almost sent her off the chair, but Natasha's hands were gentle as they caught her. Wanda nodded, shaken, as she settled onto the chair again.
"Were your minds linked because of Strucker and List's experiments, or because of you?"
Wanda didn't answer. Natasha's voice placed no blame, though Wanda half-expected the assassin to want to lash out at someone, for her failure to find Banner again. The question turned in Wanda's mind, slow and gentle, and then spinning faster, as a rogue memory from Pietro rushed through her thoughts. The answer was lost. She shrugged.
"I wondered, since Helen mentioned the Cradle again," Natasha said, her voice gentler than Wanda had ever heard it. "If your mind was linked to your brother you might be able to find fragments of his mind in yours, as Stark found J.A.R.V.I.S. in the net."
Wanda didn't need Natasha to make the next leap, her mind did it herself, the thoughts so open in Natasha's mind that it was instinctive to take them into her own. "If Pietro is in my mind we might be able to put him in a body, as Ultron tried to do, and as Stark tried to do." She sounded hopeful.
Natasha nodded. "We'd need the Cradle, and you'd need to find him. We'd need Thor again likely, for the energy required. But if you can find him…"
"I have my brother back."
Natasha nods, and stands. She does not offer a hand, and turns the lights out as she leaves. Wanda does not sleep.
The next morning Wanda is exhausted, but pushes through training. The moment she can beg a break she is digging into her own mind again, finding every memory of her brother's that appeared with his death, every fragment of his speeding thought, of his sarcasm and affection, every ounce of him she could eke from her own mind she did, and she sets them to one side.
It takes days. On the third she nods when Doctor Cho gently asks to put Pietro in the Cradle, and asks if he can stay in there, just for a few days more. Wanda is certain it would only take a few days more.
The next day Wanda sinks into her mind. Midway between meditation and dreams she tugs and twists her own mind around, and the brother-mind she has been shaping, setting them a-dancing and watching to see what shakes loose.
Memories.
Memories cascade over her, memory after memory after memory.
She drowns in them.
She is a child, she is ten, and she is hidden under stone and rubble. She curls into her brother, feels his arms wrap around her. Together they stare at the metal across the chamber, and read the letters on it, over and over and over.
STARK INDUSTRIES
A name they promise then to hate forever.
They are on the streets, hand in hand. One of the increasing upsets caused them to be thrown out of their foster home, and now they survive day to day, Pietro filching food, picking pockets, Wanda begging coins and attention from any she can. At night they curl between bins, Pietro wrapped around his sister, giving her all the warmth he can.
They protest together. When one is pulled away by police the other starts a fight to follow. They're put in neighbouring cells, before they're released, and hold hands through the bars.
Once, someone asks if they're married.
"Siblings on the streets, lovers in the sheets, eh?" They leer with broken teeth, and one clatters to the ground when Wanda punches them.
When Strucker and List's men start finding people to experiment on they decide together. Wanda argues for it, Pietro provides the counter. They agree it is their best hope for vengeance.
They march to the old castle, use Wanda's trickery and ability to distract, and Pietro's speed to get most of the way in before the men catch them. They demand to see Strucker, and List too. Demand to join the experiments. They tell him of the vengeance they seek and with a mocking laugh Strucker has them join the ones he collected.
That night is the first time they've slept apart that they can remember.
The better they do the more privileges they get. The first they ask, the one they always ask, is to be allowed into each other's rooms. The others ask for more food, for media, for rest, one asks to be allowed to kill. The twins ask only for each other.
When the retrovirus, constructed from Chitauri blood, and the magic of the sceptre, rips through them and the other subjects, they curl together on the floor of Pietro's room, feeling as though their bones will shake apart.
They go from ten to six in one night.
The night after, they are four. Pietro's quakes have worsened. From the jitters he got when he was feeling useless to constantly, as a fast as the wings of a fly. Wanda's have slowed, and turned inward. She can feel it rattling through her mind, shaking loose memories she'd hidden from herself, memories of their parents, crushed beneath stone, memories of the weeping they heard through the rubble.
Wanda tucks her face into Pietro's neck, and pulls her brother closer.
"I think I'm going to die," she whispers to him that night, as her fever grows. She wants to sob, but she has sweated too much liquid to have tears. "It hurts too much, Pietro, please."
Pietro tucks her closer, and his shakes are so fast his body seems to be humming. "You won't die. You can't die. We have to live, for our parents, remember? You're going to be alright." He rocks her gently back and forth, forcing himself upright, leaning back against the wall, Wanda in his lap. "Remember what mum would say. 'Hold on. Just one more minute. Then the fever is gone'-"
"-'and you are healed.'" Wanda finishes the phrase as the memory fills her mind. It does not feel quite right, the memory, but the words are right, just as they both said. She curls against Pietro, and lets him rock them both to sleep, a half forgotten lullaby on his lips.
The next day Pietro's shakes are stopped. He is still jittery, and shaky, but they have stopped. Wanda's mind still throws up odd memories, and sometimes she catches glimpses of scarlet and swears she must still be feverish. The remaining other two are recovering as well. They are not so far along as the twins. One – ex-police – insists he is well and pushes himself onward in their training. When he collapses at the end of the day, Wanda swears she hears him whisper, "I'm going to die."
Pietro swears the man said nothing.
The other – ex-military – knows when to call a break for herself. Though the next day they are down to three, she is still there, and she pushes on, resting regularly.
Two days later she too is dead.
Strucker and List seem most put out to have lost most of their subjects, and more to have nothing to show for it. They hear the Doctor discussing new experiments and curl together on Wanda's bed to distract themselves from the idea of further changes to be wrought on them. Pietro tells her about his dream, the night before.
"Butterflies," he said. "Pale blue ones. We were chasing them through the wood." He laughs a moment, "I was faster."
Wanda elbows him, but knows he is probably right. While she could pick pockets too, he was faster, and when it came to running away, he was faster than anyone, even when he was carrying her.
"Why were we chasing them?" Wanda tilts her head back against Pietro's shoulder, looking up at her brother. He is getting streaks of silver and grey in his hair and Wanda reaches her hand up to tangle in it. Pietro shrugs.
"I don't know. You said they'd be there."
It is then that Wanda remembers her own dream, of chasing blue wisps in the wood, and watching as Pietro leapt ahead.
The next day Pietro is jumpy again. Wanda touches his arm, asks if he's alright. His smile is tight as he replies, "Not really. I don't think my shakes went away. I think they just got faster."
Wanda cannot feel any shakes, and simply rubs his arm. "Maybe they will make you faster," she says, comfortingly. "Maybe you will be faster than anyone."
The laugh Pietro gives is forced, but he presses a kiss to her hair anyway. "Maybe, sister. Maybe."
They are tested separately, after List hears the last of that conversation, but they still curl up together when time comes to sleep, and tell the other about their day. Once they hear List laugh, and call them children for their closeness, and they each have to stop the other from punching the man.
After a few days Wanda can watch through Pietro's eyes when he trains.
A few days more and Pietro can watch through hers.
The memories continue, but Wanda has had enough of nostalgia. She pushes herself to the surface, and wades through them, calling out.
Pietro! Pietro, can you hear me?
There is a memory that is not hers.
Sharp edged and crystalline, it is a paler set of colours than her own saturated memory has it, but it is the same. It is the ship they went to with Ultron. Wanda watches as Clint turns, presses an arrow to her forehead and she drops to the ground convulsing. She does not feel the pain. She feels her brother's concern, his worry, his fear for her, feels how she felt to him as he scooped her up, plucked the arrow from her brow and took her clear of the fight.
Wanda follows the memory deeper.
Pietro! Pietro, can you hear me?
It feels as though the call is echoing through her mind, a wind with no chimes.
You promised you would find me after the battle! Do not make me find you alone, Pietro, please!
She feels him die. The memory sucked her in too quickly for her to brace herself and the pain is as fresh as ever. She feels the bullets strike, one two three four, the last getting caught in his shoulderblade. She sees through his eyes as he speaks to Clint, and then…
It is different. She feels his mind leaving, not fading. Feels it bolt from his dying brain to her vibrant one, forcing its way down the bridge between their minds, leaping for safety, fast as neurons firing, fast as only her brother can be. She follows the memory, and finds him, nestled, comatose, in the back of her brain.
Pietro? Pietro, can you hear me?
She is gentle with the silvered mind. Her mind is bright around them, gold and brown, scarlet and black, colours saturated so richly they might blind the mind bleached of colour.
Pietro, Pietro, please.
She considers moving this mind into the nest of memories which are not hers, but decides it is too delicate. She is good, she knows. She is not that good. She would not risk her brother's mind on her skill, not yet.
She finds herself singing to him. Calling up the lullaby he'd sung to her, she sings it back to him. Of wisps in the wood, of butterflies, she calls up the memories, carefully leached of colours, and sets them dancing around the silvered mind, to the tune of the lullaby.
She watches, and she sings.
She is not sure how long it takes. She is not sure how long she has spent in her mind, just that no one has woken her yet. She imagines the Vision could pull her out, if it came to it, and decides it cannot have been that long. She sings to her brother's mind again, and watches, at last, as blue seeps in, as grey does, and she stretches out scarlet fingers to gently greet him.
He is not aware, per se. She does not have the mental space free for a second mind, and that he was able to find enough to sleep in was a small miracle. She teases his mind gently, pulls and tugs, and gently nestles him into the construct of memories she found. The crystalline ones, the faded ones. The ones with his laugh, his commentary, or his perception. When it is finally done she knows she smiles.
Now. He must be returned home.
When she wakes she is in medical. She pulls things from her forehead, a tube from her arm, and rises. The doors open before her whether they want to or not, and she makes her way on bare feet to the room with Pietro's Cradle.
She is not so surprised, to find Natasha there.
"You found him?"
Wanda nods, and presses her fingers to the lid of the Cradle. She can feel the shape of her brother's body in there, his nerves, his brain. They are not alive enough for this. "Do you know how to wake him?"
Natasha nods, and reaches for the console, tapping a few parts, and pulling the tablet free. Wanda feels when enough energy seeps in for her brother's body to start to live again. She sits beside the Cradle, fingers pressed to the lid, as she waits for the brain to wake up enough for her to show her brother the way home.
It is only a few minutes before they are joined by another. The Vision steps through the door, and quickly closes it behind himself. He only watches, at first, and Wanda does not mind his presence. Then he speaks.
"I am glad you are alright."
Wanda gives the smallest smile at the android's eternal benevolence, and twists how her fingers are set on the Cradle. A small spark of happy scarlet darts over her shoulder, before fading to nothing.
"Agent Romanoff told me that you might need the Odinson's help, to bring your brother back."
Wanda does not speak, but does turn to glance at the android, and nod. She notices that in his hands is a hammer.
The Vision offers a small smile. "I have been lent it, for this one thing."
For the first time in weeks, Wanda truly smiles.
She feels when her brother's brain is ready, and starts slipping memories in. She cannot send her brother's mind in blind, so she will make a shell of memories first, and remake the bridge they once shared. Then she starts the process of waking her brother's mind.
It is hard to hold two whole, full, and separate minds in one brain, and be aware of both, and Wanda almost folds with the strain. She feels a hand touch her spine, and some extra flow of mental energy. She feels a shawl slip over her shoulders, and tuck around her arms.
"Agent Romanoff and I are here, Miss Maximoff."
The android's voice is a comfort and Wanda smiles again, and starts to show her brother the bridge to his own brain.
It takes time to tease him across, and part of the way through Stark comes in, asking what the hell they think they're doing with another experiment if he's not allowed to join. The Vision's calm voice explains to Stark, and Wanda senses his mind as he settles into a chair in the corner.
She knows when her brother is fully across, when he is home.
Wanda… why can't I move?
She laughs aloud at that, and sends the concept across the bridge to him, along with an explanation. She knows her voice sounds smiling to him, and it pleases her.
We are going to wake you, Pietro. Just be patient.
He huffs at her, almost teasing.
When have I ever been patient, sister?
She steps back from the Cradle, still touching the sole conscious part of her brother's newly woken mind, and nods to Vision.
"He is ready."
The Vision spins the hammer in a circle, and outside, stormclouds begin to form.
"If he's the conductor, you're Frankenstein, and your brother's the monster, who gets to be Igor, me or Nat?" asks Stark with a grin.
The Vision spins the hammer faster, and Wanda can hear it thrumming in the air. Outside the thunder rumbles.
"You, obviously," says Natasha. "You're the one who had a metal heart."
Stark laughs. "So cruel! But it's fair. I did pay for the place after all."
Wanda tunes them out, focussing on her brother, and on the hammer spinning in the Vision's hand.
Soon, brother. This may hurt.
When has it not? His mind asks back.
Wanda steps back further, and nods when the Vision glances to her.
The hammer comes ringing down, and with it comes the lightning.
The explosion throws them back to the walls, except for the Vision, who stays, hovering over the Cradle. Wanda can hear her brother's hands thumping against the lid, and runs to help the Vision remove the lid, to grasp her brother's hand, to pull him out.
He is taller than her, taller than normal, standing in the Cradle, and almost collapses against her shoulder.
"Wanda," he breathes. For a minute he says nothing else, and the Vision helps her guide her brother from the Cradle. But it is Pietro, and he is never quiet for long. "What happened? What did you do? Was I-"
She cradles his face in her hands. "You were in my mind. You were shot in the battle, and your body died, so you went down the bridge to my mind. I kept getting your memories in my dreams."
She is speaking Sokovian, she realises, and she is crying. She is holding her brother in her arms again, and she pulls him closer. He is still wearing the clothes he died in; she hadn't allowed them to strip him to put him in the morgue, and apparently they'd remembered that putting him in the Cradle. The dry blood on his shirt crinkles and goes soft again when her tears hit it.
She realises Pietro is singing to her, singing the lullaby, and she laughs, and pokes his ribs.
She sets her head against his shoulder, feels his hands rise to tangle in her hair, and rock them both from side to side.
"I'm glad you're back."
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