Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men Evolution nor any of Marvel's characters.

Warning: Mild language, slight implications of sexual situations, and slight angst.

Plushie

"Jeez, 'Tro, how much stuff does your dad have up here?" Lance asked as he sifted through a box.

"Yeah, I think we should call 'Hoarders', yo," Todd agreed, picking up a rather heavy lamp.

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Hey, you can insult my father all you want. We still have to clean this place up."

"Why did you pick us for cleaning duty, again?" Fred asked.

"My father—as you can clearly see—hasn't cleaned out anything from this place since we last lived here all those years ago and frankly, if there's anything up here we can salvage, that's worth the day's work. Besides, I hate just knowing all this clutter is up here."

"That's the OCD talking," Lance muttered, pulling out a broken shard and carefully dropping it into a nearby garbage bag. "Wish I could be as scary as Wanda and be able to just glare my way outta this…"

"And that's the laziness talking," Pietro pointed out from the bookshelf he was looking through.

"Hey, think we could sell some of this?" Todd asked, handing the lamp to Freddy.

"Couldn't hurt," Pietro replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if someone would want this junk."

"One man's junk is another man's treasure," Fred stated with a shrug.

"Ooh, I bet some man would like to have this," Lance snickered, holding up a pale, purple nightie. "Whose was it?"

Pietro made a face of disgust. "Who knows? I didn't keep tabs on who my father was seeing, especially when I was too young to even know about—"

"Aw, look! A matching set!" Lance revealed a pair of panties of the same material in his other hand.

Quickly, Pietro snatched them out of his hands, stuffing them into the garbage. "Okay, that's enough of that."

"Now the mystery will never be solved!" Todd lamented overdramatically, bending over backwards on a roll-top desk.

"And I think I can live my life much safer not knowing," Pietro shuddered, heading back to the box he'd been working on.

"What is this?"

Pietro turned around, ready to tell Lance to shut up already with his annoying commentary, but his voice got caught in his throat.

Lance was holding up a small plushie, strongly resembling a cheetah. It was missing a few patches of fur here and there, along with bits of cotton barely hanging off it. One eye was clearly missing and the end of its tail was awkwardly crooked.

"This looks like it's seen the last of its days," Lance commented, examining the beat-up toy.

Fred glanced over and held out his hand. "I'll toss it out."

Before Lance had even lifted the toy up an inch, it disappeared from his hand in a flash and a gust of wind.

Pietro now stood on the other side of the room, gripping the cheetah tightly in his hands. "I-It can still be fixed!"

Everyone raised an eyebrow at the display. Pietro tended to have spaz attacks every now and again, but never over something so odd as a little plushie.

"Dawg, I don' really think—"

"No, see?" Pietro insisted, examining the stuffed animal. "A little sewing here and there…it'll be good as new…"

The boys all glanced at each other, giving similar looks before Lance asked, "Uhh, Pietro, why is it so important to you? Aren't you a little old for stuffed animals?"

This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say.

"'A little—old?!' You're never too old for stuffed animals! Y-You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

The group all stared at their leader, blinking in shock at his outburst.

"'Kay, man. It's coo'." Todd held his hands up with a slightly freaked-out grin. "We're all friends here. Ya can keep it if ya want it that badly, dawg."

"Damn right I can…" Pietro mumbled as he turned his back to them, still looking closely at the cheetah. "I-I'm gonna go downstairs and see how the laundry room looks."

Then, he was gone and the boys were left sitting in the attic, still completely bemused.

"What the hell was that about?" Lance asked, looked at the other two.

"Apparently, you're nevah too old fo' toys," Todd said with a shrug.

"Guess it must've been his when he was a kid," Fred suggested.

"Yeah, that'd make sense. 'Course a speedster would want a cheetah instead of a teddy bear."

"Still, did he need to get so offensive about it?" Lance asked. "I mean, yeah, we would've made fun of him for a little bit, but it's not like we would've been assholes and tossed it in the fireplace. We're not that mean."

"Aw, you know Pietro, Lance," Todd said. "He probably thinks his reputation would be shattered if we knew he still slept with a stuffed animal. So, he gotta put up the whole 'crazy-mad' schtick so we wouldn't question 'im."

"Especially if that thing is so important," Lance added. "I mean, it's gotta have sentimental value, right?"

"Gotta be," Todd agreed. "He probably hasn't seen that thing in years."

"Do you think he thought his dad tossed it out years ago?" Fred asked.

"Probably," Lance said, resuming his search through a large box, pulling out a lava lamp. "Guess Magneto didn't care to throw anything out."

"I bet most of Pietro's stuff is still up here, then," Fred said, glancing around.

Todd pursed his lips thoughtfully as he pulled up a couple broken floorboards, idly noticing the records hidden underneath. "Should we, like…keep an eye out for that stuff?"

"Might as well," Lance replied. "Plus, he might skin us alive if he finds out we threw out his first deflated basketball or something."

"Never would of guessed he'd be the sentimental type," Freddy muttered.

Down below, in a small, but suitable sized room, the white-haired teen sat on his old—now far too tiny—bed, clutching the beaten-up cheetah in his hands tightly. He let out a soft whimper, biting the inside of his lip. He struggled not to tear up as he held the plushie up and pressed it against his face, inhaling the scent. Nostalgia coursed through him like the blood that rushed through his veins.

He pulled it away, giving a soft sniffle. He looked at it fondly, giving a small smile.

It made him slightly depressed that he couldn't remember when he actually got the cheetah (a Hanukkah present or from his birthday) or who he even received it from. He did remember having it, though.

He'd cuddled it every night against his chest, believing in his child mind that his fierce cheetah could protect him from any evil monsters that hid in the darkness.

It was his favorite toy. Not that he had many toys growing up, but it was the one he preferred to sleep with. Wanda knew about it and sometimes tried to steal it from him, but he was always able to dodge her before she could snatch it away. Only later in life would he realize why.

Presently, Pietro sniffled again and wiped his nose before sitting the toy on his lap. He would have to fix it. He was already talented with a sewing kit and buying a couple extra materials wouldn't cost too much.

He squeezed the plushie in his hands once more before hugging it against his body and whispering, "I'm sorry…"

"Papa?" the little boy asked in the passenger seat, his voice shaking softly. "Papa, maybe…maybe we should—"

"No, Pietro," the man said beside him, his eyes set on the road ahead. "This is for the best."

"But…she seemed really scared—"

"Do you remember how scared you were?" his father asked. "When she almost destroyed the house?"

The boy gave a sniffle, trying not to cry. He grew silent for a few minutes, struggling to justify what his father had done to his twin, but his mind wouldn't let him.

"Papa, she must feel so alone…"

This is what he wanted to say, but as he moved to open his mouth, his father glared at him. The man's eyes were like a death sentence; cold and dull. The little boy froze at the sight and averted his eyes.

Then, in a low voice, he said, "Yes…father."

Wanda was gone. Put away in some big, awful building. All alone. Without him.

And he couldn't do a thing about it.

Pietro frowned as he stalked into his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He ground his teeth together and his hands curled into fists. He was so angry. So very, very angry.

When they dropped his sister off, he'd felt nothing but guilt and sadness, wanting more than anything to go after his twin and take her back with them. Now, all he felt was rage.

His eyes scanned the room before they landed on his cheetah, sitting on top of his bed like always. He growled deep in his throat before snatching it from its spot and beating it hard against the mattress. He practically pummeled it against the bed before ripping at the very seams that held it together. One of the eyes fell to the ground, but it went unnoticed. Pietro gripped it by its tail and smacked it against the wall multiple times.

Finally, when the rage ended, Pietro looked down at his work, seeing the destruction he'd caused. He breathed raggedly got a few minutes before frowning. He threw it in a corner of the room before falling down on the bed and burying his face into his pillow, trying to rein in his sobs.

The next day, he was sent to the foster family that would be his "home" for the next few years.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered again, clutching his stuffed cheetah under his neck and rocking gently. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just so mad. I missed her and I didn't…I didn't know what else to do."

He pulled it away and looked it in its remaining eye. "But I'm gonna fix you, okay? Make you look real nice and pretty." He absentmindedly stroked its head, already imagining how it would look once it was cleaned up. "Wouldn't you like that? I think so."

He smiled again before hugging the toy against him. This time, he'd take very good care of his oldest friend.

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry I haven't had any new chapters out for a while, but this semester has been killing me and my family. We literally kept calling October-Sucktober. It sucked that bad.

Anyways...I really have to stop centering my stories around Pietro. He just sneaks his ass into all my stuff and I can't get rid of him. Still, that being said, this gives me a chance to do what every fanfic writer loves to do...make characters who are never emotional CRY! Why? Because we are a bunch of sadists.

Seriously, though, I feel like most kids had the tendency to beat up their toys whenever they had some kind of a fit. I probably did it on more than one occasion, but I was able to make sure it was okay afterwards. I thought it would be neat to play with my headcanon of what happened to Pietro after Magneto locked her up. It's never been directly said on the show that Pietro ended up in a foster home, but I've heard a lot of sites say it's canon.

Plus, can you imagine how cute that wittle, baby cheetah must be? Even beat-up, it probably still looks adorable. Thanks for the read and review if you would like! Makes me feel loved!