Shard 4: Pietro

I'm buzzing, flying, hotwired; I've put back enough Joe to keep me bouncing off the walls for the rest of the year. Well, that's how it feels now, anyway.

So, what I wanna know is, if I'm so fried on caffeine, why am I so wrecked?

I was at this little place, Café Atlanta, for almost five hours, drinking until I thought I'd explode. It doesn't help though.

Guess there are some barriers I just can't push through.

Never thought I'd say that. I mean, I never felt like this before, you know; never felt helpless. See, I always knew that if I got in a hot situation, I could just skedaddle outta there, no problemo. I just run, leaving the slowpokes eating my dust.

But there are things you just can't run from. Like family. Like home.

Funny phrase that, running away from home. I did it once, when I was a kid.

Can't even remember why, but I didn't get far. Dad found me, said I couldn't run, 'cos there weren't no place I could run too. I'm his blood, see, homo-superior, I'll inherit the earth. It's all my home, and all Homo-Superior is my family.

I can't run, I can't hide.

I gotta come home sometime.

For me that time's about two a.m. I don't make a fuss as I go in - don't wanna draw too much attention to myself, for once. Freddy's sleeping on the couch, the TV turned on and lighting up the room. I don't talk to him. It's not as if he'd give any stimulating conversation - not unless it involves food, at any rate.

For a moment I'm tempted to watch the box, stay awake that way, but it won't work. I'm too tired. There's only one place I can sleep, the place I can't stand.

I run up the stairs, straight into my room. Do it quickly and it's over sooner, right? No need to draw it out.

The Creep and the Caveman are probably already in bed. Lance comes home straight after work, generally, and I can smell Todd.

I pause at the door to my room for a second, literally a second, but to me it's an eternity. I want to run, pelt back downstairs, out of that door, outta this stinking house and away from everything.

But I can't escape them, not my family. I've tried, and they follow me.

They always follow me.

So I go in, turn the key, open that fucking door and go into my room.

She's there.

Fuck, I'm screwed. I'm so, so, so screwed.

It all comes up again, my stomach dances, my legs feel week, my heart beats like it's gonna explode. I hate this, hate it so much, but I can't escape it.

I've tried fighting this moment with coffee, but you know, with all the energy I use, I gotta sleep sometime. Gotta have my forty winks, so I gotta come back unless I wanna spend some time out on the street. And it'll be a cold day in hell before I descend to that.

Yeah, there's always a motel or something, but I'm kinda skint at the moment. Dad isn't funding us much right now, I can't get the cash from Lance, and I flat out refuse to work at some crummy burger bar. Pietro Maximoff, selling greasy fast food? Yeah right! Do you *know* how long it takes to get this hair right?

Anyway, I wouldn't be able to boost myself up on Joe if not for some fast handwork. I always sit near the cash register then, soon as the barman turns to fill up a cup, I snatch the money out of the drawer, faster than you can blink. So I guess the coffee kinda pays for itself.

Problem is, by the end of the day the barmen tend to work out the scam, or part of it, so I can't go to the same café. So I have to move around. Yeah, that's me, always moving around.

Pietro Maximoff, a mover in every sense.

Can't escape from this, though.

She's awake; I see her eyes looking at me from beneath her lashes.

I don't meet their gaze. How can I? I make sure her back's to me before I undress, zip into bed ASAP. I tend to sleep naked, why bother with pyjamas? Besides, it doesn't to any harm to advertise; you never know when you might meet a sweet chick.

No, no, don't think that! Not my sister! Nuh uh! No connection there, not no way, no how, not even within the realms of possibility. I mean... at the risk of sounding girlish, eeew!

I guess it's an easy assumption to make, though, you know, two siblings sneaking about, me sleeping naked, feelings of guilt... heh, perhaps in some ways it isn't that far off the mark.

Shit, what have I got myself into?

I don't understand why she's doing this. She's the strong one, the one with the raw power, not me. She's the one who could whip my ass, and I don't let that go lightly. I hate to lose, hate to be second best. Yet she's been coming to my room, to my frickin' bed even, for the past three days! I mean, she's cured of all that haunted past shit, she isn't angry at me or dad anymore, is she? Perhaps this is some form of torture for her; perhaps she likes making me feel this way. I wouldn't put it past her.

How do I feel? Kinda hard to describe.

It should be simple, you know, a sister going to her brother for comfort. It's the kind of thing we did when we were five, kinda an unspoken love thing, a trust, like we knew we'd protect each other.

But that was over a decade ago, and love's changed, trust's gone. Or it has for me, anyway.

She's still got it, though, still acts like I'm her twin bro'. How can she? I betrayed her, I abandoned her, and she snuggles up to me each fucking night as if none of it's happened. As if we're still the same two toddlers, huddling against each other in the night 'cos we miss our dad.

Shit, this is so fucked up.

I'm in bed now, lying between warm covers. I should be comfortable, but I'm stifling, pressed in by the air. I want to tear of the covers, let myself free, but Wanda's there. How's she gonna take to seeing me, stark butt naked on the bed? What's that gonna tell her?

Perhaps I should start to wear pyjamas.

No, no, fuck it, I won't go changing myself just because she's so fucking messed up. I ain't gonna change who I am. No one's gonna do that to me.

Yeah, I hate her like that, hate her for holding me. I remember, three nights ago, when this started, when she let herself in here, slipped into my bed and asked me to hold her... I felt so trapped. I still feel trapped.

I'm a free spirit, right? No matter what, I'm free. I don't like connections, not physical, not mental, and not spiritual, if you believe that crap. I don't have one home, I don't have a friend, I just got my family, 'cos blood's thicker than water, and I can't escape what's running in my veins.

All I've got holding me is my father, and he just wants obedience. And I can give that - give buckets full of it.

But Wanda... she wants something else... and I don't know if I can give it anymore.

So yeah, I hate her for holding onto me so tight, for trapping me, for making me try to give something I can't. And, fuck it, I love her too! You know? She's my sister, my little sister, and she's asking me to give her...

I don't know... something I don't know that I can still give. Something I'm not sure I want to give.

It's funny. Once, I thought Magneto would watch over me. I'd do what Magneto wanted, no problemo.

Now it's all changed, now Wanda's wanting me to protect her, and thinks our

Dad will do the same, but what if he don't? What if he wants to dump her again? Can I protect her? Should I? Would Dad dump me? It's all so complex.

I hate being responsible for anything.

Yeah, and here I am, the leader of the Brotherhood. But that isn't about responsibility, that's about who's best for the job. And that's sure as hell me. But it seems like I'm the one looking after my little sister again, too.

Whether I like it or not.

But who else can look after her, if that's what's needed? Freddy? That fat slob can't see beyond the edge of the TV screen or outside a food package.

Lance? Hmm, Lance Alvers, monosyllable, mono-thought, Lance. Yeah, keep banging the rocks together, Lance, maybe they'll spark of a couple of your brain cells, if you've got that many. Face it; the guy's as stable as a volcano and half as smart.

Toad? That slug's the one Wanda should be protected *from!* I fucking swear if that useless sack of slime touches her I'll rip his fucking throat out. Freak. Sooner we're rid of that useless puss bag the better.

Oh yeah, I'm not that fond of my fellow team-mates. But then, I don't make connections, see? Don't like to hold myself down.

So what about the other team, the X-men? Could Wanda...

No, don't be idiotic Pietro, it's gotta be you, you're the only one... the only one... the only one...

Funny, I must have dropped off, but I'm awake now and with a familiar feeling beneath my legs. It's happened again. I ain't done it since Elementary School, before Wanda left, but I've been doing it for the last three nights. It was a minor miracle that she didn't find out on the first night, when we shared the bed.

I get up quickly; grab the sheets, put on some underwear. Hopefully I haven't woken Wanda. I rush out, still carrying the sheets, trying not to touch the wet spot.

Yeah, I've wet my bed.

Why? I don't know. Maybe it's the worry, the pressure, the fear, the guilt - everything.

I've kept most of this hidden from everyone; I don't want it to be let out that I'm a wimp. Because I'm not! I'm as strong as the next guy! I just... can't always deal, you know?

I run downstairs, towards the washing machine, stuff the sodden sheet in, add detergent, and press go, praying all the time that no one hears me.

A few seconds later the blare of the TV gets louder too. I spin round and see that it's Freddy. He's awake again. He's turned up the TV to hide the sound of the washing machine. Why? I don't know... it's not as if we're friends or anything but...

I nearly say it, those two, tiny words that'd make all the difference between leader and follower. I nearly say "thank you". But I don't.

I'm in charge here, he don't have no right to be prying in my affairs and I've got a right to my privacy.

Pietro Maximoff don't need no help or favours from no one.

I wonder if he'll blab, but I know he won't. I don't know how... I just... know.

When the washing's done I'll take the sheet outside, run around with it for a bit to dry it out in the night air. Meanwhile, I've got some time to waste.

I take a seat by the TV; curl up in it, trying to preserve body heat.

So, this is what it's come to, me sitting in front of the box, practically naked, with Freddy, afraid that people might discover how weak I really am, how guilty I really am.

Yeah, I'm guilty; guess part of me deserves this. Maybe. I mean... I don't know... what am I supposed to do? Tell her it's all a lie? Make her strong with the truth? Let her know that I abandoned her, that dad abandoned her?

Yeah, then he'd hate me, Todd would hate me (like I care) and Wanda would hate me.

There's another thing Wanda can thank me for, Todd. I practically encouraged him, you know, telling him to hide things like I was. Now I just want to let it all spill out.

That way I'd be free but... I don't know... maybe I don't wanna be free.

I... I don't want to fail her again, I want to make up for it, you know. I wanna make her safe. But I can't, it's not what I do. I run from things, I don't face them, let alone face them for other people.

I don't understand anything anymore. I'm lost, trapped, pulled in a thousand directions and held by a thousand chains. I don't know which way to run and I don't think running would help.

Guilt, hate, love, anger, fear - it's all here. And I can't show any of it, because I'm the leader now. All I want to do is to be free, to sleep.

And all because of my little sister Wa-Wa.

Analyse all that shit, if you can.