Temper Temper

Wherein Pietro is mocked, and finally pisses Jean-Paul off.

Telltale Quote: I wonder when they're gonna get it over with and just make out. –Wanda Maximoff

                "Where are the Pop-Tarts, yo?"

                Pietro narrowed his eyes at Toad, who was crouched on top of the counter. Disgusting. "Todd, you're ruining my breakfast."

                "Chill it, Quickie, just tell me where the Pop-Tarts are," The younger boy turned to face him now, yellow eyes wide and expectant.

                Pietro pushed away his plate, which had been piled high with five eggs, toast, and countless strips of bacon only a moment ago. It was now seriously depleted, but not finished. He'd lost his appetite. "Jean-Paul and I ate them."

                As he said this, Freddy came lumbering into the kitchen, and went straight for the refrigerator.

                "Man, you guys ate the whole box?" Toad whined, hopping down from the counter and climbing onto a chair across from Pietro like… well, like a frog would, really.

                The speedster crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair, sticking his nose in the air as he did so. "Hey, it's hard, having a metabolism like we do. His is almost as fast as mine."

                "Man, screw your metabolism. I want a Pop-Tart," the younger boy pouted, leaning one elbow on the table and supporting his head with his hand, looking very defeated.

                "Hey, where's all the chocolate milk?" Freddy was moaning now.

                Pietro rolled his eyes, "We drank it."

                Lance came into the kitchen now, smiling happily. Pietro wondered, offhand, what the hell would cause that. Maybe he'd finally gotten the Kitty-cat to give it up? "Who drank what?" He was headed to the cupboard that Toad had been poking in.

                "Jean-Paul and Pietro drank my chocolate milk," Freddy turned to shoot Quicksilver an evil glare… or his best attempt at one, anyhow. Pietro was somehow unimpressed.

                "And they ate all the Pop-Tarts," Todd threw in, narrowing his eyes.

                "Whatever you guys," Lance waved them off, "We can go to the store later."

                He paused for a moment then, whole Toad stuck his long tongue out at Pietro, just a little, but enough to make the speedster writhe with disgust. 

                "Hey… hey who ate my…," When Lance turned back around, there was death in his dark eyes. "Pietro… tell me you didn't eat those Jellybeans."

                Pietro shook his head, "Nope."

                Lance glared around, viciously.

                "We used them for an experiment," Pietro elaborated. Had been a good one too. Turns out, the little bastards do a lot of damage, when used as high speed projectiles. He had a few bruises to prove it. So did Jean-Paul, in fact.

                "Those were supposed to be for Kitty," Lance said through clenched teeth. "It's her birthday in a few days."

                "Not too smart, Alvers, leaving them in the cabinet." He didn't bother adding in that it was also the Beaubier twins' birthday this weekend. He already had the perfect present and everything. But he'd been warned not to advertise.

                The ground started to shake, and Avalanche was breathing rather hard.

                Quickly, Pietro amended his statement, "I'll get more at the store!"

                Lance took a deep breath now, and the tremors stopped. "Yeah, damn right you will." His teeth still didn't want to come unclenched apparently.

                "Man," Todd was shaking his head, "Why you and your boyfriend gotta run around this place like you own it, yo?"

                Pietro felt a flash of anger, and his head snapped around to face the boy across the table from him again. "Did you just call him my boyfriend?"

                Todd grinned, with green teeth in full force. "Just sayin'."

                "Yeah, Pietro," Freddy threw in, before Quicksilver could decide what to do about Toad's obvious death-wish. "He is, isn't he? Can hardly pull you two off of each other. When you gonna move into the Institute with him and start a family?"

                Pietro glanced sideways at Blob now, not even bothering to turn his head, an expression of extreme hatred consuming his sharp features. He did not like where this was going. It wasn't so much the gay jokes. That, he could pretty much handle. Well, mostly. It was more the idea that they would dare to gang up on him. "Maybe we're just trying to help you go on a diet, Blob. You're taking up too much space in the house. Consider it a gift."

                "You're even giving joint presents now," Lance shook his head, as if in deep thought, "that's a big step, Pietro."

                Ok, now it was starting to bother him. He felt his face beginning to flush. "You guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he snarled, prepared to jump the next person who said a goddamn word about him.

                "Hey man, I'm just sayin'. Birds of a feather, and all that," Todd was still grinning.

                In a flash, he was over the table, and had Toad in a headlock.

                Not the best idea, as he discovered. The boy's greasy hair was giving off a faint, but still unpleasant sort of odor. And his insect breath was out in full force this morning, apparently. He hung onto him anyhow, as the smaller boy tried to twist and turn out of his grip. "Wanna take it back, slime ball?" He growled down at him.

                "Alright, alright, lemme go! I take it back!"

                Pietro let up, despite a desire to choke the life out of the wiry mutant. If he hadn't wanted to get away from Toad's objectionable personal space so badly, he might've done just that. He sped up again, and returned to his seat, crossing his arms over his chest again, as if he'd never been gone.

                There. Let them talk shit now. Losers.

                Lance shook his head, now ponderously chewing on a granola bar. "You know, it's real sweet of you to defend your boyfriend like that. I'd totally do that for Kitty."

                Half shock, half rage, Pietro just stared at him. What the hell was going on here? Did they know who he was?

                Todd was rubbing at his neck, as if it'd gotten bent the wrong way. "Oh man, I must've really pissed you off, huh?"

                "You shouldn't talk like that about Jean-Paul. Would you talk like that about Kitty?" Freddy was shaking his head.

                Normally, Pietro would've been impressed that he managed to put together such a dig, even if it wasn't a really great one. But since it was aimed at him, he was just really fucking irritated. He stood, too angry to know which of them to attack next, and not exactly certain he wanted to defend himself on the issue anymore, as it only seemed to get him into more trouble. "This is bullshit. I'm outta here."

                "Don't forget my goddamn jellybeans."

                Pietro's face scrunched up, for just a second, and then he was gone.

                Pietro was running. Fast. So fast, in fact, he was five miles out of Bayville already. And he'd only just left, really.

                He had to run, when he felt like this. Was the only way he could think straight. Couldn't be bothered to try to keep his systems running at "normal," slow levels. Just needed to let it go. To run. Till he was tired enough that his body wasn't pushing at him. Was the only time he could feel free.

                Not that he really needed to be thinking right now.

                It was totally unfair. The jokes.

                His boyfriend?

                Ok, sure, he flirted on occasion. But it was all in fun. And anyhow, it was flattering. Good looking, rich, funny guy like Jean-Paul Beaubier takes an interest. Maybe he didn't reciprocate the interest but still. Talk about an ego boost. And anyhow, they were friends. They had fun together.

                Not that he didn't deserve the attention. He definitely did. In fact, he was faster than Northstar. Therefore, he deserved to be appreciated by him.

                But it didn't mean he was his boyfriend. Would they say that about Wanda and Kitty, who had been getting along lately? That they were girlfriends? No.

                Not that it would matter. Girls never cared about shit like that.

                Still running. He was starting to feel it, finally. Getting pretty far out of town, near the cliffs. Better turn a bit, so he wouldn't have to pay close attention. His reflexes were lightning quick, even at these speeds, he was hard to catch off guard. It was the equivalent to a regular human response time while… say jogging, his reaction to the world around him at this speed. But still, better safe than sorry, he supposed.

                He could go faster, of course. But he didn't need to. Just needed to get out. Get free.

                Jean-Paul was a funny guy. Made him laugh. Did all kinds of things with him that no one else could stand to do. Could even keep up with him for a pretty good run. Got his jokes. Was smart, too. Almost as smart as him, really. He was cool. Always dressed well, had a nice car. Had been pretty famous, back home in Canada. Had done a lot of things, been a lot of places. He was interesting. And it was pretty rare, really, for Pietro to find someone who could hold his interest for more than fifteen minutes. JP never never gave him shit about his father, or his pranks, or his mouth. Just took him at face value. It was comfortable, being around him. Why shouldn't he be friends with him?

                Seriously, so what if he hung out with JP all the time? So, the guy was gay? So what, less competition, right? It's not like he went around hitting on every guy he saw, either.

                Just him.

                Well, ok, just that once, really. And that was more of a mind-fuck than anything else. And no one else knew, as far as Pietro could tell, so no one else should know that the Canadian did, in fact, have something for him.

                Ok, it was obvious that he did, to Pietro. No need to lie to himself about that much, right? He could handle it. Just a harmless crush. He'd never act on it, or anything. They were friends. Buddies. They caused trouble together.

                Not that he wanted Jean-Paul to act on it. Because he didn't. Definitely not. No way. Not a chance.

                He just liked the attention, was all. He deserved it.

                Right.

                That's all.

                Fuck.

                "You look worn out."

                Pietro looked up at him, and he smiled down, then walked around the bench to take a seat.

                His friend didn't say anything, for a moment.

                "Something wrong?" Jean-Paul asked, absentmindedly starting to chew on his nails. It really wasn't like Quicksilver to be silent for more than ten seconds at a time. Not that he minded, it just struck him as odd.

                "No."

                A one word answer? Ok, now he knew something was wrong. He looked back over at him, and saw that he was paler than usual. "Been running?"

                The silver-haired boy made a face at the ground. As if the question irritated him. "Maybe."

                Right, now it was just getting obnoxious. "Bug up your nose?"

                Pietro made a face again, but finally looked over at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

                "You're being a dick."

                "So what? Maybe I'm having a bad day."

                Jean-Paul shrugged, "Alright, so tell me about it."

                Pietro chewed on his lip for a minute, just looking at him. Jean-Paul tried to decipher that expression, but it was unfamiliar. Made his long face seem just a little less sharp, his eyes just a little less shifty. But he was still wickedly handsome, really. Just more… thoughtful than usual. "Why should I tell you?"

                Alright, this was ridiculous. "I didn't say you had to, Pietro," he snorted, disdainfully, "I just suggested it."

                "Trying to be a friend, huh?"

                Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows. That tone suggested that he should be doing otherwise. "What's this about?"

                Pietro looked back at the ground, and slumped down further, broad shoulders suddenly rounded. Nothing like the cocky speedster Jean-Paul had come to know so well in the past month and a half in Bayville. The one he'd come to actually like, as a matter of fact, rather than just lusting after. Not that he didn't do that, anymore, but he did, at least, pay attention to what the guy was saying, these days. "Forget it."

                "If this is how you're going to be all day, I'm leaving. I'm sure as hell not going to sit and watch you pout."

                His friend looked back up at him now, glaring, lips pursed. "I'm not pouting."

                "Yes, you are."

                "Fuck you, Jean-Paul."

                The dark-haired boy felt his eyebrows raising in alarm, involuntarily. "Excusez-moi?"

                Pietro looked away again. "This is fucking lame."

                "Agreed." Jean-Paul wanted to stand up. To walk away. Not to look back.

                But this was so… abnormal, he found that he simply had to know what the fuck was happening. It just… made no sense. Yes, Pietro was a whiner. And an irritant. But he was rarely outright hostile, at least toward those he considered friends. Which, up until about five minutes ago, Jean-Paul would've sworn included him. Surely, something important had happened.

                "I gotta buy Lance more jellybeans."

                Confusion, now. "The jellybeans were his?"

                "Yeah. For Kitty's birthday."

                "Great, I'll get him some new ones. Those were crap anyhow. Don't tell me you're mad because of jellybeans, Pietro." Even he couldn't be that insane. No… not a chance.

                "Partially."

                "Is this the twenty questions act? I ask until I get close enough to the answer that you finally have to admit to it?"

                "I said I didn't want to talk about it."

                "Actually, you didn't." Alright. This was honestly getting to be a little much, even for him. He generally had infinite patience with Pietro. Or, at least, he'd thought he did. The guy's absolutely ridiculous sense of self and reality provided Jean-Paul with so much amusement, he was willing to overlook his little tantrums. In fact, they were usually fairly entertaining in themselves. But this was just stupid. "So if you're not going to explain it, maybe you'd like me to go, hm?"

                "Whatever, just make sure you buy the jellybeans, rich boy," Pietro sneered.

                Right. Now he was mad. "I'm sorry, did the son of Magneto just refer to me as rich boy? As if I didn't make every penny of it myself? Like I don't fucking deserve it?"

                Pietro stood up, suddenly, in a flash. And stood, staring down at him, a petulant, angry expression on his face, his normally smooth brow furrowed dangerously. "Oh great. So you're the orphan who made it on his own and I'm just some spoiled kid whose daddy ignores him and sends him money to keep him quiet. Ok, you've made your point. And anyhow, it's not like he always did. We've had to go hungry too, you know."

                Shock suddenly replaced anger. Jean-Paul could not remember having felt so many strong emotions in such quick succession in a very long time, really. He really hadn't known that Pietro had ever had it hard, but then… he really didn't know much about his supposed best friend. "You know that's not what I meant. What the hell are you on about? What does my money have to do with anything, anyhow? And you're the one who brought it up."

                "You brought up Magneto!"

                Jean-Paul just leaned back, and stared. Completely at a loss. He knew it wasn't exactly a great subject to bring up with either of the Maximoffs, but this was just ridiculous. Particularly considering that he hadn't started it. At all. Nor had he brought it up with the intention to irritate his friend, only to point out that he didn't exactly have limited resources himself. "And you brought up the fact that I'm an orphan. What's the point, Pietro? What the hell are you playing at?"

                But Quicksilver was turning an unhealthy pink color, and his words were starting to run together. He was losing control. And fast. "Iguess you wouldn'tunderstand."

                "And why the fuck not?"

                "If youeverhadparents, you'd knowenoughto realize that youshouldn't talkabout otherpeople's like that."

                Something snapped, inside Jean-Paul's head. And it released a hot, red rush of anger into his brain, until he couldn't see anything but Pietro, and couldn't feel anything but a need to hit him. A lot. He stood to face him, unwilling to let the other mutant look down on him any longer, and tried to keep his voice calm, low. "I didn't say anything about your father. And real classy, Pietro. Really fucking nice to bring that up. This orphan is good enough for you to be friends with when you want to borrow the car, but not when you feel like throwing a temper tantrum. You really are a spoiled fucking brat."

                "Fuck you."

                "And articulate. My, my."

                "Fuck this, Igottago."

                He watched, then, as Pietro sped up, and ran away. Lightning fast. But not so fast Jean-Paul couldn't see it. Not even Quicksilver was that fast.

                And he stood for a few more minutes, shaking inside. Too angry to even wonder what the hell had just happened. Just wanting to hurt someone.

                Mainly, Pietro.

                Jeanne-Marie felt her brother coming miles away.

                They were like that, with their link. When he was very upset, or very happy, she could usually feel it once he came near, unless she forcibly ignored him. And right now, it was obvious that Jean-Paul was extremely upset.

                She leaned out the window and waved to him, and he stopped, mid air, and just looked at her. She gestured that he should come to her, into her room. And he still just looked at her, as if trying to make up his mind. ::Jean-Paul! Come inside! Tell me what's wrong!:: She finally called out to him, in joual, so that no one else who was listening would understand.

                Finally, he made his decision, and flew to the window, landing on the sill without a sound. He jumped into the room, then sat on the sill where his feet had just been.

                She cocked her head at her brother, examining him carefully. His face was normally so composed, but it was dark now. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and his eyebrows were pushed down low. He always looked so much older than they were, when he looked like that. ::Who's made you angry, brother?::

                His lips pressed even thinner.

                She shook her head, and went to him, pushing at his shoulder to force him to make room for her on the sill. Once he'd moved, grudgingly, she sat herself next to him, and put her head on his shoulder. She didn't really need him to say it. She knew he was supposed to be causing trouble with Pietro somewhere. ::What did he do?::

                Sometimes, she felt very bad for her brother. He was strong, most definitely. Stronger than she, sometimes. But he was scared about many things. He pretended not to be, of course. Pretended he didn't care. But she knew better.

                She knew it was hard for him. It would be hard for her, if Roberto had no chance of ever liking her back. As it was, they had problems enough, between them. But for all their problems, at least she knew he did like her, and he knew that she felt the same.

                Jean-Paul would not find that. Not from this boy, anyhow.

                She often wished he could just be… normal. Then, perhaps, he would find it easier. Women loved him, after all. Wouldn't he be happier?

                He sighed, and put an arm over her shoulders, leaning his head against hers. ::It doesn't matter. I don't even know what happened. He was just making excuses to be angry with me.::

                ::It hurt?::

                ::No. It made me angry.::

                Same thing, for Jean-Paul, and she knew it. Anything that didn't register in his mind as cool, manly, or controllable, he immediately pushed into the anger category, and proceeded to get very angry about it, almost immediately. The few emotions he would allow himself to express, or even acknowledge, for that matter, seemed to be disgust, irritation, hate, and amusement. Those, and anger, obviously.

                But she knew better than to say that. ::What did he say?::

                Another sigh, but this time more like a deep breath.

                ::He was generally being horrible. And then he referred to me as, "rich boy."::

                She picked her head up now, and looked over at her brother in confusion. ::Doesn't Magneto pay his bills now?::

                He rolled his eyes, ::That is just what I said.::

                ::Then what?::

                ::Then he told me I would know better than to talk about other people's parents, if I had parents of my own.::

                She gasped, and pulled out from under his arm, turning to face him bodily now, and pulling at his arm. ::Why would he say such a thing?:: Pietro, she knew, had a horrible mouth. He was a joker, a fool, and generally rude and insensitive. But she would not have called him cruel.

                Jean-Paul shook his head. ::I don't care. At least he's out of my hair,:: and he stood up to go now.

                ::Brother, wait.::

                He turned, halfway across the room, and stood, looking at her.

                He looked old. His jaw muscles flexed, and she saw a flash of a fully grown man in him. Something more than this tall boy before her, something he would be very soon. Sometimes, when he seemed worried or hurt, she could see it in him, in how he dealt with it. How strong a man he would be, some day. And she was proud of him. ::He didn't mean it.::

                He shrugged, ::Honestly, Jeanne-Marie… I don't care if he did.::

                She bit her lip. This was not good. They had both spent their entire lives without parents, really. He had been given parents, once, but they had died as well, and had not been much of a family before that. And the rest of his families, all the ones he bounced to and from, had been little more than babysitters—momentary care to get him out of the way. Just like Madame DuPont's was for her. Only instead of one constant hell, her brother had been given multiple, smaller ones. Out of one and into another.

                No, they did not have any parents. But neither of them would ever speak ill of someone else's. Ever.

                His face softened, as he looked at her, and he came back to her and kissed her on the forehead. ::Thank you, sister. Don't worry, I'm well. I just got angry. I thought he was my friend. I know who my real friends are now, no?::

                She looked up at him, and saw him try to smile at her. ::I know you're not well. I can feel it, Jean-Paul.::

                He shrugged, ::When have I last been well?::

                Not since she'd known him. Not really.

                She only nodded. And this time, when he turned to go, she let him. Chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.

                Wanda stared at her brother in awe. He was just… sitting there.

                "Alright, what the hell is up with you?" She demanded.

                He didn't even look at her, just focused on the TV. "What is with you people today," he was muttering.

                "You've been sitting there for two hours, Pietro," she pointed out. "You're starting to worry me."

                "Great, Wanda, that's great. Why don't you all start a club."

                She made a face, but moved to sit next to him anyhow. "Where's Jean-Paul?"

                He looked at her suddenly, eyes narrowed. "What? I have to be with him every day? Jesus Christ, I just want to watch TV." This little speech finished, he returned his attention to the television, mumbling something quickly under his breath.

                Her eyebrows raised, of their own accord. "Ok, sorry I asked. You two fight or something?"

                "No, we don't fight," he spat. "And why the hell would you assume it has to do with him, anyhow?"

                For a very brief moment, she considered hexing her hellion of a brother.

                But she changed her mind when she realized that she'd been the one who'd started bothering him, for a change. "Fine, forget about it. Just wondering, Pietro. You looked pissed."

                "Yeah, well this is what you look like every day, sis. Get an eyeful."

                She seriously considered hexing him now.

                But there was a knock at the door.

                Pietro continued staring, hard, at the television.

                She sighed, and got up to answer it, boots clomping loudly over the hardwood floor of the foyer. She pulled open the door, and was only mildly surprised. "Hey, JM."

                Jeanne-Marie smiled at her, a little uncertainly. Sometimes, she was like that. Usually she was just a sweet girl, kind of quiet, but definitely not a pushover. Other times, she was like a goddamn dominatrix, giving orders. And sometimes, she knew from experience, the girl was a crying, French-babbling nutcase.

                But those were only the times when something really shit had happened. And at the moment, she was looking pretty good.

                "Is Pietro here, Wanda?" She asked, quietly.

                She nodded, "Yeah, sure," and stepped aside to let the girl in.

                "Jean-Paul sent something for him," she explained, with an apologetic half-smile.

                Made her look even prettier.

                At first, Wanda really hadn't much cared for the cover-girl. Between Jean Grey, Kitty Pryde, and Amara Aquilla, the last thing the Xavier Institute needed was another perfect face. At least Rogue knew how to dress, even if she was fairly good looking herself. But over the past month, she had come to appreciate… or at least, to tolerate, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier.

                She'd never really done anything to piss her off, after all. And the list of people who had never pissed Wanda off was a really fucking short one.

                She nodded toward the living room, and followed her in. Pietro didn't even look up.

                Jeanne-Marie went to him, and pulled something out of her purse now, a plastic package tied with a bow. And she dropped it into Pietro's lap.

                He looked down at it, then up at her. Brow furrowed.

                "He says those ones are better. They're Kitty's favorite. He asked Kurt."

                One corner of Pietro's mouth raised in a kind of sneer. "Thanks, JM."

                She nodded, and turned around to walk out of the house. "Merci, Wanda."

                "Sure," she looked over her shoulder to see her brother in the living room. He picked up the bag Jeanne-Marie had given him, looked at it for a second, and tossed it to the other end of the couch. Still sneering.

                Ok, she was going to have to ask. She followed the girl out the door and closed it, and grabbed for her arm before she could get away.

                Icy blue eyes met hers, only slightly darker, and she didn't even have to ask.

                "Jellybeans. Pietro and my brother took Lance's. They were for Kitty's birthday."

                She shook her head. "So why didn't he bring them?"

                Jeanne-Marie sighed. "They're not on speaking terms, as of this afternoon."

                Wanda didn't know if she wanted to laugh or roll her eyes. "I fucking knew it. He's been sitting around here all night, bored out of his skull."

                The other girl shrugged, "Jean-Paul's been in the gym with Rogue. He says he doesn't care, but he does."

                "Fucking idiots. I wonder when they're gonna get it over with and just make out."

                Jeanne-Marie smiled at that, if a bit uneasily. "We should be so lucky."

                This time, Wanda rolled her eyes. "You know what happened?"

                The younger girl nodded. "I talked to my brother when he came home."

                "You guys are pretty close, huh?"

                She shrugged, "We're just happy to have each other. We fight, believe me. The whole school knows when we fight."

            Wanda could appreciate that. "Give me the story, will you?"

                Pietro Maximoff was not happy. He was tired, pissed off, and generally fucking bored.

                And it was his own fault. A fact that really only made the entire situation worse.

                Jean-Paul had been right. He was being a dick. And he knew it. But he didn't fucking care, because he… wait… what was his reason for sitting here, bored and pissed, on a Friday night?

                The door slammed. Boots falling on the floor. Heavier than Wanda's.

                "Lance!"

                The footsteps stopped. And started back in the direction of the living room, toward him. Eventually, Avalanche appeared at the doorway, and leaned on the frame. "What?" He wasn't smiling anymore, like he had been this morning.

                Good. At least he could glean some sort of satisfaction from that. Something had wiped the smirk right off Lance's face, apparently.

                Pietro grabbed the package on the other side of the couch, and threw them at the other boy, too fast for him to see.

                They smacked Lance in the stomach, and he gave a rather gratifying "uff!" sound.

                Pietro looked back at the TV, refusing to think.

                "Hey, these are really good. I couldn't find these at the store. Where'd you get these?"

                He didn't answer.

                "Hey, Earth calling Pietro."

                "Go away."

                Lance was quiet for a minute.

                Pietro stared at the TV, hard. And had no idea what was on it.

                "Look, I'm sorry about teasing you this morning. I didn't think it'd bother you so much."

                "Yeah, whatever, great, bye."

                Another pause. "Well, thanks. For these, I mean."

                From the corner of his eye, Pietro could see that he was holding up the jellybeans.

                "Thank Jean-Paul," he said, barely loud enough for the other boy to hear.

                "Whatever. Kit will love it."

                "I'm sure."

                Again, a pause. And the sound of Lance's boots started traveling into the kitchen, where they'd been headed in the first place.

                Ugh. So. Bored. Nothing to do. No dates. No nothing. He was supposed to be playing with fire, or water, or something equally dangerous, with JP. But no. No, he had to go and piss the guy off. On purpose. He knew damn well that his friend (which he probably wasn't anymore, after that) hadn't meant anything by bringing up Magneto.

                And he knew damn well he had looked for any reason to make him go away. And why?

                Fuck. Never mind why.

                The main problem with being bored, of course, was that it made him think. Ok, so he had been a little irritated that his father's "name" was mentioned.

                He didn't like his father, to be perfectly honest. He had, once. A long time ago, the first time he'd come into their lives. They'd lived pretty well, up to that point, at home. In Transia. That was home, with the Gypsies. With the Maximoffs. They had no idea where he was now, but he still thought of them as home. He remembered a lot about those times, before their father had come for them. They'd probably only been six or seven, when it had happened, but he could still remember it, if he was left to his own devices long enough. If he was given time to unbury all those piles of information he'd hidden so carefully, just so he could sleep. He could remember when Django and Marya, Dad and Day, as they used to call them, were young. Before the twins had even known about America, or Magneto, or the X-Men, or the Brotherhood, or mental institutions… when things had made sense.

                Sure, it was a little surreal. But he didn't realize it, at the time. It was all he knew, back then. Yeah, he had some fucked up memories of animal-people floating around his head. Memories the Maximoffs always shushed him for talking about, things only he and Wanda seemed willing to admit existed. That shit, that was what felt surreal. Like a strange dream he once had.

                Then, Magneto came. They didn't call him that, of course. They were told to call him father, and they did. And it was exciting, at first. They had each other, and now this powerful, larger-than-life man, whose Romany had the strange exotic flavor of America in it, had come for them. Told them they were special. Told them hey were his.

                They didn't understand, but they went with him.

                They were just little kids, they had no idea. No idea that this man, their real father, was in fact the fucking user he was. As a parent, he was worthless. The twins took care of themselves, usually. They were pretty used to having about seven sets of parents, a whole tribe of parents, really, so they were constantly lonely with their father. Even at the tender age of nine, they both knew they were only of interest to their father as an experiment. He wanted to "keep them safe" and see what kind of "powers" they would have. Made them speak English all the time, so that they only spoke their mother tongue with each other, and only when he wasn't around. Kept them isolated, so that all they had was each other. So that all they wanted was to go back to the gypsies.

                Wanda was always the louder one. He remembered that clearly, even if a lot of that time was still a blur to him. And she finally told him one day, that they wanted to go back. They could barely remember it, even though it'd only been about two years since they'd left Transia. All it was to them was warm and home. And all America was to them was cold rooms and television and their father's scary friends coming for late night meetings. And so one day, Wanda told him. We hate it here, we want to go back home.

                When their father refused her, that's when it happened. When things started to fly through the air, crushing furniture, putting holes in the walls.

                Knocking Pietro out cold.

                He woke up in a hospital bed in his father's lab.

                Two days later, they left Wanda. And Pietro didn't remember too much more than that, not about the next year. Except that he didn't do much talking, speaking only when his father forced him to be polite to someone or other. The rest, he had pretty well blocked out. Thankfully.

                Until a year later, when his father sent him away. Back home, just like Wanda wanted. Exactly what she'd asked for.

                Only, Wanda wasn't there anymore.

                That was about when he stopped having a chance of liking his father, probably. But… he… didn't understand. Why would his father send him away too? He was ten years old, quiet, smart, lonely. A good kid, right? What had he done wrong? Wanda had been the one who'd spoken up, and even that hadn't been so bad. And it wasn't her fault, what had happened, even though he was terrified by it. She hadn't meant to hurt him. His father told him he was sending him home "to protect him." But he couldn't believe it. That's what he'd said about sending Wanda away too. That she would hurt herself, and more people, if he didn't. She couldn't control herself. But if his father, who was so powerful, couldn't protect them, how could some poor Gypsies in a nameless country somewhere manage? Didn't he…

                What, love them?

                Pietro laughed, at the memory. He'd actually thought that, when he was a kid. Fuck, eight, nine years ago. What a fucking idiot.

                The next few years, back home, had been way more fun though. Getting his first arrest, at the age of twelve, just after his powers had finally shown up, was still one of his favorite memories. He'd been stealing food, actually, because the Gypsies had fallen on hard times again. Django and Marya, as he now called them, were concerned. They, he knew, probably loved him.

                But he didn't feel much, really. Not for anyone. Didn't allow it, maybe. Only when he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do.

                So he did a lot of it.

                His adoptive parents had settled down, after a few years, hoping some kind of stability would do him good, give him some kind of grounding. Make him into the good boy they'd known a few years ago.

                Didn't work. He raised hell until he was sixteen, using any excuse to get into a fight, cause trouble, steal, lie, manipulate. Because that was when he could feel again. Couldn't think about Wanda. Couldn't think about his father. But his mind raced so fast that he couldn't build the walls fast enough to block out the memories and he needed to see them, needed to find them, needed to find out who he was and what had happened and where he was going and…

                So he begged to be sent back to the States on an exchange program… got back to New York. And disappeared. And the rest was history. He'd slipped right through the cracks, ditched that whole "host family" idea, searched and stolen and lived so fast… until he'd been rescued again, thrown into jail for what felt like the hundredth time. Found out about Wanda, what had happened to her in there…

                Fuck. Just fuck. He fucking hated being bored. Hated thinking. Hated thinking about his father, about how he'd let himself be used repeatedly by the man, just because of some stupid blood ties that meant fuck all, because of some stupid childhood need to redeem himself for whatever it had been that had made his father send him away in the first place. Hated thinking about his sister, what Magneto had done to her. Hated the fact that he didn't know if she even remembered the Maximoffs, how happy they'd been as kids. Hated that he was the only one now who had dreams about those weird animal-men, and couldn't talk to her about it anymore because he might wake up some memory that would sent her into a fit of blind rage that would kill them all. Hated that the only real parents he'd ever known had no idea where he was and he couldn't bring himself to write them and tell them that he was ok and he'd found Wanda and they were alive and eating well and Jesus Christ…

                He hated his life.

                Needed to set something on fire.

                Needed a fucking cigarette.

                Needed something to do, to take his mind off of things.

                Needed a goddamn friend. And all of it, all the bullshit, all the memories, all the arrests and the trouble and the need to just feel something, the need to just run away, run fast, were not excuses for being an absolute prick to the one guy who he wanted to be his friend.

                But he couldn't stop thinking about them now. Bored. Just… so bored. He knew if he went for a run, it would help. But he couldn't help himself. Kinda like he thought he deserved to just sit here and remember.

                Dammit, wasn't there anything on TV?!

(To be continued, I promise)[1]



[1] Enter the ridiculously long AN:

                Sorry to leave that hanging a bit (not much, but a bit, anyhow!) I will resolve their issues, for better or for worse, but I couldn't resist throwing in some drama, and I wanted to set up some Maximoff past, for later things I'm planning. (God, when will the Evo binge end?! I can hear you all now!) If anyone wants to take issue with the past I've created… too bad. Ha! No, seriously, if you are confused, or wonder why I set it up the way I did, let me just say this much:

                The problem with creating a history for the Maximoff twins that doesn't entirely defy all logic, is that Evo made things really effing difficult. All we really see is the jailbreak, and Wanda getting locked away, with little Pietro looking pretty bloody depressed about it. He lives alone, in Evo, when introduced (ok, I'm guessing, but c'mon…) and my DVD of evo says he's "an exchange student." I kid you not.

                I can't ignore those things. So combining this with all the crap from Marvelverse canon… what the hell can I do? I love Wundagore (yeah, yeah, I think the New Men are cool, and if you don't know about them, they're the "animal-men" Pietro dreams about—he and Wanda were born at the High Evolutionary's citadel at Wundagore, Transia, yes an entirely made up place) And I can't just ignore the fact that the twins are called Maximoff… So this is the best I can do. And actually, I kinda like it.

                I have a timeline set up for the Maximoff twins' past, and if anyone has questions, please email or leave a note in a review, whichever is easier, and I will be happy to send it to you.

                That said, let me give up mad thanks to those of you who have read and/or reviewed. I'm really blown over by the interest some of you have in these stories, and your input really helps me out. About half of the thirteen or so stories I have planned for this run are finished, but they're constantly evolving (which is why I'm updating slower than usual.) If someone has a request, I'd be happy to try and fit it in, because a few of the things I have planned haven't even been begun. A character you want involved? A request for smut or jokes or drugs or rock n roll? We'll see them all eventually, but this is just for fun (and, admittedly, to set up yet another sequel that is more Maximoff than anything else, since I've been looking at my old Quicksilver and Siege of Wundagore comics!) I do know where this is going, but there is room for diversion and antics, as a collection of random fluff. And you've all been so kind to me, to review so much, I want you to know that I really appreciate it. Never expected to love reviews like I do. Been writing fanfic for not less than two months, and already I am hooked.

The Rogue Witch-  Oh, but fic with your sick fantasies woven in is the best kind! Hence my whole Pietro/JP obsession *cough*

SilverCaladan- Imagining you on the floor of the high school hallway cracks me up entirely. God you make me laugh. And that's funny, because my brother and I are always making Wonder Twin jokes about ourselves. He says—"Form of—Giant Groundhog!" I say—"Form of—Water!"

TKD- Again, thank you so much for the kind review. I'm really glad that you can appreciate JP and JM, despite no former interest in them. Hopefully you'll get hooked like I did ;) Your fuzzy elf is incoming, but not for a few more chapters! And as for hugging JP… dunno, you seem like the sort he could get along with! Well, Evo JP, anyhow. Marvelverse JP is too fussy to call, but if I was writing him, he'd love you.

Risty- I'm stereotyping, but the Brazilian dude I was friends with in high school… god the drama. And what a flirt. Thanks for your continued reading, I really enjoy your fic (the Rahne one! Oh god, so good!) so it means a lot to me.

Regret- You're such a darling to be suckered into my world. Thank you, thank you!

Peanut- Glad it made you laugh. I know you have a wicked sense of humor ;) Btw, waiting for more of the epic!

Fata Morgana- Again, thank you. That is the thing about doing an Evo Aurora that's so fun, you can pretty much go anywhere. God knows she got to do fuck all in AF, except be… well ok mildly irritating. She was usually just a love interest, or JP's sister. Or crazy. Stereotype. She has such great potential, and I think she should have a very artistic soul, so I'm gonna come at her from that angle. Glad it meets with approval from a fellow AF fan. And you know, I read a lot to learn Spanish and German too, but writing was always the hard thing to do, and what I did after I became more advanced. I will throw that in too though, you have got a great idea there. School should be interesting for JM…

Rivulet027- Thanks for the encouragement. Glad they were amusing for you. Appreciate the comment about knowing the characters, hope I can keep that up!

                All that said, thank you again, and hope the drama wasn't too disappointing after all the laughs. But you know, teenagers. Haven't been one for a few years, but I remember feeling very angsty back then ;)

                Some things never change, huh?