Chapter Thirteen
Django
He didn't know what the hell had happened to his daughter, but he was bound and determined to find out. All he knew was that he had returned home only to find a completely distraught Pietro as well as a far-too-smug Marya. And only after much coaxing had Django been able to get Pietro to tell him that Wanda was gone and that he had let Magnus take her away. He shook his head in confusion, knowing he had done no such thing. "Marya!" he shouted when his wife came into view. "Where is Wanda?" he demanded.
"Magnus took her to get help," the gypsy woman shrugged and spoke as though it were the most casual of conversations. Django shook his head furiously. They were likely to never see her again, and Marya had stood by and let it happen.
"Where?"
"I didn't ask." Django let out a sigh of frustration. It was one thing to let their daughter leave with the man that had no right to call himself the twins' father without consulting him first. It was another thing, another straw to break the camel's back, not to bother asking where they were going and when they would be returning. And then not to question why Pietro had returned without his sister looking more upset than they had ever seen him before. "Besides, we're better off without the demon child."
"You would not be saying the same things if it were Pietro that had been taken," he all but growled. He knew without a doubt that his wife favored the boy. And he knew without a doubt everyone else knew the same thing.
"Of course not," Marya tried to defend herself. "Pietro would never hurt anybody. He's a good boy."
"And Wanda's a good girl." He knew he did the same things with Wanda that Marya did with Pietro. He made up excuses for her. He let her get away with more. But the poor child had been treated differently her entire life. And what for? Because she was different? Because she was afraid of a power she couldn't control? Was there something wrong with being afraid? Yes, she had hurt Pietro. But it had been an accident, one that could have easily been prevented in the future.
"Your precious daughter nearly killed my son!" Marya shouted. There it was, the separation that had been looming over them since the twins came into their custody. Everything suddenly became clear to him then. Marya had never viewed Wanda as her daughter, even if she viewed Pietro as her son. But Django, though he showed some favoritism toward the girl, had never dissociated himself from Pietro. He had raised the boy to his young age. He'd taken care of him, held him when he cried, listened to him rant, helped him with his homework, scolded him for misbehavior or bad grades.
"Our daughter accidentally hurt our son," Django said coldly before walking out of the room to find Pietro. He didn't want to be around his wife and her negative energy at the moment, and he most certainly didn't want her filling Pietro's head with wrong ideas of his sister. She wasn't a monster. She was confused, and she was scared, and she was God-only-knew where. He knocked on the door to his son's bedroom.
"What?" he heard the familiar, small voice act. Though it was slightly different, as if he'd been crying. Django shook his head again. It hurt to know that his children were suffering. It hurt to know that Magnus, the man that was supposed to love the children more than anything in the world, seemed to see his children merely as tools in his damn fool's crusade. It hurt to think that Pietro thought Django had betrayed him, had sent his sister away. And it hurt even more to know there was absolutely nothing he could do about the situation. He couldn't help but wonder if Magnus' new friend, the Raven woman, had a part to play in the entire situation. "May I come in?" he asked.
"Go away," the boy sniffed.
"Pietro..." Django started to try and reason with him, but he was cut off.
"I said go away!"
Django sighed and reluctantly left his place in front of Pietro's room. He'd liked to say that he knew his children quite well. And he most certainly knew when one of them would not talk. Wanda had always gone quiet. Pietro had always gotten angry. The more he thought about the situation, the more tragic it became. He only wished he could alleviate their suffering, even just a little bit. But as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't do a damned thing. By bond the twins were the children of Django and Marya Maximoff. But by blood they were the children of Magnus and Magda. And that fact struck him to the bone. No matter how hard he tried, they would never be his.