Chapter 4
When Wanda returns Pietro is still asleep. His brow unwrinkles from its frown when she sits beside him, and takes his hand in hers, and they stay like that awhile. Andrej pops his head in, breath misting cold in the doorway, and darts off when Wanda sends happy scarlet tendrils his way. Doctor Cho drops by and runs some tests, the Captain to check, but things are peaceful. Pietro sleeps.
Before long so too does Wanda, curled between Pietro's back and the wall. Her face is pressed into her brother's shoulders and she wraps herself in spare blankets of burgundy edged with black and gold.
It is the best sleep she has had since the battle.
Pietro sleeps and Pietro dreams. He is aware, in part, of the fact he is a remade creature, of DNA and memories and the Cradle. He knows that his mind is not fully coalesced yet, from the large blue kernel Vision saw him as in Wanda's mind, the dancing silver moon-seed Wanda gave him and memory after dancing memory. His sleep allows them to settle, to pass across his sight and find their rightful place. Eventually the silver slivers and scarlet strings of memory still and settle, and dreams come out a-dancing.
The memories settling lets Pietro recognise them, from the old nightmare of loss that Wanda's scarlet brushes back casually, to moments from protests and training. They chase blue butterflies in the woods, and follow scarlet-tailed raptors. In the sky of the dream stormclouds dance, white lightning and scarlet in equal parts. Pietro stands in the midst of a forest, in the midst of a storm, and can feel his sister's presence everywhere.
The lightning dancing reminds Pietro of another dream, an older dream, of witches dancing in the wood and his new-made mind takes this knowledge and weaves it in. The forest broadens and through the trees he can see a fire.
It does not take him long to reach it. The fire is great and huge, gold and brown and scarlet, all his sister's colours. At the edges of the flames his blue rests, marking the peak heat of the flames. From behind the flames - or from within them, Pietro isn't quite sure, - a woman steps. It takes him a moment to recognise his sister.
In this dream, by this fire, she is larger than life. Milky pale skin, tanned slightly darker on her arms and face, hair dark and alive with auburn and scarlet shooting through it from the fire. She is, Pietro notices, quite naked, gooseflesh pricking over her body, making hard small soft peach-coloured nipples. Pietro's throat is dry as he swallows, and as dream-Wanda begins to dance around the flames.
She dances to a tune Pietro thinks he can hear, some vague ethereal song, like the song of his speed, one that is more of instinct than heard. Scarlet dances from her fingers, drifting down in a way Wanda's waking scarlet rarely does. She dances about the fire and she is beautiful.
Pietro's mouth is dry. When he tries to close his eyes he finds he cannot, that the dream keeps pressing the images on him all the same, Wanda dancing, Wanda swaying, Wanda turning and inviting him to join her.
His eyes fly open as his dream-hand meets hers.
He is lying on a bed. It is not one he knows, but the blankets over him smell of Wanda, and are her colours. Memories wash over him, of the dream, of dying, of running to Wanda after waking. He remembers sleeping, Wanda perched at the edge of the bed and sighs.
He does not know if he should tell Wanda. He remembered all too clearly, their agreement when they were thirteen, even as he remembers Wanda's kiss and his dream. He pushes himself up, leans forward, and notices Wanda. She had been curled behind him, between his back and the wall, under blankets of her own. She is stretched out now, and Pietro sends a single blue stretch of thought toward her mind. Down the bridge a soft red floods out, offering memories, aligning their timelines again. Pietro looks at his sister, peaceful in sleep, and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.
He wants to tell her and he does not. Telling Wanda has consequences, as all things do, but these are not consequences he cares for. Hiding it means none of those consequences, but possibly something worse. They are twins. They are all they have and all they have ever had. Creating a secret would divide them, that Pietro knows.
Pietro scrubs a hand over his face. Without thinking his other hand strokes over Wanda's hair, gentle, soft and comforting. He recalls his dream. He recalls his old dream. He recalls the agreement they made when they were thirteen and he remembers Wanda and he both breaking it when he came back.
Against, for, tell, do not tell, the arguments turn through his mind. Usually he could debate things out with Wanda, but this… for this he had only himself and what he could offer. His own mind turning.
His own mind, remade from nothing but scraps, and Wanda's art.
He does not wish to doubt his sister. If he cannot trust her who can he trust? Half a whole, a shared soul, one being in two bodies, he knows how they were like instinct, like home. To doubt her is to doubt himself.
But she said that she feared she had remade him wrong. She doubted herself and doubted him.
Doubt, doubt, doubt. To tell or not to tell. Pietro's mind spins between the two, even as his mind and memories settle into form. I am new-made, he reminds himself. Confusion can be expected.
He glances to his sleeping sister. Her face is half-pressed into the pillow, one hand by her face, one curled uncomfortably beneath her. Pietro's hand shakes as it strokes through her hair, and he sighs. He wants to know. What his sister thinks, how his mind settles, if he was remade wrong.
He does not wish to fail his sister a second time.
Wanda wakes quickly. She may be sleeping comfortably, but it is Pietro's hand shaking her, and that means it is important, that they are unsafe, that something had happened, something was wrong, something.
Pietro's face, when she wakes, is not panicked but there is something wrong. Her hands rise to cup his face, gentle, soft, comforting.
Pietro flinches back.
"Pietro," she breathes. "What's wrong?" She forces herself up, tugs blankets with her, and leans against the wall. Her eyes stay fixed on her brother, dark eyes unblinking.
Her brother stays curled, knees drawn up, one hand picking over his scarlet blanket. "What if I was remade wrong?"
Wanda's inhale shakes, and she reaches for her brother. "You were not," she whispers, palm running down his back. "I saw your mind as you woke. You are my brother."
Pietro's voice is strained as he replies. "How can you be sure? What if Ultron did something, Vision did something, you did something. You said you feared it. What if-"
"Pietro." Wanda's voice is soft, and sad. "What makes you wonder?"
He does not speak, but the whirling dervish that encircles his mind parts, and through it comes a monkey made of memory, making its way to her mind. Odd thoughts, old memories, contradictions, uncertainties and his dream.
The laugh Wanda gives is more a sob of relief. "Pietro," she says, "Brother. It's alright." She presses a kiss to his shoulder and Pietro almost flinches. His reactions are slower, lulled by her presence, but still faster than human.
"Wanda."
Wanda's sob is more a laugh this time. "I thought I had lost you to fear," she murmurs, sorrow-relief so rich in her voice that Pietro relaxes and turns. She shakes her head, brow resting on his shoulder. "I thought… . Pietro. What do you think we should do?"
Her mind, just beyond the brink of his, dances in not-unhappy scarlet, and sends memories, swift as angels, to him. They slip through his dervish with edges like swords and seal the route behind before dancing open.
The kiss she gave him, of open joy and happiness. Not entirely sisterly, no, because she had been learning what it was to no longer be a sister, to be alone. But loving, longing, glad and happy, rich emotions that Pietro watching knew he had matched.
The memory is also a message: the choice is theirs.
Pietro blinks and clears his mind. Arguments have settled, thoughts calmed and he considers the now. He will never deny his sister things she truly needs. A kiss of gladness, even unsisterly given, was what she had needed to give. A kiss in return, equally unbrotherly, was what she had asked. Pietro did not think he could have denied his sister that, even had he wanted to.
The memory of their agreement when they were thirteen rises, unbidden. Pietro lets out a heavy breath.
"What do you need?"
It is Wanda's turn to blink. Pietro had been panicked, almost, and now he is calm. He had woken her because something struck him as too wrong to be borne and now, instead of dividing and deciding, he offered to let her chose where all the weight should fall.
As he has always tried to do, Wanda reminds herself. Protector even before brother, and now that causes problems. Wanda pauses, Wanda thinks.
"I need," she says, slowly, enunciating carefully, "For you to be alright. For you to decide if you want yesterday, or when we were thirteen. It is not a question of what I need." Her tone softens. "It is a matter of what you decide."
Her hand rests softly on his and finally Pietro flips his hand, takes hers in his and relaxes fully.
"Thirteen," he says. "Better for us both we never break that promise. There are still those with the power to part us." His smile is small, but not sad. Wanda nods, and presses a kiss to his cheek.
"Do you want me to check your mind before you sleep?"
Pietro's head bows as he acquiesces, and Wanda's fingers skim over his brow before the scarlet delves a-dancing in. Wanda's soft smile tells him all, even before he feels the scarlet search through his mind.
He is Pietro Maximoff, and he is Wanda's twin.
Finis
Interlude and the start of the fic to follow it and finish of this series, The Three Fates, will be up tomorrow, I will post an announcement in this fic so you can find it without trouble. Reviews are much appreciated!