Wonderland: fell down a rabbit hole, you held on tight to me ('cause...

Chapter 7: this love is back alive from the dead

He couldn't even imagine never being able to rest and give up. He wouldn't want it for her, but God, did he understand.

A common theme in Wanda's story that Pietro couldn't help but note was that she was alone. Alone, so many times, and any time she tried to build a life next to or with someone, they went away too. Wanda, in that future, lost him, lost Vision, lost Natasha who she had apparently been close friends with, and Clint, who had been her father figure apparently. And she had said it herself, no one had checked in on her .

The second thing that he couldn't help but note was the second biggest thing in his mind throughout the entire story— He had failed Wanda. As a big brother, he was meant to protect her, and be there for her. But in dying, in not being able to save himself, he had left Wanda to fend for herself against the rest of the world, as weird as the world was, all by herself. And what a failure that made him.

"Don't think that," Wanda told him, finally speaking again. Her voice was coarse and rough. "You're not a failure. You died a hero."

"So did you." He told her.

"In case you haven't noticed—" she snapped, her eyes angry and starting to turn red, though not yet glowing. "I'm not dead."

The elevator arrived on the 5th floor.

Wanda exited. "So I don't even know how I died. A hero, a villain, all I know is I'm a monster, and if I died, then I died a monster." She walked ahead, into their shared room.

Pietro should have known that wasn't the Wanda he knew. It was still his Wanda, but it wasn't the Wanda he knew, and he should have noticed. The moment she opened her eyes after Clint's arrows, her once bright and angry eyes, had opened to dull and tired ones, like if it was possible, her eyes could summon instant eye-bags. And the cruel laughter, bitter and pained, that wasn't a laugh Wanda had ever laughed. And the anger, God, the anger was unrestrained. She wasn't just angry, no it was worse, focused. She was somehow less angry, but more murderous. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but his sister was living proof of it being possible.

He watched as his sister lifted all the bags with a flick of her wrist, and moved them away to the side, and as she laid on her bed, her magic worked on autopilot—or just in response to her thoughts—and packed everything away, tearing off the tags off the clothes itself, and putting shirts and pants in the drawers, and jackets, and dresses and sweaters up in her closet, organizing everything she bought; even the books, and the accessories. The sound of clothes and other items moving through the air was background noise as Pietro sat on the bed beside Wanda and pulled the woman back into him.

They sat in relative silence, until he said– "So are you the older one now?"

And Wanda laughed, in surprise. "Yeah," she said, "I guess, but... I don't want to be the older twin. Can you stay as the older twin for now?"

Pietro nodded, pulling her close and letting her rest her head on his shoulder. "I'll be the older twin as long as you need me to be, Wanda. And I'll take care of you and protect you like I should have always, especially in that other life of yours."

Wanda smiled. "Okay." She nodded. "Thank you."

"What are big brothers for?"

Then, with the tense silence that came, and the new knowledge in Pietro's head, and Wanda's slightly returning stiffness, he realized she must be thinking that since he was finally wrapping his head around what she had done, and what she had gone through, he was going to be disgusted. But to him, all he heard, even when she listed the atrocities, and murders she committed, was that that wasn't his Wanda. That wasn't his sister. That was the Darkhold. That was the Scarlet Witch, being used and manipulated by the small sliver of hope for something happy that still existed in her heart. That was Fate screwing her over for the millionth time when she dared to try and make herself happy. He didn't like that his sister had killed the Illuminati, but he didn't think her a monster for it, like she thought of herself. Nor did he think of her as a monster for the Hex. She said so herself, she didn't know, and he believed her.