A World Remembered

Chapter 15: How It All Went to Hell

I was feeling better. You knew that.

You were slowing dying. You knew that too.

You know both of these things. I know these things too.

You and I know about what I have done.

Kurt doesn't.

Peter does.

Here was the first part of my day. I got Peter to sit down with me and explain something. "I met you sister."

"My sister?"

"Y'know, the famous Scarlet WItch. The one who thinks you're dead." I raise my eyebrow at him.

"I don't know vho you're talking about, Booky."

"Yes you do. Otherwise you wouldn't be grinding your teeth. What's up with that? Why don't you tell her you're still alive, Pietro," I emphasize his name, it coming out with a slightly deeper tone in my voice.

"The twitch or vhat I have done-okay, I get it." I had started to get up to strangle him before he raised his hands in defense. He turns his head to the side before looking at me, his eyes searching before starting his tale.

"I vas thought dead, by the Avengers and especially so by my twin sister, Vanda. You appear to have known that. I made an easy getaway in the mess of vhich I had found myself and the city of Sokovia. It vas a difficult world then and always had been for us both. I found myself facing it on my own. Vhile the aftermath ensued, I vas able to hide myself avay until I could find somevhere to go.

"It vas sometime later, exploring Europe after vorking a few different places to earn plane tickets that I learned I had a half sister and a vould have been stepmother villing to take me it. She allowed me to come in, even coming to the point of adopting me. I vas happy for that time. I hid my past avay and resumed my life as a normal person.

"I heard vhen the Vitch had started to search for her lost brother's body. She never found it, the least to say. I met the X-Men throughout my time (I'm doing the original from comics) with my Mom, Magda, and learned of vho I vas. I did not vish for Vanda to know. The easiest vay to keep her mind safe...vas for her to never know I had been decieving her for this long. Please..." He clasps my hands at this part, his words growing frantic with want, with need, with desperation. "Please, do not tell her. If not for me, then for her sake. She does not need more in her life to live with."

"Peter...may I call you Pietro? I like your original name better." I squeeze his hand comfortingly.

"You may, but not around the others. Do you promise? Do you promise to not tell?" Desperation rang, panging against my heart, thrumming that heart string. His eyes were begging.

"I promise. I won't tell." Before long I won't be able to.

This wasn't the main point, but you should have read this and hopefully you stuck with me through it. The title comes from this part:

I was sitting on the couch, minding my own business with my writing. A peace had settled over me as I wrote, my fingers and mind languid as they work together. I have figured out what kept me from writing as I would have. Now, I can't stop.

Something would shortly stop me again.

I feel him more than see him when he arrives. That aura of anger and rage and vexation. I heard something akin to the only thing you could imagine hovering and a speedy pacing. It sounds like it would recede then approach and then recede and approach and repeated until I'm met with a BAMF of brimstone, a hovering psychic, and a Pietro.