On the run

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Wanda had messed up. Big time.

A bomb had gone off, and she had contained it, but let it go too early. It had killed 24 people and counting.

As Wanda stood there, hand pressed against her mouth in shock, something became clear. She was a menace. A danger. To society, to the public, to herself.

Steve found her there, staring at the smouldering charcoaled remains of the building.
"Hey. It wasn't your fault." Steve said gently, engaging his protective mother hen mode.

"But it was. I could have held it longer. I could have pushed it higher!"

"Wanda! Listen to me. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. Rumlow is to blame. Not you."

Three. Hours. Later.

Wanda was back at the hotel that their sub-team was staying at. The TV was flickering in the background, playing the news. Steve had come and gone, and Wanda was alone. Making up her mind, she packed a bag with her most important things.

One red leather jacket. Check.
One picture of Pietro and her. Check.
One wallet, with a credit card. Check.
One false passport. Check.
One change of clothes. Check.
One phone, with charger. Check.
All went into a nondescript navy bag.

Thank god Nat had gotten her a false passport. The spy was a lot smarter than she let on.

Wanda scribbled a quick note to Steve, saying 'I'm too dangerous for the Avengers. W.'
Then she grabbed her bag, tied up her hair, and jumped out the window.

She made her way to the bus station, and boarded the bus.
"Where to, Miss?" Asked the old bus driver enthusiastically, as if it wasn't 3 AM on a Monday morning.

"Airport please

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"Airport please." Wanda mumbled, holding out her credit card.
"No, you go free. A word of advice. Excelsior." The driver said, looking Wanda in her eyes.

Confused, Wanda sat down at the back of the bus, and quickly fell asleep.
Three hours later, the bus tumbled to a stop, and Wanda's head slipped from the glass window.

"Here's your stop! Murray airport!" The bus driver called back. Wanda walked up to the front of the bus, and noticed the tag on the drivers shirt. Stan Lee. That name was familiar, somehow.

"Thanks, Stan." Wanda said, disembarking the bus. It honked quietly at her, and trundled off into the night.

Wanda double checked her bag. Passport, phone, charger, jacket, photo, clothes. It was all there. She walked into the small airport, and bought a ticket to South Carolina. She just hoped her friend still lived there.

Five hours later, Wanda stepped off the plane into the dark, but still hot air.
She walked to a specific address, and knocked.

A young woman opened the door, and seeing Wanda, she gasped.
"Wanda?"
"Oh, Ells, thank god!" Wanda whispered, letting Eliza pull her inside.

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