Work Text:
When Wanda opens the door and sees her dead brother, for a split second, she is not in Westview anymore.
For a split second, she is hiding beneath a bed as missiles rip up the only home she’s ever known, brother screaming in her ear. She sees the word STARK painted on the side and Wanda knows, even then, that her life will never be the same.
For a split second, she is strapped to a table and screaming, hearing her brother’s voice pleading for mercy. Wanda howls and struggles and begs as the Infinity Stone’s energy pulses through her blood and makes her someone– something – completely new.
For a split second, she is moving like the wind, folded in Pietro’s arms, going too fast to see where she is going or even really to use her own powers, but knowing she is safe, knowing she is secure, because she knows that her brother would never drop her.
For a split second, she is in a half-destroyed church in Sokovia. There is red light dancing all around her, and the robots are closing in, but Wanda knows her power and she is not afraid.
For a split second, she can feel the bond with her brother splinter and snap and shatter and then he isn’t there anymore, and there is a vacuum where he used to be. Wanda crashes to her knees and she screams and she wonders if it is possible for one person to hold so much pain.
Some people say that death makes a person vanish, as if they were never there.
Wanda knows that that isn’t true.
The problem with death is not that they were never there, it’s that they were there.
Were.
Past tense.
The past tense always tripped her up, back when she was still learning English.
The problem is that they were there, and now they’re not, and they never will be again. That’s death. That’s life. Wanda knows it better than anyone. But now–
Now, there is no past tense.
The vacuum is gone.
Her brother, her twin, Pietro is finally home.
He says something, but Wanda doesn’t hear it. She's too wrapped up in the all-encompassing shock and joy and fear and sorrow– sorrow that is finally melting away.
“Pietro,” she breathes, and pulls her brother, her best friend, her other half, into a tight embrace. He hugs her back, and Wanda can feel the raw, terrible, awful, destructive grief finally beginning to fade. It’s relief and joy and ecstasy beyond measure, and Wanda chokes back a sob.
There is a part of her that says: That is not your brother’s face and Vision is dead and Everybody hates you for what you’ve done, and an even smaller part cries out I want to go home.
But no, no, no.
Everything is fine.
Everything is perfect.
Besides, where could she go home to? Home is here. Home is with her family.
There is nowhere else for her to go.