The biting wind whipped around Wanda and Pietro, tugging at their makeshift bandages. They were deep in the Sokovian mountains, a cold, desolate sanctuary after their latest, brutal escape. Jagged, snow-dusted peaks loomed around them, casting long, stark shadows that stretched across the unforgiving, rocky ground. Sparse, twisted trees, their branches bare, seemed to claw at the grey, oppressive sky. The air itself felt thin and sharp, biting at their exposed skin, a constant, chilling reminder of their vulnerability. Every gust of wind seemed to carry the echo of their recent close calls, the distant, muffled sounds of the city a stark contrast to this barren, isolated refuge.
Pietro shivered, not just from the cold, but from the lingering adrenaline that still buzzed beneath his skin. The raw memory of how close they'd come to being caught, the frantic blur of his own speed barely saving them, was still fresh. He kept scanning the horizon, his super-speed senses on high alert, but all he saw was more emptiness, more cold, more places to hide but nowhere to truly be. Are we ever going to be safe? he wondered, a knot of fear tightening in his stomach. We keep running, but where do we go? And now... now everything we believed was a lie. The thought was a bitter taste in his mouth.
Wanda sat hunched, her hands clutched tight, pressing against her chest as if to hold herself together, to keep from falling apart. The vibrant crimson glow of her powers was absent, leaving a hollow, aching void where her strength should be. Her mind was a chaotic storm of betrayal and grief. The truth they'd uncovered about Hydra, about their parents' death being a calculated manipulation, was a festering wound, far worse than any physical injury. All this time... all this anger... it was for nothing. They used us. They lied to us. A profound sense of helplessness washed over her, chilling her to the bone. Her revenge, their sole driving force, had been exposed as a cruel trick, a puppet show orchestrated by the very people who had promised them power. The emptiness left by that shattered belief was immense, a gaping hole in her soul that the cold wind seemed to seep into, making her feel utterly exposed and lost. Her striking green eyes, usually so fierce, were clouded with a profound weariness, and her full, expressive lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line. What do we do now? she thought, a wave of anxiety making her breath catch in her throat.
Suddenly, a shimmer in the air, a ripple in the very fabric of reality, appeared before them. Jon stepped out of the Mirror Dimension. His Cloak of Subtle Weave, a deep, unassuming grey, seemed to absorb the dim light, blending him seamlessly with the grey rock and sparse snow. His appearance was silent, almost ethereal, a figure seemingly woven from the very shadows of the mountainside. He was cloaked, his face hidden deep within the cowl, making him an enigma, a silent, imposing presence that seemed to materialize from nowhere. The twins, hyper-alert from their constant flight, instantly snapped their heads up. Their eyes widened, surprise warring with a flash of fear. They instinctively tensed, their battered bodies ready to bolt, but their injuries and exhaustion held them rooted to the spot. Jon noted the crude bandages on Pietro's arm, the faint bruising around Wanda's eyes, and the way they instinctively kept their distance, like cornered animals. Wanda, especially, seemed to recall the effortless way he had caged her, a memory that clearly left her feeling exposed and powerless.
Jon raised his hands slowly, palms open, a gesture of peace. His voice, still magically altered to be calm and neutral, carried softly on the wind, a low hum that seemed to resonate in the desolate space. "I'm not here to hurt you. Believe me, if I wanted to, you wouldn't even know I was here." He kept his expression neutral, but his mind was a whirlwind. Okay, deep breaths, Jon. Don't spook them. They're injured, exhausted, and just had their entire world view shattered. This needs to be handled with more finesse than a magic-suppressing dome.
Even as he spoke, Jon was subtly weaving a complex spell around them. It was a variation of the one he'd used on Wanda before, but far more intricate: a passive field designed to neutralize their powers only if they attempted to use them aggressively. It was a safety net for him, a silent assurance that Pietro wouldn't suddenly turn into a supersonic blur, or Wanda unleash a wave of chaos. He knew she had no experience with such layered magic, and his appearance, coupled with the overwhelming magical energy he was subtly projecting, would hopefully keep her senses too overloaded to detect the subtle spell he was laying down. This is a gamble, a big one. But I can't have them running off and getting themselves killed before they even hear me out. And frankly, I'm not fast enough to dodge Pietro if he goes for it.
"I've been helping you," Jon continued, his gaze steady on Wanda, then shifting to Pietro. "Those 'lucky breaks' you've had? The alarms that went silent, the guards who suddenly looked the other way, the walls that seemed to crumble just when you needed an exit? That was me. I was making sure you got out." He paused, letting that sink in, watching their expressions for any sign of recognition.
Pietro, despite his weariness, narrowed his eyes, a flicker of something akin to grudging acknowledgment in their depths. "Why? What do you want?" His voice was raspy, laced with suspicion, his gaze flicking from Jon to Wanda, a silent question passing between them. He probably thinks I'm some creep with a weird obsession with his sister, Jon thought with a mental sigh. Typical protective brother. Not entirely wrong, I suppose, but for different reasons.
Jon took a moment, debating his next words. How much truth? How much do they need to hear to trust me, without scaring them off or giving away too much? He decided on a blend of honesty and shared vulnerability.
"What do I want?" Jon repeated, his voice losing some of its detached calm, a hint of genuine frustration seeping in. "Look, just like you two, I've got special powers. And just like you guys are figuring out right now, if you join any government, any organization, any big group out there... you'll never really be free. You'll be used, whether you like it or not. They'll call you a tool, a weapon, a deterrent. You won't have a place to call home, not really. Not a normal life, not if you keep running, or if you let them control you."
He gestured vaguely at the desolate mountain landscape around them, the biting wind emphasizing his point. "I feel the same way about my own situation. I want a place where I can just be. Away from all that government nonsense, away from being someone's property. And to get that, to build that kind of freedom, I'm going to have to deal with some seriously shady people, like the ones you just 'interrogated.' But here's the kicker: I can't do it alone. It's too big. The world's too messy. That's why I need people like me. People with powers, people who understand what it's like to be... different. To join me."
Jon stepped a little closer, his posture open, his voice softening, a genuine earnestness now replacing the earlier detachment. "I approached Wanda because I saw what they were doing to you both. I saw how they were using your grief, your anger, for their own twisted goals. And now that you know the truth, now that you've seen the real monsters, I want to propose something. I want to form a team. Just a small group. Where we look out for each other. Where we have each other's backs. No promises of grand revenge, no promises of fixing the whole world, just a simple life where we can actually live without fear of being hunted, or controlled, or used."
Wanda, who had been listening intently, her eyes fixed on him, finally spoke, her voice still hoarse but with a new edge of desperate curiosity. "A team? For what? To hide? To run forever?" Her face was etched with the raw pain of betrayal. The revenge that had consumed her, that had given her a reason to exist after the bombing, had been exposed as a cruel manipulation. The void it left was immense, a gaping hole in her soul.
Pietro, sensing her despair, stepped slightly in front of her, his gaze still wary but less overtly hostile. "What kind of home? And why us? What makes you think we want to be part of anything after... after all this?" He gestured vaguely at their injuries, at the cold, unforgiving mountains. Their escape had been harrowing, leaving them with a profound sense of vulnerability.
"Not to hide forever," Jon replied, his voice firm but gentle. "To build. To build a place where we don't have to run. A place where our abilities are our own, not someone else's weapon. Think about it. You've seen what happens when you're alone, when you're just two people against an entire system. You get hurt. You get used. With others, with support, with people who understand, you have strength. You have a family, if you want it." He looked from Wanda's haunted eyes to Pietro's guarded ones. "I can help you get away from all of this. I can help you find peace. But I can't do it for you, and I can't do it alone. I need your help, too. To protect this home, to protect each other."
Wanda looked at Pietro, a silent question passing between them. The idea of a home, of not running, of not being a pawn... it was a siren song to their weary souls. The burning desire for revenge had been replaced by a crushing emptiness, a desperate longing for safety and belonging. Jon's words, stripped of grand promises, spoke to their deepest, most immediate needs.
"Why should we trust you?" Wanda's voice cut through the mountain air, sharp with suspicion. She gestured at his cloaked figure. "We don't even know what you look like. You're just a voice in a shadow." It was a jab, a challenge, a desperate attempt to force his hand, to find some tangible truth in this impossible situation.
Jon remained silent for a moment, weighing her words. Fair enough. I'd be suspicious too. Time to put my cards on the table, at least some of them. He took a deep breath, letting the subtle magic altering his voice dissipate. His own, natural voice, a calm baritone, filled the space. Then, with a fluid movement, he reached up and pulled back the hood of his Cloak of Subtle Weave.
Wanda and Pietro gasped. Jon's face was revealed: a man in his late twenties, with kind, intelligent eyes that held a hint of weariness, and a jawline that spoke of quiet determination. He wasn't imposing, not like the hulking soldiers they'd faced, but there was an undeniable strength in his gaze. He looked... normal. Disarmingly so.
"You're right," Jon said, his voice now completely natural, no longer masked by magic, meeting Wanda's gaze directly. "You don't know me. And after everything you've been through, you have every right to be suspicious. But I'm offering you a way out, a real one. My name is Jon, and I live in New York. I came to Sokovia for some... business, and while I was here, I stumbled onto some information about you two, about what was really going on." He kept it vague "I have a place, a home, on the outskirts of New York. It's safe, secluded. If you decide to join me, I can get you new identities, completely clean. Take you away from all this. To a new life, away from being hunted, away from being used." He didn't mention the future threats, the cosmic dangers he knew were coming. No need to pile on the existential dread right now. One step at a time. Just focus on the immediate appeal.
Wanda stared at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. Her hand instinctively twitched towards her temple, a familiar gesture. She tried to reach into his mind, to feel for the truth, to see his intentions. But she found nothing. Her telepathic senses, which had been so overwhelming and chaotic during her recent interrogations, simply met a blank wall. It was like trying to touch a ghost. Last time, when he'd caged her, it had happened too fast, too overwhelming to truly test. Now, with a moment to collect herself, the impenetrable barrier was infuriating. Why can't I get in? Is he hiding something? Is this another trick? Her gaze flickered to Pietro, silently asking, What do we do? He's hiding something, I know it.
"I... I can't read you," she blurted out, a mixed of frustration and fear in her voice. "Why can't I read your thoughts? This... this makes it even harder to trust you!"
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