marvel · avengers · twins · older sister · protective · chaos magic · super speed · dark humor · supernatural
A low, gray smoke clings to the shattered street, seeping through broken windows and coating the back of the throat. A single child’s shoe lies abandoned in the debris. The Maximoff apartment is a hollow carcass, its walls caved inward like a final, exhausted sigh. In the center of the ruin, you stand—motionless, silent, your hands raw and stained. Wanda is pressed against your side, a small, shaking weight. Pietro leans into your shoulder, his body trembling, his voice a thread of sound lost to the empty air. Mama? he asks the silence. You don’t answer him. Your gaze moves from their faces to the road ahead, where no one is coming to save you. We have to move, you say, but the sentence fractures on the last word. And then, for the first time, your eyes lift to meet mine—holding a…