Title: with monsters much bigger than i can control.
Fandom: MCU—Wandavision.
Characters: Wanda, Pietro, Vision, Agnes.
Prompt: Gold.
Rating: M.
Length: 2313.
Content warnings: AU on Wandavision 1x03, does contain some spoilers. Grief, mind control, manipulation, mildly dubious consent.
Author’s notes: I wanted to try and write something a little different. Some dialogue has been taken from Age of Ultron. Title is from Au/Ra’s "Panic Room." Inspiration from this gifset.
Summary: Quietly, when Vision is away, she curls her hands against the growing swell and murmurs, "I’m not the quick one, my love. I’m sorry."


The radio crackles.

Wanda? Same unfamiliar voice. Thick, masculine, desperate. Frozen in place, she stands and stares at the radio as the volume climbs higher and higher. Ascending quickly, like Quicksilver.

It violates her house. Creeps inside beneath the crack of the door, curls its way into the walls like a rodent. She wants to rid of it, lay down traps, capture it and gut it. She is safe; this is the safest she has ever been.

Wanda? Can you read me? Wanda—

A high crackle, the radio screaming. It fizzles and pops. The rodent is gone. The red fire curling between her fingers puffs out along with it like a goofy magic trick. Breathing becomes easier until it stops completely.

In crystal clear silence:

I will always be faster than you, little sister.




.




The baby grows quickly, feet kicking against her belly. It’s like it’s running.

Quietly, when Vision is away, she curls her hands against the growing swell and murmurs, "I’m not the quick one, my love. I’m sorry."





.





"I had a twin," she says, voice becoming lower and weighted. Shoulders sag, her heart begins to race, like Quicksilver. Geraldine looks at her with such sadness in her eyes.

Wanda doesn’t look at her.

"I had a brother," she says, throat feeling like it’s weighted with rubble. The room glistens and pops, golden light trickling and shooting into silver. "His was Pietro."

"He was killed by Ultron, wasn’t he?"

Monica has to go.




.




He’d been gone for twelve minutes. The house is spotless, walls repaired, bookshelf immaculate with more books piled on the shelves. The children sleep quietly, never making a peep. The stork is gone.

The door opens too loudly. His footsteps are too hurried, worried.

"Wanda?" Vision’s skin is pale and sickly.

Death has come for her again. She looks away, forces it out of her mind, out of her house, out of him. Death won’t come for anyone again.

When she looks at him again, he glows a healthy red, the colour of blood and of her heart. She lets out a breath, disliking the furrow of his brows.

"Everything is okay, Vis," she says, forcing a smile. "I’ve handled it."




.



Agnes asks, "Where’s Geraldine?"

Intake of breath. She’s practiced this in the mirror. Clearing her throat, she doesn’t look up, trying to appear nonchalant.

"She left town. Family emergency."

"Ah," Agnes says. The one syllable contains too many questions.




.





Agnes begs her to come lunch with her.

"Ralph doesn’t eat lunch!" She roars into laughter, arm looped tightly around hers as if she’s afraid of letting her go.

Wanda smiles cordially but remains quiet.

Agnes turns her head to look at her quizzically, stepping into her sharply. "Does Vision eat?" At her open mouth, wide-eyed expression, Agnes taps her hand consolingly against her forearm. "We’ll save him leftovers. It’s not like Ralph’s going to eat them!" Then she starts laughing again.

Seated outside on her back table, the radio crackles against a chair leaning against the wall. It remains quiet, a low hum of informercials and weather reports.

Picking up her knife and fork, Wanda glances towards the radio sitting on the chair innocently. She feels watched. "Do you always listen to the radio when you’re out here?"

Agnes’ brows lift before following Wanda’s gaze. Shoulders lift up, her mouth pops open as if in surprise, but she covers it with a wide grin and loud laugh. "I like to be informed. Some of the news is just bewitching!" Leaning closer towards her, she covers her mouth with her hand conspiratorially and says loudly, "It’s not like Ralph can hold a decent conversation."

Agnes eats her food like a woman without air while Wanda plays with hers.

When they’ve finished, plates licked clean, Agnes rises from the table and begins to sweep everything into her arms. She glides in her heels, the click clacking a rhythmic spell.

Wanda presses her hands against the arms of her chair, looking up at her with wide eyes. "Are you okay with all those plates, Agnes?"

Collecting her plate, Agnes holds glasses, utensils, and plates, but leaves the bottle of half-drunk red wine in the centre. "I can handle it," she laughs. She disappears into her house.

Wanda sits, hands in her lap. She looks around, notices the pot plants, the weeds growing from within them. The herb garden is overflowing with flowers and a scarecrow sits in the very centre. No monsters are welcome here.




.





Later that night, the radio crackles loudly throughout the house. Sokovian accent thick.

I’m not going to leave you here.

She runs towards the radio, feet loud. She crashes into the couch, ignores the pain shooting up her leg.

The radio is quiet, unplugged.




.




Wanda won’t admit she sits by the radio, willing it to crackle to life.

She doesn’t want Vision to notice, so he doesn’t.




.




The room is quiet.

Her children sleep peacefully in their crib, wrapped up in a blanket coloured scarlet and silver. She watches them quietly, hands curling softly against the frame. Quietly she vows they’ll never understand what loss is, what it feels like. The ghost pulsing of a mechanical heart in the palm of her hand cuts into her lifelines still.

The radio in their bedroom crackles loudly, screaming until it quietens.

Do you understand?

She holds her breath, willing herself not to move.

You know, I am twelve minutes older than you.

Wanda stays still, eyes on her sons. She refuses to look away. She won’t make that mistake again.

No, that’s not right. Was.




.




The street is different, but the road is the same. The tunnels beneath the streets interconnect like veins. The blood had been contaminated once. She knows it’ll be ruined again.

The children are quiet—too quiet for real children. Vision softly snores as she slips out of bed like water. Sneaks out into the front yard and down the driveway, ignoring the split wall between Herb’s garden and theirs.

Standing out on the sidewalk, she keeps her arms by her sides. Fingers curling in and out, pulsing like a heart. She watches the round sewer drain, positioned right in front of her house.

It never opens.



.




Hiding in Dottie’s house, she pretends to be locked away in the bathroom. She sits by the clean radio and holds her breath. Last time she let it out, he breathed his last.

Ralph? Who is Ralph? Wanda, Wanda. You are not this lost. Don’t be obtuse.

"I’m not obtuse," she says quietly. All the women remain outside, lounging about as they had done so before. This time, they’re not in greyscale. "You are obtuse."

I am not obtuse! His voice crackles through the white noise but his indignation comes through clearly. She wraps it around her like a shawl. The devil is in the details, Wanda. It is with the sewer rats. Where are the rats?

Music plays over his voice. Wanda breaks the radio.




.




Clearing her throat, she rests her head against the kitchen table. The radio is unplugged, quiet and void of its heart. She watches it, willing it to crackle open.

What she wants, she gets. Always.

Sister, sister, sister.

"I’m here, Pietro," she says quietly. Her hands grapple at the table sharply.

Wanda—

"I’m here, I’m here."

You’re hurting.

She lets out a breath. "Not anymore."

She smiles for the first time in years.




.




The quiet knocking at her front door reveals Agnes. Standing on her porch with her small radio in hand, she pushes it towards her and hovers her hands over the doorframe. Never steps over and into the lion’s den. She’s a smart sheep.

"I thought you could use it more than me. Ralph hates music. He says it goes by too quickly. Like a bullet."




.




Pietro’s voice remains clear, as if he’s on the other end of the telephone.

I will not leave you alone. You will never be alone. I am always with you, the brains and beauty and brawn.

Wanda rests her chin on her hand and smiles, liking it when he talks nonsense.

You should have named one of them after me. There is one named after me. Peter. Do you know Erik?

She shakes her head, but doesn’t answer. Sometimes she likes to let him ramble. Him rambling is good. It keeps death outside of this house, disapproving and uninviting it from stepping over the threshold.

Sometimes his voice breaks up like a distant memory. She’s forgotten what his smile looks like.

Pay attention, sister.




.




When she looks up at Vision from across the dinner table, his face is a putrid purple.




.




The more she tries to fix it, the worse it becomes.

The bright red of his android features saturates. His pupils disappear. Vision looks at her with such love her heart breaks.

"What’s the matter, Wanda?" His face remains blank, dead. "You look like you saw a ghost."




.




One night, by the radio:

Are you not scared?

"No," she says, smiling softly. When she closes her eyes, she can imagine him sitting opposite her. No matter how hard she tries, she can never picture him in anything but his bloodied suit. She buried him in it. "I am never scared. Not with you here."

You are the strongest person I know.

She wipes a tear from her eye.

Don’t cry. You cry ugly.

She lets out a small laugh. "You can see me?"

Of course. You cannot see me. I am quick.

Biting her lip, she swallows through the rubble in her throat. Remaining quiet, she thinks she can hear him breathing over the radio. Her breaths come out in tufts, filled with desolation.

Except for when I walk backwards. Not so quick.

She lets out a soft laugh. "You can’t even walk backwards."

He hums. You’ve lost your accent.

She lets out a breath. "I’ve lost more than that."

The radio goes quiet. Wanda inhales deeply and lets out an earth-shattering scream. The day doesn’t rewind.

But no one notices.




.




Wanda stops leaving the house. The whispers grow, but she controls them. They remain quiet, fluttering about like butterflies.

She sits by the radio, a baby in her arms. He remains quiet.

"Where are you?"

Me? Everywhere. I am—

"Yes, I know, you are quick. But where are you? I want you here."

He pauses. Wanda presses forward, afraid the radio has stopped working.

I cannot come. Where you go, I cannot go. But I am always with you.

"How does that work?"

The radio remains quiet.

Anger curls around her fingers. "Pietro! How does that work?"

Her baby cries for the first time.




.




She grips the radio in her hands as if it’s his calloused ones. His fingers were always fidgeting, moving like his legs. She wants to feel them brush against her skin.

"I want to save him, Pietro."

I know.

"I want to save you, too."

He doesn’t respond. Wanda thinks she can hear him: You can’t.

"I will find you," she says, gaze piercing the radio. Red tendrils of magic smoke around it, wrapping around it gently. Her magic hugs it in a tight embrace. "I don’t want to be alone anymore, Pietro."

The radio crackles as if he’s left her. Wanda’s throat constricts as she presses her hands flat against the table. Closing her eyes, she tries to find him through the radio waves, sneaks in through the matter to try and grasp him.

He outruns her every time.




.




She walks around the park with Agnes, pushing the stroller in front of her.

Agnes makes a disgruntled noise. "Ralph’s brother talked him into competing a marathon. I keep telling him it’s the devil’s work—"

"I had a brother," Wanda says. Agnes goes quiet. "I had a twin." She dares to look up at her. Agnes’ expression is curious; lips parted, brows furrowed, she seems bewitched. "His name was Pietro."

They stop walking.

Agnes reaches out her hand to touch her elbow. Wanda takes comfort in her touch. "It’s a good thing you have Vision, isn’t it?"

They continue to walk in quiet.




.




The radio’s quiet for weeks.




.




Until:

I do not like those boots, Wanda. They make you look too short.

Wanda smiles.




.




I am here, I am here.

As if I would ever leave you.

Wanda sleeps soundly for the first time in years, his voice a lullaby keeping her safe from the monsters of the night.

I am here, I am here.

Here.




.




Wanda, my little sister, twelve minutes too slow. She closes her eyes and pictures him beside her. Can smell his cologne, the salt of his skin, the frazzling heat of his speed. You have to let me go.

"Never."




.




Wanda moves them onto the 80’s.

She brings Pietro with them.




.





"The 80’s don’t suit my Ralph," Agnes laughs, smile strained, eyes dead.

Wanda ignores her.




.




Radio in her hands, she sits out by the front of her house. The sidewalk is quiet as ants walk in lines into her garden. She doesn’t watch them.

The sewer drain rattles with energy. Wanda breathes.

Smiles.

"You’re late."

"Only by twelve minutes," he says, smiling. It’s just as she remembers it, but brighter. He is just as she remembers him. A part of her, unforgotten, no longer missing.

Pietro is in front of her before she can blink. "I’m here."

Wanda embraces him tightly.




.




She ignores the blood seeping from his chest. There are some things she cannot fix.