' my ghost, where'd you go, what happened to the soul that you used to be? '

BLARING ALARMS TORE THROUGH THE COMPOUND, and Wanda felt her hands light ablaze with scarlet wisps on instinct, as Sam ducked away to find a weapon, a gun, perhaps.

Wanda set her jaw, all she had needed was one day, one day to breathe without a looming threat daunting over her head, a promise of danger. But here, she stopped herself, it was unlike a fighter to cower from a battle, to complain about a war, this was what she was born for. If HYDRA had made her for anything, it was war, it was bloodshed and collision of morals. Wanda wouldn't shy away from a battle. Not today, not ever.

The red snaked back into her wrists at the lack of imminent threat, but it remained insistent against her, a constant reminder of her own strength.

"Friday?" She called out warily, voice low as she reached out a gloved hand to flick out the lights, the room flooding into darkness. Eagle eyes scanned the room, peaking out of the door as she proceeded carefully, clutching her hands at her sides. "Friday?"

"The compounds been breached, Miss Maximoff," the AI called out, almost stoically, and Wanda cursed under her breath. It was eerily quiet, no trace of distress or struggle, which was odd considering the circumstances.

She crept through a corridor, shoulder brushing the wall as her hands shone a dim hue of red. The sound of floorboards creaking prompted her to snap her head around, hands already lifting to slam back the intruder.

A hex of scarlet energy tore through the air, colliding with a body as they exhaled a choked sound before thumping against the wall. Before she could scramble after it to investigate, she heard hurried footsteps ushering behind her. Cursing, she emitted a stronger energy from her hands, her disguise clearly destroyed as she marched towards the noise.

As she strode down the hallway, however, the noise seemed to become more and more distant, and after a short while, she halted in her tracks. Slowly, she twisted on her heel, walking slowly in the other direction, but still, the noise persisted to fade away.

Gradually, the voices and idle noise began to become distorted, voices slurred and far too deep to be of human sound. Nonetheless, she hurried along after it, but stopping every time the noise became too much for her eardrums.

Groaning, she felt her knees weaken as she fell slightly off balance, gloved hand grasping at the walls as she shut her eyes. Too loud. She felt nauseous, overwhelmed. What was this?

As she pried her eyes open, the last remaining sound she could hear apart from a high pitched ringing in her ears was the sound of her own shallow breathing, mouth dry as she struggled for breath. Through blurred vision, she managed to make out a device sticking out from the vents, something clearly not asked of by Friday who had been breached.

She wasn't sure whether it was her hazy state of mind imagining things, or if the smoke like mist coming from the device was real, poisoning the room in the same blurry curse.

Cursing her stupid body for not working with her, she collapsed to her knees, shoulder sliding down the wall as she lurched her hands out in front of her, still thrumming with red energy in an attempt to conjure up a barrier to shield her from the world. Her attempts were futile. Fuck, she was going to pass out.

But the last voice she could make out before drifting out of consciousness, speaking hastily in her native tongue, was familiar, far too familiar.

An unsettling, soul-wrenching feeling crawled up her spine as she attempted to choke out a scream or protest of some sort, only to manage a weak exhale as she flailed her hands out rapidly, only for her powers to disintegrate into sparks. A rough pair of hands grasped her arms behind her, and she barely felt the feeling of a needle jab into her neck as she fell out of consciousness.

"Got you, our prized experiment."

After around ten minutes engulfed in darkness, blinding lights flooded through the compound, providing all the residents a wash of relief as Friday's calm, sophisticated voice rung out, declaring that the systems were back on. Shortly after, Tony sent a message through to Friday to ask the team to gather in the meeting room to reassess, they had never had an invader go unfound, and they certainly weren't going to start now.

In Loki's mind, this had been a false alarm, with the amount of them in the tower, it seemed almost impossible for an invader to go uncaptured. With an irritated groan at the complete and utter waste of time this had been, the Trickster stepped into the meeting room, fiddling with the chain hanging around his neck.

"Oh good, Mischief's finally here," Tony groaned, leaning back in his chair as any previous trace of tension drained, his shoulders dropping. Loki raised a questioning brow at the motion, gaze flicking between the billionaire and his brother who sat besides him.

"Were you worried about me?" He drawled out sarcastically, dropping himself onto an empty sofa as he crossed a leg over the other. Shaking his head in annoyance, Tony opened his mouth again to protest.

"No, obviously, but we need to make sure everyones here after the invasion. Besides, where's Wanda, weren't you with her?" The question rolled of his tongue nonchalantly, as if he was certain that Wanda would be with the God. Dread settled in his stomach as Loki clenched his jaw, he hadn't been with the witch.

"No, I wasn't," Loki declared, and the sudden announcement seemed to infect the air of the room with tension, a lurking sensation of danger amongst them as they were stunned into silence. Observing them critically, Loki felt his dread morph swiftly into fear induced anger, appointed at everyone sat in the room.

Leaning forwards, he dropped his arms from where he had stretched them across the back of the sofa in his relaxed state, which had clearly melted away by now. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low, the deep octave ringing through the room, "You mean none of you thought to go look instead of assuming she was with me?"

But again, the response he received was radio silence, as all the members in the room tried to gather themselves into calmness, overcome by the sudden realisation. It only served to fuel Loki's rage as every protective fibre in his body screeched in protest against the situation it was forcibly put up with. "Answer me," he demanded, voice rising.

"She has to be here," Clint retorted, but he himself sounded unsteady in the statement as he looked around frantically for any inch of agreement from anyone. As his gaze met Fury's, however, he was met by a grim nod of understanding as the director stood up.

"It makes sense," the man decided, averting his eyes to Loki as the God met it in an almost challenging manner, biting his tongue to avoid snapping out. "Hydra, they gave us bait for a mission they thought they'd win, we had planned to take it but.. apparently we took too long."

The statement raised arguments and questions around the room, everyone seeming to avert to their own disagreements and feuds. HYDRA had kidnapped them previously, they knew that much, but nothing else. Nothing about why HYDRA would want Wanda in the first place, or why she'd been so adamant to accept the mission.

Immediately, Loki raised to his feet, enraged as he seethed through clenched teeth, "This is your fault." The accusation was drenched in lethal poision as he glared daggers at the man he had aimed his wrath at, but Fury only seemed to respond with an organised, calm attitude.

"I understand you're worried about her but the longer we dela-"

"Worried?" Loki laughed dryly, before shutting his jaw firmly and swiping his tongue over his teeth as he shook his head in disbelief. After a beat, he continued, voice low as he asserted, "Worried is pathetic. Worried will get her killed. You would never know the rage I feel."

"I'm sure of that but-"

Before Fury could continue, Loki had stormed out of the room, but not before clenching his fists firmly, releasing a flash of green energy to wash over half of the room.

When Wanda awoke, she was indeed, no longer in the compound.

Before she even managed to peel her eyes open, her senses were overwhelmed by a gut-wrenching yet familiar smell of rotting scraps mixed with the metallic stench of blood. As soon as she opened her eyes even a slight amount, they were immediately assaulted by a beaming light pressed directly against them, leading her to firmly shut them again, cowering away from the pain.

Instinctively, she moved her arms out to find out where she was, and remove the imminent danger, her wrists clawing with red, roaring energy, but as she attempted to let a slither escape her hands, it failed. It flicked into what could not even be considered a small hex, a ball of sparkles at most, before flickering out and diffusing.

An immediate bone-chilling fear struck her as she realised she hadn't any control over her own power, and for a second, she felt vulnerable, weak.

She banished the feeling in an instant. Wanda Maximoff wasn't weak, she didn't have the time for weakness growing up. Not when she was holding the weight of the world on her shoulders in an orphanage, nor when she was straining for her life in Hydra, and she certainly didn't have it now, faced with a situation she was yet to uncover. But she would. She wouldn't surrender before she had even tried.

And so she did, slowly, warily, with little movement or disruption of her surroundings, she spread out her fingers on the surface they were resting on, feeling around in an attempt to find something familiar as she repeated a similar process with her legs, moving them around ever so slightly to try to kick away the light threatening to blind her.

As soon as her leg grazed a metal rod which she assumed wasn't attached to the chair she was sat on, she wrapped around it, pressing it flush against her shin as she attempted to nudge it towards her. It managed to slip just out of her grasp, and she grunted from the exertion, back tensing.

Instead, she changed tactics, twisting her wrists around against their restriction in an attempt to decipher what was pinning her down. A belt, she presumed by the leathery material scratching the skin of her wrists, soothing the burning scarlet energy brewing beneath them.

Clenching her teeth, she inhaled sharply, twisting her head down uncomfortably as she held it low and guided herself towards her hands, pushing them as far up as the restraints would allow her to. Straining in effort, she managed to latch her teeth firmly against the material, losing her breath as she manoeuvred the tie to the metal section in the middle. Warily, she glanced up, before capturing the middle leather amidst the metal between her teeth, and tugging with all her might.

A familiar taste of blood filled her mouth, and she cringed as she caught her breath, relaxing into the chair. Tensing her muscles, she took in a slow inhale, before pulling her arm up with all her might, successfully dislodging the barrier against her hand and send it knocking down against the metallic handle of the chair.

Beads of sweat trickled down her reddened face as she panted, a dazed smile on her face at her handiwork. Now, she had to repeat the process on her other arm.

Amidst her attempt at freeing herself, however, her senses felt as if they had been set ablaze as the thunderous clang of a metal door swung open, and she froze, heart pounding against her chest.

Slowly, she trailed her fingers from her free hand over the side of the chair, fiddling furiously with the material of the belt as she attempted to untie it from her chair. Soon enough, it came undone, almost slipping out of her grasp at her shakiness before she secured it tightly between her paling knuckles, the blood draining from her fingers with the pure force of her grip. Now, if she needed it, she had a weapon. Albeit, not a very strong one, but a weapon nonetheless.

She froze at the sound of heavy footsteps clicking against the floor, gradually getting louder as they approached her. Setting her jaw, she furrowed her brow in focus as she tensed her shoulders, preparing herself.

The footsteps abruptly halted, as a light clink of a material being dropped against something rung out in the room, and she heard shuffling somewhere near her as the light being held against her eyes temporarily flickered out, the lamp being pushed away. She forced herself to keep her breaths steady despite them threatening to give her away.

A moment of completely, unnerving silence tormented her, before finally, a rough hand gripped her chin.

Wasting no time, Wanda pounced, twisting her body just enough to hoist the chair up with her free arm and the help of her legs, the pressure flinging off the belt fastened not particularly securely around her wrists. She flung the chair in the direction of the person who had been in the room with her, using the belt still in her hand to twist around their neck before landing on a knee and dragging them to the floor with her, their hands frantically pulling at her makeshift murder weapon.

Mercilessly, she increased her grip, not a trace of sympathy in her eyes as she heard a sickening, final attempt at a gasp for breath, before all their struggling ceased. Dead.

She curled her lip in disgust, shoving them away from her lap as she rose to her feet, wiping her hands down her trousers before marching out of the room without a look back, and a new fiery motivation set in her bones.

The minutes felt as if they dragged on endlessly as she crept through numerous corridors, hugging walls and holding her breath to avoid making a peep. They would notice that the man they had sent to her hadn't returned, and someone was sure to come looking eventually.

Gulping, Wanda surveyed the scene of the industrial metal door shielding her from proceeding any further. It was open a crack, just enough for her to push it open, but the risk felt too great. Distantly, she could hear the sound of whirring machines and drilling, air from beneath the door blowing against her feet.

The curiosity overcame her eventually, it's strange mix with her already delirious behaviour influencing her decision. Rationally, she knew that the lack of her powers meant she was most likely drugged, or had some chemical thrumming through her blood to battle the furious energy in them, and that was probably not the best state to fight in, but what choice did she have? It was this room, and a chance for an exit, or a guaranteed encounter with another enemy.

Setting her jaw in determination, she approached the door, sliding her ring heavy hands over it, the metals softly clinking against eachother as she applied minimal pressure to push it open.

Sliding behind the door, she stood for a moment like a frozen tableau to await to see if anyone was in the room. After a minute or two, when no one stormed out in search of her, she grasped the side of the door and twisted around it, entering the room slowly.

Raising a questioning brow, she assessed the strange machinery scattered around the room, wires and tubes wrapping the room together like vines in a rainforest. It seemed, for a while, that no one was in the room, so she proceeded.

Her hands brushed the chilling material of a metal desk, cringing at the cold as she snatched her hand away, startled at the sudden feeling. Biting her lip, she warily reached out again, wiping her hand to clear away a few odd papers covering the table. It felt too familiar, like she was forgetting something.

Nevertheless, as she cleared the table from the random items littering it, she hitched a breath as a wave of gut-wrenching recognition shrouded her.

Imprinted on the centre of the desk was a symbol. The same symbol plastered over her face for so many years of her life and the same symbol injected into her blood. The symbol that haunted her everytime an unnatural, inhumane scarlet burst of energy burst forth from her. The symbol haunting her nightmares. The symbol that could bring even the great Scarlet Witch to her knees if she let it.

Hydra.

Inhaling shakily, she reeled back as if she had been shocked, cradling her hand to her chest as she clenched her jaw, urging her teeth to stop chattering beneath the merciless cold of the room. Or maybe her shivers were caused by something other than the cold. She didn't give it much more thought.

She wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball on the ground right there and then, to sink back into the child she had been so many years ago, terrified out of her wits as she attempted navigating an entirely new lifestyle in a place where she was worth nothing more than a lab rat. But sometimes, it isn't good to sink back into the person you used to be, whether it be losing yourself in the comforting embrace of your past, or the icy, isolated floor of your torture room.

Wanda straightened herself immediately at the thought, forcing herself out of the mindset threatening to buckle back into that little girl again, fortifying the woman she had grown into. Instead, she forced herself to continue, turning a corner to find yet another door.

She contemplated for a while, whether it was worth opening or not. Perhaps the exit would be in it, but knowing her luck, it probably wasn't. She suppressed a snort of amusement at that, it really wasn't the time for her self-deprecating humour then.

Despite that, she didn't have anywhere else to really go, but maybe if she turned back, she could find where the man had come from, retrace her steps and-

Blaring alarms knocked her out of her trance, the room flashing a dangerous red as all the doors slammed shut. The machines suddenly halted, all the sounds falling quiet as they were replaced by the sound of heavy metal doors smashing shut against the ground, and speakers calling out over the clamour the words, "Invasion, evacuate immediately."

Fuck. Had she set it off? She hadn't moved, how could she have possibly set it off already? Maybe they realised the man they sent hadn't returned yet, or- she didn't have time for this.

Immediately, she burst open the door she had previously wasted time hesitating in front of, knowing that the larger room she had been loitering in would likely be one of the first they searched for her in.

As soon as she swung the door open, the witch was met with a sight that would torment her for as long as she lived, a sight burnt into her memory for eternity.

In the room, more machines, more wires, and a metal bed, much like the on she had been lying on not too long ago. The only difference? The person lying on it.

It wasn't always good to sink into the person you used to be. But sometimes, on the off-occasions you can't help it.

This was one of those times, as the person she used to be was lingering so close, and so tauntingly now, whether that be a place which haunted her nightmares, or a person unconscious on a bed.

Especially, when that person is your supposedly dead brother.

Because on that bed, lied Pietro Maximoff.

Loki Laufeyson was severely uncomfortable. The seats on the jet were rough metal, and he sat cramped between multiple luggages they didn't have time to accurately stock away after the previous jet usage, as this was an emergency mission they had rushed away to. But despite all of that, it was undeniable that there was an underlying cause leading his discomfort. Or rather, the lack of something.

Wanda.

He tried to no avail to convince himself it was not that he was worried about her, because she was definitely fine, but rather it just felt something was.. missing. The lack of her snarky comments, or smiles across the room that filled him with warmth he didn't know he was capable of, or the fact there was no sleeping entity leaning against him or complaining about the uncomfortable fucking seats-

He wasn't worried, totally. Not in the slightest, just uncomfortable.

But even the God of Lies couldn't lie to himself in this particular situation, because inside, his body trembled at just the thought of it, and the sinking feeling of irrevocable fear. A strange fear at that, one he questioned every day.

It was no secret that in his past, Loki had experiences with his fair share of.. lovers, to put it lightly. Lovers, in his book, referring to someone he had shared a night with. But without fail, they were always impersonal, no strings attached, a night and no more. It wasn't a relationship, it wasn't elongated, and it wasn't love. Not someone he would care about, let alone fret over. He had never loved anyone enough to feel that protective, fierce fear over them. He didn't know what love was, and frankly, he didn't care.

Romantic love wasn't his priority, he never searched for it and he never expected it. It was simply the fact that receiving a lack of 'unconditional love' growing up, leads to someone whom is incapable of providing love, that held him back. No one deserved to be tied back by someone who couldn't ever truly love them. No one deserved to be tied back to Loki.

So yes, he kept his experiences brief, and never really felt any pull towards the person. It was mutual pleasure at most.

And then, somewhere cast away from that blurred group of people, there was Wanda.

He didn't know why, but the redheaded witch was so captivating from the start, in ways he knew not. It wasn't a secret that she was stunning, he wouldn't have denied that even then, but it was more than that. It was her smile, her laugh, her tears, every little detail that meant nothing to him when coming from anyone else, that would catch him off guard when they were hers.

Because the fact of the matter was, he wanted it to be his name she laughed out, his name she called for when she was in tears, and his name when she was in ecstasy. It was all her, and he couldn't decipher why he was so blinded by it.

And for some odd reason, it took a defensive screaming match and a tearful argument in the brutal rain for him to come to a conclusion. He loved Wanda, he loved her in a way he hadn't loved before. And that was terrifying. It felt as if she had entrusted him with her heart into his hands made of knives, and he was bouncing it around in any way to not impale it.

He couldn't stand to hurt her, but staying close to him was bound to cause pain. So, he wouldn't show it, but he would remain wary with how much he gave and took, he would love her, but love her at a distance far enough to protect her from himself.

But now, the thought of her being trapped, a hostage, or hurt in any way made his insides cringe in protest. He would tear down the world to prevent it, burn it to ashes. It made him want to give up every protective barrier he had slammed up against love to protect her, for her, and hold her away from the world. It made him want to forget everything he had taught himself for what he called protection, and instead, love as fiercely and aggressively as he hated.

It was all her.

"We've landed, come on, lets go," Stephen called out suddenly to Loki, pulling the man out of his trance as he held out an arm to help him up. Loki raised a questioning brow at the motion, but took the hand anyways. Maybe he was more expressive with his thoughts than he realised, and even the sorcerer who hated him could see his internal battling enough to have a twinge of sympathy. In all honesty, Loki didn't care too much.

They stormed into the building they had detected Wanda's last energy burst, the levels of radiation significantly different to its surroundings. Instantly, they set off an array of alarms, no doubt alerting everyone to flee. Loki grimaced, if she was really here, then he wanted everyone who put her here to suffer his wrath before they had the chance to even think about escaping. And they would.

The team split up, each marching in a different direction to raid the place, searching every inch of it. It appeared to be a Hydra base, as they had previously figured. Impatient bastards.

Loki had gone with Stephen and Tony, and while he could usually not stand the two egotistical buffoons in the same room, they seemed less intense that day, more focused on the mission. It was strange, and undoubtedly out of sympathy, which the Trickster loathed, but was willing to accept this once.

Barging down doors, the three made quick work of clearing out rooms, mostly empty. One, however, had multiple people in it, and Loki wasted no time in grasping the first man he saw, and slamming them mercilessly against the wall. His hand glowed with green energy as he clasped it at the man's forehead, turning his eyes the same, misty green colour.

"Where is she?" Loki demanded, voice dangerously low.

"Ha.. you won't- won't find her.." the man scoffed dryly, before trailing off, Loki's mind control clearly failing due to his distracted, lack of focus. Furrowing his brow, he shook off the moment of weakness swiftly, fortifying the magic as he repeated his question.

"Where-" he began, entering the man's mind as he flushed it out, sending a piercing pain to his head as a warning, a show of just the slightest of what he would do, before continuing, "- is she?"

"She was in a room- escaped.." he drawled out, a vacant stare in his eyes. Nodding sarcastically, Loki removed the hand from his forehead, using it instead to grasp his chin.

"Good, then you are of no more use to me," The God declared, watching as the man's eyes grew the size of saucers in panic, but before he could beg for mercy, Loki had twisted his head and snapped his neck.

Startling, the Mischief God felt a hand land against his arm and whipped around immediately, only to be met by a familiar metal mask, as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"What?"

"Listen, Reindeer Games. I know you're pissed, and- even if you won't admit it- worried, but we all are. We need these guys alive for questioning, you can't kill all of them."

Loki scoffed in Tony's face, a sadistic grin growing on his face. The expression Loki wore reminded the metal-clad man of the God of Mischief threatening to take over New York. The Loki ready to let the world burn over the tantalising prospect of the Tesseract. But now, there was no universal power to be gained, no grand plan to take control, but rather, a witch.

When he spoke again, his tone left no room for protest, as assertive and threatening as ever. His voice rung out with every pure emotion he felt towards the witch, and every emotion fuelling him to take it open himself to ensure her safety.

"I will kill all of them until we find her."

Barely a moment after Wanda had entered the room, a darkened look diffused over Pietro's eyes, shrouding the man with an intimidating aura as he narrowed his eyes dangerously. It was admittedly not what she had expected. Not a look of recognition.

A look of rage.

He pounced at her immediately, hands flying towards her neck as she gasped and stumbled back, thrown completely off guard as her hands gripped at his, gasping for air. Her brain blanked as the animalistic urge for survival kicked it, and any memory of who she was fighting or how slipped out of memory as she scrambled for ways to free herself from is iron grip.

Amidst her panic, she managed to remember to kick her leg up against his crotch, causing him to release her as he stumbled back in pain. She took that time to dodge away from his next attack, firmly dislodging a large object from the wall to use as a weapon.

It seemed unsuccessful though, as he appeared to now be much stronger than she remembered. She swallowed down the lump in her throat after the thought, it wasn't the time for her to be emotional. Effortlessly, he snatched the object out of her grasp, sending it flinging to the floor and shattering into pieces.

In no time, he had grasped her forearms and slammed her against the wall, her head pounding in pain as she grunted, shaking. His hands came back up to her neck, and she barely caught a glimpse of the look of his eyes as tears welled up in her own. Pure, unapologetic rage. She'd never seen that him, she didn't think it was capable. He was too good for it, he didn't have the same emotional, bottomless rage against the universe that she did.

He didn't care about her.

Rationally, she might have figured this was Hydra's doing, but in the moment, she was in a haze between lolling out of consciousness, and complete and utter fear that she would die at her brothers hands. The man who loved her through thick and thin. The man who would have gladly thrown himself into the line of fire for her anyday.

She was going to die. He was going to kill her.

In a fleeting moment, with the terrifyingly blissful brief second where she thought she had taken her last breath, she decided that if she were to die at anyones hands, she'd rather it be him. Because she would never hate him for it, she could never. Her eyes drooped, and fell shut as she stopped writhing, and her hand wrapped against his arm loosened.

Go out with dignity, Wanda.

And then, in a swift movement, the grip around her neck loosened and her lungs filled with air again as she choked, gasping desperately for breath.

Pietro fell limp to the ground, unconscious, and as Wanda herself collapsed to her knees, a pair of stern arms wrapped around her as she struggled, pushing away after assuming it was another agent. She fought against it furiously, flinging her weakened frame as far away as possible.

The person didn't budge however, their hand going to her back, stroking her hair as they repeated the word 'Breathe' like a broken record, until she gave up on struggling and was forced to oblige. She recognised that voice, she must do.

Choking on her own breath, she managed to find a somewhat steady breathing rhythm, as her ears finally began to stop ringing and process the words being muffled against her hair, and recognise the familiar smell of the person she was pushed up against.

"Its okay, you're safe. You're okay, breathe."

You're okay. She choked out a strangled sob at that. Because she knew she wasn't.

And she was afraid she wouldn't be for a while.

A/N:

5k words is by far the longest chapter in this book even though it doesn't seem like much lmao, but take that as a sincere apology for how i disappeared in december. i really loved writing this one though, and i cant wait to incorporate pietro into the rest of this 👀✨