Chapter Text
May 8th, 1994. Iowa.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. “Wanda, turn it off!”
“Urrrrgh… five more minutes…” Wanda flailed her hand, slapping the nightstand until she hit the snooze button. The shrill alarm finally fell silent, and she groaned, squinting against the morning light.
Wanda sighed and smiled to herself, her eyes still pressed shut as she settled back into the cocoon that was her twinsize bed.
Although small, her bed was just how she wanted it; home to the same bedspread that had occupied her room since she was 12 years old. That year, she had begged her parents nonstop for a new rainbow patchwork quilt to adorn her mattress. For her next birthday, Wanda’s grandma had so graciously gifted her a handsewn quilt, as bright and fabulous as the then-tween girl had wished for. Five years down the road and Wanda was using the exact same quilt, treasuring it as dearly as she had when she first pulled it from the gift bag.
The young woman’s solace only lasted for so long before her bedroom door was thrown open. The wooden frame smacked the wall.
“Wake up, loser. Papa said you’re going to miss breakfast if you’re not down there in fifteen minutes.”
A pillow smacked roughly against the girl’s face as she was harshly awoken, causing her to spring upright from her prone position with a frown. “Ugh, screw you!”
Wanda squinted her bleary eyes as the morning light shining through her window assaulted her vision. Her brother, her twin, Pietro, stood in the doorway, a stupid grin on his face. He had already changed and groomed himself, judging by the pair of dress slacks and cobalt button-up shirt that he wore. His hair, however, was seemingly uncombed to Wanda’s trained eyes.
Wanda rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands as she scooched from under the covers. “Get out of my room,” she growled with a resounding yawn. “And fix your hair!”
“Fix yours first!” The door slammed shut louder than she had preferred.
With a confused grunt, the teen girl glanced at herself in the small circular mirror that sat on the desk adjacent to her bed. Her caramel brown hair resembled more of a bird's nest than a hairdo, strands sticking outwards in every direction. Wanda sighed and slowly pulled herself towards the en-suite bathroom, sock-clad feet brushing softly against the dusty rose cut-pile carpet.
The mirror graced the girl with her weary reflection—messy hair, light bags under her eyes, and the shoulder strap of her rose-colored jersey nightgown sitting low on the apex of her shoulder.
She quickly got to work, grabbing her hairbrush and detangler and yanking the brush through her knots with a groan. “Stupid brush!”
It wasn’t perfect, but was good enough for the old ladies at 9 o’clock mass and their limited eyesight. She swiftly traded the brush and bottle for her toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, making sure to take more than enough time for oral care.
Wanda opened the top drawer underneath the bathroom sink, quickly retrieving a few makeup products and setting them on the counter in hopes of further concealing her visibly-evident exhaustion. Why did her parents have to be such early birds?
The Covergirl compact lightly scraped across the off-white porcelain. A simple tune left Wanda’s lips in the form of soft humming—some song that she had heard a million times at various youth retreats in her childhood.
“Like the first dewfall on the first grass…”
She continued to hum to herself as she applied a bit of Clinique Black Honey to her lips. After finishing her makeup for the morning with a small amount of blush, the teenager not-so-gently slid the makeup products back into the drawer with her forearm, turning on her heel to run back into her bedroom.
Despite her frazzled efforts to accelerate her morning routine, the brunette came to the sudden realization that she had sacrificed safety for speed as she felt her ankle catch on something on the floor, sending her tumbling onto the carpet.
“Ah!”
The young woman hit the ground hard. She glanced behind her to spot the culprit—a roll of some novelty multi-colored ribbon yarn that she had purchased at the farmer’s market a few days prior for a new scarf that she had sketched recently.
Wanda tossed the ball of yarn across the room, watching it hit the wall and knock her Lion King poster askew. “Get out of my way.”
With the dastardly ball of yarn appropriately accounted for, Wanda slid open the bi-fold closet doors to grab an outfit that she had previously planned to wear for mass.
She tenderly clutched the garment in her hands—her favorite church dress, sewn from a deep red cotton fabric with short puff sleeves and an a-line skirt that fell just past her knees. The neck was delicately adorned with a white lace collar and the bust lined with gold buttons that extended to the waist. On the inside of the neck, a hand stitched patch reading “To Wanda, love Grandma” with embroidered black thread—a small detail but a treasured one, marking the prized possession as her own. With a quaint smile, Wanda placed the dress on her bed before continuing her frantic scurry to the dresser.
Undergarments were acquired, with the teen trying harder not to stumble and fall for the second time since she had woken as she quickly pulled on the garments.
Zip!
A new run in her tights formed from her nail hurriedly snagging on the mesh. Wanda muttered something under her breath in Sokovian, hobbling towards the standing mirror near the closet door to examine the new run. After deeming it as “church appropriate” enough, she grabbed the dress from her bed. Mama would not be happy with her for ruining another pair of tights!
“I told you to hurry! Mama says if you aren’t down in two minutes she’ll let me have the last pancake.” A shout from the staircase caused Wanda to groan as she continued the acrobatics of trying to zip up a dress without someone helping.
“You would’ve eaten it anyways, you pig.” The brunette grumbled under her breath. She scampered over to the small desk in the corner of the room which was currently occupied by two open sketchbooks, a variety of colored gel pens, and an abandoned school paper, and pushed the clutter to the ground, grabbing the rosary from a nearby nail tacked on the wall above the desk and sitting down in the chair. She could clean the mess up later.
She clutched the burgundy bundle of beads close, her breath uneven and heart thumping from the great task that was running late for church in the Maximoff household. With a deep breath, she made the sign of the cross. “Father, son, holy spirit, amen-”
A sudden knock on the door made the girl jump. “I’m eating the last pancake. There’s an orange waiting for you downstairs. We’re leaving in five,” Pietro’s mumbled, pancake-eating voice rang through the wooden barrier.
“Damn you!” Wanda’s eyes opened wide. “Sorry God… OurFatherwhowartinheavenhallowedbethyname…” Her fingers flew across the beads frantically, her speech sounding more like incohesive muttering. “HailMaryfullofgraceTheLordiswiththee…” Was this even English anymore? Was it Sokovian? A mixture of both and neither at the same time? She half-heartedly finished the rest of the prayers, her mind more fixated on the possibility of having to walk all the way to church in her Mary Jane’s if she wasn’t downstairs in approximately three minutes.
“HolyMaryMotherofGodprayforussinnersnowandatthehourofourdeathAmenAmenAmen,” the teen mumbled, her voice making a crescendo as she neared the finish line. With a final sign of the cross, the rosary was placed back onto the nail on the wall and she was sprinting down the staircase.
The twins’ mother, her eyes kind and her hair in loose brown waves, met Wanda at the bottom of the stairs and placed a swift kiss upon Wanda’s forehead as the teenager scurried by.
“Wanda, you need to be better with your time management. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“I know, mama,” Wanda cast an apologetic glance to her mother as she grabbed the leftover orange from the bowl on the dining room table. “I’ll do better next time.”
Her mother smiled. “That’s my girl.”
The young Sokovian slipped her dress shoes on her feet from their spot near the front door as her mother met her with a quiet smile, opening the door to the outside world.
“Thank you, mama.” Wanda stepped through the open passageway and walked down the porch steps to the driveway, the heels of her shoes crunching softly against the gravel.
The cool morning breeze inflicted goosebumps on her bare arms, making the Sokovian wish that she had brought a jacket, or at the very least a cardigan with her. Early morning sunrise sparkled through the branches of the trees at the edge of the countryside property, a testament to the early morning and Wanda’s yearning to be huddled up under her comforter.
Meeting the aged black truck at the end of the driveway, the Sokovian pulled the vehicle door open and hoisted herself into the rear seat on the passenger’s side, her mother trailing close behind her. The low rumbling of the car engine filled the air as the kids’ father turned the key, grumbling to himself in Sokovian.
“Another Sunday, another almost-being-late to mass because of Wanda,” Pietro glanced at his twin from the other rear seat, his brow furrowed. The truck rocked forward onto the gravel road before turning to depart the Maximoff household driveway and begin the short trip to town
Wanda sent a glare Pietro’s way. The metal buckle of her seatbelt clicked into place. “At least I brushed my hair.”
Pietro scoffed, bringing a hand to his own hair—the same color as Wanda’s but with more blonde highlights from spending time in the sun. “My hair is fine, I ran my fingers through it.”
“Kids, stop fighting. It’s too early,” The heavily-accented voice of the twins’ father called from the driver’s seat.
Wanda grumbled to herself, turning her line of sight away from the annoyingly judgemental glance of her twin. She looked towards the first rays of morning sun outlining the cornstalks in the field out her window. It was too early for this nonsense.
--
Seated in the polished chapel pew next to her brother, Wanda felt her eyelids drooping with exhaustion as some scrawny 13-year-old recited the second reading. The Sokovian’s train of thought bubbled in and out, her head nodding every few seconds as she tried to stay awake. Her bed had never sounded better…
“Hmm?” The point of an elbow stabbing into her side shook her from her thoughts. Wanda blinked, glancing to her left.
“Stop sleeping, idiot,” Pietro hissed. An accompanying furrowed brow from her father made the teen girl frown.
“Sorry,” Wanda mumbled as she turned back to the front of the chapel. Her attention continued waning.
Despite Wanda’s long-lived involvement with the church and strictly religious upbringing, early morning mass always seemed so much longer than an hour. Was this due to the fact that the Sokovian had stayed up until 1AM the night before, furiously scrubbing an oil paint stain out of the denim dress that she had worn while working on her newest painting? Potentially… probably.
Father Kovács, the church priest slowly stepped up to the ambo, a tender smile gracing his face. Soft lines outlined his features, showing his years of hopeful interactions with congregational members and laughter with cherished family and friends. His off-white robe hung down his stout figure, pressed to perfection and ending just above his polished black shoes. An emerald green stole hung around his neck, a stark contrast to the pale ivory of his face and hands.
The man’s head, bare of hair, shone in the sunlight that filtered through the stained glass windows hanging on each surrounding wall. The colorful panes depicted various snapshots of biblical tellings; Mother Mary, the nativity for the birth of Jesus, St. Francis, Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan river, a dove illuminated by an abstract backing, the crucifixion, and the resurrection of Jesus.
Father Kovács ran his hand along the green fabric laid across the stand, exactly matching in color and pattern to his own chasuble. He looked across the waiting crowd. With the raising of his hands, the congregation stood.
“The Lord be with you.”
“And also with you,” the congregation responded in unity.
“A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Matthew.”
“Glory to you, O Lord.”
The man paused for a brief second. “Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate is wide and the road broad that leads to destruction, and those who enter through it are many. How narrow the gate and constricted the road that leads to life. And those who find it are few.”
Wanda shifted her feet, her head cocked slightly to the side.
“The Gospel of the Lord.”
“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ,” Wanda recited softly, smoothing her hands down the skirt of her dress as she sat back into the pew. She folded her hands neatly in her lap, exhaling deeply.
Father Kovács began to speak again. “Today’s Gospel discusses the concept of the narrow gate, or the true pathway to salvation. In this modern world, there are many ways that people lose track of the intentions of Christ, and instead give into temptation.
His eyes scanned the crowd. “Sin is growing, and temptation is spreading like wildfire in our communities. I won’t get into specifics in today’s message, but I invite you to ponder over this on your own. How are you working to resist temptation?”
Wanda’s brow furrowed. There were obviously bad things happening in the world, hell, her early childhood in Sokovia had been a testament to that. But sin and temptation? Sometimes she told a little white lie or cussed. Pietro had tried unsuccessfully to cheat on a test once and got his walkman taken away for a month in return… but that didn’t seem to be equal in severity to what the priest was discussing, she thought deeply to herself.
“The wider gate may seem more comforting to you. The human species thrives on community, on following the crowd and ‘fitting in’. We don’t want to stand out,” Father Kovács paused, scanning the congregation slowly. His eyes seemed to linger for a split second, nothing more, on Wanda, before glancing to the next person. “But if standing out means choosing the narrow gate, no matter how difficult it may seem, just remember: this is what you are called to do.”
The Sokovian felt the pew creak beneath her, a reminder of her brother on her side.
The priest cleared his throat softly, a neutral expression on his face. “The Lord puts his trust in you that you will follow his word, and choose the narrow gate.”
--
“Ooh!” Wanda’s hand paused above a cake donut with maple frosting, hesitating for a second before snatching the sweet treat. With the service concluded, she could finally make up for the pitiful breakfast she had eaten earlier.
Perusing the spread of baked goods and coffee cups laid out on the folding table, the teen picked up two chocolate chip cookies and a napkin before stepping away from the crowd.
A hand tapping her shoulder caused her to quickly turn around. “My, don’t you like nice!” An older woman with grey loose waves pulled back loosely in a clip and a wrinkled smile stared directly at Wanda’s face. A pair of smudged wire-rimmed glasses sat on her nose.
As she was so-rudely interrupted from savoring the first bite of her donut, Wanda lowered the dessert from her mouth and forced a kind smile towards the woman. “Hi Mrs. Murphy, thank you for the compliment. You look rather lovely today, as well. I love this jacket, is it tweed?”
In all honesty, Wanda thought the jacket was quite unflattering; the sleeves sat at an awkward length above the elderly woman’s wrists, and the hems were visibly uneven. However, her parents had taught her from a young age to respect her elders, and she would not be caught dead condemning an old lady’s sense of fashion in the house of the Lord on a Sunday morning!
The older woman glanced down to her coat. “Oh, aren’t you the sweetest! I know it’s nearing summer, but I can’t help but feel chilly these early mornings. Yes, isn’t it just wonderful? My granddaughter, Sadie… you remember her, yes?”
Wanda blinked. “Oh, I remember her, yes…”
The teen’s memories raced back to last year’s youth retreat to the local food bank when the aforementioned girl had stuck gum in her hair as she had bent down to pick up a spare can. Wanda hadn’t noticed anything the rest of the day, minus Sadie’s all-knowing grin and a few snickers from the other kids in attendance. It hadn’t been until that evening when she arrived back at home and went to wash her hands for dinner when she noticed the pink sticky glob a few inches up from the end of her brown locks. She had missed the evening meal and spent an hour crying atop the closed toilet lid, her mother chopping the ends of her hair off as she attempted to convince Wanda that she wasn’t going to die from a small haircut.
Mrs. Murphy’s nasally voice pulled Wanda from her trance. “She wants to go to fashion school and made me this; isn’t it darling? My Sadie is just so talented at her craft.”
That’s one word for it, Wanda thought to herself. “Yes ma’am, it is very nice indeed.”
A startled expression came across the elderly woman’s face. “Oh, speaking of school, are you and Peter applying to colleges yet? You know, I read something about how experts are expecting students to apply earlier and earlier these days.”
Wanda frowned. “Oh, ma’am, it’s Pietro, and we are not applying just yet… we still have a year left of high school.”
“Peter, Pietro, it’s so easy to get those mixed up. You must understand,” Mrs. Murphy laughed. Wanda felt her right eye twitch; she was well-acquainted to being treated differently for not being from the area, but the repeated dismissal of hers and Pietro’s names being mispronounced never failed to get on her nerves. The elderly woman began to speak again. “As for schools, you may want to start thinking about it.”
“Will do, thank you for the advice!” Wanda forced a courteous giggle, unsure of how much more charm she could keep up for this woman who asked too many questions and smelled of prunes and dryer sheets. “I hope you understand, I must be heading home.”
Mrs. Murphy placed a hand upon Wanda’s shoulder, glancing at her eyes. “Of course, dear. Kids these days and their busy schedules.” The woman chuckled before turning away.
Wanda exhaled, her shoulders finally relaxed. She took a bite of her long-awaited donut, only to be disappointed at the dry, crumbly texture of the dough.
Her shoes tapped softly against the wooden floor of the narthex as she pushed the door to the outside open with her elbow, her hands still full of treats. A slight breeze met the teen as she exited the church, but thankfully the air was warmer than it had previously been a couple of hours prior. The sun had fully risen now, standing bright in the pastel blue sky. Across the street, a city playground stood in front of the river.
The brunette hummed to herself, taking the occasional bite of her donut and cookie as she walked down the sidewalk at the perimeter of the church. Her parents had recently joined the spiritual life committee, which met every Sunday following morning mass. This left Pietro with the keys to the truck to drive himself and Wanda home when they were done, while their parents would meet them later by carpooling home with other church members. Due to routine tardiness (often caused by Wanda), the Maximoff truck was typically parked in the side lot on the other end of the building, as the much closer, smaller lot was full by 8:30.
Wanda rounded the corner, licking the last traces of maple frosting from her fingers before pausing suddenly in front of an empty parking spot, a ghost of where the black truck had been.
Damn Pietro! He must have left without her again! This was the second time this month!
Wanda opened her eyes again, scanning her surroundings for solutions. Last time, she was able to get a ride home from Mrs. Murphy, but after being reminded of the gum incident (gum-gate, as Wanda called it), she would rather walk all the way home than listen to the old lady brag about her snotty granddaughter while driving ten miles an hour again.
A silver payphone stood outside of the building next door, a small sandwich shop that had recently opened. Her feet picked up into a light jog, the chocolate chip cookie still clutched tightly in her right hand.
She came to a halt in front of the phone, reaching her left hand into the pocket of her dress.
“Thank goodness I…” Her hopeful expression faltered as her fingers swiped a loose thread in the fabric and nothing else. Of course. She had neglected to bring any money with her. Glancing to the steps of the sandwich shop, Wanda’s eyes met the figure of a small woman sitting on the top step, a lit cigarette balanced between her fingers.
The young woman appeared to be somewhere around Wanda’s age, with bright auburn waves that were pulled into a short ponytail at the base of her neck, striking green eyes, and full lips. She was short and slender in stature, and wore a black t-shirt with a tiny “Sam’s Subs” logo and a matching black visor on her head. The woman’s gaze was angled across the street, as if absently observing the children in their church clothes on the swingset—or lost in her own thoughts after a long morning of food-service drudgery.
Wanda glanced downwards again to the chocolatey treat in her hand. Could she really bribe a stranger to give her a quarter with a dry church cookie? With a deep breath, the Sokovian took a couple of steps towards the woman.
“Excuse me ma’am, I am so sorry to bother you. You wouldn’t happen to have a quarter, would you? I need to call my brother from the phone and forgot all of my money at home.”
A small smirk appeared on the redhead’s face as she lowered the cigarette, resting her elbow on her knee. “The day just started and I’m already getting my tips stolen?”
A horrified expression filled Wanda’s face as she desperately shook her head. “That’s not what I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-I-”
A laugh from the other girl disrupted her spiral. The redhead smirked, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I kid, I kid! No need to panic.” She reached into the pocket of her dark washed jeans, retrieving a shiny quarter. Slender fingers with chipped black nail polish held the silver coin out to Wanda. “Here you go.”
Wide-eyed, Wanda reluctantly grasped the coin. Her fingers brushed the other girl’s palm. “Are you sure? I-I can ask someone else…”
The girl shook her head. “I promise, it’s okay. It’s just a quarter. I didn’t even get it from tips; I found it on the ground earlier.”
Wanda hummed in affirmation, walking back to the phone. She picked up the receiver with one hand and dropped the coin into the slot with the other at the sound of the steady dial tone. Quickly typing the long-memorized landline number for her house, the brunette folded her other arm across her torso, gently leaning against the machine. The line rang three times before picking up.
“Hmm?” A tired-sounding voice mumbled on the receiving end.
“Pietro!” Wanda furrowed her brow. “You left me at the church again, idiot,” the teen chastised in her native language.
“Stop being a slowpoke then. I was hungry and had leftover pierogis waiting for me in the fridge.” Wanda could hear muffled chewing noises between her brother’s words.
“Come get me!”
More chewing. “Let me finish this last bite, then I’ll be back. Next time, don’t take so long”
Wanda groaned in frustration. “Jerk!”
The line clicked. He really had the nerve to hang up on her!
The brunette forcefully clicked the receiver back onto the clip. She could see the redhead turn to face her, bringing the cigarette to her lips.
Wanda awkwardly shuffled a step forward, dragging the tip of her black shoe against the concrete.
The other girl blew out a puff of smoke, her eyes still looking at the Sokovian. “Annoying sibling, I assume?”
Wanda picked at a thread on her dress. “Twin brother, and yes on the annoying part.”
The other girl hummed. “I know what it’s like. My little sister can be like that.” She paused, looking away from the Sokovian. “I like your accent.”
Wanda blinked in surprise, looking back to the girl to her left. “Thanks.”
“You’re from Sokovia?”
Wanda’s eyes widened at the sound of her first language. “You—You speak Sokovian?!”
The redhead grinned a toothy smile. “My parents are from Russia, but the languages are similar enough that I know some.”
Wanda paused briefly before speaking. “Wow, that’s… that’s amazing. I never meet anyone who knows any Sokovian, like EVER.”
“Well…” The auburn-haired girl took another draw from the cigarette, turning her head back towards the street. Plump cherry lips quirked upwards into a subtle smirk. “Now you know one person.”
Wanda hummed. She glanced at the cookie in her hands, wrapped in a napkin. The chocolate chips had started melting through the paper from the warmth of her body heat and the mid-morning May sun.
Both hands extended outwards, an offering to the redhead at her left. “Do you want a cookie? I already had one—They’re from church, I promise I’m not trying to poison you.” The Sokovian internally cringed; why did she have to be so awkward around strangers?
To her relief, the other woman took the cookie. “Thanks. And I trust you. No offense, but you don’t really look that threatening.”
A comfortable silence filled the air until the redhead stubbed out the cigarette against the stone step, rising to her feet slowly. Smoke curled lazily from the dying embers on the concrete. She wiped her hands against her jeans.
“I’ve gotta get back inside. I wasn’t even supposed to take a break this early, but fucking nobody is ordering a hoagie at 10:30 on a Sunday. You’ve got a ride home?”
“Yes, thank you so much for the quarter. My brother’s an idiot.”
The shop worker placed her hand on the store door handle, letting it linger there. “Siblings can be like that. Get home safe, church girl.”
The door chimed as it was pulled open. Wanda turned quickly. “Wait, what’s your name?”
The other girl turned back to the brunette, propping the shop door open with her foot. “Natasha, you?”
“Wanda.”
Natasha cast one final smile in her direction. “See you around, Wanda.”
“Bye, Natasha.” Wanda waved. The door clicked shut with another chime. Clutching the napkin in her hands, the Sokovian took Natasha’s previous spot on the stairs, slumping over with what could only be described as atrocious posture. Pietro should be here soon, she pondered.
Mere minutes later, the aforementioned black truck rumbled into the church lot, slowing as it approached Wanda. “Get in, slow-poke.”
Wanda scoffed, jogging at a light pace to the vehicle. “Jerk! You couldn’t have waited five more minutes?” She climbed into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut behind her. Her brother had already shed his formal wear, now sporting a pair of baggy black basketball shorts and a faded Chicago Bulls tee, the logo cracked from wear.
The engine rumbled as Pietro shifted into gear. “Pfft, five minutes? Try thirty. I waited.”
Wanda scoffed, leaning her elbow against the windowsill. She wasn’t in the mood to argue.
As the truck rolled out of the parking lot, Wanda caught one last glimpse of the auburn-haired girl behind the shop counter, slicing a loaf of bread.
The girl disappeared from sight, and Wanda sighed.