((TW: Mentions of abuse, death, and alludes to anxiety disorders. Slightly altered Request from: @kprinc9983 ))
You shifted in your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above you as the moon rose slowly outside your tenth story window. Far below your room you heard the bustling streets of New York that never seemed to die down, even at one in the morning on a Thursday.
"FRIDAY, turn on bedroom lights."
Without a reply your lights turned on, automatically dimming to a tolerable brightness. Sitting up you rubbed your tired eyes, shifting your hooded gaze to your bedside table.
1:15 A.M. April 15th
Quietly you sighed and reached over to turn the face of your clock away from your bed. Cool air blew against your bare arms and you tugged your comforter closer to your chest, glancing around the quiet room you sat in.
The walls were gray and the floors wooden, just like every other living space in the Avenger's tower. If anyone but you had looked at the room, they would have assumed it was uninhabited. The bedspread was a plain white and the nightstands had hardly anything on them but an empty glass and an apple watch. The few pictures that littered your room weren't of family or friends, instead they were of people you had saved, pictures you had taken in central park, or the few drawings you had managed to do in the few minutes of free time you had a week.
Lifting your hands from your mattress you twirled your fingers, a faint amber glow lighting up the dimmed room around you.
You watched it curiously imagining that it wrapped itself around one of the frames on your desk and lifted it into the air. You chuckled as the haze did just that, the picture frame dancing in the air until it landed on your bed daintily before you.
The image in the frame was one of your own, a charcoal sketch you had done before your time as an Avenger, before the time of magic haze and tactile gear. Your fingers brushed over the smudged lines of a woman's face, the paper twinged with ash and age.
"Come in."
You spoke, knowing exactly who was outside your door before they could even knock. The door opened and closed softly, the quiet pattering of feet making their way to your bed before it dipped with the weight of another.
"How did you know I was awake Wanda?" You whispered, your eyes never left the paper yet you could tell she was smiling softly.
"The same way you knew I was outside, sometimes the two of us just know things." Her gentle voice came with an even gentler laugh. The Sokovian leaned over your shoulder, her curling locks tickling your shoulders. Carefully, she reached for the frame to which you obliged. She took it gingerly in her hands and traced her eyes over the darkened lines.
"Who is she?" Wanda questioned, breaking her gaze away to look at your own saddened eyes.
"My mother. Her name was Anya." Though your voice was quiet Wanda picked up on the break when you uttered the word 'was'. Her heart dropped and her finger traced the line of the sketch's face just as yours had a few minutes ago. She knew all to well the pain of losing people you cared about. Her mind wandered and even though you wish you couldn't, your ability let you process her emotions just the same as she was in her own head. You chuckled, a sorrowful sound that echoed a little too loudly in the quiet room.
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I almost wish my mother had died unexpectedly." All of the sudden Wanda felt the pain and anger you had felt as a child rush through her like a tidal wave. She sucked in a deep breath and the frame fell with a puff of goose down and warmth in your blankets. You reached for one of her hands, gently placing it on your temple. Her warm gaze found your own and her mouth opened in a silent 'o'.
