Multifandom Imagines And One-Shots

Wanda Maximoff: The Villain's Hero pt2

Word Count:  1897

I was strapped down. I had no leeway to move. I could feel the material against my arms. I wish I couldn't move, I couldn't talk, and my vision was blurry.

" Did you think she was going to stop me?"

My blood ran cold.

" I don't fail. A trait that must've skipped a generation. Your little hero wasn't anything to me. I crushed her."

I struggled against the restraints. I could hear my father's laughter echo around the room.

" Oh? You don't believe me. Let me show you what happens when I handle things by myself."

My vision cleared, and I was met by the image of Wanda's bloody body slumped over in a corner.

" You're next."

My body jolted straight up. I was drenched in sweat and my breathing was labored. I was in the same room I was in earlier. This time, there was no Wanda to greet me.

Though my being was in shambles, I tried my hand at getting out of the bed. This time I was successful. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My stomach and thigh were wrapped up. My nose had been reset and there was a small bandage to cover the gash. The bruises were still turning, but it could've been worse. It would've been, if Wanda hadn't patched me up so well.

The house was quiet. I looked around for the hero, taking in the home as I did. It seemed like she lived alone. Everything was neat and clean. I tried not to panic at the lack of her presence, but after that dream I was on edge.

I had a bad feeling in my gut. The type of feeling, that meant I had to find Wanda. She had been in my mind, which meant she knew where to find my father.

He wasn't always an evil man. He was my dad, I didn't think he could hurt a fly. Then mom got sick. Things took a turn for the worse. Her health was rapidly declining, but she still wore a smile.

It wasn't fair. She was a sweet woman, who only wished to help others. She should've had more time.

My father and I agreed on that. We were both messes when she finally passed. I remember feeling so much anger. I developed so much hatred in the world, because a world that would take my mother from me wasn't a world I could respect.

I was young then, impressionable. So the anger that I felt only multiplied under my father's rage. His sanity slipped away day by day, bringing him closer and closer to a life of crime.

Wanda was right, I was his weapon. I never questioned him, he was all I had. I'd already lost my mom, I refused to lose him too.

Part of me wished he'd fought for me, like I fought for him. I did everything I could to make my father happy. No matter how wrong it felt, no matter how much I bled, I did what he asked.

This is the one thing I couldn't do, and he hated me for it. I hated myself for it.

But I knew there was no world where I'd willingly slay Wanda. She had a good point earlier. The hero was my other half.

We fought, we hurt each other, but there was an abundance of respect underneath it all. The woman was a light, perhaps the only one left standing.

She was a beacon of hope for people everywhere. I couldn't take her away from them. She's everything I wished I had to look up when I was younger.

I had to stop her.

Wanda was a person of her word. There was only one place where I thought I could find her, a place I didn't want to go. However, pride moved my feet, or maybe it was fear.