Kid, tell me what happened: The Sequel

Don't you worry child

Peter Maximoff struggles. 

He hates the way HYDRA’s marks continue to linger on his pale, snow-white skin, serving as a permanent reminder of the torture that still lives fresh in his brain and refuses to give Peter tranquility. 

It’s an itch that lives in Peter’s mind and no matter how hard he tries, the itch refuses to leave. 

Peter doesn’t like this place. It’s cold and the people here took his stuff away from him. He wants his clownfish stuffie. A sniffling ten year old Peter leaned into the inviting warmth Pietro offers as he does his very best to not freak out at the very fact that his sister lays unconscious in the cell next to the one he and Pietro shares, and her veins are glowing a bright scarlet hue. 

And Pietro’s hair has tips of white as he moves incredibly fast, like a blur of blue that was supposed to be the New York sky with white puffy clouds, filled with promise and a chance of the famous so called “golden opportunity”. Anything but this. 

This ticket of doom and forever lasting torture and pain. 

He latched himself onto Pietro and refused to let go no matter what reassurances the latter whispered into his ear as he held the former tight against his chest, wishing that he hadn’t been so naive and desperate. Because maybe, if he took a minute to fully assess the proposal handed to him, he wouldn’t be sitting wracked with guilt as his sister is unconscious from illegal human experimentation, and his baby brother weeping to go home.

The older brother, who was supposed to protect his younger siblings from the harms life would throw at them bit back a flood of tears as he fights the urge to sob at how wrecked his younger brother looks after being impaled with at least ten needles and whimpered to just be held. 

Peter sobbed, “‘ietro, I want to go home!”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell those far too innocent eyes that they don’t have a home anymore. 

That they’re too far from home. 

If you consider their nuked, burnt down house home.

And ever since they finally escaped HYDRA, Peter expected a feeling of relief like a weight off his shoulders. Except, all he felt was the continuous worry that HYDRA was still coming to take him away. He longed to be able to breathe freely, yet he’s trapped in the repetitive past on a loop. 

He’s scared to be alone, because whenever he’s alone, that’s when the bad things happen. 

He doesn’t need a look at the big picture, he prefers to take a good look at pieces of little pictures. 

He’s scared, is this going to be his life?

Trapped in the past, and unable to venture forth?

He knows he’s safe, but he can’t help the thoughts that spiral out of control when he’s alone in the dark, perfectly vulnerable to the demons of his own creating. 

….

A

loud voice brings him back to reality, “Mister Maximoff, what do you think the answer to number three is?”

Peter snapped from the horrors of his past and replied, “If we follow the y=mx+b format, a parallel line to y=5x+6 would be any line with 5x as it’s slope.”

The teacher merely nodded with a stern reprimenadent, “Please don’t fall asleep in my class. Next time detention.”

Peter ignored the tantalizing laughter of his classmates as a light pink blush crept up his cream-colored cheeks, slightly leaning forward in his seat to try and fend off the humiliation, blood running cold as he heard the echo of a heavy German accent tsk, “You’re pathetic, not even worth the blessings HYDRA has to offer.”