X Men: Anamnesis (X-men:Days of Future Past x MCU Wanda Maximoff) Book 1/2

Chapter One - Not My Brother

Location Unknown

"Holy shit, you fell out of thin air!"
My skin feels electric as I lie face up. Every nerve in my body prickles with energy like the pins and needles that comes after numbness....only times one thousand. The ground beneath me soft. Carpet. I squint my eyes adjusting to the dimly lighted space.
"And there were these red lights!"
The voice above continues. I push myself into a sitting position, my arms burning from the movement. My head spins, little dots of lights swimming at the edges of my vision.
"Are you okay?" The voice asks.

The blurry figure standing over me comes into focus. A teenage boy, scrawny with artificial looking silver hair. He dusts cake crumbs of his metallic leather jacket. Suddenly all the thoughts bouncing around in my head freeze. I forget how to breathe.
It's not him. There are so many differences. Skinny not muscular. Long hair instead short silver tips. Wide brown eyes instead of blue ones. Soft, not angular features. Alive, not dead. Still, one some level, other than physical, I know. Maybe it's instinct. Maybe it's telepathy.
"Pietro?"
"Peter, actually." The boy cocks his head to side, amused. "How'd you do it? Where'd you come from?"
"I -" I say but can't seem to find the words. I close my eyes and try to recall anything before appearing here but it's fuzzy. Defeating Thanos. Learning Nat had died. Tony's funeral. Clint offering for me stay on his farm. Laura saying I wasn't welcome, not after what I put the Avengers through with Ultron. She was scared of me. Is scared of me. I can't blame her.

Before I can say anything more, I'm placed on a couch and Piet- uh Peter is zipping around the room at warp speed, gathering an assortment of snack cakes. I watch, unable to move, as he runs. It's like deja-vu in a way. Nostalgically familiar but undeniably off. Like attempting to recall a memory, only to find it's altered and not quite what you remember.
So...
Where am I?
When is it?
How did I get here?
I try to take in my surroundings. An excessive amount of snack cake boxes lines the vertical wood paneled walls along with unopened televisions and electronics. Retro televisions........from the 70s. Either Peter is a vintage collector in a immaculately decade accurate recreation or I've time-traveled.

Peter drops the snack cakes on a couch cushion beside me and stares at me expectantly. His brown eyes lock on mine, which I'm really hoping aren't glowing red right now. I hesitantly peel the cellophane off a Zebra Cake and stuff it in my mouth.
"What year is it?" I say, through a mouth full of cake.
"1973."
"Shit."

"Who are you? Where did you come from?"Peter says, talking a mile a minute. "How did you get in my basement?"
"I'm Wanda. I don't know and I don't know."
"Well," Peter says, with a finality in his tone that gives me hope he's done interrogating me. "Cool eyeliner."
My hands instinctively fly away from my face, trying not to smudge the makeup. Sure enough, my fingertips are black. I haven't worn eyeliner since.... I bolt up right and spot a mirror in the hall. Without thinking I leap to my feet and hurry to it, pain searing up though my body. Steadying myself against the wall I looked at my reflection. The girl looking back is me, that was a relief, but instead of being 20 I was a solid 17, smack in the middle of my Hot Topic teen angst. My hair is long and dark brown and my clothes are grunge style. Side effects. Steve said there was side effects.

"Are you on drugs?" Peter asks, without skipping a beat. 
"Maybe."

"Peter, the cops are here!" A female voice calls from upstairs, then adds, "Again," Peter doesn't need to say anything. I can hear footsteps and quiet voices overhead. I focus. Three men and a woman.
"Whoa, your eyes are like red." Peter says, genuine awe in his voice. I spot a pair of tinted sunglasses and put them on.
"Act natural." I tell him.
Peter nods and zips across the room to start a one man game of ping pong. Positioning myself in an arm chair I try to appears as casual as possible.