Who: Peter, Logan, Rinzler, Wanda When: April 1st Where: Grounds of the Xavier Mansion, out in Region 5 What: Peter's upset about recent revelations, has separate runs ins with Logan and Rinzler, and then decides to have a chat with his sister.
[He needs to run, put as much distance between himself and the mansion as he can. He can't stay there, not in the same place as Jean, not in the same place as him. Not while his mind is still racing, not until the chaos in his head calms and he knows what to do.
Father. He has a father. He's wanted to know for so long and now that he does, Peter doesn't feel the weight lifted off his shoulders. If anything, it's just moved to his chest. Heavy, oppressive, making him feel worse than when the idea of a dad was just something to idly think about at night.
He zips down the halls, out of the mansion and onto the grounds. Peter's not paying attention to where he's going, for once to wrapped up in himself to see even a few feet in from of him. He doesn't see that he's going to crash into someone until he's nearly atop of them, veering at the last possible second and tripping gracelessly to the ground at their feet.
He gets to his knees, glancing up at Logan with tears still on his face from his argument with Jean.]
Sorry.
[It comes out choked. He still wants to run. He struggles to stand, breath labored.]
[Part of his mutation is his ability to process things quickly. He doesn't need days to think about something or to feel his way through a problem. He whiplashes through emotions and now is no different. He ran his way through everything, it wasn't surprising how within a few hours he'd went from mourning the news to desperate anger.
He doesn't know how to deal with the hurt of so many people knowing and keeping this secret from him. The betrayal feels too raw, too personal to understand. He thought they'd cared, before.
It's so much easier now to be angry. Anger feels better, easier than the hurt, but it leaves him itching for something to outside of himself to deal with. He needs something else to think about, something other than himself to lash out at. He can't go back to the mansion, can't fight it out with the people making his insides feel like lead.
It's an unexpected stroke of luck that fate places someone worthy of that anger right in his path.]
You.
[He's ran across the region, needing distance from secrets and lies. Peter didn't have any other goal in mind but that, and seeing Rinzler on the streets refocuses his attention.
Rinzler, who had so often been the subject of his anger. Rinzler, who he could rage at and not be burning away his own future. Rinzer, who would fight back and turn all that ugly brewing inside into blood and sweat and bone.
His fingers twitch for want of a weapon.]
You asshole.
[His voice is desperate, furious. A child's cry for attention. His eyes are red-rimmed from crying, face pale and stained with tear tracks. His raises his fists, like Rinzler has reason to comply with his intent to fight. Like that would be enough with Rinzler agreed.]
[After two decicycles in-system, Rinzler more than knows his way around. Sector Five is the one with the glitched layout, seemingly patched together by a dozen system architects from different plans. It's where Asriel and Frisk live, where the Chara that survived keeps watch over the pair. Where Rinzler's seen that blue-red user passing by among the rooftops.
And Sector Five, of course, is where they live. Peter_Maximoff. His sister, and his counterpart. Factors to watch out for, an enemy and threat to avoid. But not one that's mattered overmuch, not recently.
Not, at least, until right now.
Words and presence register together, the tangled flare of power appearing out of nowhere on his scans. (Too glitching fast.) Rinzler turns, noise rattling up to a growl. The hand that twitches backward toward his disk is more reflex than planned response... but if visuals are any sign, it might not be the wrong one.
Fists up. Voice snarling. The user's frame slopes in an angry, aggressive lean, and if his expression looks more crumpled than composed, that doesn't make the potential danger any less. Peter_Maximoff has always been most hazardous when glitched—toward Rinzler, himself, and anyone nearby. Wasn't that how all of this got started?
The lack of a weapon keeps him from drawing his own (yet), but a liquid tension slopes down the enforcer's spine, and the stalled reach certainly won't lower. The black mask jerks sideways: mute inquiry and contemptuous retort. Yes. Him.
[He keeps up his fists, waiting for the moment Rinzler strikes.
He doesn't. Peter snarls under his breath.
He needs this.]
Draw them. Your weapons. You're always looking for a fight.
[Not really, no. Not for months, not since they'd settled things.]
You got one now. So do it. Draw them.
[His voice takes on an edge, desperation rising. He's panicked with the need to have something other than Jean's words in his head. He makes a noise that could be a growl, could be a sob.]
[Rinzler is always looking for a fight. He's written for it. Designed, from the root code up. To fight, to win, to wipe out threats.
This user's never had half so solid a reason.
Rinzler hears the edge to the demand, and the broken, grating sound that follows after. The user is a threat, the user is a danger, and certainly not one that Rinzler would regret wiping in the least. His disk comes loose with a soft click, reassuring weight filling his left hand as he brings the weapon forward.
But Rinzler's right hand is still moving. A quick touch to his TAB. A brush against the holographic inputs that rezz up. A single word picks its way out in the air—slow by Rinzler's standards, let alone Peter's. Still, it's short.]
[The movement sets him on edge. Yes, finally. He can fight this ugly buildup out of his system, exhaust himself in something physical until he can't think anymore. He tenses, ready to block. Ready to to swing his fists no matter how useless he knows it would be.
Rinzler doesn't strike. He talks.
Somehow Peter knows he shouldn't be surprised. When has Rinzler ever done what Peter wanted him to? They can't exist on the same page. One always has to act contrary to the other.]
What the hell? This isn't-Does this fucking look like a trap?
[Peter swings his arms out in a wide arc. They're in public and all of Peter's grand ideas for fighting Rinzler on a higher level had come from someone far smarter than himself. How could he have made this a trap? What could he have set up out here?
He if thought about it, he could understand what Rinzler was thinking. Peter certainly had a history of goading Rinzler into fights just to key something else hurt him. But for once that's not where Peter's head was at.]
This is a fight. Easy, simple. Have you went soft? Are you too scared and looking for an excuse? If you're not going to do it I can find ten people better than you who have the guts.
Rinzler's mask twitches, a sharp tilt that could be yes? and could be are you serious?. This looks exactly like a trap. The user who'd goaded him into a cage so many times before, coming at him in broad daylight and asking Rinzler to launch the first blow. Peter_Maximoff knew what happened to programs that hurt users. He'd done his best to make sure it happened once before.
The user, on the other hand? Unlikely to be punished much at all. Destruction of property is rarely a crime worth acknowledging when the object in question has demonstrated that degree of flaw.
The low rattle of sound sharpens, a quick and furious growl as anger tightens Rinzler's stance with a coiled, quick aggression. He isn't scared. He isn't soft, and certainly, the glitch won't find better. But he isn't stupid either.]
Fight: welcome.
[Shoulders roll, shell quirking in invitation. Bring it. If this is a fight, he'll win. He'll slice this walking error all apart. All Peter_Maximoff has to do? Is be willing to make the first move.]
[He doesn't so much as try to decipher Rinzler's body language. A yes would be warranted. This would be a trap if Peter was being more serious about it, if he was putting any thought into trying for another round of punishment with Rinzler.
The growl needs no deciphering. There's things Peter knows about Rinzler now, the sort of things one only ever learns about close friends and enemies. That growl says things are about to begin.
He squares himself, fists tightening.]
Finally.
[There's no qualms about making the first move. Another piece of proof Peter's not in his right mind.
He swings for center mass, putting his speed behind his fist. He plans to follow it up with a sweep of his leg against Rinzler's, attempt to get his opponent to the ground. Even in his state, he knows that he needs to create advantages where he can and needs to create them quickly.]
[It's still a bad choice. Rinzler knows this; knows that questions about who attacked only matter when both parties are on equal footing. It hadn't made a difference when he killed the first user in self-defense. It certainly hadn't mattered through any of this glitch's schemes. He'll still be blamed. Still get in trouble. No matter how this ends.
Still. As the user coils inward, as its fist starts flashing out across the space between?
Finally sounds right to him.
His disk lights. Fractions of a fraction of a moment for the outer edge to flare to life, and still not enough time left to split and strike. Another reason, maybe, why giving up the first strike was an error, but Rinzler certainly doesn't plan on wasting even a nano on regrets. He twists the weapon sideways instead, scything across to intercept that lashing fist. Even if the user can evade the strike, doing so will bleed off its momentum, and hopefully reduce the damage of a blow.
The leg-sweep will connect, but Rinzler doesn't drop. He lets himself be tugged forward instead, elbow lashing up beneath the user's line of sight to smash in towards its gut. He can hit the ground and keep maneuvering, but he's reliably informed that users have to breathe. If he can't keep up, he'll slow it down.]
[He waits until the evening, once he's worn away the brunt of his energy, until he's cried out and the anger is a slow burn instead of a viscous fire. He waits until the light starts to fade to pick up the TAB and call her.
He doesn't know what to say. He just knows it has to be said.]
Meet me near the En-Line station at five. I need to talk to you. I can't do it over this. I can't do it at the mansion.
[He stands outside the station waiting to spot her. He knows he looks a mess, covered in dirt and so clearly upset. At least the knowledge that she will come soothes him a little. Even as abrupt as his message is, Peter knows Wanda won't let him down.
[Way to give her a heart attack, Peter. But it doesn't sound entirely like he's hurt (not physically, anyway) so Wanda swallows her worry and tries to smile in the hopes that some reassurance will carry through to her voice. She hates that something is clearly wrong and she doesn't know what it is or how to make it better right now.]
I'm on my way.
[And frustratingly, that seems to be the only thing she can do. She makes her way over there as quickly as she can, and once she can see the station Wanda lets her telepathic senses take over. She'd never find him on her own in this crowd, but his anger and pain are so loud she can pretty much make a beeline for him.]
Peter? What happened? Are you hurt?
[She rests a comforting hand on Peter's arm. He looks like he might have been in some sort of fight, but that wouldn't fully account for how upset he feels. She doesn't pry, as easy as it would be to slip into his thoughts and see for herself what's wrong - something that feels this serious needs to be revealed in Peter's own time.]
[He's relieved to hear her voice, her agreement. He never really thought she wouldn't come, but it eases a little of the panic in his chest for it to be confirmed.
It eases a little more when he sees her; the constant in his life to make sense of everything he can't. He doesn't settle for the hand on his arm, he hugs her. Quick, a little squeeze, a reassurance.]
I'm not hurt. [He's not badly wounded, considering who he was fighting with.] But there's something you have to know before you go back to that house. They've been lying to me. Us. Jean, Logan. Probably Charles, maybe even Kurt. Keeping this from me the whole time, pretending to be our friends. Pretending like they cared.
[He stops, swallows. He's getting ahead of himself.] You know that my mom never told me or my Wanda who our dad was. Jean knows. They all knew. And they're just letting him stay here without saying anything to us.
[He's well enough for hugging, then, although Wanda can still feel the turmoil bubbling under the surface of his thoughts. Not physically hurt, no, but emotionally...
She reaches for his hand in an attempt to provide what grounding influence she can. His mind can easily outrun her ability to follow (and Wanda can't help but wonder how long he's really been struggling with this in Peter-time), but nonverbal support is the same no matter how fast his thoughts are racing.
She doesn't understand at first - of course Jean is a friend and Kurt doesn't seem capable of malice. Her room in the mansion isn't psychically shielded; if anyone meant them harm, surely she would already know. Necessity has made her more attuned to darker emotions, to reading the microreactions of people who wouldn't hesitate to strip her of free will if they knew how much she actually hated them.
But, she realizes as horror slowly dawns on her, something this deeply buried would easily have remained so unless she was actively looking for it. She's tried so hard to be polite and not go digging in everyone's heads at the slightest provocation, but...]
Erik.
[Stunned, she shakes her head. No, this is wrong, her father was a good, kind, gentle man who would never have dreamed of hurting so many people. Wanda wishes she could just tell Peter they have to be wrong, that it simply isn't possible, that there's no way the man she's seen in his memories could possibly have any relation to her father. But she met his family in the Alter-Ingress and while there were similarities, his mother wasn't quite the same as the mother Wanda remembers and she and Pietro didn't have a little sister.
And as much as she hates it, she can't accept them without also accepting the theoretical possibility of Peter and Erik being related, too.
How did everyone manage to hide this from her? This is exactly the sort of thing she should have protected him from.]
Peter...I'm sorry.
[Wanda doesn't know what else to say so she hugs him again, tighter this time.]
[He's glad he doesn't have to say it aloud, doesn't have to make it more real by admitting it with his own words. A significant part of Peter just wants to cringe to even hear her say it. He didn't want this for her anymore than he wanted it for himself. It's unfair that this is the alternative Wanda gets for losing a father she'd shown him was better.
Of course those are only fleeting thoughts. For the most part, Peter is selfishly focused on what it means for himself. He's the blood of someone he's been so angry at for so long. It feels like a cruel joke. A universe trying to get in one more kick, karma for some terrible thing he's done.
And then there was the cherry on the shit sundae; the cold feeling of betrayal.]
It's him.
[He hugs her back, resting his forehead against her's and feeling every year of their age difference for a moment.]
I had to tell you, before someone else did. If they even would. You had to know who we're living with. Who all of them really are.
[He lets out a ragged breath, muttering incoherently into her hairs.]
And I had to tell you because I don't know what to do.
[Wanda's not really sure she qualifies as adult enough to handle this or removed enough to be logical. The other aspects of her alternate reality families have been positive - a little odd at first in Billy and Tommy's cases, but nothing that truly sickened her to think about. She doesn't really know what to think or do right now either.
But one thing's certain: they can't go back to the mansion tonight.
This isn't the first time Wanda's felt the loss of the Avengers as a unit, but it's definitely the most severe. There's nothing to fall back on now, nowhere to run. Sure, she could text Steve or even Tony individually, but it's not the same as having a place to go that's just for the Avengers.
She takes a deep, steadying breath. Whatever she feels about this revelation is just going to have to wait for later. Peter needs her to be strong.]
We're going to be fine.
[She needs to see to their immediate needs first.]
We can stay on the ship or find a hotel. You don't have to go back tonight.
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Logan
Father. He has a father. He's wanted to know for so long and now that he does, Peter doesn't feel the weight lifted off his shoulders. If anything, it's just moved to his chest. Heavy, oppressive, making him feel worse than when the idea of a dad was just something to idly think about at night.
He zips down the halls, out of the mansion and onto the grounds. Peter's not paying attention to where he's going, for once to wrapped up in himself to see even a few feet in from of him. He doesn't see that he's going to crash into someone until he's nearly atop of them, veering at the last possible second and tripping gracelessly to the ground at their feet.
He gets to his knees, glancing up at Logan with tears still on his face from his argument with Jean.]
Sorry.
[It comes out choked. He still wants to run. He struggles to stand, breath labored.]
I didn't- I got to go. I can't be here.
Rinzler
He doesn't know how to deal with the hurt of so many people knowing and keeping this secret from him. The betrayal feels too raw, too personal to understand. He thought they'd cared, before.
It's so much easier now to be angry. Anger feels better, easier than the hurt, but it leaves him itching for something to outside of himself to deal with. He needs something else to think about, something other than himself to lash out at. He can't go back to the mansion, can't fight it out with the people making his insides feel like lead.
It's an unexpected stroke of luck that fate places someone worthy of that anger right in his path.]
You.
[He's ran across the region, needing distance from secrets and lies. Peter didn't have any other goal in mind but that, and seeing Rinzler on the streets refocuses his attention.
Rinzler, who had so often been the subject of his anger. Rinzler, who he could rage at and not be burning away his own future. Rinzer, who would fight back and turn all that ugly brewing inside into blood and sweat and bone.
His fingers twitch for want of a weapon.]
You asshole.
[His voice is desperate, furious. A child's cry for attention. His eyes are red-rimmed from crying, face pale and stained with tear tracks. His raises his fists, like Rinzler has reason to comply with his intent to fight. Like that would be enough with Rinzler agreed.]
no subject
And Sector Five, of course, is where they live. Peter_Maximoff. His sister, and his counterpart. Factors to watch out for, an enemy and threat to avoid. But not one that's mattered overmuch, not recently.
Not, at least, until right now.
Words and presence register together, the tangled flare of power appearing out of nowhere on his scans. (Too glitching fast.) Rinzler turns, noise rattling up to a growl. The hand that twitches backward toward his disk is more reflex than planned response... but if visuals are any sign, it might not be the wrong one.
Fists up. Voice snarling. The user's frame slopes in an angry, aggressive lean, and if his expression looks more crumpled than composed, that doesn't make the potential danger any less. Peter_Maximoff has always been most hazardous when glitched—toward Rinzler, himself, and anyone nearby. Wasn't that how all of this got started?
The lack of a weapon keeps him from drawing his own (yet), but a liquid tension slopes down the enforcer's spine, and the stalled reach certainly won't lower. The black mask jerks sideways: mute inquiry and contemptuous retort. Yes. Him.
What's the user trying to blame Rinzler for now?]
no subject
He doesn't. Peter snarls under his breath.
He needs this.]
Draw them. Your weapons. You're always looking for a fight.
[Not really, no. Not for months, not since they'd settled things.]
You got one now. So do it. Draw them.
[His voice takes on an edge, desperation rising. He's panicked with the need to have something other than Jean's words in his head. He makes a noise that could be a growl, could be a sob.]
Just do it, dammit! Fight me!
no subject
This user's never had half so solid a reason.
Rinzler hears the edge to the demand, and the broken, grating sound that follows after. The user is a threat, the user is a danger, and certainly not one that Rinzler would regret wiping in the least. His disk comes loose with a soft click, reassuring weight filling his left hand as he brings the weapon forward.
But Rinzler's right hand is still moving. A quick touch to his TAB. A brush against the holographic inputs that rezz up. A single word picks its way out in the air—slow by Rinzler's standards, let alone Peter's. Still, it's short.]
Trap.
[It has to be.]
no subject
Rinzler doesn't strike. He talks.
Somehow Peter knows he shouldn't be surprised. When has Rinzler ever done what Peter wanted him to? They can't exist on the same page. One always has to act contrary to the other.]
What the hell? This isn't-Does this fucking look like a trap?
[Peter swings his arms out in a wide arc. They're in public and all of Peter's grand ideas for fighting Rinzler on a higher level had come from someone far smarter than himself. How could he have made this a trap? What could he have set up out here?
He if thought about it, he could understand what Rinzler was thinking. Peter certainly had a history of goading Rinzler into fights just to key something else hurt him. But for once that's not where Peter's head was at.]
This is a fight. Easy, simple. Have you went soft? Are you too scared and looking for an excuse? If you're not going to do it I can find ten people better than you who have the guts.
no subject
Rinzler's mask twitches, a sharp tilt that could be yes? and could be are you serious?. This looks exactly like a trap. The user who'd goaded him into a cage so many times before, coming at him in broad daylight and asking Rinzler to launch the first blow. Peter_Maximoff knew what happened to programs that hurt users. He'd done his best to make sure it happened once before.
The user, on the other hand? Unlikely to be punished much at all. Destruction of property is rarely a crime worth acknowledging when the object in question has demonstrated that degree of flaw.
The low rattle of sound sharpens, a quick and furious growl as anger tightens Rinzler's stance with a coiled, quick aggression. He isn't scared. He isn't soft, and certainly, the glitch won't find better. But he isn't stupid either.]
Fight: welcome.
[Shoulders roll, shell quirking in invitation. Bring it. If this is a fight, he'll win. He'll slice this walking error all apart. All Peter_Maximoff has to do? Is be willing to make the first move.]
no subject
The growl needs no deciphering. There's things Peter knows about Rinzler now, the sort of things one only ever learns about close friends and enemies. That growl says things are about to begin.
He squares himself, fists tightening.]
Finally.
[There's no qualms about making the first move. Another piece of proof Peter's not in his right mind.
He swings for center mass, putting his speed behind his fist. He plans to follow it up with a sweep of his leg against Rinzler's, attempt to get his opponent to the ground. Even in his state, he knows that he needs to create advantages where he can and needs to create them quickly.]
no subject
Still. As the user coils inward, as its fist starts flashing out across the space between?
Finally sounds right to him.
His disk lights. Fractions of a fraction of a moment for the outer edge to flare to life, and still not enough time left to split and strike. Another reason, maybe, why giving up the first strike was an error, but Rinzler certainly doesn't plan on wasting even a nano on regrets. He twists the weapon sideways instead, scything across to intercept that lashing fist. Even if the user can evade the strike, doing so will bleed off its momentum, and hopefully reduce the damage of a blow.
The leg-sweep will connect, but Rinzler doesn't drop. He lets himself be tugged forward instead, elbow lashing up beneath the user's line of sight to smash in towards its gut. He can hit the ground and keep maneuvering, but he's reliably informed that users have to breathe. If he can't keep up, he'll slow it down.]
Wanda
He doesn't know what to say. He just knows it has to be said.]
Meet me near the En-Line station at five. I need to talk to you. I can't do it over this. I can't do it at the mansion.
[He stands outside the station waiting to spot her. He knows he looks a mess, covered in dirt and so clearly upset. At least the knowledge that she will come soothes him a little. Even as abrupt as his message is, Peter knows Wanda won't let him down.
She might be the only person left who wouldn't.]
no subject
I'm on my way.
[And frustratingly, that seems to be the only thing she can do. She makes her way over there as quickly as she can, and once she can see the station Wanda lets her telepathic senses take over. She'd never find him on her own in this crowd, but his anger and pain are so loud she can pretty much make a beeline for him.]
Peter? What happened? Are you hurt?
[She rests a comforting hand on Peter's arm. He looks like he might have been in some sort of fight, but that wouldn't fully account for how upset he feels. She doesn't pry, as easy as it would be to slip into his thoughts and see for herself what's wrong - something that feels this serious needs to be revealed in Peter's own time.]
no subject
It eases a little more when he sees her; the constant in his life to make sense of everything he can't. He doesn't settle for the hand on his arm, he hugs her. Quick, a little squeeze, a reassurance.]
I'm not hurt. [He's not badly wounded, considering who he was fighting with.] But there's something you have to know before you go back to that house. They've been lying to me. Us. Jean, Logan. Probably Charles, maybe even Kurt. Keeping this from me the whole time, pretending to be our friends. Pretending like they cared.
[He stops, swallows. He's getting ahead of himself.] You know that my mom never told me or my Wanda who our dad was. Jean knows. They all knew. And they're just letting him stay here without saying anything to us.
no subject
She reaches for his hand in an attempt to provide what grounding influence she can. His mind can easily outrun her ability to follow (and Wanda can't help but wonder how long he's really been struggling with this in Peter-time), but nonverbal support is the same no matter how fast his thoughts are racing.
She doesn't understand at first - of course Jean is a friend and Kurt doesn't seem capable of malice. Her room in the mansion isn't psychically shielded; if anyone meant them harm, surely she would already know. Necessity has made her more attuned to darker emotions, to reading the microreactions of people who wouldn't hesitate to strip her of free will if they knew how much she actually hated them.
But, she realizes as horror slowly dawns on her, something this deeply buried would easily have remained so unless she was actively looking for it. She's tried so hard to be polite and not go digging in everyone's heads at the slightest provocation, but...]
Erik.
[Stunned, she shakes her head. No, this is wrong, her father was a good, kind, gentle man who would never have dreamed of hurting so many people. Wanda wishes she could just tell Peter they have to be wrong, that it simply isn't possible, that there's no way the man she's seen in his memories could possibly have any relation to her father. But she met his family in the Alter-Ingress and while there were similarities, his mother wasn't quite the same as the mother Wanda remembers and she and Pietro didn't have a little sister.
And as much as she hates it, she can't accept them without also accepting the theoretical possibility of Peter and Erik being related, too.
How did everyone manage to hide this from her? This is exactly the sort of thing she should have protected him from.]
Peter...I'm sorry.
[Wanda doesn't know what else to say so she hugs him again, tighter this time.]
no subject
Of course those are only fleeting thoughts. For the most part, Peter is selfishly focused on what it means for himself. He's the blood of someone he's been so angry at for so long. It feels like a cruel joke. A universe trying to get in one more kick, karma for some terrible thing he's done.
And then there was the cherry on the shit sundae; the cold feeling of betrayal.]
It's him.
[He hugs her back, resting his forehead against her's and feeling every year of their age difference for a moment.]
I had to tell you, before someone else did. If they even would. You had to know who we're living with. Who all of them really are.
[He lets out a ragged breath, muttering incoherently into her hairs.]
And I had to tell you because I don't know what to do.
no subject
But one thing's certain: they can't go back to the mansion tonight.
This isn't the first time Wanda's felt the loss of the Avengers as a unit, but it's definitely the most severe. There's nothing to fall back on now, nowhere to run. Sure, she could text Steve or even Tony individually, but it's not the same as having a place to go that's just for the Avengers.
She takes a deep, steadying breath. Whatever she feels about this revelation is just going to have to wait for later. Peter needs her to be strong.]
We're going to be fine.
[She needs to see to their immediate needs first.]
We can stay on the ship or find a hotel. You don't have to go back tonight.