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peter parker (thespiderling) wrote in avengers_logs, @ 2019-05-08 22:40:00

Who: Peter Parker and Wanda Maximoff
What: Wanda makes food for a spider boy
When: Now-ish
Rating/Warnings: Green

On a ranking list of stupid things Peter Parker had done, sprinting across a packed rush hour street was close to the top. Forget bringing down a plane on Coney Island or clinging to the side of an alien ship with a one way ticket to outer space - a taxi driver with his foot on the gas pedal was where the real danger was at.

“Sorry dude, sorry!”

Peter scurried onto the sidewalk and into an alleyway, haphazardly following his googlemaps closer to Greenwich Village. These weren't his usual stomping arounds, but fulfilling a promise to Stephen Strange was the latest on his list of ways to procrastinate. When faced with the choice between studying for a biology test or delivering a bundle of comic books to a wizard who'd genuinely helped him back when he'd first arrived in this universe, Peter chose the latter.

He was starting to wonder if he had the right address when he reached 177A Bleeker Street, but then there it was: a dull sort of tingle at the base of his neck. While he was used to that sensation screaming danger, this time it was a quieter tug, the kind cautioning that something wasn't quite right behind those doors. Peter being Peter, he took that hint of a risk as a sign that he should knock.

Wanda hadn’t left the Sanctum yet, but she knew she’d miss it when she did - after all, she’d lived here for about a year, not counting her trip to Nepal. She’d miss the creaky floorboards, the gingerbread trim, the hidden nooks and crannies where she curled up with many a book, the picturesque and almost romantic look of the manor; Sanctum Sanctorum was every gothic lover’s dream, and for Wanda, almost felt like a castle.

She was in the middle of packing her things - not like she had much, however. Just whatever she’d arrived with and the few bits and pieces she’d managed to collect and fit in her room - the guitar she found at a secondhand store, and practiced with occasionally, was carefully laid inside its velvet-lined case when she heard a knock from downstairs. Stephen wasn’t here and neither was Wong - she couldn’t sense their unique mental signatures - so she drifted along to answer the door herself. Stephen had a waiting room, so depending on who it was, she’d just show them there.

Though she really wasn’t expecting Peter Parker. “Hello,” she greeted, sky blue eyes assessing his appearance. It seemed rude to make him sit in the waiting room. “You’re looking for Stephen, I assume? Come inside.”

Peter didn’t know what he was anticipating from the Sanctum itself; the only details he’d heard about it were few and far between. He figured the building was bound to be as mysterious and powerful (and maybe a little grumpy) as Strange himself, and so far the quiet buzz in the back of his head was affirming that. And when Wanda opened the door, that feeling only grew.

“Hi! Hi.” Peter adjusted his backpack on his shoulders, recognizing her from just more than the network for the universal displaced. They’d crossed paths impersonally on his first battlefield, if the site of a familial-like squabble could even be called that. He’d been safely hidden behind his mask at the time, and as much as that was all apparently water under the the bridge…after looking up the details of the Accords for himself, he’d experienced an uncomfortable doubt or two on the way it had all unfolded.

“Thanks - you’re Wanda, right? I’m Peter.” He stepped inside when she welcomed him, and the prickle at the base of his neck intensified by just the slightest. He started looking around as soon as he could see the interior, gathering right away that this wasn't your typical apartment building. “Is Dr. Strange in? I just came to drop off this...”

He gestured to the brown paper bag he was holding, packed with a dozen or so comic books that were peeking out. “I think he wanted a switch up in his reading material.”

“Are those...comic books?” Wanda had to smile a little, because while she knew Stephen was a voracious reader (much like herself) the last thing she expected him to look at were graphic novels or something with cartoon bubbles conveying thoughts. “But no, he’s not here now. His schedule is often erratic.”

She couldn’t exactly follow it and didn’t really try; if she needed him in an emergency, she knew she could reach out and establish a mind link and he would portal to her right away. Otherwise, he did as he pleased and she respected that. It wouldn’t even be an issue much anymore, after she moved out.

Curiously, she extended her fingers and fluttered them in Peter’s general direction - close to his temple, as silky wisps curled like crimson smoke. “You feel different than how I was expecting,” she noted. Most people had a distinct mental signature - and five senses. Telepathy was an extension of that, and he seemed to have his own extension as well.

But enough of that. Not only was it rude to leave him by himself in the waiting room, it was also rude to dive too far into his psyche.

The red wisps disappeared. “I was just about to make lunch. Do you want any?” He was a teenager, surely he was always hungry. Pietro had been, at that age.

“I guess he's wanting to branch out? Or he's humoring me. Or he's a super secret nerd - I like that theory the best.“

In any case, if it gave Dr. Strange even just a glimmer of distraction from the burden he probably carried from managing their unstable timeline, Peter would consider the errand a success. He liked the guy, as brusque as he'd been on Titan; given the stress they'd been under at the time, Peter could see why.

Peter was still thoroughly caught up in taking in his new surroundings when that tingle at his neck became a sharp prodding. It wasn't warning him of peril just yet, but he saw the reason for the twinge of caution as a thin film of energy was sent his way. “Woah.” His hand lifted only to have the strands of a fog-like substance pass through it. “Different...how?”

In Germany, he only remembered catching a glimpse of Wanda's hands flaring with incredible power. He'd been curious back then, and he was definitely curious now. As much as it would be in the best interest of keeping his identity quiet to claim he had to run off, he really wasn't good at turning down free food. And if Strange trusted Wanda, Peter had a feeling he could too.

“Really? That'd be-” Of course his stomach chose that instant to growl. Hah. Peter's face flushed, and he ducked his head in a nod. “…I could definitely eat.”

That was cute. Wanda grinned a little, glad that her hunch was right - teenage boys had an endless black hole for a stomach, even if they weren’t super fast with a metabolism that burned calories at the speed of sound. “Good, then you should eat,” she insisted.

She led him inside to the kitchen - it was a lot brighter than it had been when Wanda first moved in. A vase of wildflowers on the table, actual curtains on the windows, and cookie jars that were actually full. Placing one of those jars on the table, she removed the lid. “Help yourself.” Those cookies were chocolate chip, of course - a classic.

As for lunch, she did a little bit of sweet talk with the demon-possessed fridge to get it to open and let her remove the deli meats and cheeses, and the container of pasta salad she’d made earlier too. “Different like...your perception isn’t like everyone else’s,” she explained. “It has a lot of room to grow and strengthen though.”

“These are good. Like good good,” Peter said after finishing the first chocolate chip. They were better than Ned's mother's recipe, and he'd thought those were the pinnacle of cookie creation. He snuck in another one, but it was suddenly hard to focus when those same senses Wanda had picked up on began to flare incessantly. He almost expected a wayward villain to come stumbling in the door, but the pinging was directing him to the fridge of all places.

“So you...you can tell all that about me just by-” He wiggled his fingers to mime what she'd done before, trying to ignore the sinister household appliance his internal alarm bells were currently fixated on. “I don't think it's like everyone else's? Cause I wasn't always this way either. But now it's like...if something's a threat, or if something's just wrong? It's like an itch I can't scratch.”

And sometimes it was a little more prevalent than that. Sometimes it was cold needles prodding at his skin until he searched out the source of the danger. Kind of like right now with the fridge he almost expected to turn into the girl from the Ring. “You really think I could work on it? It's usually all over the place. I mean, right now it's giving me all kinds of fight or flight feelings about your fridge. Which...can't be right?”

“Actually, the fridge is possessed by a demon,” Wanda replied - and she knew what Stephen said about it, she heeded his advice, but she still thought that whatever entity it was, it was cute. In a weird, dangerous kind of way. Maybe kind of like her. “So your tingles are not wrong. But I’m sure there is a way to fine-tune it so that it’s not all over the place and you can identity the danger faster.”

Because it wasn’t very helpful if tingle-sense went through the roof at something and didn’t indicate exactly what - he would have to narrow it down and sometimes you just didn’t have the time for that.

She made turkey and cheese for herself, with lettuce and tomato and a little bit of mayo. “What is your favorite kind of sandwich?” she asked. “So I don’t have to read your mind.”

That was a joke.

“Huh,” Peter said, blinking at that. An actual demon. Of course it was. With everything he'd seen, with the super-powered and alien world around them, it shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. It was good to know that maybe all of those ghost hunting shows really were chasing something. “Mr. Demon, sir? Ma'am? I'm definitely not here to hurt you.”

Peter had no idea if that would go anywhere towards placating it - probably not - but hey, it was worth a try.

“Ham, cheese, and mustard would be awesome, but I'm not picky. Thank you, by the way.” He leaned against the counter with the prickling ongoing; it was like the Sanctum was overflowing with an energy of its own. And so was Wanda, honestly. “...What exactly can you do? If that's not super invasive or anything to ask.”

In response, the fridge rumbled. It sounded like the ice-maker at work, but it was really the grumblings of a demon - mentally, it spoke something in Latin that Wanda couldn’t identity offhand; she’d look it up later and translate. Either way though, she was sure that the door wouldn’t fly open, food used as projectiles. So Peter was safe.

Ham, cheese, and mustard. She could handle that. Taking a clean knife, she began spreading some of that mustard onto bread - then piled it high with plenty of ham and cheese, since he was a growing boy, folding and arranging each slice artfully. “I am surprised you haven’t heard of what I can do,” she replied with dry amusement, scarlet-tinted mouth tipping up in a small smile. Hadn’t everybody?

“I can read minds and make you see your fears,” she explained. “And - this.” Extending her hand, the bowl of pasta salad slid toward her; she then used her telekinesis to grip the spoon with mental fingers and dish out a healthy portion on two plates. “There’s more to it than that, but that’s the basic idea. My powers came from the mind stone as a result of experimentation. Most didn’t make it there in HYDRA’s facility, they perished painfully - all except my brother and I.”

“People say things, but a lot of it's just talk. They don't always get it right.” And being a teenager at a high school where superheroes were very much part of a cultural phenomena, Peter had heard every conspiracy theory out there. Maybe the Scarlet Witch mindjacked the Avengers into letting her on the team, he'd overheard at lunch one day, and that had been followed shortly after by speculation on if Spider-man could lay eggs. It'd been hard to hold himself back from correcting both points there.

Peter - who often had every one of his emotions written clearly all over his face - was frowning in a worried way, but it wasn't because of the sandwich that was looking more appetizing by the second. The mind-reading and telekinesis weren't news to him. But HYDRA's involvement? The freaky experimental part? That side of the story wasn't often thrown around.

“That's-” Awful and terrible, but Peter wasn't about to tell Wanda something she must know all too well. She'd lived it. “You and your brother must be really strong. To have gone through all that.”

“Pietro was strong - he would have made a good Avenger.” He had been a good Avenger, he’d fought valiantly - and like her, he did fight with the team against Ultron to right his wrongs. They both had a lot to make up for. “He died a few years ago...” Wanda trailed off. “During the Battle of Sokovia.” It was the worst time in her life - when she’d lost her twin, and her home; nowadays, Sokovia wasn’t much at all. Just a smoking pile of rubble.

She realized she was staring at the sandwich, and it was looking blurry as sky blue eyes misted over - but then she got ahold of herself, because saltwater tears and bread did not mix. “Anyway, after that you know what happened,” she shrugged. More sweet talking of the fridge occured, and she got it to open once more, revealing its innards.

“What would you like to drink?”

So Pietro was Wanda’s brother like Ben was Peter’s uncle. Peter’s heart hurt for her, and he wished he could go back and steer the conversation away from turning towards her loss. But maybe it was good sometimes to air it out. “I’m so sorry,” Peter said earnestly. Stories like hers were the reason why he did what he did; so there would be less sisters without brothers, less nephews without uncles.

“Juice, water, soda, I’ll take whatever you have - or whatever that fridge feels like giving up?” Though it looked like the demonic entity would do just about anything for Wanda, honestly - the energy that posed a threat seemed quiet whenever she was near it.

“Hey, um.” Generally, Peter wasn't too good at talking about grief (who was?), but there was something on Wanda's face he recognized. “I know this might sound weird, but if you ever want to watch some bad movies, let me know? I lost someone too. A couple years back.”

It'd been all kinds of traumatic and all kinds of his fault; there was no cure for burdens like that, but he had a few clumsy coping tricks. “On the rougher days, sometimes laughing at the worst special effects and acting helps. I usually pair it with the grossest food I can find. Burgers, fries, ice cream, the works.”

Grief was a very difficult subject. It made people uncomfortable - they did not know what to say, they stumbled around words, they fell back on old reliable phrases like ‘let me know if you need anything’ and ‘they’re in a better place now’ (she particularly hated that one - as if there was a better place for Pietro besides with her). But another soul who had suffered a great loss, that resonated with Wanda.

“I would like that,” she gave a little smile, pulling two bottled waters from the demonic fridge - which shut quickly after that, like it was done being charitable for the time being. “I love burgers and fries too. And ice cream.” It was actually one of her favorites desserts.

Since Peter Parker had been so nice to offer, she thought she should offer something else too. “I can help you with your stranger danger sense, if you want,” she gestured idly toward him, a wave of one slender hand, since she didn’t know the term for it. But it was also something she resonated with.

“In the meantime, come sit. Eat. You’re looking very skinny.” Well, he was.

“You've got a deal,” Peter promised, and Wanda got a smile that was a little brighter in return. A bad movie partner and some guidance with his twitchy senses (senses he hadn't named just yet; stranger danger was a good one, but he needed something with a ring to it) - it was more than he thought would come from a comic book delivery errand. “I'll...have to tell you the whole story about the tingling thing. It's kind of a long one.”

While Peter tried - and failed a fair few times - to pretend he was nothing more than a high school kid with scientific aptitude, that wasn't a persona he was going to attempt to put on for Wanda. She'd already perceived plenty just by being near him, and if the whole Avengers thing panned out...he didn't want to start off on the wrong foot with a potential teammate. Or a wronger foot than Germany had been, at least.

But first? Food. “Thank you, this looks amazing.” Between the hefty sandwich and the pasta salad, Peter happily didn't need to be told to eat twice.