InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "I'm dead inside."

Red. (i_rage) wrote in we_coexist,
@ 2011-02-02 00:22:00

Entry tags:

dean winchester, wanda maximoff

Caged. (Open!)
Even though she'd broken free days prior, Wanda still felt a little like an animal in a cage. As a very young child, back when her family life had resembled something approaching normal, her nanny had taken Wanda and her twin brother to the zoo. She'd been in possession of a better attitude back then, but her empathy had been lacking. She'd enjoyed looking at the animals and, when they hadn't moved to her satisfaction, she'd been happy to tap on the glass.

These days, the very idea of harassing something in a prison made her nauseous and angry. It was a sick, queasy feeling that she vaguely recognized as shame. She felt like the animal in the zoo enclosure, and Wanda strongly suspected that the face on the other side of the glass felt very little empathy or shame over what it had done to her.

Oh, there'd been attempts at making amends, but Wanda hadn't accepted the overtures. After her escape from Arkham, there'd been nowhere to go; keys appeared in her pocket, but she refused to use them. It felt like a trap. Instead, she'd slept in parks and abandoned buildings and had made use of the facilities in public recreation centers. Not a comfortable existence, but she was used to discomfort.

Unsurprisingly (given her hatred of feeling trapped), the new morning found Wanda out-of-doors, seated on a bench at a bus stop. She looked pale and unhappy and she was busy slowly destroying a croissant, which she plucked apart and tossed carelessly to a small group of pigeons. She wanted to destroy something. It wouldn't make her feel any better, not really, but lashing out was what she did. If she felt hurt or like she'd lost control? She broke something.

The croissant-tearing increased in pace. A nearby mailbox creaked abruptly and Wanda drew in a hiss of breath. Her head snapped up and she turned wide eyes on the source of the sound. The creaking stopped.

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i_soldieron
2011-02-02 11:58 pm UTC (link)

Dean didn't shift under the look. He didn't even seem bothered by it. He was a good con man after all, but it did bug him that a girl her age, she couldn't be more than...17, 18? Too young. He let that thought go by as he realized just how odd it was. Yet, she looked like she had seen and done damage; he knew people, could read them, and that look said it all.

"Hey." Dean pulled out the flask from his pocket and opened it up. A quick sniff told him that it wasn't what he wanted. He was going to stake him some angel/demi-god later. He didn't care if it wouldn't kill the Trickster; he just wanted someone to pay for the current inconvenience he was being put through.

"Been waiting long?" They were on a bus bench after all. Dean wasn't much for public transportation, but it had to be better than strange cars appearing out of nowhere. Or if not strange cars, cars that belonged to other people, namely his brother Sam. A car he knew Cas and some dick angel had satisfyingly ruined by crashing onto it.