Chapter Text
“Remind me - what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.”
Pietro could almost hear the sigh that came from Charles, even though no actual sound left the man. He would have laughed, had he not been so exhausted. Mix that with not knowing where on earth he was, and, yeah, not much was funny.
“Let me see your arm.” Hank reached out his hand expectantly, and Pietro eyed the vial he held in his other. The doctor followed his gaze. “It’s just to make sure you’re healthy. That’s all.”
Well, that’s bullshit.
“No,” he shook his head, crossing his arms. “You’re not taking blood. Sorry.”
“Sir, we cannot help you get home if you do not help us.” Charles’s voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge to his words. “ What is your name? ”
There it was again. Charles’s words seemed to have the same weight as before when he told Pietro to calm down. Something clicked in his brain, and suddenly he saw nothing wrong with telling this man anything. His name was on the tip of his tongue.
I mean… What could he do? It’s just a name.
“Pietro. Maximoff.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Pietro could see the gray-haired man - Peter - give a small start when he said his name. He ignored it, though. It wasn’t any of his business. Besides, he was still trying to shake the strange feeling that had made him give up his name. It wasn’t the end of the world, sure, but it was strange . Like he had no say in the matter.
“Thank you, Pietro. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Bullshit.
“I still need your arm,” Hank said plainly from where he stood, arms now crossed as well. “Please. It’s just to make sure you’re healthy. That’s all.”
He didn’t move. The last thing he wanted to do was give strangers his blood. God knows what they would do with that . Maybe they didn’t want to clone him or anything, but that didn’t mean he was going to willingly give up his blood.
“Pietro-”
“Where is my sister?”
The question fell out of Pietro’s mouth before he could really think about it. In reality, it had been in the back of his head for… however long he had been in that stupid room. Shit, how long had he been there? A few hours? How long had he been unconscious? Days?
He had no answers.
His question seemed to catch both Hank and Charles off guard. Like the pair had no idea what he was talking about. The reaction threw the speedster off. Surely they knew about Wanda? But… considering they knew nothing about Sokovia, it wasn’t the most unlikely thing ever.
“My sister. Her- Her name is Wanda.” He said her name before he could think about it, wincing slightly. Sorry. “Where is she?”
Hank spun back to his computer without a word, his vain attempt to draw blood already long forgotten. The same sound of that damned keyboard filled the room again as the other man began typing yet again. Charles, however, stayed unmoving. Pietro turned his eyes to him, trying to mask the mix of confusion and fear that was threatening to bubble over.
“Wanda Maximoff? That is her name?” Charles asked, his annoyingly posh voice unwavering.
“Yes. Where is she?” Pietro looked between the three men, looking for a reaction, a tell that they knew her, from any of them.
Nothing.
“Mr. Maximoff,” Charles began, tone soft, rolling his wheelchair back by a meter or so, “why don’t you get some rest? I’m certain you’re exhausted. We will answer any question you have tomorrow, yes?”
Charles was right - he was exhausted. The speedster hadn’t had a break for what felt like days. Any “down time” he had in Sokovia was met with dread and anxiety, especially after the Avengers showed up. He had barely slept that entire week.
But that dread and anxiety he had back in Novi Grad was nothing compared to the panic he was feeling now. The fact that he had absolutely no idea where he was, coupled with how everyone was refusing to answer his questions only made everything worse. He couldn’t imagine sleeping, not when he didn’t know anything .
“No. I don’t want to rest, I’m not tired. Tell me where my sister is, or so help me God I will-”
“Stop. ” Charles raised a hand, and Pietro sank back down onto the bed involuntarily. His body seemed to just… quit whenever the bald man spoke like that. It was infuriating. “Mr. Maximoff, we do not know where your sister is, but I can assure you-”
“What do you mean you ‘don’t know where she is’?” Pietro fired back, attempting to hold his voice steady. “She’s not here? Fuck- where even am I? ”
“We will do anything we can to find your sister, okay? But, for now, you are going to have to calm down. That is the only way we can help you,” Charles said softly, probably in what was supposed to be a calming tone. Infuriatingly, it actually was. “Now. As for where you are - you are in a school. A school for gifted youngsters, more specifically. Do you know how you got here?”
A school. Great. Is this revenge for never going to high school?
Pietro shook his head, careful not to make the lingering migraine worse. “I don’t know how I got here. I’m not supposed to be here, I should be in Sokovia. I… I don’t know how I got here, but I need to get back.”
He wasn’t supposed to be there. And that wasn’t just because he didn’t want to be there - no, it was something else. Everything about… everything was just wrong. There was something off about the entire place - even outside how he had no idea how he got there - but he was lost on a reason why.
“And we will help you get back, but you can’t leave. Not yet.” Charles sighed. “Look. We can help you get home, help you find your sister, but we need to help you first , okay?”
“I’m sure you will. But I need to go. What- What country am I in, if not Sokovia anymore?” Pietro asked, rubbing his eyes. Maybe that damned headache would finally go away.
“America. New York state, to be more exact. You really have no idea how you got here?” Charles still had that ever-frustrating look of confusion, maybe concern, plastered onto his face that made the speedster want to tear his hair out.
“No, I don’t know how I got here. I’ve never even been to America. I don’t want to be in America.” He could feel himself growing more and more agitated. America. “I just want to go home.”
“And we will help you. But first,” Charles motioned at Hank, a gesture that the other seemed to understand perfectly as he took a step forward, “ give him your arm, please. ”
Pietro couldn’t resist that if he wanted to, and for some reason, he didn’t want to. That same persuasive tone filled Charles’s words yet again, and the speedster couldn’t do anything to stop himself from rolling up his sleeve and offering his arm to Hank. He nearly felt trapped inside his own head, watching his body make moves on its own.
Hank seemed unbothered by whatever Charles had done, working with quick, sure movements. Pietro could only slightly flinch when he felt the needle prick the inside of his arm. Other than that, he stayed still, his body almost frozen in place. The feeling of getting his blood drawn wasn’t new - God knew that had happened enough to him - but it was the fact that it was so… involuntary. Whatever Charles had done had momentarily disconnected his brain from the rest of him. He had absolutely no control over his actions.
“There. That wasn’t so bad,” Hank said lightly, balling up a small piece of gauze and taping it where the needle had been. Pietro felt like a child. “All done.”
Pietro let out a breath, flicking his eyes back to Charles. He could finally pull his arm back, hugging his torso. “What the fuck did you do?”
“Nothing, really. Just… a little persuasion, that’s all.” Charles waved his hand in the air, as if brushing the question away. “Why don’t you rest now? We can continue talking after.”
“Persuasion- You mean mind control?” Pietro stiffened at the thought. “You- You can mind control people.”
“Well… I don’t like to call it that,” Charles sighed. “‘Mind control’ has a generally negative connotation, But essentially, yes.”
Mind control. Great. Not only did Pietro not know how he ended up in this place, but the man who was trying to “help” him also turned out to be able to control his every move. Hell - Charles had already been controlling far too much of what the speedster did in the short time that he had been there.
“Well, don’t,” Pietro mumbled, shifting his weight around. His migraine, albeit still there, was beginning to fade, and he was starting to consider making a break for the door. He could outrun everyone there, including the silver-haired mute that stood off to the side. He was sure of it. “Don’t go in my head. Don’t control what I do. Fuck off.”
“Mr. Maximoff, I assure you-”
“Don’t. I don’t care. Just- Just shut up.” The words fell out of his mouth quickly. “Stay out of my head, that’s all I ask.”
Charles sighed. The fact that it was even something Pietro had to request was nauseating. God forbid he didn’t want someone controlling what he did, forcing him to give up information about himself. Even if it was just his name.
“I will. You have my word,” Charles said, nodding. “Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve certainly had a long day.”
Pietro flicked his eyes around the room quickly, something that his head certainly hated. The same sharp pain stabbed at his eyes again, and he winced slightly. He had had headaches because of his powers before, but nothing quite like this.
And it wasn’t just a headache. There was something… off. Something else was wrong, but he could not for the life of him figure out what exactly it was. It was that feeling of being out of place, but for some reason, it was so much more intense. Everything in his body was telling him that he wasn’t supposed to be there.
But he also couldn’t shake the exhaustion that was also quickly catching up to him. Now that he finally had a moment to rest, everything seemed to ache. Even with his stamina, running for that long with that little oxygen had taken its toll.
As much as he hated it, rest sounded like a good option at that moment.
“Just… Just for today,” Pietro said finally. “But I will go back to Sokovia tomorrow.”
Or what’s left of Sokovia.
The blond couldn’t help but notice the look that passed between Charles and Hank, some sort of unspoken understanding happening with a single glance. He hated that, being so out of the loop. But, hell, for all he knew, Charles was talking inside of Hank’s mind. The fact that that was a likely option made Pietro a little nauseous, and not just because Charles could quite literally read minds. What had happened to his home? Why did they only do that after he mentioned Sokovia?
“Very well. Peter will show you to your room, then. You can take a shower, and I will have clothes sent up to your room.” Charles nodded at Peter, and the silver-haired man stepped forward from where he stood. “Peter, there should be an open room on the second floor. I’m sure you’ll be able to find it.”
Peter nodded, throwing a quick thumbs up at Charles before making his way to what Pietro could only assume was the exit of this… lab. He jumped down off the bed he had been seated on, jogging to catch up with Peter. The other man wasn’t too far ahead, but Pietro’s entire body protested the sudden movement. It was going to be a little bit before he would be able to run again.
It was fine. He would be fine.
The pair walked in silence, Peter always slightly in front of Pietro. Something about the other man was ever-so-slightly off, but the blond couldn’t put his finger on it for the life of him. Actually, everything about this place was off . How the hell did he manage to make it to America, anyway? Let alone in a school with a goddamn telepath.
Peter led him through enough turns that Pietro was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to find the lab again if he wanted to. The place was a mansion - literally. Once they left what seemed to be a later add-on, it became clear just how big of a place the school was. Each hall they passed felt longer and longer with more and more doors lining the walls.
They rounded yet another corner at the top of a set of stairs (seriously - how big was this place?) before Peter abruptly came to a stop outside a wooden door. The hallway was completely abandoned, but there were multiple other rooms along the walls. Either the place was completely empty, or there were a lot of students that lived here. Pietro wasn’t sure which one he hated the idea of more.
“Well. Here you are,” Peter said, pushing open the door. He caught it before it could hit the wall. “You’ve got your own bathroom - most of these rooms do - so you can take a shower and shit. Someone’ll bring clothes down for you so that you can change into something less… dirty.”
Pietro followed the other man into the room slowly, darting his eyes around. It was dark, though he realized due to the blackout curtains that covered the huge windows on the opposite wall. He walked over, tugging open the heavy cloth. Light flooded the room, highlighting the dust that now drifted around in the air.
The bed was covered in floral sheets that Pietro was pretty sure he had seen back at the orphanage in Sokovia. Hell, the entire room looked like it was fresh out of the 90s. He would have laughed had he not felt dead on his feet.
Rich people had strange tastes.
“Thank you,” Pietro said distractedly. The room was just a lot to look at. His eyes bounced back to Peter, who was currently staring at him with a confused look covering his face. “...What?”
Peter blinked rapidly, masking his confusion once Pietro spoke. “What? Oh, it’s nothing, man. I’m gonna… leave. See you around.”
Peter backed out of the room quickly, vanishing around the corner before Pietro could even get a word out to say bye. Okay. That was strange, but the speedster quickly shook it off as he went to close the door. A quick peek out into the hallway showed absolutely no one around, but the school was so big that he wasn’t really surprised.
Pietro slid the door shut, exhaling slowly when he heard the soft click from the latch. He leaned his head against the door, keeping his back to the rest of the room as he did his best to process what on earth just happened. He was so beyond exhausted at that point that he could only digest so much at once.
He was in America. The one place he never wanted to visit. America. An American school owned by a British telepath who had a complete disregard for the speedster’s boundaries, aided by a doctor who saw nothing wrong with what the bald man did.
He let out a shuddering breath, willing himself to open his eyes again. Standing around and feeling sorry for himself wasn’t going to help him do anything. He needed rest if he was going to find his sister. He straightened up, running a hand through his hair. Tomorrow. He was going to find his sister tomorrow.
But first, he needed to shower.