Love you, too. [ he says - he has to, muttered as it is. the ghost of aunt may — how he remembers her, how he will always remember her — says things she's always said. we all make choices, she answers, in a tone that makes sense of the world, in a way that makes things better even when there's no fixing them and he knows the reason she didn't run: because he wouldn't have either and he is nothing if not her son in all the ways that make it so. thumbs passing along his cheeks, haunted comfort.
in the end, it is a contrast. it feels real and his mind supplies that it isn’t. not her hands fixing his hair, the creases in his clothes, or the kisses on his head or how she pulls him into a hug and his arms loop around her and hold on tight.
and then the spell breaks.
he feels it do so — feels the reality snap back like a rubber band and it leaves him feeling exhausted and he still holds on, cheek pressed into auburn hair instead of brunette. a part of him expected her to fade to ash and dust.
he ought to be embarrassed by how readily he clings, but he feels as though his thoughts had been pulled taut and flipped through, worn thin as he is. is there anything left to be ashamed about?
a part of him still rings out from their shared pain - all those emotions interwoven and she feels less a stranger. ] — Wanda,
[ he pulls back first, straightens up to look at her with red-rimmed eyes, briefly downcast; the look of someone who inadvertently feels as though he’s overshared something terrible and personal, even when it had slipped from his control before he could ever stop it. ] What happened?
[ all he can think to ask. it isn’t a demand, exactly. wonder? he’s so tired. but he needs to understand. what happened couldn’t have been on…purpose, could it? he tracks back to the suburban house, to the twins and the screaming howl of a scarlet whirlwind. ] Are you okay?
no subject
in the end, it is a contrast. it feels real and his mind supplies that it isn’t. not her hands fixing his hair, the creases in his clothes, or the kisses on his head or how she pulls him into a hug and his arms loop around her and hold on tight.
and then the spell breaks.
he feels it do so — feels the reality snap back like a rubber band and it leaves him feeling exhausted and he still holds on, cheek pressed into auburn hair instead of brunette. a part of him expected her to fade to ash and dust.
he ought to be embarrassed by how readily he clings, but he feels as though his thoughts had been pulled taut and flipped through, worn thin as he is. is there anything left to be ashamed about?
a part of him still rings out from their shared pain - all those emotions interwoven and she feels less a stranger. ] — Wanda,
[ he pulls back first, straightens up to look at her with red-rimmed eyes, briefly downcast; the look of someone who inadvertently feels as though he’s overshared something terrible and personal, even when it had slipped from his control before he could ever stop it. ] What happened?
[ all he can think to ask. it isn’t a demand, exactly. wonder? he’s so tired. but he needs to understand. what happened couldn’t have been on…purpose, could it? he tracks back to the suburban house, to the twins and the screaming howl of a scarlet whirlwind. ] Are you okay?