Chapter Text
It’s late when Wanda hears the knock on her door.
She has finished her dinner and is drinking a cup of tea before bed. It isn’t often these days that she allows herself the opportunity to indulge in a quiet night off, but tonight is one such night; she’s tired, curled up on her couch with the cup held in both hands. Moonlight from the large window that opens her apartment to the city filters through, casting the large, open living room with silvery light, and Wanda is content, calm.
The knock brings her back to her senses. She sits up in the couch with a frown, turning in her seat to look toward the door, and for a moment she wonders if she was expecting a guest she’s somehow forgotten about, but no.
Pietro would have let himself in. Any of the Avengers would have called ahead. Putting her cup aside, Wanda gets to her feet, making her way to the apartment door. Normally, she would look through the peephole, but on this occasion, she knows who is at the door a few moments before she reaches it.
“Tommy!”
She’s happy to see him. She always is, but the unexpectedness and late hour of the visit catch her off guard, and she can’t help but worry, wonder if he’s okay. “What’s the matter? Is everything alright?”
Tommy, for his part, looks contrite, although Wanda can’t imagine why. It’s not uncommon for him to drop by unannounced—quite the opposite, in fact—but he has a key. Usually, he lets himself in. It’s odd for him to look so apprehensive at the prospect of being here, like all of a sudden he thinks he might not be welcome.
Tommy is flustered and nervous when he finally responds. “I want to be the next Scarlet Witch,” he blurts out.
Wanda blinks.
There are a lot of things she might have imagined him saying. There are so many reasons he might have shown up at her apartment at such an hour. This, though…it doesn’t come close to any of them. She’s surprised at first, of course, and then…confused, but her response is not unwelcoming; she steps away from the door, holding it open for him.
“You had better come inside, then.”
Tommy’s sitting on the other side of the couch now, holding a mug in one hand and clenching the other into a fist. He hasn’t made eye contact since he arrived.
He feels stupid for coming here. This was a dumb idea—a fact which he was aware of exactly one minute before deciding to come. He did it anyway, though, in a moment of temporary clarity—or temporarily insanity, whatever you want to call it. He knew that if he left it another minute he’d talk himself out of it, and so he didn’t, and now he is regretting it, but there isn’t much he can do about it, which is exactly what one-minute-ago-Tommy intended; it’s not like he can reverse time. Curse you, one-minute-ago-Tommy.
“Are you alright?” Wanda asks, looking at him with nothing but concern over the rim of her teacup. “You look very pale.”
She’s waiting for him to elaborate, but Tommy doesn’t want to. He distracts himself by fiddling with the tassel on one of Wanda’s cushions.
“People always seem to think that. It’s the hair, I reckon,” he says, raising the mug. He planned on taking a small sip of the hot tea, but once he gets it to his mouth, he ends up drinking the whole thing in one go.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
Tommy puts his cup down. “Yeah, forget I said anything. It really doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does.” Wanda extends her hand, touching his wrist. “Tommy, please. I want to understand.”
Tommy shuffles awkwardly, looking anywhere but at her, and he mutters something too quiet and too fast for her to catch.
“You told me you wanted to be the next Scarlet Witch,” Wanda prompts, after a moment has passed.
“I know it’s stupid,” he mumbles.
“What were you hoping I would say?”
“I—don’t know.”
“Alright…well, what were you expecting me to say?”
“I don’t know! That it’s stupid!” Tommy huffs. “Which I already know, by the way. I’m not—I’m not Billy. I’m not you. I don’t have expectations, I just don’t get why I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“How long have you felt this way?”
Tommy falls silent again, now fiddling with the empty mug.
Wanda watches him with patience, a hint of awe written upon her face.
Ever since she found out about Natalya, there was a part of her that was…well, she doesn’t want to say hoping, but a part of her that was wondering deep down if, just as she is not the first Scarlet Witch, perhaps she would not be the last. The mantle has been handed down through her family for generations, a legacy passed from witch to witch, parent to child. Wanda has borne that mantle for her entire adult life—it is her identity, a part of her long before she knew its history.
How could she do anything but wonder if perhaps, one day, one of her children would choose to continue that legacy? Even if they are not really hers, not any more. Even if actually asking such a thing would be overstepping her boundaries.
If she’s honest with herself, though, whenever she entertained such a possibility, it was always Billy who took her place. Billy, the spell caster. Billy, the one everyone was afraid would end up like her. Yet here Tommy is, shuffling his feet in embarrassment, and Wanda can’t help but wonder if she’s sold him short.
“I don’t really know,” he says at last. “It’s—a while—I don’t know. I wasn’t really aware of it, but—” Tommy pauses again, and when he does continue speaking, it’s all in a rush, tripping over himself as he struggles to find the right words. “It feels like it’s been forever, like I’ve always known, but I didn’t really—I guess if I had to pin it down, I’d say when I got back from that alternate dimension I was trapped in, is when I really started thinking about it, um, not-ironically. Now it’s just—it’s all I can think about. I already know how that sounds, you don’t have to—”
“Tommy.” Wanda moves her hand to take his own, shifting a little bit closer so she can hold it between both of hers. “My darling, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m so happy you felt like you could come to me with this.”
Tommy exhales sharply, trying to make himself relax, and tentatively, Wanda puts her arm around his back. He turns into her instinctively, and she can feel his tension.
He wishes he could give a cohesive answer, but it’s not a cohesive thought. It’s confusing and messy and he can’t put it into words, but damn him, he can try. “I don’t know when it started,” he repeats, carefully. “It didn’t feel like a…new thought, when I first had it. It kind of felt…like it was something I already thought on a regular basis. ‘I’m the Scarlet Witch’.” He exhales. “Except I’m not. I don’t have magic powers like Billy’s. I’m just fast.”
Wanda considers this for a moment, her silence prompting Tommy to crane his head back and look at her. “I don’t claim to know everything about magic, Tommy,” she says at last, “but I do know that there are as many forms of it as there are people who use it. My powers are vastly different from your brother’s, just as his are different from Doctor Strange’s, just as we’re all different from Doctor Voodoo, or Magik, or Victor von Doom. I will tell you, though, that in the strictest definition of the word, Billy’s powers are no more or less magic than yours are.”
She meets Tommy’s gaze. “Magic isn’t a superpower, Tommy. It’s a learned skill that takes years of practice to master. Witchcraft involves drawing on the ambient magical energies that exist everywhere in nature and focusing them into our spells. It’s an art and a skill that has been developed and handed down through generations upon generations of witches, most of whom had no intrinsic powers of their own, mutant or otherwise.”
“So…what, anyone can do it? Is that what I’m getting here?” Tommy asks, frowning.
“Of course not,” Wanda tells him. “But those who could, could be anyone.”
“Oh.”
“Even amongst witches, our craft is a personal one,” Wanda explains. “Every witch will experience it differently; the journey is in finding the path that’s right for you, the individual. My powers aren’t born of witchcraft, but learning it has helped me control them, understand them. It can be that way for you as well.”
Tommy is quiet for a moment, and he straightens up, although he doesn’t move away from her.
“I just can’t understand why I feel so…drawn,” he admits. “Like this is the one thing I was always meant to be doing. You know?”
“It was that way for me as well,” Wanda tells him softly. “I suppose it was easier for me. My powers did resemble magic, and I had no reason to think there was ever another person to bear the title, but the moment I knew my powers, I knew I was the Scarlet Witch. Just like it was for my mother, and her father before her.”
At this, Tommy is taken aback. “You weren’t the first?”
Wanda’s face softens. “No, I wasn’t the first. My people, the Roma, travelled extensively; the Scarlet Witch’s history has fallen into myth and folklore, but I’ve been able to trace it back somewhat. It’s been in our family, the Maximoff family, for at least three generations, quite probably more. It’s only fitting that it should come to you now. This is your birthright.”
“I’m not sure I’m the right person for it, Mom,” Tommy mumbles. “Even if my powers were like magic, or I could learn to use it the way you can…I’m not, you know…”
He doesn’t want to say it, but it’s pointless beating around the bush.
“You’re not really my mom,” he says at last. “…Not anymore…and I haven’t lived like you have. I’m not a Maximoff. I’m just some kid from New Jersey.”
Wanda takes his hand again, but she doesn’t respond immediately, contemplating how best to answer.
She is confused, she won’t pretend she’s not. This is not something she could have predicted, and what Tommy said isn’t wrong. She doesn’t know the exact nature of how she came to know she was the Scarlet Witch; she doesn’t even know the exact nature of how Billy and Tommy are related to her, not really.
She does know that this…it isn’t something she wants to question, at least not right now. She still has her doubts about her role in her children’s lives; she still wonders if she has the right to call herself their mother, after all the time she missed, but this is all the evidence she needs that they are hers. “Tommy…the fact that you feel this way now is proof that none of that matters,” she tells him, meeting his eyes. “…You’re my son, in whatever way it is that counts. My family is your family. My legacy is your legacy. If this truly is something that you want then I will do everything in my power to teach you.”
He wrings his fingers nervously. “Yeah?”
“Of course,” Wanda says. In a lighter tone, she adds, “…Don’t misunderstand me, I have no intention of stepping down from this role any time soon, but learning takes time…and if somebody ever were to take my place, having that person be you would be my honour.”
And then Tommy wraps both arms around her, putting his face against her shoulder and holding tightly. Wanda is taken aback, but only for a second before she smiles, wrapping her arms around him too and resting her chin on top of his head, still smiling. He’s a sweet boy, so different around her when they’re alone to when they’re with other people.
They stay like that for a while; Wanda lets her gaze wander out the window again, watching the New York City skyline with a curious expression.
Tommy has her colour. It’s a strange thought—she only ever sees him in green—and it might take some getting used to, but it’s far from an unwelcome one.
“When can we start?” Tommy asks then, letting go and sitting up. Wanda allows her arms to drop, although she leaves her hand on Tommy’s back.
“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Wanda replies grimly, having to stifle a yawn.
“I didn’t mean tonight,” Tommy huffs, making Wanda chuckle. “Just, you know, some point. Not that there’s any rush, I’m sure you’re busy.”
“I’m not doing anything tomorrow?” Wanda says sincerely.
Tommy looks at the ground, pleased. “Yeah…yeah, I’d like that.”
“Then you should get some rest,” Wanda says. “…Have you eaten anything?”
“Um, yeah, I’m—I’m good.” Tommy stretches, picking up their empty cups and disappearing briefly to run them to the kitchen. Despite his words, he pauses once he’s in there, quickly glancing inside the fridge before he can stop himself. Wanda is getting to her feet when he returns, knowing he’ll probably raid her cupboards later in any case.
Tommy stops then. “And, um, Mom? …Thanks.”
He looks down bashfully, drawing a fond smile from Wanda, who briefly kisses the side of his head. “You’re welcome, my darling…and thank you for telling me about this. I promise we’ll talk more about it soon.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Tommy.”
Tommy’s room at Wanda’s place feels more like his own than anything he’s had post-juvie. Even though he only stays here intermittently, it’s nice. There’s a dresser where he stores some of his clothes. There’s a photograph on top of it; a witch and an android grinning at the camera with two laughing toddlers in their arms. There’s a Flash poster on the wall. The floor is a little worn from repeated use by Tommy’s feet, especially near the door, and in the draw next to his bed there are a few random belongings; phone repair tools, some snacks for when he can’t be bothered running to the kitchen, a small fidget cube that helps him focus during difficult periods…
It’s kind of a weird thought, but this is home, somewhere he can make personal without feeling guilty, and so different from the bleak walls of the Bishop Publishing warehouse, or the homeless shelters he used to jump between before his brief stint with the Kaplans. Even then, there was an underlying feeling of imposition as much as he knew he was probably projecting.
Tommy flops down onto the bed, arms and legs splayed out over each side, and stares through the darkness at the ceiling.
I’m the Scarlet Witch.
It’s a stupid thought. He knows that, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel that way. It feels natural. Just like this room, it feels like home.
And it’s always…present tense, whenever he thinks it. He can’t even remember when it started, but by now, it’s reaching the point of obsession. He can barely focus on anything else.
Taking the cube out of its draw, he randomly clicks the buttons for a few minutes and starts twisting the dial with his other hand.
He’s glad he talked to Wanda. Half-an-hour-ago-Tommy knew what he was doing when he brought them here, but even so, he can’t let go of the feeling that she’s unhappy with him…somehow.
Still, she has a way of helping him get his thoughts in order. Speaking with her always makes him feel better, and it’s never frustrating the way it is with most people. What she said about the Scarlet Witch’s history…that’s surprising. It’s never even occurred to him that Wanda may not have been the first.
And she just…knew? The same way he does? Well, in her case it probably didn’t feel like she was stepping on anyone’s toes. Tommy certainly can’t imagine her doubting her own worthiness. As far as he’s concerned, she is the single most worthy person in the world; brave and insightful and intelligent and kind, able to do no wrong.
He has no idea what he’s getting himself into, he’ll be the first to admit it, but he feels more sure of himself than he has in a long time. This is something that he needs to do. More than that, it’s something that he wants to do. Not just for Wanda, but for himself.
Damn him if he doesn’t feel exhausted, though. Tossing the cube across the room somewhere, Tommy rolls over, awkwardly kicking down the blanket and pulling it up to his shoulders.
Wanda is leaning against her kitchen bench, phone to her ear, when Tommy comes to greet her the following morning.
His white hair is damp from him just being in the shower, and he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a large red hoodie. He opens his mouth to speak, quickly stopping himself once he notices the phone, but Wanda shakes her head and turns it off, receiving no answer. “Good morning, Tommy,” she says. “How did you sleep?”
Tommy blinks at the question. He’s not really—he’s still not used to being asked that. “Good—yeah, just—really good, I think. How, how did you sleep?”
“Fine. Thank you. Do you want some coffee?” she asks; Tommy responds by getting out a cup.
“Who’re you trying to call?” he asks, picking up the coffee pot and pouring some for himself.
Wanda pulls a face. Honestly, if Agatha really is living it up at nudist beaches it’s probably for the best that she can’t reach her. She does deserve some time off, although Wanda has come to appreciate her counsel on issues such as these. “My former mentor, Agatha Harkness,” she explains, picking her own cup off the counter and taking a long sip. “I met her not long after joining the Avengers. I had already been calling myself the Scarlet Witch for some time, but she sensed my desire to learn proper witchcraft and took it upon herself to train me. She’s an incredibly experienced witch…and a very dear friend. She taught me everything I know about magic.”
“So she’s your Yoda?”
“No, she’s—alright, she’s my Yoda. I ought to tell her you said that,” Wanda says wryly. “…She has unique insight into matters of witchcraft, but she’s spending some time for herself at the moment. She’s just come back from the dead, you see.”
“Oh, yeah, I know how that is,” Tommy says, waving his hand. “Happens to the best of us. How’d she die?”
Wanda cringes at the memory. “I killed her,” she says, deadpan. “When I regained the memories she suppressed of you and Billy.”
The mouthful of coffee Tommy just sipped spills ungracefully back into his cup. “Oh. That sucks.”
Neither of them speaks for another few moments.
“Listen,” Wanda says at last, looking at him seriously, “…I don’t want to say I was too hasty in giving you an answer last night, but before you entertain this notion any further, you have to understand that all magic comes at a cost. The Scarlet Witch is and will always be a part of me. It has brought me…unimaginable joy…” She looks at him while she says it. “…but it has brought so much suffering, too, to myself and to the people around me.”
Destroying the Avengers, rewriting the world, the mutant decimation…that was all her, she knows it was; she can’t blame her magic or her title, but those events are forever going to be connected to it. Those are her burdens to bear, and no matter how much time passes, they will never truly disappear; in a way, she doesn’t want to see her children associated with her, and the things that the Scarlet Witch represents.
More than that, though…it was not so long ago that she was feeling her life force whittle away from her own excessive use of magic. The thought of such a thing happening to either of her sons…
That was an unusual circumstance, though. That sacrifice was necessary to save her Goddess, but it will not be so for Tommy.
Tommy stiffened when it sounded like Wanda was about to go back on her promise to teach him, but at this, he relaxes. “I don’t care,” he says, and then quickly adds, “I mean, I care about what happened to you, obviously, but I’ve already made up my mind. I want to do this.” He hesitates then, only for a moment—one so short that he doubts any but another speedster would have even noticed. “I want to be like you.”
Wanda is touched.
“That cannot be your only reason,” she tells him then, her tone soft but serious. “Tommy, my name carries certain connotations. We witches are hated and feared by many who do not understand us. This is a role I gladly accept, but if you take it on without understanding that, it will bring you nothing but loneliness, and frankly, I doubt I’ll be able to bear it.”
Tommy puts his coffee down. “Mom, I’m already hated and feared by people that don’t understand me,” he says, his voice rising in pitch just a little. “And a few that do, probably.” He pauses again. “You’re not my only reason. I think I’d feel this way even if I’d never met you, and knowing me I’d have probably screwed it up royally by now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ve always loved being Speed.” There’s a fondness to his voice as he says the name. When he continues, his face is alight and animated. “I still do. It’s me, but it just doesn’t feel like enough anymore, you know? Like there’s a bit of me that’s always been there that I’ve been pretending hasn’t been. I think I’ve finally found that part, and it’s not making explosions or running really fast. I don’t really get what it is yet, but I want to learn. I want you to teach me so I can know.”
If he felt a little embarrassed when he was saying it, that feeling disappears when he registers the look on Wanda’s face. She clasps her hands together, and the look is hard to read, perhaps a little apprehensive, but there is no room to interpret it as unhappy. “Then perhaps we should get started.”
Wanda asks him to watch while she makes a circle on the floor, sprinkling salt to define its boundaries and placing an unlit candle at each of the cardinal points. Tommy, for his part, feels kind of useless while she does so, occasionally piping in with a random question as she gets set up, placing small stones in between the candles.
“Do you always need the circle?”
“No, not always, but it will help your focus.”
“Okay. Should I be asking stuff or am I disrupting the energy flow or something?”
“Of course you can ask questions, Tommy. We haven’t started yet.”
“Right, okay. And what are we actually gonna do?”
Wanda carefully takes his hand, and the two of them sit cross-legged inside the circle, facing one another with their knees touching. “Just a simple calming spell,” she tells him.
“Oh. I thought we’d be starting with demon-summoning,” Tommy says, glancing down at the circle while Wanda closes it with salt.
“I’m afraid demon-summoning is a Day Two spell,” Wanda replies, her voice quieter than before, softer. “We’ll work up to it.”
“Good to know.” Tommy smiles to himself, feeling the instinctive urge to lower his voice as well. “…If it’s just a calming spell, how can I tell if it’s worked?”
“I think you’ll know.”
Tommy trusts her judgement, but…to be honest, he doesn’t feel all that different now, and he has no idea how to proceed. “Do I need, you know, a chant?”
“If you like,” Wanda says. “I don’t use them much in my own spells, but you might find one helpful. There are no rules here. Magic is everywhere in nature, in all things; all you have to do is draw it out. Let your body become a conduit…how you get there isn’t nearly as important as where you finish.”
“Well that’s frustratingly vague.” Tommy exhales, realising as he does so that he was holding his breath. “Okay, I guess I’m ready.”
“Very good.”
Wanda extends her hands, taking his and linking their fingers together delicately. Tommy is dimly aware of the four candles suddenly flickering to life, but for the life of him, he cannot break Wanda’s gaze. “Don’t be afraid of failure,” she says. “I will guide you along, but don’t force it. You’re very safe here, just…focus yourself on what you’d like to do. Calm your breathing, try and empty your thoughts. I know it might be hard to do with your powers…”
“…Honestly…” Tommy murmurs, eyes closed, “…I can barely notice them.”
He realises as he says it that it’s true.
There are days when every moment of his life feels like an agonising challenge in patience. A minute feels like an hour. Waiting for toast to pop is an anguishing experience. Waiting for someone to finish speaking? Sometimes, it’s hard not to just grab them and start shaking. Right now, though…he feels at peace, like he’s suddenly back in sync with the rest of the world. It’s not like it was at juvie, either, where his powers were suppressed with drugs or tech and time still felt like it was moving fast but he could no longer keep up with it. No, this is…it’s almost like how he remembers feeling before his powers appeared. Totally normal…a breath of fresh air…
Tommy exhales softly, and where his skin is touching Wanda’s, it feels warm, electrified. He doesn’t know what he was expecting…maybe to feel a little relaxed, sure, maybe akin to meditation, but certainly not supernatural. This is more, though. He can’t describe it, but there’s something dare he say magickal, something in the way the candles flicker within the circle, something deep inside himself. He can’t describe it, but it’s tangible, and it’s real.
The room is quiet. Tommy can hear Wanda’s breathing and his own. He tries to think about what she said. Let your body become a conduit. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Focus on what you’d like to do. Well that, at least, he thinks he can probably do.
I’m calm. I’m at peace. I’m okay.
There’s a very real chance that Tommy is saying the words out loud, but he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. It’s just him.
He can feel the electrifying sensation everywhere in his body now; it’s an odd mix of soothing and rejuvenating, like he could go to sleep but also like he has the focus to write an essay or run a marathon or read a book without getting distracted.
I’m calm. I’m okay.
He definitely feels calmer now, but maybe it’s not him. Maybe this is Wanda’s doing, the spell she’s doing to help him along. Letting his breathing continue, Tommy carefully let’s go of her hands, distancing their connection, and as he does so he realises that he’s smiling. There might even be laughter. No…this is all him. Is that what Wanda meant when she said he’d know? It almost doesn’t feel like calm. It feels like euphoria.
But then, for somebody like him, it’s surprisingly hard to tell the difference.
And just like that, Tommy breaks himself from his trance.
“…demon-summoning is a Day Two spell,” Wanda is saying.
Grinning boyishly, Tommy seizes her hands again, causing her to drop the salt packet she was holding. “Mom, it worked, I did it,” he gushes, before he even has a chance to process what she said.
Wanda starts, surprised. “What worked?”
“The calming spell! I mean, I think it worked. I don’t have much frame of reference but—I feel really good—don’t you?”
“Tommy, we haven’t started the spell yet.”
Tommy stills, looking at the circle again.
None of the candles are lit, and their wicks are still shiny and smooth, like they’ve never been lit. His calm euphoria briefly turning to disbelief, Tommy picks up the closest one, inspecting it as though this is some kind of elaborate prank.
“Huh.”
Regaining her composure, Wanda looks at him with unveiled interest. “What happened? What did you see?”
Tommy puts down the candle and picks up the next one. “I don’t understand, we just did this. The candles were lit, you were talking about, like, becoming a conduit or something…” Right now, the effects of the spell are still strong enough that his composure doesn’t give way to frustration, but he’s definitely confused, and it annoys him.
“That’s what I was planning to tell you,” Wanda says then, carefully taking the candle from him and setting it back in place. “I believe you, Tommy. What else do you remember?”
“Just…we started, I was getting really relaxed. You were there…um, you said I’d know when it had worked, and I thought it did, so I tried to tell you.”
Wanda considers his words carefully. “How much time would you say passed?”
Tommy doesn’t know. His perception of time isn’t exactly the best thing to go on in matters like these. “Maybe…a few minutes?” He hesitates. “What just happened?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea.” Wanda is thoughtful, and she looks down at the circle as well, as though it somehow holds the answer. “You say the spell worked?”
There’s a kind of dreamy look on Tommy’s face when he replies. “Mom, I’m—”
He cuts himself off. His powers coupled with the ADHD don’t exactly make for a relaxing experience, a lot of the time, but right now he just feels…peaceful. Calm inside his own mind. Yes, he thinks the spell worked. “—I feel amazing,” he finishes sincerely.
Wanda’s gaze softens. She was hoping as much. It’s not often that she sees Tommy so at ease; it makes her happy. “Then I suppose there’s no need for us to continue here,” she says, gathering up the candles and the stones. Tommy goes to fetch the dustpan, and Wanda watches him go with a loving expression. He doesn’t zip off this time, just goes at the pace of a normal person.
She is confused, of course. They both are, but whatever just happened will have to wait a while. When Tommy comes back to sweep up the salt, Wanda reaches out to touch his wrist.
He looks up, and their eyes meet. She gives him a small smile, and he returns it; no words are necessary.
Whatever else happened, Tommy just completed his first spell. It’s a start.