In Which the Raft Will Fuck You (or Wanda) Up
For @littlestartopaz, Wanda/Vision, C (“Please, don’t leave”) and G (“I almost lost you”) from this, post CA:CW
Time for pain, children. Blame it on the fact that I found this gloriously accurate post full of thoughts about Wanda’s stint in the Raft. In which Wanda has some trauma from being wrongfully imprisoned by a bunch of dickheads, and doesn’t talk much anymore.
“Wanda,” Steve said quietly, wrapping his hand around hers—he had tried to steer her by an elbow at first, the old habits of the forties coming up under stress, but she had stumbled back so quickly she’d barely missed falling off a curb. “Come on, let’s go.” He gave a tug and she drifted after him, silent. He steered her toward the couch in their newest hideout and she let him push her down until she was sitting down, her hair pulled back into a tidy braid and her hands linked tightly together in her lap. A blanket settled over her shoulders—Sam—and she slowly pulled her legs up to her chest, binding her arms tightly around her knees.
“We’re just going to be in the next room, kid,” Sam said, resting one hand on her shoulder, and waited, as if to give her a space to reply. When she said nothing, he squeezed her shoulder and followed Steve out of the room. Wanda waited until they were gone and reached out with her fingers to catch the blanket and tug the corners over her hands.
