Face the Future - ComicPrincessGalaxyGirl (2024)

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

Chapter Text

There wasn’t anywhere left to run, nowhere left to hide, and Peter was tired.

Manhattan was in shambles, a red haze cast over the sky as dark clouds accumulated, flashes of lightning bashing down onto the ground. The city was destroyed, turned into a desolate wasteland, each shining building now only a carcass to its former glory as demons and monsters ran through, destroying and killing any and all in their paths. It made Peter sick.

It had been two years since Doctor Strange erased Peter’s existence from everyone’s memories, two years of him struggling to continue his life, to try and forget about all the friends and family he left behind because of his own careless mistakes. It was a trying time for Peter, a time where he tried to better himself, tried to keep going for Mr. Stark’s sake as that’s what he knew he would have wanted Peter to do.

Peter just never thought that this was where it would lead to.

Another demon spotted him from where he crouched in an alley, screeching as it charged towards him, all warped and twisted, gnarled at every limb. It had no eyes, only hollow sockets and a gaping mouth that bore sharp, spindle teeth, a black goo dripping down its mouth.

“sh*t…”

Peter ran.

The demon chased after as Peter swung through the rubbled streets, its screeching echoing and bursting through the debris as it followed him. This was the hundredth something demon Peter had the pleasure of taking on that day, and he was getting annoyed. These things were a struggle to kill, the majority of their defeat coming about from being crushed by falling debris, impalement, or the severing of its head. Peter hated all of it, he’d never really liked such bloody, gory, violence, but if he was to survive this demonic wasteland he had to get over it.

Peter circled around a corner, the demon bursting through the weak building with ease, its horn spearing through anything in its path, locked onto his scent.

“sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!!!!”

Peter didn’t know who was left, didn’t know who else had been taken or swarmed or worse, eaten—he was all on his own. The New and Young Avengers had been called in to deal with the problem, had united despite their differences to take on the demonic army: Captain America, Doctor Strange, Captain Marvel, Thor, Hulk and She-Hulk, Hawkeye, America Chavez, Yelena Belova, the Winter Soldier, Ms. Marvel, and Ant-Man and the Wasp. But each one, one by one, had been defeated—had been killed—by the demons. The last Peter had seen, America and Yelena were leading off a small swarm, Thor was battling to the gate with Captain Marvel, and Doctor Strange was taking on a large demonic Titan-esque creature. Where the others had disappeared to, Peter didn’t know, and he honestly didn’t want to find out. It was terrifying, somehow spookier then the army Thanos had brought to Earth years ago.

Peter spun around another corner, shooting out a string of webs to trip the demon. Only, his timing was slightly off, so as the demon came forward, it stretched its body far enough to snatch its jaws around Peter’s shoulder, digging its fangs through his suit until he felt his muscles pinch.

Peter cried out in pain, tumbling to the ground as the demon latched itself onto his arm, trying to rip his shoulder out of its socket.

“Get off! Get off! Get off!” Peter beat furiously at the demon’s head, the burn of its saliva feeling like sludge against his blood. The demon wouldn’t relent, only driving its fangs further into his flesh as he squirmed around on the ground.

Peter beat at it vigorously, wrestling the thing until he choked it, its mouth relenting open long enough for Peter to wrestle it back onto the ground. It thrashed, its talons clawing up onto his arm as Peter tried to press down on its limbs just like Yelena had taught him, but the thing wouldn’t relent.

The demon squirmed, getting ready to open its mouth to unleash a call to its brethren, when right as its vocals started to hum, an arrow shot through its head, impaling it through the eye and to the ground.

Peter gasped and jumped back just in time so that only some of its guts splattered onto his clothed legs and not his face, his mask long since lost. Peter was gasping, teetering back so that he was almost lying on the ground as he co*cked his head to see his savior—or, saviors,really.

Just across from where Peter had found himself nestled against a bodega stood Clint, and behind him resting against the wall, Yelena. Clint slid his bow back against his side and moved to help Yelena stand, the Widow leaning her weight onto the archer as they hobbled across the road, Peter now seeing a dark spot appearing against Yelena’s hip. They looked beat going on the amount of dirt, sweat, blood, and other such fluids completely covering their tactical gear and hair.

“I thought I taught you better than that,” Yelena scolded as they neared, and Clint offered him a hand.

“That thing was trying to rip out my arm. I wasn’t exactly focused on my form.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Every opportunity is a time for practice. If you don’t practice, you’ll end up old and feeble like him,” she said, jerking her thumb at Clint.

“Hey! Who’s the old and feeble one here? Did I get stabbed in the side? Or am I still walking around all fine and dandy with only a couple pinched muscles?”

“I mean it in good faith. Where’s your sense of humor?”

“It left for vacation the moment that first demon-bat tackled me off a roof.”

Yelena made to snark back, but a screech echoed through the area. The trio froze, waiting, turning their attention up to the red cyclone swirling over the old Avengers Tower. New York really was the unluckiest city in the world. Why was the East Coast such a villain hotspot?

“Come on,” Clint nudged at Peter’s shoulder, immediately seeing Peter’s flinch of pain as lightning shot up his arm. “Sorry. But come on, I’ll fix you up inside.” Peter nodded meekly and followed him and Yelena in.

The bodega was a mess: the lights flickered in and out, some hanging out from the ceiling, shelves were thrown about in the front with snacks scattered about while the back of the store appeared to be intact, if not slightly ransacked. Peter sighed, settling down against a wall, farthest from the windows to look out and nestled perfectly behind the counter. Clint helped Yelena hobble over, the assassin reaching for Peter to help her down while the archer wandered off for presumably medical aid and hopefully water.

“So, you got stabbed in the side?” Peter slightly smirked. Yelena gave him a death glare.

“Don’t even start with me, Parker.” Peter shook his head, pressing firm against his shoulder, Yelena to her side, as they sat in comfortable silence.

Peter could hear Clint shuffling around and cursing from where he’d gone looking, exasperated by the lack of restraint people had for shoplifting despite most people having been kidnapped by the demon creatures. It was almost a miracle there weren’t any bodies littered around the bodega, the only signs of some struggle being the slight spots of blood staining the walls and ceiling. Peter tried to count how many smears he could find.

“Alright, here we go,” Clint wandered back, ducking behind the counter to crouch in front of the pair. He handed them over some small bottled waters with dried blood smeared across, the pair gladly taking the refreshments. Clint then held up an assortment of snacks and before Peter could decide, Yelena had already snatched the Takis.

“Now,” Clint held up the first aid kit with a grin on his face, “who wants to go first?”

“Him,” Yelena nodded his head at Peter as she snacked. “I can stitch myself when I’m done. He’s squirmy and will start lying about the pain.”

“No I won’t!” Yelena just hummed. She wasn't wrong.

“Right, kid. Roll the sleeve down.” Clint settled onto the ground, wedging himself between Peter and Yelena, the assassin not pleased with having to move herself, as he got a look at Peter’s shoulder.

“What sleeve?” Peter snarked, but bit back a groan as he rolled down the remaining fabric as it stuck to his skin.

Clint hissed through his teeth, eyeing Peter's sweaty and pale state, then pulled off his belt, holding it up to Peter’s lips. Peter raised a brow, but Clint just sighed and said, “Trust me. Now bite down.”

Peter complied, taking the grimy leather in his mouth and grimacing at the slight bite of foreign iron embedded in it, but decided to ignore it.

“Deep breath in, and deep breath out now, Pete,” Clint guided. He grabbed some cloth and rubbing alcohol, dousing the fabric in it and placed a ton of bandages by his side. Peter settled his breathing, though he couldn’t help the slight tremor that ran through him as he braced for the sting. Of course, nothing could hurt as much as a demon’s bite, but the sting of antiseptic was its own special type of pain.

Peter hissed and violently hit his head on the back of the wall, a small dent forming as he bit down on the belt. He could almost feel his teeth through the thickness of the strap. Tears welled to his eyes as Clint tried to shoosh and soothe him, replacing the sting of the antiseptic with a cool wet washcloth and began wiping away the last of the blood.

“You did great,” Clint smiled as he helped ease the belt from Peter’s mouth, the leather warped beyond reason. “Looks like you’re already starting to heal which is good. Still gonna need a couple stitches though.”

Peter was almost afraid to look, but he turned his head anyway. He nearly threw up at the site of his torn shoulder as it looked like his arm was going to fall off and out of the socket with the right jostle. Peter swore he could see bone. “Do what you gotta do.”

None of them had any desire to go back out there, not anytime soon at the least, which was probably why Clint took his time with sewing Peter up and Yelena with her long snack break, starting on a second bag of chips (this time Doritos).

“What? I didn’t have breakfast this morning.” She sniffed one of the chips, grimacing, but bit into it anyways. “I didn’t have time with the whole Wicked of the Witch of the West shindig, you know?”

Clint sighed, collapsing back against the wall and snacking on his own water and chips. “Please, don’t call her that.”

“Why not? Is she not a witch? Did she not send her horde of demonic-flying monkeys down on us?”

“Yelena…”

“No, don’t ‘Yelena’ me, Barton.” She crossed her legs with a huff. “Don’t beat around the bush. Wanda is a witch. Which is a sentence I never thought I’d ever say.”

“Which part?” Peter asked. “That Wanda’s a witch or admitting that witches exist?”

“The second one. I know gods exist, but I feel like witches were a stretch.”

“Loki was a witch.”

“He doesn’t count.”

“Would you two just… please—!” Clint stood, shuffling to pace around. Yelena frowned.

“I get it, okay? I get it, she’s a scary, nasty witch. Her humanity is gone, she’s no longer the same girl she was when she first joined.” Clint banged his head against the wall and grunted. “But I don’t need to hear you dragging Wanda through the mud like that.”

Yelena slumped, pouting as she went back to her chips. Peter forgot sometimes that Clint had known Wanda the longest, had been the one to recruit her to the team in the first place. The destruction of Sokovia was still remembered to this day, and Peter could vaguely recall one time Mr. Stark talking about how Clint would fly Wanda back to her home to grieve with the rest of her people. It was nice—kind, even—how Clint saw Wanda as a sister of sorts. It was less nice that he now had to fight against someone he once cared for.

“Sorry,” Peter said.

Clint sighed and took a seat back down on the ground across from the pair. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. Whatever.”

It was times like these that Peter wished he’d been on the team longer, that he hadn’t erased himself from the universe. Maybe then he’d be able to know what Clint was thinking, would know what to say and help him. Then again, the only person who really seemed to get through to the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was Yelena, and that was most likely because of her ties to Natasha.

Peter sighed, thumping his head back against the wall and took another sip of water. “So what now?”

“Yes, what now indeed.”

Peter screeched, Clint knocked an arrow into his bow, and Yelena looked as if she’d just had a mini heart attack, quickly reaching for her gun and hissing at the pull to her side.

“Did you not stitch your side?”

“No, I was hungry. Very sorry,” she bit back at Clint.

The voice cleared his throat again and the group focused back on the attention of one Doctor Stephen Strange standing before them, ragged and tired, with America Chavez tucked under his arm, the girl looking battle worn, her eyes glazed over as she shakily held onto Strange’s waist like a lifeline.

“Oh thank God,” Clint relaxed, letting his bow drop. “You’re not dead.”

Strange grimaced. “Barely. Those demons are no joke, and there’s only so many I can take on before even my magic reaches its limits. Which, for the record, I didn’t think was possible.”

“It shouldn’t be,” America muttered. Strange helped lower her to the ground, the girl almost unwilling to let go of his hand until Peter wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and she snuggled into his side.

“Yes, I agree. But the Scarlet Witch’s power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme. And, if you hadn’t already guessed, I’ve only recently come into that title.” Strange choked back a slight sob, stiffening in his stance as America let a tear fall down her cheek. Peter gulped and gently began to run his hand up and down America’s arm in what he hoped to be a soothing manner.

“But back to your original question,” Strange quickly composed himself as he sank to the ground and America shuffled from Peter’s side back over to Strange who took her into his arms without fuss. “What do we do now?”

“Is there anything we can do?” Yelena asked.

“Not on our own we can’t.” They all frowned as America began to weep. Strange sighed. “The others are down. Officially. I saw Thor and Danvers get chopped down myself by Wanda’s hand.” He shuddered, a distant looking befalling him. “It was the most inhuman thing I’ve ever seen her do.”

Peter couldn't even imagine.

It was only mere hours ago that the Avengers had thought Wanda dead for the last two years. Of course, Peter had known the truth, albeit he hadn't thought at the time it had been a secret that she was still alive.

Ever since she tried to kidnap America to take her power and go to another universe, Wanda had been unhinged. Strange had called it luck that Wanda’s sympathy had won in the end and she’d let him, Wong, and America go and had closed the Darkhold in every universe, then destroyed Mount Wundagore and, presumably, herself along with it. But apparently that had all been a front.

Peter had started off his day by visiting his aunt’s grave, a ritual he tried to endure once a month. It was one of the few coping mechanisms he’d developed while trying to deal with his pain, and one he'd since adopted upon returning to the team and the city. The world still didn’t remember him, Strange unwilling to undo the spell in fear of repercussions after Peter had been found by Sam during an underground sting operation in Queens and brought him back to the new Avengers Compound—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t form new memories. It had been surprisingly easy to convince everyone that they had known him, helpful that Strange had taken partial blame for the dilemma, and he had been adopted by the Avengers quickly. Pepper had been the biggest help, hearing the stories Peter told of Tony and believing without a doubt that Peter had been an important part of her late husband’s life and legacy. Peter had blushed furiously at that.

Though, Peter presumed, those fluffy memories were thrown out the window upon the incident and premise to the situation at hand. Barely even thinking of it made Peter's guilt unfurl, twisting in his gut as he tried to ignore the nausea and the pain that he'd caused with his actions, simply thankful for the second (third?) chance he'd been given and for America's forgiveness.

No, no, he scolded himself. It was not the time to dwell on the past.

It should’ve been a normal morning. Like he did on the first of every month, Peter would walk through Queens, this morning taking in the coming autumn weather. He’d stroll through his old neighborhood, reminiscing about his old life, until he eventually came to the cemetery. Peter would wander through the rows of people, eyes downcast as he meticulously counted his steps until he reached the grave of May Parker. Peter always brought flowers, this time marigolds, and sat them down under her name before beginning to talk to her. About his life, about his day, about his fears, it didn't matter so long as he simply talked to her as if she was still standing by his side.

Only, when Peter moved to place the flowers on the ground, a harsh wind swept through followed by the rumble of thunder. Peter felt his spidey-sense tingle and spun around to see a dark red cloud forming above the former Avengers Tower, spinning out of control. It was only moments later when the monsters fell down to torment them all, and he was off to be a hero once more.

Peter shuddered.

“So then there’s no hope,” Yelena concluded. Peter couldn’t help but silently agree. Wanda had been powerful before, but this? The darkness that had befallen her now was unmatched. It was twisted and warped, as if all of the worst parts of her soul were laid bare before the world.

Peter had yet to see her, hadn’t gotten close enough to the Tower. She was poised at the top in the center of the storm, a single black shadow as she watched the carnage befall the city.

Peter, he’d heard her whisper in his head. Come back to me, Peter.

Peter had shook his head and turned around, swinging off into the distance until he hoped that he was far enough away that she couldn’t reach. He never wanted to hear her voice in his head ever again...

“Not necessarily.” Peter blinked, shocked, as Strange gave a wary look to them all.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “You just said that not even the Sorcerer Supreme—who you are—could defeat her.”

Strange huffed. “I’m aware. I know what I said. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

Peter and Yelena narrowed their eyes as Clint moved back between the pair to work on Yelena who was fairly displeased, but one look from the archer had her relenting and she began to undo her gear to free her injured side.

“Go on,” Clint insisted as he began to clean Yelena’s stab wound.

For once, Strange did not have the energy to look annoyed by the blatant disrespect. He simply hugged America closer to his body, gently rubbing at her sides and brushing his shaking hands through her hair. “Wanda doesn’t appear to be wanting to create a new hex. Currently, I have no idea what her plan is, only that she appears to be using demons to ravage the Earth. The chaos has already started to crawl over the ocean as we speak.” Peter rubbed his eyes, a headache coming in. Just perfect. “Her powers are growing beyond the point of our known assumptions of her on our end, which means that she’s found a teacher.”

“Could she not be a puppet?” Yelena asked and then hissed, swatting at Clint as he began to stitch her up. Strange actually looked fed up with the antics and waved his hands, golden-orange markings traveling over Yelena’s side and Peter’s shoulder, instantly stitching their skin back together. Yelena stared in shock, patting her side fervently as Peter gasped in sweet, sweet relief.

“Hey!” Clint gawked, but Strange just shrugged.

“Fast healing spell. You’re welcome.” Clint frowned, but made to make himself comfortable once more and reached for a packet of cashews on the ground by his feet. “Can I get back to what I was saying now?”

“Only if you get to the point.”

Strange rolled his eyes, but Peter still snickered under his breath. “No, Yelena, she’s not being puppeted. Wanda’s power is too great to be manipulated and controlled, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be influenced. Hence, the demon portal to a Hell dimension. Probably Chthon’s doing.”

“Cuh-what?” Peter furrowed his brows.

“Chthon. He was the creator of the Darkhold, the demon that originally prophesied the rise of the Scarlet Witch. He is the only master Wanda would ever let near her power, so I have no reason not to believe that when she destroyed Wundagore, Chthon stole her away for his own purposes.” Strange sighed and shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. “I still can’t believe that this is my life at times.”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around right now,” Peter grit.

“I’m sorry, but can we please speed this up?” Yelena cut in. “For once I’m going to agree with Clint. There’s too much blame being passed around for my taste. ‘I should’ve done this’ ‘I should’ve done that’. Ugh. You are all very annoying with these feelings.”

Peter gave a tight smile. He could always rely on Yelena to be the ice queen. She had a heart deep down in her, but her battle face always pushed it to the bottom to make room for the crafted and masked Widow underneath.

“Like I said,” Strange obliged, “we may not be able to defeat her ourselves, but that doesn’t mean she’s invincible. The only person strong enough to defeat Wanda is Wanda herself.”

Peter frowned in thought, trying to go over the possibilities of what Strange could possibly mean—

“No,” Strange cut through the fog, giving a pointed look at Peter. “I know what you’re thinking, and no. We will not be bringing another Scarlet Witch from another dimension to ours. I have no desire to cause an incursion. But what I can do is trap Wanda in a prison of her own making.”

Now that did sound promising to Peter, but then again his brain also thought a sandwich of just condiments and cheese would taste really good right now... He may have a concussion.

“If we time it right, I should be able to create a pocket dimension to keep her. Wanda will no doubetdly try to lash out, which, to an extent, is what we’d want to have happen. The formation of the spell will latch onto Wanda’s energy signature and draw her in, keeping her contained within a prison of her own magic.”

“And magic can’t simply die,” Peter realized. Strange nodded.

“Exactly. But we only have one chance for this to work.”

“What, why?” Clint asked, Yelena forming a similar question on her face.

Strange gulped, a slight flicker of uncertainty—of fear—spreading across his face as he tried to form the words, but it was America who spoke.

“Because I have to be the one who forms the dimension.” They all looked to her, Strange releasing his grip on her just enough for her to sit up. Clint passed her some water and a few granola bars, the girl smiling in thanks and began to nibble.

“You can’t just create another dimension,” she explained as she chewed. “A dimension has to pre-exist, it can’t be formed at random. In doing so you’d risk the balance of every active dimension and reality. There’s an infinite possibility of worlds, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an order about them. So, in order to put Wanda into her own dimension, I have to create it from scratch as an extension of our own. Like Stephen said,” she looked to him fondly, “it’ll be a little pocket dimension, a bubble that’s attached to our own that only I’d have the key to. But, in order for that to happen—that amount of sheer power…” she sighed, rubbing at her nose as Strange brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For me to use that kind of power, a power I’m not even sure I can wield, it would- it would mean that…”

“It could cost you your life…” Everyone’s eyes flickered to Yelena, a sadness drawn about her.

“Mer?” Peter questioned. This could not be what Yelena meant, this could not be what his friend was trying to say. America was the most optimistic of them all, the one who wanted to try every possibility before violence and death. And now she was suggesting that... She was trying to say that—

His friend gave him a sad, pleading look. “Is she right? Could this kill you?”

America steadied her breath. “Yes.”

Clint swore.

“Then no, we are not going to do that.” Peter reached out, ignoring the ache in his limbs to grab at America’s hand. “There is no way you are going to sacrifice yourself for this. There- there has to be another way! Right? There’s always another way.”

“Not this time,” Strange said with a saddened look. “I’ve run through all the variables, all the possibilities, and I cannot think of a single way that any of this could survive what’s to come.”

“Do we even know what that is?” Peter tried. “I mean it’s like you said. Wanda hasn’t created any new hexes. We don’t even know what her goal is!”

“And are you willing to risk that possibility based on how she’s already destroyed the East Coast?” Strange scolded. “This isn’t the time for ‘maybe’s’, Parker. This is the time for action. We are running out of time.”

Time. It was always about time. There was always a limit, always a clock. Nothing could be definite, it would all have to come crashing down eventually.

“Peter,” America whispered to him. Peter flicked his eyes back to her, his friend, the person who had been by his side ever since he reintegrated with the world. She was his rock, and he was her’s. There wasn’t much the pair hadn’t been through in the last year or so, nothing that they hadn’t stuck by each other for. She was a sister to him during a time when he thought he had know one left.

“Peter,” America pressed, “it’s gonna be okay.”

“No, it’s not, Mer. How can any of this be okay?”

America took a shuddering breath, a few straggling tears falling down her cheeks as she grasped her trembling hand in his and squeezed. “I just do. Because we’re the Avengers. We are all that’s left to defend humanity from a crazy witch,” she half chuckled to herself and the absurdity of it all. “We don’t give up. We never have, and we never will.” She looked back at Strange and took his hand in her other. “I know what the risks are, I know what we face, and I’ve made my peace with it. I am willing to do what it takes to save everyone.”

“But—”

“No,” she shook her head. “Peter, this is our last chance. I need you to stand by me in this decision. It’s mine to make, not yours.”

Peter grit his teeth and chewed at his cheeks. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like any of it. He didn’t like how he always inevitably was placed into this position, there at the end of the day, the hero always had to make a great sacrifice for the greater good. It was the one thing Peter hadn’t truly believed to be accurate when he first became a hero, but time had been unkind to him and a beast of proving him wrong.

“She’s right,” Yelena pipped up. “I don’t like it either. But if there’s a chance of stopping Wanda, then I think we should try.” She nodded to America, offering a small smile. “Besides, we’ve got nothing left to lose. We’ll die if we don’t try or if we do try. And I don’t know about everyone else, but this would be a pretty cool way to die.” Clint rolled his eyes.

“So, are we in agreement then?” Strange asked.

One by one, everyone nodded, each looking more wary than the last, until it was only Peter left. There was no choice in the matter for him.

“Alright,” he relented. “Let’s save the world again.”

🝮

Peter hated this plan, he hated it with every last fiber of his body, but it was the plan that they had agreed upon, the only one they thought they might have a chance of winning with. Still, Peter was allowed to hate it.

Wanda had yet to move from the eye of the storm, yet despite all her power she still surrounded herself with a horde of demons. A mercy, Strange had called it. America had gulped while everyone else had frowned. Yelena and Clint were to serve as the distraction, attacking the horde before promptly exiting the vicinity. Strange knew that Wanda wanted them dead and would sacrifice her body guards if it meant the last force against her schemes were ended. They had to give Strange enough time to cast the spell and America to create the pocket dimension. It was risky and tricky, Strange wasn’t even sure if they’d be able to do it, so he needed Peter to make sure they had as much time as possible before Wanda could catch on. Which was why Peter was to serve as the distraction.

“I know it isn’t ideal,” Strange had admitted, “but you’re the only person she’ll let close enough to her. She’s got a soft spot for you, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Peter hung his head. “I just wish that…” he sighed.

“I know, kid. I know.”

Now, Peter sat crouched on the roof across from the Tower, squatting behind the roof entrance as he watched and waited. The red cloud was darker now, thicker, as it swarmed like a cyclone around the top of the tower, black and gold lightning thundering through it as it grew and spread and a new wave of demons were expelled from within. And, at the center of it all, stood Wanda surrounded by her demon bodyguards. The years had not been kind to her. Peter couldn’t see much from his hiding spot, but he could still make out the shape of someone he once blindly cared for, who he thought once cared for him, mulling about.

“Is everyone in position?” Clint asked through the coms. Peter peered over the edge to spy on where Yelena and the archer were hiding in position on the building across the landing pad. He didn’t know where Strange and America were exactly, only that they would show themselves when the moment was right.

“Yes,” Peter answered. “Good luck, to everyone. And thank you. It’s been an honor fighting by your sides.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Clint responded. He smiled down, Yelena turning to face him with a smile and a salute.

“Let’s get this show on the road, people,” Yelena teased. “We don’t have all day, you know?”

Peter nodded to himself steadying his breathing and began to count down from sixty seconds. He watched as another wave of demons crawled through the cyclone, Wanda enacting her spell to help them through, her attention away from where Yelena and Clint now approached. They used their gear to hit the side of the building and run up the sides until they reached the landing pad.

Clint hauled himself up first, then gave Yelena his hand to help her up as they carefully maneuvered their way to the center right as the titan-esque demon’s moved about. Clint knocked an arrow into his bow, said “Ready” and then took his shot.

The arrow whizzed through the air until it hit one of the demons and a sonic pulse ricocheted through the sky. The demons fell to the ground, emitting roaring screeches as they tried to reorient themselves, and the portal began to dim, the opening shrinking as demons tried to crawl through only to have their limbs cut off.

Peter gagged.

Wanda moved towards the ledge as Clint and Yelena began to take cautious steps back. Magic was rippling off her like waves as she seethed down at the pair of assassins. “Get them,” Peter heard her order. The demons roared and ran to fulfill their mistress’ orders.

Peter saw Clint and Yelena turn and sprint, Yelena shouting at Clint to run faster as they let loose their grappling gear and sped off across the roofs, the demons not far on their heels.

Peter waited and watched. Of the eight originally circling Wanda, now only two remained. Two Peter could deal with, but hopefully that wouldn’t end up being necessary.

With the coast mostly cleared, Peter took a final steadying breath and came out of his hiding spot. He shot a web out and swung out, crossing the distance with practiced ease, before landing where Yelena and Clint had only been moments ago.

Peter felt his entire body tremble as he called out for the witch’s attention.

“Wanda?” His voice echoed through the red sky. He heard a hiss, then the two remaining demons ran forward, jumping from the ledge and landing right before Peter, rattling the ground. Peter stumbled back, eyes widening as he began to shrink back as the demons, large bodies of what he could only describe as scorched flesh attached to a mutated animalistic head, approached.

Peter braced himself, readying himself for their attack as they bared their teeth at him, licking their lips, and bent down into a strike position.

“Wait.” The demons froze, relaxing as they turned back to where Wanda now stood looking down at them.

Peter’s breath hitched as he took her in. She was dressed like a battle-worn empress, all red and black leather and sharp edges, and her signature headband-crown framing her face as her red hair whipped through the air. But it was her eyes that had Peter gasping. They were sunken in, a tinge of black surrounding them, almost similar to the black that now encased from her fingertips all the way to her wrists, crawling up her skin. She was beautiful, but there was a deadliness, an impassivity, that now coated her. Peter knew he had to tread lightly.

Slowly, Peter stood as Wanda waved the demons back up to the eye of the cyclone as she gracefully floated down, landing without a sound before Peter.

“Peter,” her voice was gentle, warm and welcoming, as she smiled at him. It made Peter nauseous. “Have you finally come back to your senses? Have you finally come to join me?”

“No,” Peter shook his head. “I just wanted to talk.”

Wanda frowned. “I don’t think there’s much to discuss. At least nothing of importance.”

“I think the end of the world is kind of important…”

She smiled, tight yet warm. “Who said anything about the end of the world?”

Another rumble of thunder rippled through the air, startling Peter as the cyclone began to grow.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She grinned at him. “Chaos in its purest form; as it should be.”

“It’s definitely something,” he muttered.

Wanda tsked and looped her arm through Peter’s. He tried to shuffle away, but she merely yanked him back, settling a glare upon him that had Peter complying.

“I must say, Peter, I am quite disappointed in you.”

Peter gulped, raising a brow as Wanda led him to the edge of the landing pad to look over the dying city. “Why? Because I don’t agree with your ideology?”

Wanda gave a muttered laugh. “No, of course not. I’ve always known how independent you are, if not in need of some guidance now and again. No, I’m disappointed in you because despite how brilliant you are, you still gave up what you wanted more than anything.” Her fingers lifted to turn Peter’s face towards her, caressing his cheek as a mother would as Peter looked at her with a trembling lip. “You gave up your family, Peter. You gave them up because you wanted more.”

Peter choked on his breath, trying to break free, but Wanda held strong, her nails digging into his skin.

“I didn’t want more, I wanted it to be real, and that was something that you couldn’t give me despite your… your delusional beliefs.”

Wanda growled. She tore her arm away from Peter, the hero stumbling back from the force.

“There’s nothing delusional about me, Peter. You more than anyone else should know just how real my power is.”

Peter gulped, his limbs shaking as he stared Wanda in the eye. Where once he’d come to her, alone and scared, he’d found warmth and recognition, a shoulder to cry on and arms to hold him. It was peaceful, it was kind, she had been there when no one else could be. But, then again, hadn’t it been Wanda who had lured Peter into the falsehood of security? Who had planted the idea of happiness to begin with? Wasn’t that the reason for how they ended up in this situation? Peter could only assume so, could only fortify his mind as he stared back into the dark emptiness of her eyes.

“No,” he shook his head. “No I don’t, Wanda. All I know is the hope given, the dream I never wanted to wake up from, and then the pain of remembering that it wasn’t real. That it could never be real.”

“Why do you think I’m doing all of this then?” Peter co*cked his head. She smiled. “You didn’t think that I wouldn’t fulfill my promise, did you? I am a witch of my word after all.”

“Y- You can’t… can’t do that, Wanda!”

She chuckled, her smile turning twisted. “Oh, but I can. Look around you,” she gestured to the sky, another few demons squirming their way through the cyclone’s eye now that Wanda was not actively spelling it open. “I am making it real! For something new to flourish, the old must first be burnt away. I’m giving us a blank slate to build our reality on.”

Another roll of thunder echoed across the sky, startling Peter. The cloud continued to grow and thrum through the sky, lightning raining down as more demons ran rampant, destroying everything in their path.

“Wanda,” he pleaded, “this isn’t the way to happiness. We could be happy just as we were before. There’s no reason to continue all this pain and suffering. You need to let go of the past. You need to move on… It’s what Vision would’ve wanted for you to do.”

She hissed. “You know nothing of what Vision would’ve wanted.”

“Don’t I? Do you really think his dream was to see the world ravaged? To see humanity destroyed? Wanda, he was created to be the body for Ultron and then turned into the Earth’s salvation instead of its ruin!”

“Stop it!”

Peter was shoved backwards, sliding until his head was dangling over the edge, rubble peppering off and falling. Wanda crowded forward, towering over him, but Peter held his ground.

“Chthon has corrupted you! With or out without the Darkhold, he’s turned you twisted and vile! What happened to the mother in you, Wanda?”

“I said enough!”

She shot forward, her magic pinning Peter to the ground before he had time to dodge. She wrapped her hand around his throat, nails digging into the soft skin, and raised him up. His legs flailed, trying to scrape against the ground as she shook him, his hands reaching up to claw at his throat in hopes of relief.

“You have been a thorn in my side for far too long now, Peter,” she spat. “So I think it’s time we changed that, huh? What do you think?” Peter gulped and gasped. Her other hand lifted to form a red ball of light in her palm. “Last time I gave you exactly what you had wanted. A world where you were never forgotten, where Mysterio hadn’t revealed your identity. A world where your friends still knew you and your dear aunt was still alive. A perfect world, it would seem,” she gave him a crazed smile as Peter felt his lip tremble, his hands uselessly scrabbling at her wrist as he couldn’t breath. “But, clearly, that wasn’t good enough for you.” She raised her palm to his head, tendrils reaching out to the side of his temple as she bent her head to whisper in his ear. “I think we can do better this time.”

“Not today you won’t.”

Peter couldn’t help the grin on his face as Strange’s magic lashed out, a golden orange tendril latching around Wanda’s wrist and wrenching her back from Peter. He fell to the ground gasping and rubbing at his neck, feeling where the pinpricks of her nails had drawn blood.

“You,” she sneered. “I thought the hordes of the undead souls I sent your way had finished you off for good.”

Strange gave a tight smile. “I’m afraid that, once more, you have underestimated my power, Wanda.”

Wanda seethed, settling her gaze upon the Sorcerer Supreme. “Or maybe I just haven’t been hitting hard enough.”

Strange’s eyes turned from confident to fearful as Wanda called upon a powerful wave of magic that knocked the sorcerer back, his cloak catching him at the last moment as he lashed out with his own spell, tendrils of ropes racing out to wrap around Wanda and hold her, but she didn’t even seemed phased. Instead, Wanda merely smiled, and then melted through the rope into a pile of smoke.

Peter’s breath hitched, scampering backwards until his hands hit the edge, as the dark shadow where Wanda once stood suddenly whistled through the air, reforming and dissipating, as it attacked Strange over and over. There was nothing Peter could do but watch. He only knew how to deal with physical threats, not threats of magic and smoke.

Strange countered each and every attack Wanda threw his way, deflecting and attacking, but always missing. Wanda edged closer, her attacks beating Strange down in quick succession until he couldn’t even track her movement anymore, and she had him falling to the ground with a cry of pain.

“Now this,” she whispered over him as she reformed into her full self, “this should feel familiar to you. Always one to talk, but never one to match in strength.” She pressed a foot down onto Strange’s chest when he tried to rise, knocking him back so his head made an audible Smack against the concrete and Peter winced. “You think you know what’s best, think that you’re the guardian of reality, of what’s right. But you know nothing, Stephen Strange, for you have always been a selfish man. And you always will be.” She conjured another ball of light, this one greater than what she had threatened Peter with.

“There is good news though,” she smiled. “There’s a special place for people like you to go to, and I think it’s high time that I finally send you there.”

“I can’t wait,” Strange grinned. “But I’ll be taking you there with me. Now!”

Wanda’s head snapped up as America busted through a star portal and Strange grabbed at Wanda’s ankle to keep her in place, the witch temporarily off balance as the situation quickly settled in. America came screeching through with a battle cry, hitting Wanda square in the face. She fell back, giving Strange enough time to slide back up to his feet as he began to form the spell.

“No!” Wanda tried to scramble back to her feet, but Peter couldn’t let that happen and dove forward, tackling her back to the ground as she screamed.

Strange began to chant in a tongue Peter wasn’t even sure was of this world. With one hand a tendril of magic shot out to where Wanda’s hand was splayed still trying to form a counter attack and latched on, and with the other his magic flowed out and to America who began to form a portal, her eyes scrunched closed and brow already sweating.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Wanda wailed over and over. She continued to struggle against Peter’s grip, but he held down firm, bear hugging her. Strange said that she couldn’t form magic, that Peter couldn’t let her cast a spell, so that was exactly what he was going to do as he crushed her body and pinned down her limbs.

“I’m sorry.” A few stray tears fell down his face. “It’s for your own good, Wanda!”

Wanda snarled. “You know nothing!” And with that, the hand trapped beneath her body was freed and she reverse head butted Peter. The shock was immediate, and Peter could already feel blood falling from his nose. Hope it’s at least a clean break, his mind thought as he tumbled back.

Wanda scrambled up, knocking Peter back once more for good measure, his head hitting the ground with extra force that he could feel his brain rattling for a good few seconds.

Peter could only watch in horror as Wanda reached out, a spell at her fingertips, her magic lashing towards Strange and America. Peter cried out, stumbling forward as his mind still hadn’t straightened it out from the force of Wanda’s assault. Strange saw it one second too late, a spell of his own sent out in crashing succession as he battled to help America form her portal. The spells collided, gold and red bursting into a fusion of yellow that spat like fire and burst across the battlefield.

They all stumbled back, Wanda rolling to her side as America screeched, the magic wrapping and burning around her. Peter watched on as his friend’s eyes burned bright, her power warping as the nearly formed portal began to concave in on itself, turning into a tumultuous cloud of colors folding in on itself without end. America fell to the floor, her face frozen forever in fear, and Peter heard the moment her heart stopped.

“No,” he gasped. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be the end of them. Strange was trying to hold onto the magic, even as he lay in shambles on the ground, to try and make something of the mess Wanda had corrupted.

Wanda…

From the corner of his eye, Peter saw the witch on the ground collecting her bearings, gasping as she stood once more, her bones cracking as her magic healed her with ease. She was too powerful for them to stop, too crafty to out maneuver. There was no way that they could win this and save everyone in the process. Peter had no idea where Yelena and Clint had ended up, but knowing their depleted states and the size of force Wanda had sent their way, it probably wasn’t good. Peter bit his lip, a choked sob freeing itself as a few tears ran down his face.

No, he decided as Wanda stood and began to pull her magic once more, her eyes centered on Strange and America. This was not how it would end, not if Peter could help it. He would not let his friend’s sacrifice be in vain. After all, he had to try—and he wasn’t known for giving up.

“Wanda,” Peter gasped as he stood on shaking legs. He was worn to the core, his body failing him as he pleaded with the witch one last time. “Don’t do this. Hasn’t there been enough loss? This can’t be the only way.”

Wanda smiled, twisted and cruel, something hollow and unsteady, a crack in her frame as her mind shattered before them all. “I don’t think you quite understand, Peter,” she cooed. “This isn't the only way… This is the last way.”

With a flick of her wrist, America rose into the air, her lifeless body thrumming as Wanda siphoned her power. America glowed blue, her body convulsing as it wept power, its icy color turning blood red as Wanda sucked her dry like a vampire.

“No!” Peter cried, and with his last ounce of energy burst forward just as Doctor Strange’s magic burned across the skyline, and he crashed into the Scarlet Witch, the pair falling through the rainbow window of America’s portal and into the unknown.

Chapter 2: The Faces of Yesterday

Chapter Text

This was going to be the end of the Avengers. At least, that was what was going through Tony’s head as he stood on the battlefield.

Misunderstandings, lies, and harsh realities all seemed to vex him as he replayed over and over the events of the last two days. It was honestly a miracle that the pot hadn't overflowed sooner.

Tony knew that there was no backing down—it was too late. The time for reason had ended when Steve had disappeared into the river with Barnes and instead of bringing him into custody chose to stay on the run. Not even a pleading text had been made, just dead silence from his wavering friend.

And now they were here.

A shudder ran through Tony as he assessed the lineup: Rogers, Barnes, Wilson, Maximoff, Barton (despite his claims of being retired), and some guy who could shrink and grow. Tony didn’t have a mind for who he was, only that he was an object in the way of his objective, as were all the others. In Tony’s book, three of Cap’s teammates were truly dangerous—the wild cards of the bunch—and he was not too pleased to be facing off against them. He only hoped that his guys could prove to match.

To Tony’s left stood Romanoff, Rhodey, Vision, the kid, Peter (whom Tony was only slightly regretting bringing along if and only if because his aunt was scary), and the Wakandan prince, T’Challa, on his right. He felt confident, assured, if not still vaguely worried given how Rogers was beginning to prove time and time again that there was no risk he wouldn’t take to protect Barnes—and that made him dangerous.

“Now, remember what I told you?” he asked Peter through the coms, a single private channel for the time being.

“Stay out of the way, engage only when necessary, and don’t hold back?”

“Good. You gotta live so Aunt Hottie doesn’t kill me when we get back to the states.”

“Hey!” Tony snickered to himself. It was too easy to rile the kid up.

Peter was only there for added support and muscle, the kid being able to bench press more than Cap if Tony’s math was correct (which it always was). There had been some stipulations Tony had tried to use against himself for why he shouldn’t bring a fourteen year-old to an adult superhero excursion, but Tony had been egging for a chance to bring the kid in for a while now and had yet to find the courage. He was quite amazing despite saving people in a sad tracksuit for the last couple of months. With the right motivation, Tony figured that he could turn Peter into the next big thing for heroes.

That was, of course, if they made it out of this.

“You know he won’t back down, right?” Romanoff asked from his side. Her vote for the Accords had been the most surprising of all for Tony, but then again, she’d been through too many casualty crises to count. She needed justification for her actions.

Tony sighed, “I know. But that doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

Tony took a couple careful steps forward, watching as across the way, Steve’s team did the same.

Steve knew that he’d never be able to make Tony see reason, that the man was too bull headed to ever shift away from his own agenda. There was a goodness in Tony, a goodness to do right, but Steve also saw that the man always went about it the wrong way, Ultron being his biggest mess up. There was still a part of the super soldier that was unable to forgive Tony for his co*cky attitude in his quest for world peace.

Steve huffed. With Bucky by his side again, he thought that they could set things right. It may not be to the liking of others, but they had gone too far to turn back now. They knew too much, and Steve knew that Bucky would do what it took to keep Zemo from unleashing more Winter Soldiers into the world. He may not be completely right in the head, but his friend knew enough that what he was—what Hydra had created him to be—should not exist further in their world.

But the others didn’t know, at least not the full truth. Clint was happy to help an old friend, especially if meant putting Tony in his place. The man really only wanted to retire, and according to him, the Accords may prevent him from such a path if he was ever ordered to come back in for his unique skill set. He didn’t need to know the extent of what Steve’s mission was, only that Tony was against it and seemed to be siding with Ross of all people. Wanda similarly didn’t care. The girl was mad, angry that she was pushed into the corner, and fearful that she would be once more held captive for a greater purpose. Steve knew that Tony would never experiment on Wanda, but he didn’t trust Ross to not try and pull something. Scott on the other hand was just stoked to be fighting alongside Captain America, and that only made Steve feel slightly guilty.

“What do we do, Cap?” Sam asked. Steve was glad that his friend was willing to stand by his side. Sam knew the most about Steve's relationship and history with Bucky, the in depth version, and was the overall second to Nat in the studies ofThe Life Story of Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve looked towards his once allies, to Natasha, to Tony. He took a deep breath in, wishing that he could find another way, though he knew there was none. His decision was already made.

“We fight,” he said, and took the first step.

On the other side, Natasha sighed, “This is gonna end well…” and took her own begrudging steps forward.

Yeah, Tony thought. This is gonna end great.

The team’s followed their leaders, each picking up their respected paces as they neared the center of the field. From a power walk to a steady jog, each person’s eyes narrowed, their shoulders setting, and their gear ticking at the ready.

“Uh, they’re not stopping?” Peter squeaked, eyes flashing with worry as he followed behind War Machine. Mr. Stark had told him that there would be some form of scuffle, that Captain America wasn’t known to come quietly, but he’d also been told that it most likely wouldn’t turn into an all-out superhero brawl. Actually, he’d told Peter that they’d be able to handle and calm the situation down before anything truly drastic took place. That, Peter now realized, was a lie as Mr. Stark answered back, “Neither are we.”

Peter gulped.

This was the outcome the Avengers had been pushing towards since the beginning: every jab and snide remark, every clash of opinion and power. It had all been turning and stewing, waiting to burst to determine once and for all who was the rightful leader of the Avengers.

There was some poetic irony that Tony found in it all—Captain America, the First Avenger, battling against the son of his old friend and creator, Howard Stark. Tony internally groaned. If he hadn’t disappointed his dad before, he sure had now.

No turning back, Tony thought. No backing down.

Arms were raised, weapons were drawn, and hearts were racing. It was the pinnacle, it was their moment, it was the time for them to strike. They could do this, they could beat them all. They could set the world right, they could make it safe for everyone, they could—

The world was thrown back around them, a shuddering wind flooding down between them, strong enough that for a moment Tony thought Thor had returned to Earth.

Only, as Tony gained his bearings and balanced his thrusters, as he watched his teammates and Cap’s members do the same, there was no sparkly rainbow portal that was burning an insignia onto the German airport ground. Instead, Tony could only watch in horror and confusion as suddenly Peter and Wanda were collapsing to the ground, screaming.

“Wanda!” Clint fell to the girl’s side, squinting from the dust kicking up around her. Even from the short distance between them, Clint could feel the energy rushing off her, different from the magic he’d felt her use in the past. Gold, blue, and red light was washing over her like static—same to the spider-guy on Tony’s side.

“Wanda? Can you- f*ck!” Clint cried out as he tried to touch her, and a stinging Zap! rushed through him as a blister began to form on his skin. He sucked in a breath, shaking his hand and lightly sucking on the skin, trying to calm down the pulse in his palm as he continued to watch Wanda clutch her head and writhe in pain.

“What’s happening?” Steve asked, cautious of not getting too close.

“I don’t know,” Clint said. He looked to the other side and watched as Tony bent down to help his own teammate suffering in parallel.

“Peter!” Tony cried. He didn’t care if the others heard the hero’s identity, it didn’t matter. The kid was in apparent pain, shaking and shuddering, screaming and whining as he clutched at his head as if it was about to explode.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., what am I looking at?” Tony was afraid the kid was going to fall into a seizure, or if he already had.

“Unknown,” the A.I. reported. “My systems read it as some form of mixture between dark matter and gravitational energy, almost to how a theoretical white hole’s energy would function.”

“That’s impossible,” Tony insisted. “Peter is clearly not turning into a white hole.”

“I’m afraid I have no other logical explanation, Boss.”

Tony cursed as he crouched down to Peter’s level, his mask falling apart. Peter was writing and panting, his eye holes shut tight. He was tense, muscles taught as he continued to shake. His chest panged at the boy’s pain as the colorful energy continued to ripple and pull over him.

“Peter?” he asked, tentatively reaching out to touch the boy only to hear Barton shout “Don’t touch him! You’ll get burned!” Tony sent him a nasty glare, but if F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s assessment was true, then the boy was being pressured into a tin can of highly active spatial radiation.

His attention momentarily turned to the other side. Rogers and his buddies stood around worriedly as Wanda similarly screamed in pain, one hand holding onto her head while the other clawed at the ground. Her eyes flickered open, red blinking through as the energy around her began to speed up, Peter’s condition beginning to match her own.

“Stop this! Stop it now!” Tony shouted at them. A red ball of light began to appear in Wanda’s hand as she tried to fight against the pull of energy.

“Wanda isn’t doing this!” Steve bit back.

“You don’t know sh*t, Rogers.”

“I know that this isn’t her doing!”

“Says what logic?! You couldn’t—”

“Tones?” Rhodey placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, bringing his attention back to Peter.

“What-” Tony gawked, mouth opening and closing as Peter let out a shuddering breath, the energy spinning around him faster and faster and faster, a sharp glow and magnetic shield forming around him that had Tony’s armor thrumming. “I- I- I don’t, um… I don’t—”

Peter wailed, his voice shrill and pained, Wanda echoing him in turn.

“Move!” Natasha said. Tony wanted to fight and protest, but her and Rhodey didn’t care as they grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him back, Vision floating before them to create a barrier and shield.

The static-energy was pulsing around their bodies, turning from gold to blue to yellow to white to green and finally to a deep, blood red. Tony watched as Peter’s body tensed, watched as Wanda reached out with her own magic, the light in her hand faltering, and with a last gust, the energy froze and expanded, washing across the field with such force that it threw everyone to the ground.

It felt harsh and cruel, like sludge running through his body, a virus trying to hold on.

Tony groaned as he eased himself up, rubbing at his head. That… That had been unexpected.

Peter lay on the ground whimpering, the energy dimmed to just a crimson halo that encompassed his body.

sh*t...

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., vitals.”

“Underoos appears to be unharmed. His heartbeat is steadying and his breathing is regulated to fifteen breaths per minute.”

Tony gave a sigh of relief at the same time as Peter gasped and shot upright.

“Peter!” Tony brushed off Rhodey’s hand, pushing himself forward to grasp at the teen. The boy was shaking like he’d just awoken from a nightmare. Hyperactive senses, his mind supplied. Right, the teen saw the world at an eleven. “Hey. Hey! You’re okay! You’re good, Pete. Focus on me, okay? I need you to focus on my voice. Come on, kid!”

Peter was still panting heavily, the feeling of weight on his shoulders dense like sand as his head tried to reorient itself.

“Hey—...—Come on…—Kid!...Pete- Peter-! Can yo…Snap out of it!”

Peter felt his lungs inflate, his body weight rocking forward into strong, metallic arms as his senses came into focus once more.

He was alive… He was alive!

Peter hadn’t known what to expect as he’d shoved Wanda through the portal, had thought himself a goner when his mind felt like it was being torn in half and then shredded into the tiniest bits and pieces before being glued back together. It was like every bodily injury he’d ever had had become a blade that had stabbed itself into Peter’s brain and then decided to rattle about until he was ready to throw up. Of course, Peter thought he was dead and therefore could not, in fact, throw up, but now that the world was turning bright and not dissipating into an infinite spiral of unknown darkness and sparkles, the idea was looking pretty good to Peter.

“Come on, kid! Focus!”

Peter’s chest tightened, his heart skipping just enough to maintain his focus. It was a little too bright, now that Peter could think about it. The sky was too clear, the air a little too cold, and there was unease that was set around him he couldn’t shake.

But that voice… that was a voice that had haunted Peter’s dreams for three years. It was a voice that Peter had cried for help and forgiveness too many times to count, had begged to go away and then angered when it obeyed. It was a voice he’d cursed out, had long conversations with when he knew nobody was awake to hear him cry, and ultimately had stood by Peter even during his biggest mistakes.

Slowly, as if not to break the spell, Peter raised his head, eyes slowly widening as they trailed over the red and gold armor until his masked eyes came face to face with a very familiar bruised eye and goatee.

“Mi- Mister Stark?!”

Mr. Stark blinked. “Why do you say that like you’re surprised?”

Peter gasped, panicking, and shoved Mr. Stark away harder than was probably necessary, startling the hero.

“Kid…?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Peter looked around frantically, eyeing those around him. Black Widow (dead), Vision (dead), Rhodey (paralyzed), T’Challa (dead), and Mr. Stark (dead).

No, no this could not be happening to him, this could not be happening to Peter. Everyone here shouldn’t be here. There was no logical reason for why they would be. Peter had watched Mr. Stark die, had heard his heartbeat stop, and then watched as his wife and daughter grieved for the man who had saved the universe.

Similarly, Natasha and Vision had also given their lives to right the universe, while T’Challa had simply disappeared, the Black Panther mantle passing to his sister, Shuri, and Rhodey had been left to pick up all the political pieces on his own.

Maybe Peter had died. Yeah, that was a plausible explanation—that was the only explanation, really, that made any form of logical sense. Afterall, the only time Peter had truly been surrounded by these heroes unharmed and a little less battleworn was back when he first met Mr. Stark and had been recruited to—

No

Peter looked over Probably-Not-Mr. Stark and the other Probably-Not-Avengers surrounding him. The hair fit, the gear matched, the lack of eye bags the most obvious realization. And then there was the fact that Peter’s suit looked brand new. And not new-new, like it was brand new, as in the-first-suit-he-ever-had new.

Which was simply impossible… right?

(“Could you bend time?

“I mean, maybe? I think it would require a lot of energy though.”

“Like ‘Big Bang’ type of energy?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve only ever walked the multiverse in present time.”)

Peter gulped, slowly turning around to see the other side, and a tremble racked through his body.

Wanda was still collecting herself, her teammates bending to help and assess her. Clint was kneeling before her as she gasped, her breath beginning to even itself back together as the dizziness evaporated and her mind was able to settle.

“Wanda?” Clint gripped her hands, a steadying form that she eagerly latched on to.

“I’m… I’m alright,” she assured, trying to stand. “I just- I just need to-” she teetered again, this time Steve reaching out to catch her as Clint gripped her wrists to pull her forward, the archer and super soldier working in tandem to lower her back to the ground upright.

“Easy, easy,” Clint steadied her, though she tried to swat him away.

“I said I’m fi—” Wanda’s eyes widened, taking in this Clint. The one she knew was worn and ragged, tattoos and scars maring his body and a deep ache in his eyes. The Clint she knew had tried to shoot her last she saw, running away with that replacement Widow as Strange and Peter and America had tried to…

I did it, Wanda gasped, her eyes flickering about. Steve, James, Sam, Scott, and Clint; they’re all here. A grin began to bloom on her face, and a chuckle erupted.

She could feel the others watching her, concern flashing across their faces.

(Is she alright?

Her power’s growing…

Has she finally cracked?

She’s just a kid.

She has so much potential.

Oh, Wanda…)

The thoughts ran over and over in her head. Her memories and fears, her hopes and losses, and, at the center of it all, her love.

Love

Wanda’s chuckles faded, her heat expanding as she looked for her love, for him, for her Vision.

Vision

The android, her love, her soulmate… The one being who had understood her above all others, who had accepted her as she was, had embraced her flaws rather than push them to the side. He was alive.

With only a single flash in her eyes, quick and bright, Wanda reached out with her power. The current wove through the air, a string looking for its other tether, eliciting and pulsing with life until it neared.

I can feel you…

Tears stun her eyes, a silent breath and smile turning upon her face as she gazed upon her greatest love, her greatest loss, and her greatest hope.

The android—no, the man—she loved turned her way, eyes searching over her in silent question, the power of the Mind stone thrumming with life where it sat in his head, calling out to her, a consistent heartbeat.

“Vision…” she spoke.

“Wanda, what about Vision?” she heard Clint ask.

“He’s here…”

“Of- Of course he’s here,” Clint gave a questioning look to the others, each too confused to do much more than watch in wait. The tension was thick. He could see Steve edging to run again with the distraction, but there was some part of him rooting him to the spot, fingers twitching. “Wanda, why wouldn’t he be here?”

The tears were spilling without end now as she spluttered. “He’s- He’s her… I- I- feel…”

Her magic thrummed to life around her, glowing bright under her palms as she raised herself up from the ground, standing on shaking legs.

This was her moment, this was her chance. She’d done it. She’d succeeded. She could do it again—she could save him again. Only, this time, she would do it right.

“Wanda,” Steve spoke, her head co*cking slightly to the side as the super soldier approached, reaching out a hand to hold her shoulder. She locked her jaw. “I don’t know what’s happening to you right now, but you need to snap out of it. You need to put whatever it is aside. This is not the time to—”

“You say ‘time’ like it actually means something, Captain.” Her voice was like ice, eliciting a shudder through those around her. “Afterall, you had plenty of time to act before, but you chose silence over truth.”

Steve blinked in surprise, his mind racing as Wanda’s power licked at its edges. “Wha- What are you talking about?”

Wanda hummed. “You know what I mean. You speak of truth, justice, and valor, when you yourself are the most selfish of us all.”

The anger and fear was rippling towards the surface, his eyes narrowing as he tugged gently at her shoulder, the witch turning ever so gently to face him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She smiled, “Don’t I?”

Her magic came to her hands, round orbs pulsating with such a familiar and weak power that it was almost laughable. Still, Wanda knew she could do much with it. She was the most powerful of them all, afterall. There wasn’t anything or anyone that could stand in her way. The Avengers of the past knew that very well now. But it seemed as if it was time to teach the others the same lesson.

“Wanda don’t!”

Her fingers cramped, the magic dimming ever so slightly as her gaze left Steve to turn back to the others.

Oh, Peter… The boy was too pure for his own good, never known for giving up.

No matter, Wanda thought as she watched the now fourteen year-old boy stand up, leaning gently on Stark in the process. He will be easy to handle.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Peter,” she voiced, taking a step forward and away from Steve, her magic pulsing a slight barrier between them. “You should’ve stayed behind. Now look at what you’ve done.”

Peter shook his head. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

“Oh, I gave you a choice. Plenty, really. I gave you every choice, every chance, and every opportunity for you to back down, but you chose to ignore my kindness.”

“Yeah, because a threat to be hexed is such an act of kindness.”

A smile pressed upon her lips. He will only remember the possibility. “It was an act of mercy, actually. If you had simply taken up on my offer, none of this,” she gestured to all around her, “wouldn’t have happened. You would’ve been safe from harm, not in the center of this war.”

“That seems a little dramatic,” she heard Clint mutter. Of course, while the others may be in confusion of what was happening at the moment, there was still the idea that they were going to fight, that this was all about them.

Oh, how wrong they were.

It was actually quite amusing to Wanda to see their fear and naivete upon their faces.

Peter huffed. “It was a war you started, Wanda. None of this needed to happen; you decided to force it.” With a shaking hand, Peter raised his head and pulled off his mask, eliciting a gasp from everyone around.

“Kid,” Mr. Stark said, “what are you thinking?”

“Tony, you brought a child to a fight?” Natasha scolded.

“What were you thinking?” Rhodey berate.

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and grit, “I was thinking the kid could bench press a freight train and thought he’d be a good set of muscles against Capsicle and Robocop over there.”

“Will you guys zip it?” Peter snapped. The others, specifically Mr. Stark, looked surprised and offended, the barely high school freshman talking at them like a superior. Peter felt a little jolt of surprise run through as well, but that didn’t really matter at the moment when all he could focus on was the wrongness inside of him, and the thrum of energy that had him wanting closer to Wanda.

“So,” she teased, “you do have a spine.”

Peter rolled his shoulders, fingers flexing, as the power Wanda had seen of him began to pull forward. He truly was a marvel, such a strong young man. That was the one thing Wanda had always commended him for, had always loved about him. It was also the thing she pitied most about him. Children should never be forced to grow up so fast, she knew that all too well.

“It’s cute. You finally see the big picture.”

“And what’s that?” Peter raised a brow. “The end of the world? No more reality? Because literally all I’ve known from you is disaster after disaster after disaster.”

Wanda tsked, moving gracefully toward Peter, the boy following taught. Her team was frozen, gawking. She could hear the whirring of James’ arm, the reach for a gun by Sam, the soft clicking of Scott running his thumb over his suit’s buttons. They were in the unknown now, unsure and unsteady. Perfect for getting the upper hand on.

Wanda curled her fingers and a tinge of her power took off, forming a circle around the group.

“All of time is flexible, just like how every reality has an infinite amount of possibilities. You of all people should know that.” She drew a line before them, little orbs popping off to display vague memories of their trials and triumphs. “We have stood in every place in every part of time in our lives. We are connected through memory and emotion, the time still existing in the mind’s eye even if you cannot physically return to it.” Peter watched as the orbs displayed the battle against Thanos, Mysterio, and the Green Goblin, flashes of his childhood with his parents and Ben and May. His lip began to tremble. “So why not visit them again?”

Peter’s eyes snapped up. Wanda stood, smirking and waiting. She couldn’t possibly mean…?

“Yes,” she hissed. “There is more than one way to fix time.”

(“Would it work? Like, could you pull it off?”

“Not without ripping my power to shreds.” She shuddered. “And even then probably not.”)

A hand came up to cup his cheek, running gently over his skin. Peter closed his eyes, breath shuddering. It was too familiar for him to melt into, too cold for him to find warmth.

Peter’s body tensed and he tore his face away. Tears pricked at his eyes as Wanda watched the knowledge settle over him. “Wha- What did you do?”

She only continued to stare as Peter’s cries became more hysterical. “What the f*ck did you do, Wanda?”

“I did what was necessary. I fixed the impossible.”

“At the cost of a girl’s life! At the cost of America’s life!”

She shrugged. “She knew the risks, she knew the potential. And, if you recall, I believe it was Strange’s idea.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” he growled. “You murdered her, Wanda!”

The weapons around them unsheathed, every eye locked onto Wanda with a new found worry.

“Wanda,” that was Clint, “what is he talking about?”

“Nothing worth noting,” she pursed her lips.

“I think it matters when there’s a dead girl involved,” Steve pressed. “Wanda, we don’t kill.”

“No, you don’t kill,” she sent him a glare over her shoulder. “I never made any sort of promises.”

Clint swore.

“Okay, that’s it,” Stark rose from the ground, mask sliding back on and arms raised, repulsors at the ready. “You need to tell us what’s going on right now, or we will shoot.”

Peter tried to shout and warn them, “No, don’t!” but it was too late. As the Avengers readied themselves, Wanda smirked, wrapping a tendril of magic around Peter’s throat, shoving him to the ground, and began to squeeze.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Wanda flickered her hand, magic appearing around Stark’s body, the man groaning at his restraints, and then tossed him to the side like an empty trash can. “This does not concern you, Stark. This is between me and Peter.”

“Not anymore.”

As Peter sat choking on the ground, his watered eyes looked up to see the heroes standing before them. Their feud for the time had been put to rest as they slowly began to circle and close in on the spider and the witch.

Vision landed between them, halting Wanda in her movement. Peter watched as Wanda’s form went soft, as the hard lines in her face eased, and her hands lowered to the ground, though the tie around his neck did not cease in its strength. The android reached out a hand, lacing his fingers through hers. Wanda whimpered, throat bobbing as the magic looming around her dimmed ever so slightly from the touch.

“Wanda,” he whispered.

“Vision,” her hand came to his face, touching the stone in his head so that it glowed softly. She smiled. “You’re real.”

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

She sighed, pressing her forehead to his. “I’ve missed you.”

“I know. I can feel you, Wanda, I can feel your pain.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “It’s been so long.”

Vision hummed, hands reaching to bring Wanda’s to his, her power beginning to fade and dim, the red circle surrounding them dissipating. “And you have been very brave. You have been strong, and have endured much.”

Her frame cracked, the insistence of her power fading as she held herself close to her love. It was all that she had longed for for so long, all that she had dreamed at night in between the memories of her boys and the nightmares of her family vanishing before her eyes. Vision was her home, he was the best parts of her, and now she was in his arms once more.

She sniffled, tears drying as she smiled up at the man she loved. “I promise you this,” she murmured to him, “I will not let anything happen to you ever again. I can’t lose you once more.”

“And you won’t have to,” he assured. “I promise you this, Wanda, that I will not abandon you, I shall not leave your side. All you must do is come with me and let the boy go.”

For a moment, Peter thought Wanda would listen. He saw the idea float across her face, the ways her eyes fluttered at the idea of it all, the future that she could have with him. There was a longing in Wanda; a longing for normalcy, for tranquility, for an end. It was a calling that Peter had felt in his own life, though he knew he could never give up his life as a hero. If he took off the suit and hung it up for good, Peter was all but certain that he would go mad.

That was where he and Wanda differed.

In the time that Peter had known Wanda, he could say confidently that she was a woman of passion, fierce and protective. She had no goal in her life other than to gain what was taken from her: a love, a family, a life away from the hysterics of the universe and the drama brought upon by the Avengers. But Wanda would never be able to untie herself from her power, from her desire, and that would ultimately be her downfall. As Peter sought to better the world, Wanda sought to better herself. It was what she believed she deserved for all the loss that had been handed to her over the years.

“She does not know the separation of reality and acceptance,” Strange had once told him. They were held up in the Sanctum’s medbay, the former doctor helping tend to a nasty set of bullet wounds that had caught Peter by surprise earlier that night.

“What do you mean?” he’d asked, hissing at the antiseptic.

Strange had sighed, grabbing for the bandages now that the bullets were removed and the stitches were made. “Wanda has only known despair and anger. She makes herself believe that if she tries enough, her struggles will eventually pay off, that she will get what she has long deserved. She feeds on hope and loss, the possibility of happiness because she has never been given it herself. Everyone she has ever loved has died before her eyes.”

Peter could relate to the feeling. The sight of Ben getting shot down protecting him, Mr. Stark dying to bring him back, and finally May giving her life to help Peter do what was right were the most haunting moments of his still young life.

“This is why she is dangerous, Peter, and why you need to be wary,” he cautioned while wrapping up the last wound. “Wanda cannot accept reality, so she creates her own so powerful that it nearly becomes real. If she is offered happiness, she will take it, but she will not accept it in truth unless it is created by her hand.”

By her hand

That was the fault in Vision’s plan. Wanda could not accept such an easy answer. There was no show of her past that could prove she could have it all without loss, and she had yet to lose anything. As of now, Wanda was still the young witch who did not know the full extent of her powers, who was held back by the need to please and prove herself. She had yet to become the monster Peter had known her to be, and it was clear the others could not even theorize this possibility.

The smile that graced Wanda’s face began to sour, and Peter’s hope broke in two.

“No,” she whispered. She shuffled back, watching as Vision’s hope faded, intent sharpening into his eyes. “You lie. You all lie!” She spat the words like venom at the exact moment the Avengers moved in to strike. Cap threw his shield, Sam shot his guns, Clint fired an arrow, Natasha fired her tasers, Rhodey and Mr. Stark shot their repulsors at full force, and T’Challa ran to engage.

Peter whimpered, closing his eyes as the red in Wanda’s eyes grew, a flush of energy erupting from her, disbanding the attacks as she absorbed what energy she could. She grunt in pain, her forcefield holding as their attacks circled and bounced off her until she pushed her power out, knocking them all back, including Vision, who lay fritzing on the ground not far from Peter’s form.

Wanda snarled, reaching her hand to enclose her magic tighter around Peter’s neck and pull him towards her. He choked and gasped, wiggling like a worm in the air as she held his gaze. “Know that this is all your doing,” she said, then threw him to the ground.

Wanda braced herself, collecting her strength, and unleashed another wave of thick red magic, a static forming around them as a haze set in to drown out the rest of the world. Tendrils shot up into the sky, stitching together into shapes Peter had only seen a couple of times, but knew to fear nonetheless.

Runes

“What the…” he heard Natasha mutter.

The runes hummed with life, each unique in their own way. It was a power Strange had warned Wanda would only use under the most specific of instances, such as when she opened the portal to Hell. It had been one of the reasons Strange hadn’t been able to battle her directly, actually. They didn’t stop his powers, only duled them, until his body weakened with each strike he made.

Peter couldn’t do anything more than twitch and gasp, his physical strength useless against her magic. Still, he tried to claw at it, but the chain wrapped tighter around his neck, squeezing with each breath he took.

The magic wrapped around Wanda with ease, her eyes glowing bright. It was a familiar and welcoming hum, a life she had long since missed. She raised her hands to the sky, the wind whipping around her with vigor, as a dark spot grew from the center of the haze and twirled down before her. The tips of her fingers began to tinge black, her cheeks hollowing, as the dark swirl began to harden.

“No,” Peter choked out.

The smoke dissipated and formed, smoke and ash pulling at each other until Wanda gasped with glee. The Darkhold was born once more.

“Now then,” she said as she flipped through the pages, “where were we.”

The Avengers were still down, some completely unconscious or trying to focus as they lay immobilized on the ground. Only Natasha, Tony, T’Challa, and Steve appeared to be alright—or, as close to alright one could be at the moment. Natasha seemed to be the most frazzled, her every fiber twitching, ready to act, but unsure how. Meanwhile Tony and T’Challa were still gasping for breath, their armor apparently depleted, and Steve was trying to stand once more, reaching for his shield.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Wanda scolded. Her magic lifted the shield and threw it out of the haze. “There’s no need for that here. Not unless you want to end up sliced in two.”

“Wh- Why?” he groaned.

Wanda’s face was on the verge of manic as she raised Steve into the air, Bucky uselessly reaching with his arm after him before collapsing down into exhaustion once more. “Why? Ask yourself this instead, Steve. If you had the chance to fix your past, wouldn’t you do whatever it took to have your happily ever after?”

Steve snarled. “No. Not at the cost of others.”

“Huh,” Wanda tilted her head, almost impressed if it wasn’t for the fact that she could blatantly see through his lie. “Lying to yourself isn’t a good look on you.” She tossed him back to the ground, the super soldier landing with a hard Crunch as his head smacked against the asphalt.

There wasn’t much time left for Peter to act. He couldn’t move, but he knew he had to try something, anything. This couldn’t be the end, not again.

“Wanda,” he gasped once again, coughing and hacking uselessly at his throat as the chain tightened from his words.

“Yes?” The witch turned to him, a brow raised as she gently pulled away at the chain around Peter’s neck enough for him to speak. He took in a big gulping breath, hands scratching at the ground as sweat clung to his brow. “Did you need something?”

Peter frowned and spat on the ground. “You can’t keep doing this. It has to stop eventually.”

She snickered. “Of course I can. I can do whatever for however long it takes.”

“But at what cost? What are you willing to pay for your happiness? What are you willing to give up?”

Peter was a hypocrite for asking, he knew. He’d almost put the multiverse in danger so his friends could go to college. And, in the end, it had worked, his happiness for his friends had been fulfilled and complete, but at the cost of his own life. There was always a price to pay, always a bargain that had to be made to satisfy the universe, and Peter wasn’t convinced that Wanda wasn’t stupid enough to not know this.

Wanda sighed. She floated aimlessly down, the Darkhold in tow, and knelt before him. “The price has already been paid, Peter. If you haven’t realized that by now, then,” she shrugged helplessly, “you never will.”

“That isn’t the point though.”

“Isn’t it?” The Darkhold flared open, magic weeping out of it to form a mirror before Peter. The image swirled, twisting to create an image that had him choking back a sob. May stood in the kitchen cleaning and going through her mail, tapping her fingers anxiously as she kept looking at her phone on the counter, then away again. “Right now, May is waiting for news about your first excursion on the Stark Internship. She knows you’re safe with Iron Man, yet she worries anyway. But the point is,” the image zoomed in until Peter could hear his beloved aunt’s heartbeat, “she’s alive.”

Wanda waved the image away and Peter hung his head. May was alive. She wasn’t dead yet, she had yet to fall victim to his antics as Spider-Man. Peter still had time, he could still save—

“Now you get it,” Wanda broke through. “You have a chance now to do things right, to ensure that nothing happens to her this time. To any of them,” she waved around her, “actually. That is if you play your cards right.”

The witch stood, elegant as her burnt hair waved around her in a fan. It was almost haunting for Peter to see her so young yet so worn.

“There are many benefits to knowing the past, Peter,” she crooned. She lifted into the air, her eyes glowing red as the energy around her radiated like the sun. “You just need to know where to look.”

“Please,” he whimpered one last time as the chain tightened itself until his vision saw spots.

“Such a pretty word,” she sighed, her halo glowing brighter. “Too bad it has no real power.”

Peter could only brace himself, his eyes squinting, as Wanda unleashed the power of the Darkhold. Red light burst like a hurricane, thick and blinding, shoving everyone down to the ground at the force.

Wanda smiled, singing with delight as the energy melted into her, a calling of possibility falling to her fingertips. It was a breath of fresh air, a comfort from the cold, as it rejuvenated her bones. Her juvenile clothes were transformed into the leather worn battlegear she’d grown accustomed to during her self-imposed exile, and her crown wove around to frame her face.

The Scarlet Witch was forged once more.

She sighed, “Much better,” and marched forward.

The others were still down though awake. Wanda had intended as much. She needed them to see her for who she truly was, to fear what she could be, and to keep them at bay. She was not some helpless damsel in distress, not anymore. She was her own person, and she refused to be undermined any longer.

Vision still lay on the ground, unmoving since she’d lashed out. The Mind stone was glowing bright, hot and burning against Wanda’s own mind as she neared her love’s body. She winced as she bent to the ground to grip his hand, the glow of the stone sharp against her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and kissed his palm. Vision lightly twitched, groaning, but Wanda would not let him wake. She raised her hand to the stone, lightly touching it, and watched as a surge of her power rushed over his body, enveloping in a cocoon.

Wanda sighed as she raised Vision’s body up with her and faced Peter once more. “It’s a shame. I had hoped that of everyone, you would’ve understood my pain the most.”

Peter groaned, still unable to focus completely as the chain had yet to ease, but he dared not speak. Wand raised him into the air once more, bringing him forth to brush the hair from his face and rub a smudge of dirt off his cheek. “So I shall offer you one final act of kindness, Peter—a promise really, one born from a mother’s love.” Peter’s lip trembled as he continued to struggle, legs flailing uselessly in the air as they searched for the ground.

Wand bent close, her mouth against his ear. “If you want to live, you won’t come after me again. You will see my gift for what it is, and you will stay away. You will have your happiness, and I shall have mine. And it shall remain as such.”

A final tear trickled down Peter’s cheek as the chain tightened again and he bit his tongue.

“But I know you won’t listen,” she said. “You never have, and you never will. So I will wish you luck instead.”

Peter continued to struggle, eyes blinking tiredly at Wanda. The witch smiled one last time, gently holding her hand to Peter’s cheek, then floated away.

With Vision at her side and the Darkhold on her hip, Wanda had all she ever needed. The witch drifted into the air, the haze of magic releasing as it collected itself back to her side, swirling around her, before concaving around her and bursting into the air in a flash of red light and energy.

They were gone, and, with them, Wanda’s magic released.

Peter fell to the ground, panting and gasping as sweet, sweet air flooded back into his lungs.

The others seemed to feel the same as the gravity of Wanda’s magic ebatted and freed them from their confines to the ground. Loud gasps echoed across the field, each Avenger finding their footing again as their minds released from the paralysis they’d been subjected to.

“Oh, it’s over,” Clint groaned in joy, stretching out into a starfish position on his back.

“Yeah, yeah it is,” Steve pant. His muscles were trembling, almost burning like they had back during his army training days when he was still frail and couldn’t do more than two push ups before his asthma set in. “Do we even know what that was?”

“Wanda went crazy, that’s what happened,” Sam interjected. “And from the looks of it, it’s been a long time coming.”

“That makes no sense,” Clint said.

“Do you have any other explanation?”

“No…?”

“Then we’ll go with mine.”

“Guys!” Steve broke through their bickering and nodded over to where the spider-guy lay curled up in a ball on the ground. “We’ve got another issue to deal with.”

The kid knew something, or at least knew more than he was letting on. Steve could’ve been certain that this kid, Peter, had never had a run in with Wanda before today, but he was clearly mistaken. That or Tony had released some kind of hallucinogenic gas that had made them all trip and was now wearing off, but Steve figured that they couldn’t have all had the same dream.

“Come on,” he said, raising himself up on still stiff, shaking legs. “Let’s get some answers.”

The others nodded and helped each other up, Sam offering an arm to Scott while Steve helped up Bucky and Clint.

“This is a lot more intense than what I signed up for,” Scott mumbled.

“Same here, tic-tac… Same here.”

Peter was still curled up on the ground, gasping and trying to calm his heartbeat.

It didn’t happen, none of this happened. It was all a dream, or a really sh*tty nightmare. Or maybe he was dead. Yeah, he was definitely dead. He knew that he already ruled out that possibility when he was first piecing his mind back together, but Peter thought that the rebirth of the Scarlet Witch knocked the possibility of death back into the ring.

After all, there was no way that Wanda had figured out time travel, there was no way that she had killed America in the process, and there was no way that she had presumably done it all intentionally.

Peter started to hysterically laugh, his body slowly uncurling as he felt hands reach out to him.

“Kid?” the voice said, but Peter kept on laughing, it slowly growing more maniacal.

“Kid, you’re scaring me…”

“He can’t hear you, he’s in shock.”

“Yeah, no sh*t! What was giving that away? The Joker laugh?”

Peter continued to snicker and giggle, tugging at his hair as the bodies crowded around him and blocked out all the light.

“We need to do something!”

“Like what, Steve?”

“I don’t know, but this isn’t healthy.”

“There’s no such thing as healthy shock!”

It was all way too funny for Peter. He was supposedly stuck in the past, surrounded by his dead friends and family who were apparently very much alive, and Wanda was on the loose planning to do who knows what. It was f*cking hilarious! Even in death Peter couldn’t catch a break.

“Okay, now that is an unhealthy laugh.”

“Heart rate is elevated and rising.”

“Okay, he needs to snap out of it now.”

“Wake up, kid!”

A buzz of electricity ran through Peter, a quick Zap! that had him jolting and gasping.

“Easy, easy,” the voice steadied, a hand braced on Peter’s shoulder as he tried to move. “Take it slow kid, take it slow.”

Peter eased, the laughs dying down as his vision focused. All the Avengers were crowded around, staring down at him in wonder and worry.

“Mister Stark?” He twitched around to find his mentor’s face, the elder glowering in worry.

“Hey, kid. You back?”

“Um, I think so?” He smacked his lips, noting the undertone of cumin under his tongue.

“Great,” his mentor smiled and rubbed at his shoulder before gripping it tight.

Peter winced. This wouldn't end well.

“Now start talking.”

Chapter 3: 2016

Chapter Text

Peter couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, truly. Afterall, why wouldn’t he?

First, he was pulled into a battle against probably the most powerful being in the multiverse where he fought alongside his former friends who had no idea who he was and had to watch them all die. Then, during the final stand, Peter was forced to once again sacrifice himself as he watched his best friend die in front of him before being sucked into an unknown vortex of time and space that inevitably deposited him in his fourteen year-old body back before any real damage had been done surrounded by people who were supposed to be dead, including his former mentor / father figure. And, finally, to top it all off, said most powerful being in the multiverse decided to ignite her powers before them all, steal Vision, threaten Peter his life (again!) and then disappear into the unknown with an unknown plan that Peter now was left to puzzle over, admit defeat to, or simply decided that this was all a bad nightmare that she’d subjected him to because he was actually dead and being punished for all that he’s ever done by being forced to relive it all but only worse.

Yeah, this was very laughable.

“Seriously, kid,” his not-dead mentor said. “You need to tell us what’s happening. You need to snap out of this!”

Every muscle and bone in Peter’s body ached. With each chuckle that left his lips, with each moment that his stomach tightened and his eyes water, with each thought about what just happened—well, to Peter at least, what really couldn’t have just happened—he felt himself accepting his fate more and more.

“Why?” he asked. Peter was sitting on the ground surrounded by the heroes, legs splayed as he caved in on himself. “It’s not like you’d believe me anyway. And, it’s not like any of this is real! I mean, if it was,” he let out another pained chuckle, “then that’d mean we’re all screwed! It means we’re just gonna let history repeat itself, and it just means that we’re all gonna die at the end again…”

The heroes looked worrisome around him, even the Captain’s team growing apparent sympathy from the atrocious display of Peter’s sniveling and water works. He couldn’t even find himself to be embarrassed by it all.

“Just, please, go away,” he begged. He couldn’t face them, not again. Peter couldn’t look them in the eyes, not knowing all that he did. He refused.

“No can do, son,” Rogers said. Peter ground his teeth as he felt the tension in Mr. Stark’s body tighten, moving slightly aside for the super soldier to see the mess that was Peter Benjamin Parker unfold.

“No, you definitely can. Because if this is a dream, it’s a sh*tty one. It also probably means I’m dead and you’re all just figments of my guilty consciousness trying to haunt me.” At least, that’s what Peter hoped was true. It probably was true. Wanda had no reason to keep him alive if not to torture him, there was no sliver of sympathy that the witch could eminate.

“Okay…” Mr. Stark drawled. “Let me confirm for you then that this is in fact not a dream. It’s very much real.”

Peter rolled his eyes and closed his eyes to flop back on the ground. Maybe if he stared into the brightness of the fake-day that he’d just be whisked away.

“That’s exactly what a dream would say. That’s the whole point. So I don’t believe you.”

Mr. Stark groaned and cursed, his armor whirring as he moved. “I do not have the energy to deal with philosophy right now, kid.”

“Oh yeah? Well then, by all means, if you got some other way of proving to me that I am in fact not dead and hallucinating, then by all means, try your best! Because there is nothing that you can say that can convince me that this isn’t all inside—AAAHHHAAHAH!”

“What the Hell, Nat!” That was Mr. Stark’s voice Peter was pretty sure as he convulsed on the ground.

Electricity jolted his body, starting against his chest and enveloping his entire body in wave after wave. Peter was twitching and shrieking, voice garbled as his eyes opened to see that one of Black Widow’s taser disks was attached to him, knocking some sense into him as he continued to struggle and flail on the ground until it blessedly subsided and left him panting and in distress on the ground.

“That prove anything?” she snarked, a satisfied smirk on her face as she moved to flick the device away.

Peter turned onto his side and spat out a glob of saliva, coughing violently as he tried to compose himself, his face red and feeling as if it was on fire. Holy sh*t, that was real. That… That had actually happened! He wasn’t dreaming, he wasn’t hallucinating, he wasn’t dead!

A slight joy began to warm itself in Peter at the thought. His fists curled as he pulled himself up. He wasn’t dead, he was alive. He hadn’t been decimated, he hadn’t been forgotten!

But- But that meant that… “That- That was cruel!”

Natasha shrugged, helping Peter back into a sitting position as she put her hand against his pulse and nodded in satisfaction. “Did the trick I think. Wanda goes for memories, but never tries to cause physical pain, only emotional. A shock to the system seemed the best course of action.”

“I think I’d rather have another parking garage collapse on me…” Peter rubbed at the spot where the taser had been attached, soothing the tensed muscle.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Stark barged. “Did you just say parking garage?”

Peter waved him off. “Not important. Also hasn’t happened yet.”

“That makes any less sense!”

“Not if I’m talking about time travel it doesn’t.”

Mr. Stark stared gobsmacked at him, mouth opening and closing as he tried to process it all.

“Time travel?” It was Scott who asked, Peter turning his gaze to the similar newbie as the other’s looked surprised at his addition to the conversation. “Like, Hot Tub Time Machine or Back to the Future type of time travel?”

Peter shrugged, wincing at the pain and began to roll out his shoulders, giving a slight glare to Natasha. “No. That would mean there’d be two Peter Parker’s here, not one. I’m talking about psyche time travel because that seems to be the only thing that fits what’s happening.”

“Cool,” Scott whispered, eyes widening.

“And what exactly is happening?” Rogers stepped forward, earning an even nastier glare from Mr. Stark in the process as he invaded Peter’s space. “We need answers, which means we need you to cooperate.”

Mr. Stark growled. “He is not taking orders from you, Steve! Do not treat him like a prisoner.”

“What are we supposed to treat him like then, Tony?”

“Oh, I don’t know? Maybe a kid.”

“Will you two shut it!” Natasha took a stand, pushing back against Rogers’ chest so that he stumbled back into Bucky and Sam. “Knock it off. This is not the time for petty squabbles.”

Mr. Stark gauffed. “But he—”

“Nope. Shut it down now. Let the kid speak for himself and stop imposing.” Natasha leveled them all with glares. Mr. Stark huffed but complied, Rogers doing the same but not looking happy about it.

“Good.” Natasha spun around, lending Peter an arm to help him stand. He weakly teetered forward, his legs like jelly, as the Widow helped him balance.

“But he is right, kid,” she admitted. “We really do need you to tell us what’s happening.”

Peter sighed, nodding weakly. “I know. But can we not do it here? Any way we can, like, go somewhere safer? Ross is on his way here right now and wants to arrest everyone. Better we beat him to the punch before we’re all sent to the Raft.”

“How do you know that?” Natasha looked to Mr. Stark, but the man just shook his head and held up his hands.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t tell him any of that, only that he was needed as backup.”

That did not seem to please Natasha.

“Time travel, remember?” Peter gave a weak smile. “I know everything that’s going to happen within the next decade, give or take.”

Natasha sighed, “Right. Probably best that we listen to the advice then, huh?”

“…Couldn’t hurt.”

“We are not doing that,” Rogers’ voice boomed. Bucky and Sam looked worried, if not on edge, especially Bucky. Peter knew how badly he didn’t want to go back to being imprisoned. It was the first time the man had had any sort of lick of freedom in over seventy years after all.

“Do we have much of a choice?” Natasha imposed.

“Yes, we do. The kid may be from the future, but how do we know that we can trust him?”

“Are you serious right now?” Mr. Stark asked. “You’re seriously about to pull this bullsh*t? After that light show from the crimson princess?”

“Scarlet Witch,” Peter mumbled, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Excuse me?”

Peter gulped. “The Scarlet Witch, that’s what she’s called. Hydra didn’t give her any powers in the experiment with the Mind Stone—the jewel from Loki’s scepter and what’s in Vision’s head. Wanda’s always had those powers, the stone just amplified them into what you knew them to be. But now she’s fully unlocked them, and that makes her very, very dangerous.”

Mr. Stark mulled it over, humming contently. “Good enough for me. Let’s go.”

“No. No!” Rogers grabbed Mr. Stark’s arm, yanking the man back. Peter did all he could to keep himself from seeing red. “That is not good enough. We are not following this child without something substantial that we can actually prove he knows what’s going on.”

Majority of the team audibly groaned, even T’Challa looking a bit perplexed at the stubbornness that Rogers permeated, though Peter also noticed how the man continued to stare at Bucky as a predator would their prey.

Peter huffed, squaring up his shoulders. “Fine. You want proof? I’ll give you your ‘proof.’ Zemo was the one who bombed the building in Vienna and killed your dad,” he said to the Wakandan prince. “His goal was to frame Bucky for the crimes because he wants the Avengers to destroy themselves because he blames everyone for the death of his family in Sokovia. Currently, he’s on his way to Siberia to a bunker that houses some other super soldiers that were made by a serum Howard Stark whipped up, but not to unleash them, but to kill them. He doesn’t want super soldiers to exist and is hoping that he can get all of you to kill each other. And…” Peter gulped, shuffling his feet. This was the hardest part, the part that Peter really didn’t want to say but knew that he had to. It was only fair, even if Mr. Stark should never learn about the truth in such a way.

“And to do this, he planned to reveal what actually happened on December sixteenth, nineteen ninety-one.” Rogers and Bucky’s eyes both widened, the Captain shifting unsteadily on his feet as he sent Mr. Stark a quick glance, but the man only looked confused.

“What does the day of my parent’s death have to do with anything?”

Natasha cursed in Russian, slowly beginning to piece together the truth that Peter was ready to spill. Despite her schooled tone, Peter could see the anger ripping through her as she leveled Rogers.

“You never told him?”

Rogers sighed, jittery. “There was never the right time to. Not that made any sense, or- or—”

“Of course there’s never a right time, Steve!”

“What are you two squabbling about?” Mr. Stark interjected, eyeing the pair, then Peter, and then back to the assassin and super soldier in a never ending circle. “What aren’t you telling me? Peter?” his mentor looked at him expectantly.

Peter sighed, throat suddenly heavy as he looked the Captain dead in the eyes and asked, “Do you want to? Or should I?”

Rogers didn’t look any less pleased about the decision. He looked as if he would admit defeat, as if all the cards had been played. But his pride seemed to be winning as he couldn’t face Mr. Stark, fidgeting to look back at Bucky.

It ended up being Bucky who spoke, right before Peter could utter the words.

“Howard and Maria Stark didn’t die in a car accident. I killed them on behalf of Hydra to collect the new super soldier serum Howard had developed and supposedly perfected.”

Nobody moved a muscle or spoke, letting the information settle in. Clint and Sam didn’t look as surprised by the news, probably guessing it a possibility knowing how the death of the Stark’s was not always clear and how Bucky had been accounted for taking out people of a high caliber. Scott was the most fidgety, and Peter kinda felt bad that the man has had to stand and watch this all go down when he himself had no real connection or idea about what was happening.

But Peter could care less about them, he was more concerned about Mr. Stark.

The man stood ashen, almost as if he was going to be sick. He could do nothing but blink into the distance. He didn’t even flinch when Colonel Rhodes approached and gripped his shoulder, his eyes darting between his best friend and Bucky. At least the super soldier had enough guts to look guilty, even hiding away slightly behind Rogers and Sam in the process.

“You-” Mr. Stark gasped, licking his lips. “You knew? You knew Barnes had kill-... had killed my parents, and you didn’t tell me?”

Peter couldn’t really tell what the super soldier was feeling, only watching as the muscles tensed throughout him, as if he was edging for a fight. “Tony I-”

“Shut the f*ck up right now, Rogers!” Mr. Stark burst. “I don’t want to hear another word from you!”

“Tones…” Colonel Rhodes looked about ready to tackle the man to the ground to keep him from lashing out.

“And you!” Mr. Stark turned to Natasha. “You also knew? Right? You both knew and neither of you thought to tell me?!”

“It wasn’t my place,” Natasha spoke, her words soft. “Steve should’ve been the one to tell you. I actually thought he had. At least, that’s what he insinuated.”

Now Peter saw the guilt and shame breach itself through Rogers’ face, his shoulders sagging as Sam and Clint looked at him in shock.

“Are you serious right now?” Sam asked.

“I-” the Captain tripped over his words.

“Like I said, not the time.” Peter finally spoke up. He honestly couldn’t take another moment of the drama. He’d already been through it once, he didn’t want to again, especially if it was just going to be a screaming match. “But is that enough ‘proof’ for you? You think you can trust me long enough to move this somewhere a bit more private and less likely to end in jail time?”

Everyone was in their own separate states of disbelief. Nobody wanted to admit anything, all too squirmy as the once defined lines began to blur and opinions formed.

“Yes,” Natasha assured, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I think that we can—for now, at least—put this aside to focus on the big picture.”

“Are you seriously asking me to ignore the fact that Steve didn’t tell me that my parents were murdered by his best buddie?!”

Peter winced. “Only for, like, a couple hours? After that you can scream to your heart's content at each other. But I’m actually serious that Wanda is kinda a big issue. Not that your inner turmoil isn’t important or valid, Mister Stark!” Peter immediately backtracked. “I mean, it is, obviously. Rogers just lied to you for, like, two or whatever years. And that’s really sh*tty and I’m really sorry you had to find all this out like this, but it’s better than last time! Last time you almost died because Rogers and Bucky tag teamed to beat you up in the Bunker, so I’d call this a win!”

That… that was definitely not what Peter should’ve said.

“I’m sorry,” Colonel Rhodes back tracked, “Steve and Barnes did what last time?”

“Uh…”

“Okay, everybody is officially on a time out.” Natasha took command of the situation. Everyone was afraid of her, so it made sense, and she seemed to be the only one who was able to keep it together currently and who knew about all the moving parts.

“This conversation is going to be tabled until Peter here can explain himself. I agree, what Steve and I did was sh*tty and I’m sorry,” she sympathized with Mr. Stark, “but I don’t think it’s our biggest concern currently. We have no idea what just happened with Wanda, and no idea where she’s gone with Vision. We need to know our priorities, and I’m thinking that her suddenly turning into the Scarlet Witch ... '' she gave Peter a disbelieving look, “is at the top of the list. So we’re all going to get on the jet and head back to the Compound. We are then going to be patient and listen to Peter about what’s happening and figure out what to do next. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” said Clint as Sam and Scott nodded.

“Fine,” Colonel Rhodes groused, Mr. Stark not having the heart to look at anyone, only briefly flickering his gaze to Peter. How Peter just wanted to run into the man’s arms and hug him, to comfort and be comforted.

“I agree, but I shall not be joining,” T’Challa spoke up. Peter blinked at him in question, sure that the prince would have wanted to know all about what has occurred.

The prince sighed, sensing the discourse among the group. “Your personal agenda is of no concern to me. However, I will choose to believe you, Peter,” he assured. Peter suppressed a squeak. He’d never had the honor of personally meeting or speaking to T’Challa, only to Shuri, and he could honestly say that the prince was much more imposing than the princess.

“I shall go collect Zemo and learn of what has become of the super soldiers,” he said. “The man must face justice, and I believe my people should be the first to witness it.”

Natasha nodded, giving a hand to shake. “Thank you, for all your help. And I wish you the best of luck.”

T’Challa nodded. “As to you. Contact me when you have a consensus. If I can help in any way, I would like to.”

The Widow smiled. “Of course.”

The faint sound of sirens prickled at Peter’s senses as he watched, a shiver running up his spine.

“Okay, great! This is nice and all, but we really need to get going.”

Natasha could see the urgency radiating through him and nodded. “Of course. Let’s get going. I have no desire to take on Ross and his buddies today. Besides,” she gave him a cheeky grin, “I want to hear all about what the future has in store. Seems like you’ve got some things to get off your chest, kid.”

Oh, you have no idea, Peter grinned back.

This was going to be a very long day.

🝮

Peter had never spent much time at the Avengers Compound. It was a good distance outside the city, so it was somewhat of an inconvenience for him, especially when Happy was only so generous with his chauffeuring. So Peter had spent most of his time at the SI headquarters in the city instead. The only real times Peter had gone to the Compound was for the few and far between weekend excursions when Mr. Stark talked about wanting to update his suit.

“And you can’t do it at the Tower because…?” Peter had asked.

Mr. Stark had scoffed, speeding up as the pair sped down the winding road. The man had surprised him by picking him up from school that day, completely gobsmacking everyone around as he casually leaned against the hood of the car, waiting for Peter to appear.

“One, I need to get away from the office. And two, I’ve got better materials at the Compound. It’s where I keep the majority of my stuff. The lab at the Tower is just a formality for Pepper to make me go to work.”

Peter had snickered at that, thinking how ridiculous it was that Mr. Stark, a grown man in his forties, still needed an incentive to go to work. At least Ms. Potts had found a way to make the man engage in his company, at least, that’s what she always teased during the few times Peter had met the famed and formidable CEO.

The Compound had always felt like a shell, not quite whole and only a formality. The halls were always empty, except in the facilities where several former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents worked. The living spaces that Mr. Stark had once promised Peter he’d have one day seemed lonely, almost like a museum, and Peter was kinda happy that Mr. Stark lived in the city instead. Peter couldn’t imagine living here all alone. It was too big, too spacious—too empty.

That was what Peter thought of now as the jet ride from Germany came to an end.

Everyone had sat in silence for the duration, the only noise coming from the click of buttons in the co*ckpit, the breathing patterns Peter had now memorized, and the gentle thumping of heartbeats that sped or dimmed depending on who each person in the group made eye contact with.

Natasha and Mr. Stark were piloting, both appearing unwilling to join the group. The tension had not eased between the time they boarded and took off, only seeming to strengthen as Peter realized he was sitting entirely among the entirety of Team Captain America since Colonel Rhodes had decided to fly back in the War Machine suit to smooth things over before their arrival.

Clint was to his right, supposedly napping, Scott next to him, looking the most unsure and awkward of them all which, fair. Peter felt bad that he was having to be dragged along for the ride.

Rogers, Bucky, and Sam sat on the other side, each staring off into the distance, reluctant to look at each other. Sam looked disappointed, if not bored, unsure of where he should stand now that the truth was all on the table. Bucky was the most uneasy, and Peter couldn’t exactly blame him. It had been a real miracle that Bucky had gotten on the jet to begin with, but if the quick glances Peter kept feeling the super soldier give him now and then said anything, he thought the man was willing to trust and believe him. It wouldn’t be all that shocking though to Peter. Last time when he’d met the man, he’d been taken under the former soldier’s wing along with Yelena, sympathetic to the idea that Peter had been forgotten, and he was all too familiar with the notion of lost memories. Maybe this time wouldn’t be so different. That was if Rogers didn’t get in the way of it.

The original super soldier looked like he wanted to pummel Peter, but was too afraid to say anything to warrant such an attack. Rogers had always been dangerous in his unpredictability. He was about justice, Mr. America, standing up for a country that had built itself off of the backbones of others. Like all heroes, Rogers believed he meant right and well, but that didn’t mean it was true. It also didn’t mean that Natasha was right about anything, or Clint, or even Mr. Stark. No one was a winner here, but they’d all been divided by the notion of truth and trust when they had built so many walls around themselves that it wasn’t even a possibility to contend.

It was actually kinda sad.

Peter sat in the closest seat possible to Mr. Stark and away from the others. He curled himself into a pall, hitching his legs up to rest his chin on his knees, trying to ease himself into a fake sense of security while the rest of him fought off the desire to sleep. There were only two people on this flight that Peter had any inclination to trust at the moment—and that sadly did not include Clint at the moment. He was in survival mode, needing to comply and appear as non-threatening as possible if he was to make it out of this nightmare in one piece.

“ETA three minutes,” Natasha said. She clicked a couple more buttons and rose from her seat, depositing her headset into her seat as she moved to stand before them. She looked almost haggard now, that effortless look of composure cracked as she assessed them.

She leaned against the wall right by Peter’s head as she said, “Which means it’s time for you to tell us how best to get Ross off our asses.”

Peter sighed and nodded, unfolding himself from his little ball of anxiety. He’d been trying to think about how best to go about this the entire ride knowing that no matter the plan, somebody was going to have a problem with it.

“So,” the Widow said as she gave the others an appropriate look to keep them from talking, “what was actually supposed to happen?”

Peter shrugged. “Not anything interesting. We fought, Rogers escaped with Bucky, Colonel Rhodes got shot down and became paralized,” he heard Mr. Stark’s breath tighten, “and everyone else got sent to the Raft until you and Rogers broke them out and went rogue for two years.”

Natasha nodded along. “Well, I’m sure Rhodey will thank you accordingly for helping prevent that from happening to him.” Peter winced. “Otherwise, good to know. When we land, Ross may be waiting for us. It’s still unclear. Rhodey hasn’t updated us on what ground control is like, so we can only assume the worst for the time being. He wants to detain and control Barnes, we can’t let that happen. So we need a solution to minimize possible damages and aggression. What would you suggest we do? Because I’m thinking that we can’t lose any players right now.”

“No, we can’t,” Peter agreed. “I think the only acceptable way would be to detain Bucky in the Compound along with Rogers even if we don’t actually mean it. That way Ross and the U.N. will feel like they’ve won the argument and that we have things handled. It’d also let us argue for why they shouldn’t allow Bucky to fall into Ross’ custody considering last time he allowed for a security breach and he escaped. Insist that the Compound is the only place that can appropriately and fully detain super soldiers.”

Natasha hummed. “That could work.”

“Absolutely not!” Steve imposed. He looked more shocked by Natasha agreeing with Peter than Peter’s plan at all.

“Why not, Steve?” Natasha said, almost annoyed. “Seems reasonable to me.”

Rogers scoffed. “Because we aren’t going to be putting Bucky back in a cell. He isn’t dangerous. He doesn’t deserve to continue to be on the run or locked up anymore than he already has.”

“He’s dangerous as long as he’s got the trigger words in his head,” Peter supplied. “As long as the Winter Soldier can be activated, Bucky will always be seen as a possible threat. That’s another reason why we need to keep Bucky in the Compound so that we can implement B.A.R.F. on him to erase the trigger words. Then we can get him a trial. Last time they used the point that you are technically the longest P.O.W. as a reason for why you should be exempt from your crimes,” he directed at Bucky. The man looked surprised, if not a bit grateful as he listened. “You’re the bullet, and Hydra was the gun. I think they ended up making you serve mandatory therapy for a year for compliance.”

Bucky seemed fairly impressed with Peter’s analysis, the gears moving as he continued to stare down Peter, making him squirm. Rogers, of course, was the only one still on edge since Sam, Clint, and Scott didn’t really have much say in the decision or seemed to care much one way or the other.

“Seems fair to me,” Mr. Stark said, his seat spinning around to face them. Peter was surprised at the steadiness in his voice. “As long as Robocop’s willing to be put into solitary confinement, I can set up his own room in the basem*nt.”

“Like Hell you will, Tony! You cannot possibly—”

“I’ll do it.”

Bucky’s voice silenced Steve, the man flabbergasted at his friend’s acceptance of the situation. “Buck…”

The soldier looked tired, the feeling of being on the run catching up to him as Peter realized that his body was finally signaling to him that he was safe, that he could relax and breathe. “No, Steve. Just no. It’s time. If Peter says that things will work out, I’m ready to try. And if it means staying out of Ross’ jurisdiction, I’m even more game. This is my choice, not yours.”

“But- But there’s still time to—”

“No, there’s not. We’re landing in thirty seconds,” Mr. Stark jeered. “You got about twenty seconds to make a decision so I can inform ground control. Rhodey just messaged that Ross is sending some goons our way soon, so we need to ensure that we have a plan for why Ross shouldn’t even step foot on my property.”

Steve’s voice began to rise again, his gaze hardened at Mr. Stark. Peter could hear the trill in Mr. Stark’s heart. “We need more time to—”

“No, we don’t.” Natasha said, giving Peter an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder. “Peter’s right. This is Barnes’ decision to make, not anyone else's, and if he trusts Peter’s judgment enough, then you should too. Let the man make his own calls.”

The jet began its descent, a slight shudder hitting them as they slowed. Peter could already hear the sound of people surrounding them, the checking of guns or whatever other weapons they deemed fit for the situation.

“Stevie,” Bucky pleaded. With some uncertainty, the soldier lifted his hand to rest on his best friend’s, “it’s gonna be okay.”

“You can not possibly know that.”

“Neither do you. So shut up about it.”

Steve sighed as the jet touched down and they all began unbuckling their seats, grabbing their gear as the ramp lowered.

Just as predicted, the group was met with a series of armed men, though Ross was thankfully nowhere in sight. Colonel Rhodes stood at the front, armor still adorned, as Mr. Stark took the lead down the ramp to whisper in his friend’s ear. The colonel nodded, giving a signal to another by his side who pulled out a set of super soldier strength cuffs.

Peter saw the way Bucky gulped, but didn’t deter as the man came to lock them around his wrists. He trembled, subtle enough that Peter was pretty sure only him and Rogers could tell as he was led down and into the day life, carted away to whatever place Mr. Stark had secured for him.

Another soldier came forward with another set of cuffs, looking at Rogers expectantly, only for Mr. Stark to wave him off.

“It’s alright. Captain Rogers knows not to engage. He’ll be coming with us for a debrief before whatever punishment Ross wants will be served.”

The soldier had no care, simply nodding and backing off. Rogers let out a sigh, as did Natasha, and they followed Mr. Stark into the Compound. They had business to attend to.

Mr. Stark ignored everyone in his path as he led the way. Peter didn’t know what would happen next, didn’t know where they were headed, only that he should keep his mouth shut until the designated time.

“Peter,” Mr. Stark called to him, the teen running up to walk speedily beside him. “You’re gonna have about two hours to explain everything before we have to answer to Ross. So you’re gonna need to keep it as concise as possible.”

“I can keep it concise,” Peter said, but Mr. Stark just gave him an unimpressed look.

“Kid, I’ve barely known you for two days, but I can tell that’s a lie. You’re as subtle as me trying to sneak down to the labs in the middle of the night.”

“Only ‘cause F.R.I.D.A.Y. tattles to Miss Potts.”

Mr. Stark frowned. “How would you know…?”

“Future, remember?” Peter smiled. “You made me your mentee, so you used to complain whenever we were in the lab about how Miss Potts would cut you off from your coffee and make F.R.I.D.A.Y. lock you out of your lab after a certain time limit.”

“Huh,” Mr. Stark mulled as they continued to walk. “That seems like me. A little doubtful on the mentee part, but…”

“I almost died, like, five times within the span of about a month after you gave me the suit and decided to keep a tab on me in person. Miss Potts once said I was your soft spot.”

Mr. Stark sighed, rubbing at his head. “Yeah, that sounds like something she would say.”

They ended up at a conference room somewhere far away from all the other bodies mulling around the building. Peter already knew it was soundproof despite all the walls being made of glass. It was one of the implementations Mr. Stark had ensured when designing the facility to ensure maximum security in every aspect. A good choice for the truth bomb Peter was about to deliver.

Mr. Stark, Natasha, Rhodey, and Clint sat on one side while Rogers, Sam, and Scott sat on the other. They each had their walls up, each side (all except for Scott, that is) sending the other side of the table nasty and questionable glances as Peter took his stance at the front.

“Alright, kid,” Mr. Stark said as he leaned back in his seat. “Explain.”

Peter twitched nervously, eyes darting around to match with everyone else's stares. He ringed his hands, continuing to jitter and bounce on the balls of his feet. This was it, this was the moment where Peter would feel his heart explode and the world finally collapse in on him.

He took a breath, willing his body to remain still, focusing, and set about his tale of woe in the most atrocious word vomit he’d ever spewed.

“Okay, so, like I said, my psyche is from the future, but not my body, so while I look fourteen, I’m actually twenty-one.”

“What?” Mr. Stark blurted. “That’s not how that should work.”

“And you’re an expert on time travel?” Rogers scoffed.

“More than you. At least I know how it’s technically supposed to work.”

“Shut up!” Natasha bellowed. The two leaders bristled, but complied, falling silent as Clint suppressed a snicker. “Please continue.”

“Right,” Peter nodded. “So, where I’m from in twenty twenty-six,” that earned some eye boggling, “the world is still recovering from this thing called the Snap which happens in twenty-eighteen. Basically, after the Avengers split up because, you know…” he waved between his mentor and the captain, “because of that, there wasn’t any real hero-ing going on. The world was calming down when suddenly this mad space alien named Thanos came to Earth searching for the six Infinity Stones of the universe. He wanted to use the stones to erase fifty percent of all living beings in the universe and learned that two of the stones were on Earth: the Mind and Time Stone. The Mind Stone is the jewel in Vision’s head and is what activated Wanda’s powers,” Peter reminded them. “And the Time Stone was—or, is, actually—being protected by some real life sorcerers.” He almost said wizards.

“Thanos sent some of his ‘children’—don’t ask, I honestly don’t know—to collect the stones and went after the Time Stones protector Doctor Stephen Strange who was at that moment in time the Sorcerer Supreme.”

Mr. Stark raised his hand, pausing Peter’s rant. “You realize how weird this sounds, right?”

“Oh, one-hundred percent,” Peter admitted. “But trust me, there’s a lot of weird things out there. Sorcerer’s are the least of your worries.

“Any way,” Peter continued, “Doctor Strange got kidnapped by an alien that looked like Squidward and me and Mr. Stark followed them into space to get him back. Meanwhile, I guess Doctor Banner called Captain Rogers to find Vision because he and Wanda disappeared and they went to Wakanda to get the stone out of Vision’s head and fight Thanos’ army.”

“Wait, when did Bruce get back?” Rogers asked.

“He fell from space and first warned us of Thanos’ arrival. He’s with Thor right now I think on some gladiator ring planet. I don’t know, I didn’t pay attention. Doctor Strange just banned me from ever going off-world again.”

“Sure, why not,” Mr. Stark grumbled.

“Can I please continue? You’re literally the one who said I needed to be concise.”

Mr. Stark sighed, staring Peter down for the blunt action, but waved him on.

“Okay, thank you. So, while we were in space, we met these guys called the Guardians of the Galaxy who were also after Thanos and we decided to team up to fight him. We ended up battling on the planet Titan where Doctor Strange used the Time Stone to look into the future, saw over, like, fifteen million possibilities, and determined that we only won one battle, but wouldn’t tell us how we did it. Thanos appeared and we all battled him, he threw a planet at us, we almost got the Infinity Gauntlet from him—the thing that he was using to hold all the stones—and then Thanos broke free and tried to kill us. Doctor Strange ended up trading the Time Stone to save Mister Stark’s life before it looked like Thanos was about to kill him.” Peter gulped, his fearful eyes matching Mr. Stark’s surprised face.

“Oh.”

Peter shrugged. “Still not the worst thing that happened. So,” he clapped his hands and began to pace frantically, “after the trade, Thanos disappeared through a portal with one of the stones because by the time he battled us he had four stones, now five, and went to Wakanda. From what I know of what happened, Captain Rogers, the Rogues as you were dubbed, and the Wakandan army battled against Thanos’ alien army while Shuri tried to remove Vision’s stone without killing him, but time ran out,” his voice slowed. “Wanda ended up having to destroy the stone while it was still attached to Vision’s head. She killed him, and it broke her, but you thought you won. And you would’ve, too, if it hadn’t been for the fact that because Thanos now had the Time Stone.” Peter shuddered at the thought. “Apparently, he reversed time to revive Vision and ripped the stone out of his head, killing him all over again in front of Wanda. Then he snapped his fingers and disappeared. People started to turn to dust soon after.”

“Dust?” Mr. Stark asked. He looked the most torn up, the most worried as compared to the general fear that was radiating around them.

“Yeah, dust. Thanos won, we lost. Everyone on Titan except for you, Mr. Stark, and one of the Guardians' members named Nebula dusted. For five years.”

The air left the room. The Avengers had always strived to be the best of everyone, the most resilient and persistent, the ones who could win any battle brought before them. But that was when they were a team, not when they were divided. Peter wondered what it would’ve been like if they hadn’t split up.

“Thanos used the stones twice: once to decimate the universe, and once to destroy the stones. After Mr. Stark was brought back to Earth, the Avengers went off to find Thanos and reverse the Snap, only to discover that it was impossible. Thor killed Thanos then, and everyone went their separate ways until the year twenty twenty-three when Scott Lang reappeared.”

Scott perked up like a puppy at his name. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Peter scratched the back of his head, “everyone thought you were also dusted, but you were apparently trapped in the quantum realm instead.”

“That place Hank Pym always talks about?”

“You’re friends with Hank Pym?” Mr. Stark burst.

“Not important,” Natasha bit.

“Yes, I am,” Scott admitted. “He’s the one that made my suit. But I thought that place was all just theoretical?”

Peter shook his head. “Nope! You used some tech to get there and were trapped there for five hours instead of five years when you finally got out. You then went to the Compound where only Natasha and Rogers resided to tell them about the tech and come up with the theory of time travel.”

“Time travel?”

“Time travel. Like, actual time travel. Not psyche time travel. Like, going-through-a-worm-hole time travel.”

“Huh,” Scott thought. “Interesting. Continue.”

Peter smiled. “The remaining Avengers after the Snap were just the original six. You got everyone back together after you brought the theory to Mister Stark and he officially cracked the code to time travel and made a GPS for it.”

“Pause.” Mr. Stark held his hands in a t-shape. “I figured out time travel?”

“Yeah, in one night too. But that’s not important right now.”

“Uh, I think it kinda is because I invented time travel. ”

“Yes, and you’ll probably do it again later. Not important right now!” Mr. Stark definitely wanted to ask more questions, but conceded for Peter to continue thankfully. He wasn’t sure he could go into complete detail about the subject without crying. Better to ignore it for the time being, he decided.

“After you figured it out, all the Avengers plus some remaining newbies came up with a Time Heist to go back and time and get the stones before Thanos could, bring them back to the future, and use them to bring everybody back, then return them to the past. You succeeded, too, but one of the stones, the Soul Stone…” Peter’s eyes softened as he gazed at Natasha, “it involved sacrificing a life to get it, and it ended with Natasha sacrificing herself for everyone else.” He turned his gaze to Clint, the man looking as if ready to argue as he gazed at his best friend. “You were the one to go with her. You tried to sacrifice yourself, but she was faster. You had a lot of guilt about it, especially when Yelena came into the picture.”

“Yelena?” Natasha said. “How do you know about Yelena?”

“Who’s Yelena?” Scott whispered to Sam who just shrugged helplessly.

Peter smiled, a flicker of a memory when the younger Widow had first pinned him to the ground after accidentally scaring when she found him sitting on the ceiling at three in the morning. “Who do you think took over the mantle of Black Widow on the team?”

Natasha’s hardened gaze softened, smiling sadly. “Good for her.”

“Yeah,” he softly chuckled. “I would highly suggest getting in touch with her. When I first met her, she was bitter that she didn’t get more time with her big sister.” The other’s eyes widened in surprise, all except for Clint’s, of course. There was always still something that Natasha could surprise them with.

“Actually,” Peter amended, “she was bitter about you dying and then tried to kill Clint because she was told that he killed you, but that’s a different story and not very important. So, moving on!

“After everyone was revived by the Hulk, we all battled Thanos one last time on Earth because he apparently snuck through the time machine portal and ended up destroying the Compound. Doctor Strange and all the sorcerers opened portals to bring everyone together, Captain Rogers ended up wielding Thor’s hammer, Wanda almost succeeded in killing Thanos, and then Mister Stark stole the stones into his own gauntlet to- um…” Peter took in a heavy breath, clenching his fists. He refused to cry again, he refused to shed more tears.

“Take your time,” Natasha tried to soothe. Everyone was sitting on the edge of their seats.

Peter shook his head. He wanted to stop the story there, to skip over it, to ignore it, but knew he couldn’t. And, if his reaction said anything, he was pretty sure that Mr. Stark could guess where this was headed.

“No. I- I’m good. It’s been a while but apparently it’s all still fresh.” Peter tried to laugh it off, rubbing nervously at his arms as he looked Mr. Stark in the eyes and said, “You snapped your fingers and decimated Thanos’ army, sacrificing yourself in the process.”

“Oh,” Tony muttered.

“Yeah,” Peter slumped. “It- It wasn’t great. Kinda traumatizing. Lots of guilt coupled with. But, again, not what we need to focus on!” Peter was trying to compose himself, to push it all down. He’d already moved past it, he’d dealt with these feelings years ago. There was no need to revisit them now, even if his guilt was staring him right in the face without an ounce of familiarity.

No, focus, Peter mentally scolded himself. You can do this.

Peter sighed, swallowing back the tears, and continued on.

“After… that, Wanda went a little crazy. She learned that Vision’s body had been taken by this organization called S.W.O.R.D. that was trying to deconstruct him and then rebuild him as their own super weapon. She broke, and in the process, she awakened a part of her power that allowed her to kidnap an entire town and hold it hostage in a hex. In her new world, she was able to revive Vision to an extent and made the world her own living sitcom—yes, sitcom—where she ended up having two kids named Billy and Tommy that she has since been convinced are real in every universe besides our own. Eventually she reversed the hex, freeing the town of Westview, but in doing so once more had to watch Vision die, this time alongside her children.

“Between then and now, I’m not really sure what happened to her. All I know is that maybe, like, some months after the Westview anomaly, she reappeared trying to kidnap this girl named America Chavez who can travel the multiverse—a conversation for another time,” he silenced Mr. Stark before the man could ask. “She wanted America’s powers to go to another universe where her kids existed and be happy and was corrupted by the Darkhold, aka, that book that Wanda pulled out of who knows where. It’s also known as the Book of the Damned, her spell book, and the key to her power growing and how she is able to conjure near anything. Doctor Strange was able to intervene and stop her from taking America’s power considering it would kill her in the process and convinced her to destroy the Darkhold in every universe, but apparently that doesn’t count for the past.” That was what honestly ticked Peter off the most for some reason. Stupid rules of time travel.

“After, she disappeared again and everyone thought she was dead.”

The Scarlet Witch can never die, a voice in the back of his mind whispered. You knew she was alive. No he didn’t? Why would he know that she was alive? You know the truth, you know what you need to say.

Peter blinked away the headache, the voice dissipating until it was only a shiver running up his spine. Well that was weird.

“Nobody heard or saw from her for two-ish years,” he said. “And when she did resurface, it was barely even a week ago for me. Doctor Strange had been gathering allies when demons had begun to bleed into our reality and he feared the worst. He just didn’t realize who was causing it, only the potential what. So imagine all of our surprises when a Hell portal suddenly opened up in the middle of downtown Manhattan over the old Avengers Tower and began to destroy the Earth. Wanda wanted to decimate everything to build her new reality on because she was convinced it was the only way to get what she wanted, and that’s what the demon she served, Chthon, had been telling her too.

“And that’s where I came from. When the New Avengers went to stop her, she killed almost all of us and ended up manipulating a spell Strange and America had concocted to trap her in her own pocket dimension. Which is how I got here because I was an idiot who tackled her through the portal.”

There. He’d done it. That hadn’t been so hard.

Everyone stared at him blinking in disbelief. It was a lot to take in.

“Is that everything?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter nodded. “Everything that’s relevant I think.”

“Oh, good. That means there’s more.” His mentor rubbed at his face, slumping farther into his chair as the silence grew thick around him.

Peter had only ever been close to Mr. Stark and Clint, an unsanctioned adoption that had formed when each had brought him into the circle of heroes. Peter knew how Mr. Stark had both always pitied and feared Wanda, had never been able to truly trust or rely on the girl, not after her initial attack that led to the creation of Wanda. Mr. Stark couldn’t trust what he couldn’t truly see. He didn’t like not knowing, and Wanda’s powers had always remained a mystery to him. To a certain extent, Peter knew that Mr. Stark had felt guilt for what Wanda had become, had blamed himself for the misguided path she took because his bomb had taken everything from her, even if he hadn’t been the one to fire it. He wanted to protect and shelter, to correct her flaws without ever consulting her about them. It was a tedious relationship, and Peter almost felt worse for Wanda than Mr. Stark because of it.

But Clint had been different. Clint had looked after her since she joined—had been the one to recruit her. She’d relied on him to lead the way, had put all her trust and faith in him to protect her from the other’s judgment. Clint had seen Wanda as just a child in need of guidance, a helping hand to lead her into the light. She had been like a sister to him, especially once the guilt set in for how Pietro had sacrificed himself to save Clint and a child. Clint had become Wanda’s lifeline, and in turn, Clint took it upon himself to watch over her and train her, their bond absolute.

Peter couldn’t imagine what Clint was now feeling.

The others seemed to be in differing stages of confusion and disappointment. Sam and Rhodey seemed to have similar expressions—not too keen on admitting to the truth, but not foolish enough to defend her faults. Natasha kept her face neutral, as always, impassive if not for a seed of doubt pushing its way forward. She had probably been the next closest to Wanda, similarly taking her under her wing to one up on all the boys. And then there was Rogers, impassive and stern. He had always defended Wanda, calling her a child simply for the troubles she had endured for a young age and her inexperience in the real world and nothing else. His opinion was one that Peter cared the least about but worried for the most. The Captain had never been good about confronting the truth, had never been great at admitting fault, and that’s what made Peter wary of the man.

They would all have their doubts, all have their worries, but Peter figured that the scene at the airport could serve as enough proof for them to not take his word for granted. He didn’t think they were stupid enough to ignore such a defining display.

Peter sighed. His head was killing him, the world had officially gone bonkers, and all Peter wanted to do was lie down and take a year-long nap. It was his dream now, his greatest desire that would never come true, for as long as Peter could carry on, he would. He wouldn’t back down now, not when he was faced with this unknown future.

“Look,” he spoke softly, the others turning their heads back to him as Peter’s eyes filled with sorrow, “I know that everything is pretty sh*t right now, I know that trust isn’t going to come easy to anyone, and I especially know that most people here don’t deserve it.” Rogers bristled at his pointed look. “But things are kind of falling apart right now, and I have no real grasp on any of it. So I need all of you to put your differences aside and work together. I need you to ignore ego and pride and work things out another day. Because I need the Avengers—the world needs the Avengers, and we need them to be a united front.”

Peter shuddered, but stiffened his lip. The others looked at him with worry, with distrust, with fear, but they remained silent and waited. They wanted to listen, they wanted to learn, even if it went against their current morals and agenda.

“I don’t know what Wanda’s plan is,” Peter admitted. “I don’t know if it will be devious or merciful. I don’t know what she can do in this past, only that she wants to prevent the future— my future. So, while I may not know exactly what she plans to do, I can predict it. I can predict that, if it’s anything like what happened, what she brought me from, she will do whatever it takes to keep Vision alive and to have her children. She will do whatever it takes to make her perfect world before it can be destroyed.”

There was no sure face among them, no absolute decision. Peter was asking them a lot, he knew that, but asked them he must. If Wanda had genuinely sent them into the past, if he genuinely wasn’t hallucinating or trapped in some nightmare, then that meant Peter had a chance to fix everything.

He could save his friends, he could save Mr. Stark, he could save the universe.

All he needed was a little help.

Mr. Stark sighed, giving one last glance around the room as he stood, placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder, staring into his eyes.

“Okay, kid. What do we need to do?”

Chapter 4: Mount Wundagore

Chapter Text

The cold mountain air kissed her cheeks, snow whipping around her as the land sang. Wanda landed with a soft crunch in the snow, her feet melting into the white powder, a welcome of her place upon this land as the flurries continued to blur her vision.

Just as before, hidden deep within the mountains, sat a tall tower carved out from the rocks themselves. Its jagged form, no doubtedly once a fortress in its own glory, now sat decrepit and frail, crumbling at the seams as it awaited to be reclaimed once more.

Wanda sighed.

It was just as beautiful as she remembered.

“Wanda?” Wanda turned her head to the soft voice, the voice that had only ever existed in her dreams these past few years, and smiled. Vision floated only an inch above the ground, tilted from how her magic was wrapped around him—containing him—the Mind Stone’s glow mixed with her power to turn the bright yellow to a burnt orange.

“Vision,” she said. Wanda lowered her love to the ground, her magic unwinding as he breathed a sigh of relief until she only kept her hold on the stone. Vision did not appear too pleased by this, a hand twitching upwards to feel. Wanda merely smiled, stalking over to bring the hand to her lips, kissing his fingers then his cheek. Despite the robotic nature of her love, she could still feel the warmth of life moving about him.

“Wanda,” he said again as she continued to gaze upon him. “Where are we?”

“Some place safe,” she assured. She gently carded her fingers across this cheek, her love closing his eyes to the touch, the stone vibrating as it tried to search against her own magic. She leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, and the wonder washed away as she looked into his eyes. “Some place protected.”

“And that would be?”

Wanda sighed, holding her love’s hands in her own. Vision had always needed to know, had been content in oblivion if he could rationalize everything else around him. She was never sure if it was part of what Ultron had originally wanted from him, if it was part of the Mind Stone’s makeup, or something that Stark had possibly even programmed into him when what remained of his beloved A.I.’s interface was factored into the reboot. It didn’t matter to Wanda, not really. It just meant she had to rationalize, to define a why if she was to keep the questions at bay—just until Vision could understand.

Wanda smiled, “Home.”

Mount Wundagore stood beautifully before them, an untouched rubble that had become of its future place. While she had been unable to recognize its power before, now, standing before her palace, Wanda could now hear the singing of its power, the tug of its might, the way the darkness longed for her presence.

Make us whole again.

Her heart fluttered, a smile twitching at her lips. I shall.

“Come,” she beckoned to her love. She took a step forward, hand reaching back tentatively as Vision continued to look wary. The snow seemed to not touch him, encircling him like a shield.

One with you he’ll always be.

“Vision.” She felt the force of her power stretch to her fingertips, but she dared not reach for it. The air of longing was lost as she steadied her gaze. “Come.”

His fingers twitched by his side as his cloak circled around him, but he dared not move.

Wanda locked her jaw.

Her other hand glowed, dull, but just enough that Vision could see it, sense it, as she reached out to the stone. Vision winced, blinking rapidly as Wanda searched. She could feel her love’s hesitation, the worry and fear—the confusion.

He will understand.

Not yet…

“I do not mean to harm,” she said, drawing away. She felt a sigh of relief fall through him, the glow dimming. “I do not wish to harm.”

“Then don’t,” he said, eyes pleading. Wanda knew that he wanted to go with her, that he needed to know… He just didn’t know if he could trust in her pleas. “I cannot trust in your request if you continue to show me otherwise. I need answers, Wanda. I need you to tell me the reason.”

Wanda sighed, dropping her hand. “I know. And I will. But not here,” she tried to tease as the wind strengthened, and snow and ice now becoming almost too cold against her skin. “I promise I will explain everything, but only if you come with me.”

She raised her hand once more, the twinge of darkness at her fingertips slowly beginning to bleed down. “Please.”

Slowly, Vision took a step forward, but did not raise his hand out. He kept his distance, only nearing as close to her as he could bear with how little of the world he now knew. Wanda drew her hand away, her fingers tightening into a fist.

He will come to learn.

Wanda suppressed a shudder, the unease of her heart stinging as she turned away. Vision would learn to accept her again, he would know where he stood. But there was only so long that she could look upon his face—the face he showered her without a lick of recognition—before she could no longer keep the tears at bay.

Magic fell openly to her palms, warm and welcoming, to form orbs that lifted her up into the air. She did not need to turn her head behind to feel Vision follow in kind.

With a slight flick of her wrists and curve of her fingers, Wanda set off across the chasm, the drop from the cliff harsh and the bottom unknown as the snow and darkness covered the fall. Perilous without welcome, Mount Wundagore was a thing of beauty for protecting itself.

The android slowly followed her lead until he floated next to her, eyes wary. She knew that she was not the Wanda he knew now, that they were skipping all the steps between. But Wanda could care less. They were Wanda and Vision, afterall. They were absolute, their love eternal. She had no doubt in her mind that he would never leave her side.

The wind fought against them as they neared closer, a shudder raking through her loves body, his presence unwelcome.

Let him in, she whispered to the mountain. With a single swirl in her eyes, the winds ceased their shield, simply carrying them forward as the mountain brought her closer to its doorstep.

Wanda’s feet touched softly onto the dark stone, the cold melting away as the winds shifted, welcoming her home. The magic that had called to her, beckoning her forth, timmed, humming with delight as she breathed in the cold air.

Welcome, the walls sang.

Wanda smiled in delight. She sighed, a wave of magic rippling across the room as the torches lit, illuminating all before her.

Just as before, the Darkhold was carved upon the walls, their majesty untouched despite the wear of time. They depicted a greater knowledge and power that the book lacked, an ancientness that seeped deeper into the world. They welcomed her with open arms, a fog seeping through the cracks to draw her forward.

Pillars stood erect all around, pictures carved into them of great battles of victory and loss. Even the ground wore markings of runes, deep circles etched into the stone as she edged closer to the great stone table and her birthright marred behind it.

The walls ached and shuddered as she ran her fingers over the table’s carvings, shuddering at the power that raced up her spine.

A power you gave up not long ago.

Wanda hissed. Never again.

The closing of the Darkhold had been a great toll on her, one she had not expected. To reach out with her power in such a way that she touched every piece of darkness had nearly cost her her sanity and had driven her strength to the brink. She had been weak and foolish to believe that just because the door was closed that it was the only entrance, that her power could be snipped away.

It was the lesson she had learned upon being cast into the darkness.

(“If you could go back and do it all again the same way—if it was the only way—would you?”

Wanda looked curiously at the boy, the youth she had once known long gone from his face. There was no hope left for him.

She sighed, fingers dancing with magic that twisted against the boy’s blonde curls and sent him into a deep sleep, his weight crashing against her shoulder as she held him close.

“No. I would not.”)

Wanda brushed the memory away. It was not good to focus on the past, not when the present and its future stood before her in glory.

“Wanda.” She hummed, turning to see Vision standing at the entrance as he stared in wonder and fear at the hall.

“Yes?” she crooned.

Vision did not look pleased, the hum of the stone fighting back to a burnt gold. “Something else is here…”

Wanda co*cked her head. “Of course there is,” she drawled, lifting herself upon the table, calling out to all around her as her magic illuminated her carving, her hair fanning out like flames. “You wouldn’t expect a sacred place to be without its guardians, would you?”

Vision frowned, the question on his lips, when a roar broke out and richotched through the tower, the stones quaking with its power.

From around them, circling, the guardians slunk out from the shadows. Their monstrous bodies loomed before them, creatures like a goblin and serpent, the face of a dragon with tentacles cascading down to form their hulking bodies. Their claws and teeth glinted in the fire light, their red eyes glowing as they snapped at the pair.

“Stay back,” Vision floated instantly to her side, ushering her behind him as the stone began to glow, ready to slice down each monster that dared to attack them.

“There’s no need,” Wanda assured. Vision faltered in his step, giving her a disbelieving look as she stepped out from behind. Magic formed in her hands, a wave of raw power swirling out around them that fell into the guardian’s eyes, their growls turning into low rumbles. “They shall not harm us.”

Vision scoffed. “How could you possibly—”

Wanda shushed him, pressing a finger to his mouth as she leaned in close. “They would never harm their Queen.”

Around them, the guardians lowered themselves to one knee, heads bowed.

My children shall become your loyal subjects.

Wanda expected nothing less. The guardians were loyal to the end, protectors of all that Chthon had made, and thus protective of all that was dear to him—dear to her.

Vision backed down, drifting down onto the ground as the stone glowed, a recognition of power as he too fell in line.

Wanda raised herself before her subjects, smiling adoringly down at them as the tower hummed with power, the runes glowing dim, and her effigy upon the wall—her throne—was illuminated. The prophecy of the Scarlet Witch was born again.

“Mommy’s home.”

Vision could not remain still, not as long as the guardians showed their faces. They existed as a soft presence in the back of her mind, one that appeared her love could not tether to. It was cute, like watching a child puzzle over a math problem that seemed so obvious yet remained unsolvable.

Wanda watched him as he watched them, eyes roaming over the room as her love listened for every growl and shudder the guardians made, carefully forming a pattern of their movements and sounds until she had enough. With a flick of her wrist the guardians obeyed her every whim and slunk back into the shadows.

“They won’t come back until I ask for them,” Wanda said. She stood on the edge of the table looking down at her love. Vision turned his gaze towards her, lifting himself into the air until he could look upon her as his equal.

Equal in name, but never in power.

“That or if they sense me to be in danger,” she teased.

Vision scoffed. “I do not think there is anything in this world that could claim such a feat. I do not believe there is anyone in this world that would ever dare face you.”

The edge of Wanda’s mouth twitched and she stepped closer until she could wrap her arms around Vision’s neck and press her head to his chest. Though dull, she could hear the whirring of his mechanisms within, the parts that made him a machine and the parts that made him a man working in tandem.

“And they never shall,” she hummed. “Not as long as I have you by my side.”

Vision gave her a soft smile, kissing her brow. “That may not always be true, my darling.”

Wanda gulped.

(“I can’t feel you…”)

No! No… It had yet to come to pass, and now it never would.

“But it is,” she said. She moved her arms down to his hands, grasping them tightly as she wove their fingers together, pulling him closer onto the stone table. “It shall be. I have made it so.”

“You cannot possibly believe that. We all have an end, Wanda.”

Her smile faltered. “Not all of us. There is no end for us. We shall simply exist on. We shall never end.”

Vision sighed, the stone’s glow dimming.

“No, do not shut me out!” Wanda pressed her palm to his cheek, keeping him in place as she pressed her forehead to his. Vision hissed, but did not pull away. The stone glowed bright, her warmth and love leaching into him as his struggle relaxed until his nose brushed against hers.

“Don’t shut me out,” she murmured. “Please. Don’t shut me out. You can’t shut me out.”

“Wanda…”

“No. No, don’t speak. Don’t- Don’t say anything at all.” Her hands began to shake. “You won’t shut me out. You never have, and you never will. Even at the end of it all, you have trusted me.”

“There has yet to be an end to us, Wanda.” Vision’s own hand tentatively reached up to caress her own cheek, the warmth dimming as they separated to gaze into each other’s eyes. Her lip quivered as her eyes said all. “Unless…”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And I promised that I would tell you, didn’t I?”

Without waiting for a reply Wanda took a step back, calling out to the magic in the walls. The runes and pictures glowed as the Darkhold formed between them, pages flipping until they landed on a set of images—one of her same as the one carved upon the wall, and the other of a monstrous creature. Chthon’s power embodied her, sweeping her into a blanket as the hall came to life around her.

“Billions of years ago,” she explained, a trickle of black and red magic bleeding from the walls to form a path between them, “the Earth was ruled by beings known as Elder Gods, and among them was one known as Chthon.” The monstrous creature on her page lifted up, growing in might to show only a dark shadow with glowing red eyes. “He Who Sleeps, What Dwells Beneath, God of Chaos… The Dark Majesty.

“Chthon spent centuries learning every form of magic, building his collection and taking favor in the dark arts. His power grew beyond the world’s wildest imagination until he was the most powerful of them all.” The images shifted, shadows shaping to form Chthon and his subjects, the rise of his kingdom as those around him bowed before him. “We are actually standing in what’s left of his palace. His prophetic temple. The True Throne,” she grinned.

“He became a god of this world until the time when he revoked his great form to become a demon, one who could walk among the men of this world.” The shadows miniaturized, the monstrous beast turning into that of a demented man. So small and frail, non-threatening even. But that was how the greatest of hunters caught their prey.

“In revoking his great form,” she continued, “the Elder Gods began to war with one another, each trying to stake their claim among mortals, until they were eliminated by a greater power, and Chthon was forced to flee. Only, true to his namesake,” Wanda chuckled to herself, “he found a way to remain.”

The shadows formed a great battle, magic against swords, as Chthon escaped into the unknown, using the last of his power to curse the land. It made Vision shudder while the stone hummed.

“Chthon may not have been able to influence the Earth himself, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t left himself a tether. All that remains of his life’s work are these carvings,” he gestured around as the walls came to life, moving about before settling back into their hold, “and this.” The Darkhold flared in triumph before her, the shadows falling back into its pages and snapping shut.

“The first time…” she gulped, pressing back the tears. “The first time I was not strong enough. I was foolish and weak, I had no sense of self. I was lost. I had only ever known my powers as a gift from Hydra, never knowing the truth that it was something I was born with. I never would have become anything more if it hadn’t been for the Mind Stone.” It glowed in answer.

Vision gently reached up to touch it, a spark igniting as she felt his mind fall into her own. He frowned.

“You are not the same as you once were…”

“No,” she shook her head. “I am better. I am more. I know everything, so I can fix it.”

Vision shook his head, drawing away. “That is not the way of the world. You cannot think to rearrange what is and what could be to your own, Wanda. It is not how we are meant to live.”

“The way of the world?” Her voice cracked, breath shuddering. Wanda knew that Vision would be apprehensive, would not completely trust in what she had to say, but to disregard the possible? Possibility was all she’d ever known.

“The way of the world means nothing to me,” she bit. “The way of the world has only ever shown me pain and sorrow, has dealt me the worst hand simply for the better of others. How is that fair? Why should I suffer for the benefit of others? Why should I not have my own happiness? Do I not deserve it?”

“That is not what I had implied,” Vision tried to soothe. The stone glimmered as he spoke. “You deserve peace, Wanda. You deserve happiness, but not at the cost of others.”

Wanda hissed, batting away the hand Vision attempted to reach out with to caress her face. “You know nothing.”

“I know nothing? Wanda,” he laughed, “you have yet to tell me anything. How could I think to sympathize and understand when you have not given me proof of such a thing?”

“Proof? You want proof?” Wanda drew her magic forth, power coming to her hands as the Darkhold sprang to life. A ring of energy erupted from it, encircling the pair and casting the hall into a dark light. The ring began to speak, little titulars of noise as they molded together.

Your pain is your strength.

Wanda grounded herself, eyes rolling back into her head as she drew on all the pain, all the suffering she had been subjected to, bringing them forth as they seeped their way into Vision’s mind. He winced in pain, eyes closing as he let the memories wash over him.

“All I have ever known is pain,” she said. “I come from a time where I had to blow a hole through your head for the greater good, only for your death to be revived and I had to watch you die once more.”

(“It’s alright… I love you…”

“Today I lost more than you can know. But now is no time to mourn. Now is no time at all.”

“No!”)

“I came back to find the government destroying your body, deciding that you were not a person, that you belonged to them, and therefore I could not properly lay you to rest.”

(“What is this? Why are you showing me this?”

“Because you asked to see it.”

“Stop… Stop… Stop it! What… What are you doing to him?”

“We’re dismantling the most sophisticated, sentient weapon ever made.”)

“And then, when I had you again, even through grief, I was given not an ounce of understanding or forgiveness.” Her lip trembled, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “I had to watch you and our children die again.”

(“You’re mother and I are very proud of you both.”

“You know, a family is forever. We could never truly leave each other even if we tried. You know that, right?”

…

“Thanks for choosing me to be your mom.”

…

“Wanda, what am I?”

“You are a body of wires and blood and bone that I created. You are my sadness, and my hope. But mostly, you’re my love.”

“We have said goodbye before, so it stands to reason—”

“That we’ll say hello again.”

“So long, darling.”)

The circle dimmed, the light dimming as the spell broke. The whispers faded, and she sighed.

Vision still stood with his eyes closed. If he was truly a man, Wanda thought, he may have been crying. There was very little that could truly shake Vision to his core, not much that could cause him great pain and suffering, at least in the same depth as a human could feel. During their years on the run, Wanda had made him feel human, had helped him learn about what it meant to disregard his coding, to embrace the troubles of morality. And now all that work was gone. Maybe this would make him understand.

“My pain ran deep, and I was lost,” she explained. “I needed reason, a purpose, an understanding of what I was and what I was meant to do with this power if I was not allowed to use it in this world. That is how I found my fate.”

“Wanda…” Vision sighed. He opened his eyes, blinking back at the sight of Wanda, her magic swirling around her like flames.

“This place was made for me as Chthon predicted my coming. His power has longed for a home, to exist outside of the in between where he resides. Now he has it. And now I can have what I deserve: You.”

Tentatively, Vision gulped and asked, “And if you cannot have me?”

She sneered, near cackling at the absurdity of such a thing. “There is never not a place where I do not have you; where we are not wrapped in each other’s arms. This is what I tend to achieve.”

“Your perfect world? A world without pain?”

Wanda shrugged, twisting her fingers together as she took a step towards him, enough that they were only a breath away. “Yes. I know what I must do, and I’ve already begun. A spell to correct time that will not induce our reality to collapse. A spell built on the foundation of its creation.” The stone glowed bright, warm and loving at how she cooed to it.

“Which is why I promise you this: I will fix everything. I will make our perfect world. I will give us the happiness we deserve. I will protect our family. And I will do all of this with or without you by my side because I swear to you, Vision, I cannot take any more loss.”

Her lip wobbled, a single tear falling down her cheek that was brushed away by her love’s hand. She whipped her gaze up, finding love looking back down at her as Vision held her face in his hands.

“You shall never be alone again.”

Chapter 5: Searching Claims

Chapter Text

“I hear you, I understand, and I can honestly say that I do not give a crap.” Tony sat back in his seat, bouncing slightly as his leg continued to jitter. The headache of before was only growing now that he’d been on a call with Ross for the past hour and a half. Did the man seriously have nothing better to do than drive him up a wall?

“Well you better, Stark,” Ross narrowed his eyes, “because as of right now, you're treading on thin water.”

“Your thin water,” he grumbled. “You’re just pissy that the council appealed our sanction for keeping Barnes in our custody instead of your own.”

From the time they had landed with Barnes being sent to the basem*nt and Peter destroying his concept of his reality, Tony had only managed to exist in a precarious state of peace for roughly two hours and twenty seven minutes before Ross finally demanded a call with the board from the United Nations set to govern their decisions and had forced Tony to lock himself in a conference room to deal with egotistical politicians. Natasha had volunteered to help hold them off, but Tony had shook his head and cast Peter a weary look from where he sat hunched up on himself on his chair.

“Stay with him,” he asked her. “He needs a familiar face.”

She gave him a skeptical look, eyes dancing between his face and the kid’s. “And you think I’m the right person?”

Tony shrugged, looking around the room at the others. There was no way that he’d allow Peter to remain alone with Steve given how the soldier kept looking like he wanted to back Peter into a corner and interrogate him until he passed out. Rhodey had to deal with military issues, having left to go deal with Barnes and ensuring nobody would try any more funny business on the man. And then there was Lang and Barton who weren’t even looking at Peter, Lang scribbling away on a scratch piece of paper as he tried to figure out how Pym particles could be used to time travel while Barton looked guilty out of his mind staring off into the distance. Tony thought there was no reason to. Barton may have recruited Wanda into their little group, but he hadn’t been the one to corrupt her. As far as Tony was concerned, Wanda had done this to herself. At least now Steve didn’t have a reason for continuing to preach her supposed innocence.

Which left only Natasha.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he whispered. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only person he’s remained relatively calm around. He needs a little grounding for the time being.”

Natasha looked briefly at Peter, the teen close to tears as he stared off blankly into the distance. He was too young to be dealing with this, too good hearted. That was something Tony knew from his first meeting with the kid not yesterday.

Jesus, Tony internally berate himself. He’d only known the kid for a day when he’d basically laid out his entire life story of tragedy and loss on a silver platter, talking about him and the others like they were old friends.

Well, we are. Tony soured at the thought. But that hadn’t happened yet, and now he wasn’t even sure if it would.

“Wow, look at you stepping up,” Natasha teased.

Tony raised a brow at her. She rolled her eyes. “Barely a day, and you’re already acting like this kid’s dad.”

From the corner of his eye, Tony thought he saw Peter stiffen, breath freezing at hearing the words. Tony gulped, shaking off the feeling. “Kid’s been through a lot. I think it’s only appropriate that he gets a little… familiarity.”

Natasha snorted, patting him on the shoulder. “Whatever you say, Tony.” She rose from her seat and swaggered over to the teen, bending down to whisper something in his ear. The kid’s eyes widened, briefly looking at Tony. The man simply nodded, giving him an assuring smile, and that seemed to be all the teen needed as he rose from his seat. Nat smiled and led the kid out of the room as he held his arms around himself.

Tony let out a sigh of relief once they were gone, then promptly kicked everyone else out with orders not to disturb the kid.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Monitor the kid, please. And keep an eye out on Steve. I don’t want him going to visit Barnes anytime soon.”

“Of course,” she faithfully replied.

Tony sighed and finally opened his most recent notifications from Ross and the board, opening a chat that had them all now displayed in their holographic forms around the table.

“Regardless of this petty argument,” one of the U.N. officials said—Bretmon, Tony thought, the delegate from the U.K., “our decision remains, Secretary Ross. Given how Barnes easily escaped in your hands, the board has decided to give the Avengers a chance to hold him. However, may I remind you, Mister Stark, that if there’s any kind of slip up, we will have no choice but to ship Barnes off to the Raft. Do you understand?”

“Crystal,” Tony assured. “It’s been almost five hours since we’ve detained Barnes, and as far as I’m aware, there has yet to be any kind of security breach from either the soldier or any outside influence.”

“Good,” Bretmon concluded, giving off an almost happy persona. From what Tony could remember of who each of the board members were, Bretmon was the easiest to get along with. She had her own vendetta against Ross, had never been impressed by the man, and that had made her Tony’s ally. It also helped that she was often the spokesperson for whatever delegacy she served on. Another point of power.

“Have you decided on what you plan to do with Barnes? We expect him to stand trial for his crimes and face appropriate punishment.”

“Yes, we have,” Tony said, trying to hide his unease. “From what we’ve gathered after the whole debacle, it appears that while Barnes has a lengthy kill record, we have also room to believe that he was not acting on his own free will.”

“Oh?” said another member. “How so?”

Tony huffed, standing from his seat and pulling up on screen for all the recovered video footage from Zemo’s attack. “Going off what happened under Ross’ jurisdiction, it’s come to light that Barnes had been tortured and placed under some type of mind control administered by Hydra. We believe that Barnes was subjected to trigger words to activate the Winter Soldier programming that Zemo used against him and us.” The screen flickered again, turning from Zemo’s use of the red journal to pages upon pages of redacted and useful documentation, along with a set of fairly disturbing videos and pictures that had some members gasping. “The records I’ve been able to dig up from Agent Romanoff's data dump two years ago also show proof of Barnes’ capture and the litany of experiments Hydra had subjected him to over the decades, making him the longest serving prisoner of war in history.”

Surgeries, disections, and a litany of torture devices graced the screens. Barnes was shown in various states of disarray: unconscious, submissive, subdued, and snarling were just a few of the ways he appeared. The rest were too gruesome to admit to and had many board members looking away.

“Which means,” Tony concluded, brushing away the images, “that not only do we need to try Barnes for his actions, but also need to ensure we try him as a person, not just a criminal. The man has been tortured for over seventy years, a little humanity isn’t going to hurt anybody.”

All had a grim face as they looked through Tony’s portfolio in their own time—all except Ross, that is. The man didn’t seem to have an ounce of sympathy in him as he simply brushed through the evidence. The others all showed various degrees of disgust, frustration, unease, or total neutrality. Members of the board were subjected to such cases in their main lives, the politics of war were not new to them. However, Tony didn’t think that any of them had ever been subjected to the sights of something so ancient and forbidding, knowing that they’d let such an evil of the world slip by and continue their atrocities without their knowledge.

And to think that even now, that evil had managed to slip through their fingers once more, and that Steve had willingly covered for it.

“Mister Stark?” Tony broke away from his thoughts. Delegate Braun held the floor now. “Given the evidence you’ve gathered and your request, what is your proposal for dealing with Barnes?”

“You can’t actually mean to consider—” Ross broke through, but was immediately silenced.

“Yes, we are,” Braun said. “It is not up to your decision and your opinion is of little matter currently, Secretary Ross. The board holds the power and will make the choice. And currently we are in favor of hearing Mister Stark out.”

Ross grumbled, narrowing his eyes and locking his jaw. Tony didn’t bother to suppress his smirk.

“Continue, Mister Stark,” Braun smiled.

Tony nodded in thanks, thinking back to Peter’s words from before.

“Get him a plea deal. Say you can heal him and get the trigger words out of his head. They’ll then know that the Winter Soldier can’t exist anymore.”

“And what if that doesn’t work?”

“It has to,” Peter pleaded. “It’s the only way. You have to make them agree, Mister Stark.”

“There's only so many hoops I can jump through for these people before even I don't believe what it is I'm saying. You’re giving me too much credit here, kid,” he brushed off, but Peter didn’t seem deterred.

“And you’re not giving yourself enough.”

Well, it looked like the kid was right. Tony decided that he could never know; it’d go to his head.

“My proposal is to rehabilitate Barnes here at the Compound. Recently I’ve released a stunt of my new tech, the binarily augmented retro-framing, that extracts memories to help those confront their trauma. Currently, it’s still in the developmental stages, but with some tweaks, I’m sure I can get it rerouted to erase whatever conditioning Barnes was given. Make him a normal joe, again. You know, with extreme and severe PTSD. After, I think we could conduct a trial with the U.N. to ensure that Barnes does his do’s without subjecting him to further imprisonment. Afterall, what does it say about us to not give a P.O.W. a fair chance?”

Tony was laying on thick the veteran guilt here, but he felt it was warranted. Most of the board members had served to a degree in the military, had seen the horrors of war, and knew well what trauma could do to an individual. Add in how the U.S. practically worshiped their military (and how other countries similarly worshiped, feared, and rolled their eyes at it) and Tony had the best sympathy formula out there—you know, theoretically speaking, that is.

Good thing theoreticals had never stopped him before.

The board members eyed one another, talking in their own little pocket hotline out of Tony’s eyes and to the rupturing frustration of Ross by his side. At least they appeared to be assessing in fairness, unlike what Tony feared to happen with having a singular judgment that the Winter Soldier should be punished, or worse, refurbished for the U.N.’s use.

“We have come to an agreement,” Bretmon stated. Tony held his breath.

“In the case of Sergeant James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, aka, the Winter Soldier, the Sokovia Accords Council has determined to accept Mister Stark’s proposal for rehabilitating Sergeant Barnes. While Mister Stark will lead this project, designated psychiatrists and other technicians delegated by the Council will also have input in the process. Once determined to be under control, Sergeant Barnes will then be taken to trial by the Council on behalf of other nations to determine his psychological stability and to determine his further rehabilitation status. Until then, Sergeant Barnes will be kept at the Avengers Compound under house arrest and is forbidden from exiting the state and thereby country for a duration of six months until the Council regroups for a further assessment of the situation with Sergeant Barnes present.”

Tony internally sighed. “Thank you—”

“However,” Bretmon cut in, “the Council has still yet to decide on what to do about Captain Rogers and his compatriots, as well as the events that went down at Leipzig-Halle airport in regards to the disappearance of Wanda Maximoff and the Vision.”

Tony internally groaned and rubbed at his head. He’d really been hoping that the Council would have forgotten about that part.

Ross gave a haughty smirk, revving up again. “If the Council would allow for my input on this matter seeing as Miss Maximoff is an honorary resident of the U.S. on behalf of the Avengers Initiative and how the Vision is U.S. property—”

“Uh, technically, he is not.” Tony held his ground, narrowing his eyes at Ross.

“Excuse me?” asked Braun.

“Yes, excuse you, Stark?” Ross bit back. Boy, was he not going to be pleased with what Tony had to say next. The man had never really liked Tony, even less so when he proved himself right in the semi-expertise of Ross' own field.

“Vision is not property of the U.S.,” he clarified. “While I agree with your assessment on Maximoff, Vision is not governmental property. His parts were made of vibranium stolen from Wakanda, this life force is a space stone, and the majority of his body was forged by Doctor Helen Cho’s cradle in Seoul. The only part of Vision that is of America is that Thor sent his lightning down on him to activate him in my lab in Manhattan.” Ross gave another deathly glare. “So, if we’re going off of technicality, Vision may have been born in the states, but he is more towards the property of Wakanda and South Korea and our own. That doesn’t mean they have a right to him, either,” Tony clarified to the board before they could get any ideas. “The space rock is his personality, so he’s more of space’s kid than Earth’s, and I don’t think we have any plans to give him back. Vision is his own sentient being and should be treated as such despite being the most sophisticated artificial intelligence ever created. Oh!” Tony cheered as he recalled that, “If he’s anybody’s property, he’s mine since, like I said, he was born in my lab, but was also combined with my original artificial intelligence system, J.A.R.V.I.S., therefore he has two of the five pieces I’ve now stated towards ownership. Hah!”

Nobody was impressed, but Tony couldn’t care. He now had solid(ish) evidence for Ross to be denied control of Vision in the future. Another win for him.

Ross growled. “You son of a bitch.”

“Secretary Ross, I ask you to control your temper,” Braun glared. “Delegate Bretmon, please continue.”

Bretmon hummed. “Mister Stark, given the most recent events and the new information of Captain Rogers’ involvement with hiding government secrets pertaining to the Winter Soldier program,” Tony bristled, “what do you think is the proper course of action to take? Given how you’re already set to hold Barnes, the Council is open to your review. If not, Captain Rogers will be sentenced to the Raft until this Council can come to a conclusion on how to continue.”

Tony huffed. Was he really the right person to advise on Steve?

After Barnes was detained, Tony had sent in one of his best therapists and lawyers to collect the limited amount of statements he was willing to provide to the council. That, apparently, included admitting to the murder of his parents. Steve knew and didn’t tell him—Natasha knew and didn’t tell him. Barnes was the only one brave enough to admit the truth. It made Tony cringe at how he had more trust to his parent’s murderer than to his teammate.

Ross sent him a smirking glare. Tony could practically read the hope in the man’s eyes, the thought that Tony would fail this task, that he’d slip up and let his emotions get the better of his reasons. Well, Tony was a lot better at hiding his emotions than people gave him credit for.

“Mister Stark?”

“House arrest.” Everyone raised their eyebrows, even Ross. “Place Rogers under house arrest within the Compound. The time can be determined by you all, of course. I’d suggest holding him for at least a week to get all the information we can, then give him free range to roam around the Compound with limits and restrict his access so he can’t talk to Barnes. Make it so he can’t go on missions unless deemed absolutely necessary. Think of it as having him prove that he can be trusted and follow the rules… or something.”

That was the best that Tony could come up with. If he had it his way, he’d have Steve locked up for good all on his own in the most diabolically done prison he could design. Of course, that’s a little too malicious, even for him, so it was obviously off the table. Not to mention that Pepper would probably kill him if he attempted such a thing.

Pepper…

No, not the time. He’d find a way to reconcile with the love of his life later. For now, he had a job to do.

Tony clapped his hands together. “Any takers? Or do I need to prepare to deliver some bad news?”

Once more, the Council looked at a loss for words, eyeing each other warily as they reviewed his notes. Despite Ross’ assured grin as the Council looked more and more perplexed, each with their own agenda and opinion over who Steve Rogers was and who he represented. To some, he was a valiant war veteran who could do no wrong; to others, he was a criminal who had taken charge without cause one too many times for their taste. Still, Tony was willing to bet a pretty penny that he’d win the battle. There were only so many risks and possibilities the Council would be willing to take with the unknown agenda at hand.

Speaking of: “The Council has decided to once more grant Mister Stark’s request to hold Captain Rogers under house arrest for the foreseeable future until this Council can determine the proper course of actions for Captain Rogers to follow in accordance with his crimes against the Sokovia Accords.”

Ross cursed under his breath. Pushing all the crazy things that happened today so far to the side, Tony could take some satisfaction in the fact that, like him, Ross was at the end of his ropes.

“Which leads us to our final piece of business, ignoring the ethical dilemma on the property of the Vision and focusing on why Wanda Maximoff, possibly the most powerful being with an unknown depth of power, has decided to go rogue and kidnap the Vision and disappear to who knows where.”

“In other words, Stark, what do you plan to do about the fact that you’ve not only lost another super bot, but also displaced an overly unknown powered individual?” Ross said smugly. Oh, if only Tony could punch the man in the face without consequence.

“I was hoping we wouldn’t get to that…”

“Too bad,” Braun snarked. “It’s part of business and part of your compliance with signing the Accords. And Ross is not wrong. You have now misplaced not one but two sentient robots of your own creation as well as an overpowered former Hydra operative. Explain.”

Tony sighed, compiling his inner thoughts. There were limits to what he’d be willing to say, what he felt necessary to inform these assholes and what he had to keep quiet. Despite their ego’s, Tony knew that none of them really knew how to deal with superheroes, especially those who have time traveled and are claiming that Wanda is about to bring the end of days. But Tony also knew that Ross had gotten some kind of surveillance on the fight, whether or not he’d be willing to admit such a thing, meaning that he had to be crafty about what he said. This story had to be told without further questions or concerns, to be read word for word from the script.

Too bad Tony had never been good about following the cue cards.

“Of course.” Tony rose from his seat, bringing F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s servers back up to show what little footage of the battle as he could, the audio muted.

“Earlier today, my team went to the Leipzig airport to confront Captain Rogers and his team. The goal was to get Rogers to stand down and come quietly and hand over Barnes. We had an idea that the confrontation could turn physical, so we were prepared for the worst outcome. However, before anything too drastic could occur, Wanda Maximoff unleashed her own attack, though I suspect she did so not knowing the extent of her intent.”

“Elaborate,” Braun asked.

Tony nodded, pulling up a slightly edited version of what happened. “I am unsure of what Wanda’s goal was, but her magic seemed to overtake her, hitting one of my own members. Spider-Man, the new guy,” he vaguely gestured to the screen, “has been evaluated and appears unaffected. But whatever Wanda had done, it possibly backfired as she seemed to act out.” The screen showed Wanda’s attack of power, editing out Peter’s presence from the screen. He was gonna get enough sh*t as is for bringing in a new hero and refusing to give out their identity, no need to create further suspicion with his involvement. “All I can say is that Wanda seemed to lose her marbles, finally had enough of all the hero bullsh*t, and lashed out. She took Vision with her and disappeared. We have yet to have any contact with either of them and have no idea where they’ve gone.”

The Council all had their own varying degrees of concern, each unsure how to go about his statement. Between concern, uncertainty, and suspicion, Tony knew there wouldn’t be a good way to get out of this with his neck still intact. The Council was new, still developing after only a day of existence and had yet to deal with any world ending or superhero related disasters. It was one thing for them to deal with such incidents based on a political opinion and another to have an actual say and dilemma in their hands. Of the members gathered (who, Tony now just remembered, were pulled together fairly quickly and haven’t had the time to meet on their own yet), only five of them had even been directly involved in any Avengers-related incidents, the others only having advocated for the legalization or denial of their organization since 2012.

Then, of course, there was the added factor of Wanda and her illegality in the U.S. and now apparent time traveling psyche that the others were very much not privy to knowing about. Based on the popularity polls that had been sent out not a month prior, Wanda was already voted to one of the lowest percentage rates for acceptance by the public, and mostly by other Sokovians and those preaching for immigrant rights. Thus, the Council was most likely also against her status as an individual and even probably garnered less support with her involvement and power of Hydra.

Inwardly, Tony sighed. This was all a giant dumpster fire of a situation.

“I’d like to call for the immediate hunt for Wanda Maximoff to be detained and to safely retrieve the Vision.” Tony visibly rolled his eyes at Ross’ request. It was unsurprising, just as every part of this meeting had been unsurprising, but at least the rest of the members were starting to also show their distaste for Ross’ drastic requests.

“At this time, Secretary Ross,” the Canadian delegate, Campbell, said, “we will not be taking requests as the Council needs to understand all the variables surrounding Wanda Maximoff. She has unknown power, making her dangerous. We can’t just go into this blind when we don’t even know where to start.”

The others nodded as Bretmon spoke. “Mister Stark, does your teammate, Spider-Man, have any relevant information to add?”

Tony shook his head. “Not that we haven't already discussed. He said he saw his life flash before his eyes, but not much else. Just a big headache.”

Bretmon hummed. “I see. Then you know that if anything does surface that you will need to report such findings to us?”

“Of course. I’m bound to you, after all.”

“Good. Then you’ll have no problem with heading this issue and keeping Spider-Man under your care until we can come to a conclusion.”

Tony raised a brow, sitting a little further up in his seat. “What do you mean by keeping Spider-Man?”

Braun raised a brow as if he were stupid. “You can’t honestly expect us to take your statement at face value, can you? We know nothing of this Spider-Man, and considering he has yet to sign the Accords and has been recruited by you, you are therefore responsible for him. We won’t arrest him, not when he has so far agreed to pertain to the Accords and work with the U.N., but that doesn’t mean we can simply trust what he has to say. Therefore, you’re in charge of him. Think of him as also under house arrest.”

“Great,” Tony said, twitching in his seat. Oh how Aunt May was going to kill him for this. “Anything else you need to get off your chest? Or am I free to go do my thing and try to track the possible most powerful energy source on Earth?”

“Almost,” Bretmon said. “You are to help aid in locating Wanda Maximoff and the Vision, but you are not to interact unless we decide you may. Given how we don’t know where she is, we can’t allow the Avengers to go philandering around in other countries without their consent. Once located, you are to inform us so that we may come to a decision on how to handle her.”

Which was just fancy talk for how to detain her and then experiment on her. Tony may not like her, and he may not like her even more now that she’s out to destroy the world, but he didn’t believe on torturing and experimenting on someone. That would make them just as bad as Hydra, but he didn’t think the Council would be prone to agreeing with such an accusation.

“Got it. Track down the witch and let you know when I do, hold Spider-Man hostage for an undisclosed amount of time or reason, and reboot the Winter Soldier. Peace of cake. Thanks for the chore list.”

This time Braun actually rolled his eyes while Bretmon just gave a condescending smile. “Good. That will be all then, Mister Stark. This Council is adjourned.”

The holograms shrank, wiping away their existence from the room, and Tony felt the tension ease from his shoulders. He leaned forward on the table, holding his head in his hands as he rubbed at that one spot on his forehead where he swore he could feel his brain’s heartbeat.

God, this was all sh*t.

Yesterday, Tony had only needed to deal with the bombing of the U.N., the escape of Barnes, and the betrayal of Steve going rogue. Now, he had not just the political world banging at his door, but the doors of the future punching through his walls as all sense of reality was beginning to crash down on him. Seriously, how did this end up being his life?

There wasn’t much Tony could do to comprehend the massive burnt out brain fart that was raking his head. Magic, wizards, space stones, tyrant aliens, and time travel was a lot to take in. That wasn’t even including Peter, the sweet kid whom now Tony was beginning to gain a waterfall of guilt for even bringing him into this conflict. Maybe if he hadn’t contacted him, none of this would’ve happened. Maybe if he’d just gone through the Hydra files like he should’ve, then there wouldn’t be such a fuss between him and Steve. Maybe, just maybe, if Tony hadn’t gotten out of that cave then none of this would’ve happened. Maybe then the world would know peace and stability.

Tony scoffed to himself. What was he thinking? The world could never be at peace. It was designed to be flawed and chaotic, to be corrupted until all that was known was anarchy. Despite what Tony may have claimed once upon a time back in 2010, his privatizing of world peace has gone out the window, fallen into a paper shredder, and then was thrown into a volcano.

Knock knock knock

Tony picked his head up, turning to the glass door to see Steve standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, waiting.

Ugh, now he had to deal with Mr. Justice.

Tony waved him in, slouching back into his chair with a couple bounces. This should be good. Steve had that face he made when he was trying to cover up a fire.

“How’d it go?” he asked as he took a seat across from Tony.

“As well as you could expect. Ross was an ass, the Council was surprisingly willing to listen and adhere to my claims. It got me two plea deals for you and Barnes, Parker to stick to my side, and my cooperation in hunting down Wanda.”

Steve sighed. “Thank you, Tony. Really—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he intruded. “You haven’t heard what the plea deal is yet. You’re assuming you got off scott free.”

“That’s not true.”

“Maybe not, but it’s what you’re hoping for,” he shrugged.

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, adjusting in his seat. Always hoping for the best, always assuming he’s exempt from the consequences—that was Steve Rogers. The man really needed to get a reality check and understand that the world can’t just bend to him and his incessant whining and pleas. There was structure, no matter how sh*tty it may be.

“What’s the deal?” he asked.

Tony suppressed a smirk, turning it into a tight smile. “Barnes gets rehabilitation and a fair trial, and you get house arrest and a ban from missions for x amount of time. TBD on the time stamps, I don’t really remember or care. They’ll probably send out an email reminder.”

Steve blinked blankly. “House arrest? I’m on house arrest?”

“Yup,” he popped the P. “You can’t honestly think that they’d let you off with a slap on the wrist? It was this or you being sent to the Raft. So you’re welcome.”

Steve grit his teeth, standing to begin pacing back and forth as he dealt with Tony’s words.

“You want me to thank you?”

Tony shrugged. “It’d be nice for you to. Not a requirement, though.”

“Tony!”

“Oh here we go…”

Steve grit and bared his teeth. “Tony, I cannot be under house arrest. Not with what we’re dealing with right now. I need to be out there in the field doing what I can, not stuck in a cell only getting to wonder.”

“A very nice cell, actually. Complete with a gym and a pool.”

“That is not the point!”

“Then what is the f*cking point?”

Now Tony was up and out of his seat, rounding on Steve to stare the man down. He may be a super soldier, but Tony couldn’t say he exactly feared the man. There was no armor around him, no way to defend himself if Steve were to lash out and pummel him into the ground, but that didn’t matter to Tony. Somebody needed to stand up to Mr. Perfect, and there were too many people out there who revered and respected him enough to get in his face. Which meant that, once again, it was all on Tony.

“Please, Steve, explain to me what the point is?” he bit. “Because all I see is you whining and complaining about how you have to atone for your actions. What, can’t deal with the fact that you actually did something wrong?”

Steve growled. “That’s not what I mean. Stop putting words in my mouth.”

Tony scoffed. “Oh please, there’s no other reason for why you’d be pissy about this.”

“Really? No other reason?”

“Not that I can think of.”

“Well maybe I’m pissy because you’re using Peter as a shield for reasoning why you should lock me and Bucky up.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “What the f*ck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re using this entire situation to get revenge on the man who killed your parents.” Now it was Tony’s turn to clench his fist, to hold back the rage that was quickly heating his blood.

“Stop blaming him, Tony. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was only acting on behalf of Hydra because he was brainwashed,” Steve huffed, tugging at his hair. “He couldn’t help it even if he wanted to, and you acting like he did is the most childish and idiotic—”

“I know not to blame Barnes, Steve. I know! And I don’t.” Steve blinked in wonder, making Tony laugh. Steve was an idiot. “Shocking, right? That I can be mature about something? Well guess what, I can be, and I am, because I don’t blame Barnes, I blame Hydra. Do I want to f*cking punch him in the face and ring his neck? Yes, of course I do. I am angry at Barnes and I have every right to be since I have to see my parent’s killer on a daily basis as I try to better him to help him atone for his grievances. I’m putting in the effort to make peace with what happened, same as him. But I don’t blame him. I blame you.”

“Tony—”

“No. No! You don’t get to ‘Tony’ me. You don’t get to say sh*t to me. Not after all the lies you’ve been spewing!” Tony was growling, huffing and puffing and red in the face.

“You claimed to be my friend; you claimed to be my ally. You criticized me for my mistakes, berated me for keeping my secrets and going against the team. Yet here you are, Mister Hypocrite, keeping some of your own. And it’s not like me trying to figure out Ultron or rebuilding Vision on my own—no! You knew that your best war buddy killed my parents, have known for years, and didn’t think to tell me. You let me continue to hate and resent my dad for thinking that he killed my mom in a drunk driving accident because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell me the goddamn truth in fear that I’d hunt down your f*cking boyfriend and kill him in retribution. Which proves to me that you don’t even know me. You think I’m cold blooded and heartless, and I’m pretty sure your only knowledge of me is what I used to do before I got kidnapped and tortured in a cave for three months. Well that’s not me anymore, Steve. So stop f*cking confusing it.”

Steve clenched his fits, fighting to restrain himself. Typical, Tony thought to himself. The man hated confronting the truth, even more so hated admitting to and acknowledging his own mistakes.

“You should be thanking me, really. It could’ve been a lot worse. But I’m willing to put our differences aside temporarily for the greater good. It’s just like the kid said, we can’t be divided right now. The world fails without us.”

A hint of fear flickered through Steve’s eyes as he said it, but Tony could care less. With a last glaring look, Tony turned away and left, Steve remaining stoic in his furry.

There wasn’t any time to put up with Steve’s bullsh*t or the bullsh*t of the goddamn Council. To a degree Steve was right (though Tony would never be willing to admit such a thing out loud), but only in that they couldn’t be worrying about the technicalities right now. They had an unknown, powerful individual on the loose and a psyche from the future. There wasn’t time to throw tantrums about who’s right and who’s wrong, who’s the victim and who’s to blame, when there was an actual dilemma at their doorstep.

They’d have to be sneaky, never saying more than necessary and keep a low profile. No reason to get the Council, U.N., Ross, or any other political figures involved if they could help it. This wasn’t a problem that could be solved through negotiation, only through action.

But Tony didn’t know if they were ready to face such a threat. They may not be broken like Peter had warned, but they were fractured, and the splinters were growing with each and every moment they stood together. It would be a miracle if they made it through this.

Sighing, Tony stepped into the elevator, slumping back against the wall as F.R.I.D.A.Y. took him up to the labs. He had his work cut out for him, and the first step involved none other than Peter Parker.

Discovering that Wakanda was actually the most technologically advanced nation in the world probably would’ve been a bigger shock if Tony hadn’t learned that time travel was real and that he’d perfected it that same day. Time travel was simply cooler than vibranium in his books.

T’Challa had called to inform Natasha that he’d detained Zemo and, just as Peter had said, discovered that the Baron had killed the comatose soldiers. Bullets through the head, never even woken up from cryo.

Capturing the man had been easy once T’Challa broke the news that Steve and Tony wouldn’t be coming, forcing the man to try and kill himself if not for the Panther’s quick thinking. He was now being held in Wakanda, and T’Challa had promised to personally deal with the U.N. on the matter of what to do with the man.

“He said there was no need to add more to your plate,” Natasha explained. They were standing outside the living space, Peter passed out on the couch. Tony had looked fondly at the sight of the boy curled up in a ball, a blanket thrown over him, with a half eaten sandwich on the table no doubt dosed with something Natasha had procured to calm him down enough. The kid had a high metabolism, so the pills had probably just booted his system into a replenishing state so that once he was asleep he stayed asleep naturally.

Natasha smirked between them. “It took me twenty minutes to convince him to eat; he’s been asleep for about two hours now.”

“Kid deserves a little rest,” Tony said. “Gives me time to figure things out.”

The assassin hummed in agreement, pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket. “T’Challa said that if you needed any assistance to call this number. He said his sister would be more than happy to help solve the Barnes dilemma. Apparently, the princess wants nothing more than to build him an arm.”

Tony plucked the piece of paper from her hand with a questioning brow. “Probably a good idea to fit him with something that doesn’t have the communist star painted on the side. Besides, could be good to have another set of brains on this. I’m not a hypnotist, so I have absolutely no idea what they did to wire him.”

“The princess seemed to have an idea. I sent her his files earlier.” Tony raised a brow, but not Natasha just shrugged. “It couldn’t hurt. She’s a genius, especially since she’s been working with vibranium for so long.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Tony said sarcastically. “Imagine all the things I could do with vibranium.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Touche.”

Natasha just shook her head, but her smile never faltered. Despite all the drama and the deceit, Tony actually found himself willing to stick by the assassin’s side. Unlike Steve, she’d somewhat atoned for her misgivings, apologizing and even distancing from the man in question upon learning about his lies. Add to that how Peter similarly felt safe around her and Tony was more than willing to continue his good graces with the woman.

Actually, it was almost comforting to have her around.

“How old is the princess anyway?” Tony pulled out his phone, beginning to search for any history on the Wakandan royal family that wasn’t public knowledge.

This time, Natasha smirked with amusem*nt. “Sixteen.” Tony nearly dropped his phone. “And already the lead scientist in vibranium development.”

“Jesus Christ,” he swore as Natasha lightly laughed. “Yeah, I’ll definitely give her a call. Keep watching the kid for me until he wakes up. If he wants to talk, I’ll be in my lab.”

“Roger that,” Natasha mock saluted.

“Oh,” Tony said before he forgot. “Prepare for Steve to be in a bad mood. He didn’t quite like what I had to say about the Council.”

Natasha sighed, rubbing gently at her forehead. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I’ll let him fill me in. You need to get a jumpstart on… whatever it is that we need to do.”

“Beats me,” he shrugged. “First order of business is fixing Barnes, next is getting Peter to open up about Wanda and try to find her and Vision.”

“Well it sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Ah, yes, the downside to being a genius superhero. You get stuck with all the grunt work.”

Adapting B.A.R.F. in the way that Tony needed it for was harder than he expected. Quentin Beck had done most of the initial design for the tech, Tony had just taken it up to an eleven. And now he was having to redesign it again, looking further into the brain of an individual to bring out memories in an even more precise way than before. Maybe he should’ve tried harder to get that neuro doctor to help him with the initial project, the pompous prick.

“Peter said that you’d managed to remove the words originally. I’d given you my tech to help, but he didn’t specify how you did it.”

Tony sat on his stool, leg jittering as he sat conversing with Shuri. The girl had been a bit too ecstatic upon receiving Tony’s message and had immediately called him, squealing with delight and smugness at the notion that the great Tony Stark was in need of her help.

“Did Peter say anything about what happened when we originally took Barnes in?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Tony shrugged. It wasn’t at all surprising to him that the princess had been so on board with believing in the possibility of time travel. “You kept him for two years, helping him rehabilitate. By the end the words no longer worked on him and he was essentially a free man.”

Shuri hummed, typing at something on her screen. “From what I’ve seen, they used electro shock therapy and cryostasis to subdue him. I wouldn’t be surprised if both had a factor into programming the words. This will be like trying to undo Pavlovian conditioning: not impossible, but quite time consuming.”

“Yeah, I was afraid you were going to say that.” Tony leaned forward to take a sip of coffee. “We don’t have a lot of time on our hands is the problem.”

“In terms of Barnes or Wanda?”

Tony shrugged, grimacing at how his beverage had gone cold. “Both. I hate to say it, but we need to use Barnes as a cover for conducting the business of finding and apprehending Wanda. The Council already doesn’t trust Peter, more so that I won’t reveal his identity, so we got to put on a show if we’re gonna be able to pull this off.”

“Quite right you are,” Shuri smiled. “You’re a lot more reasonable than I’d thought you’d be, Mister Stark.”

“Most people say that once they look beyond the exterior.”

Shuri gave a light chuckle. “I imagine so. Let’s start with getting him a psychological evaluation and go from there. We need to understand how his brain works, specifically what it remembers, if we’re to go about erasing memories.”

Tony huffed. “I’ll get some recommendations and ensure that they don’t turn out to be another crazed lunatic looking to set him off.”

“Good. Feel free to reach out whenever. If I have anything on adapting your tech too, I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you,” Tony said.

“Any time, Mister Stark.” Shuri gave one last smirk and logged off, the screen flickering back to blue. Tony slouched forward in his seat. He was beat, that type of tired so heavy it can be felt in the bones. Tony hadn’t felt like this since post-New York when he spent days upon days awake living off of nothing but coffee, energy drinks, and the occasional granola bar. A miserable time, he knows, but that was beside the point.

At the rate he was going, Tony was more than happy to let Shuri take the lead on Barnes and hand the man over entirely. If she had figured it out before, then she could do it again, and it would be one less thing on Tony’s list to worry about.

But that was the easy way out, and Tony had never been for things being easy.

What he could do for now though was worry about it later. Tony only had one focus right now, and that was Peter. The boy needed stability and a bit of familiarity. He was a shaking leaf, jumpy like a baby deer.

Tony had never been good with kids—had actually taken it upon himself to avoid kids, especially teens, as much as could be. He couldn’t keep up with all the questions and boredom that accompanied that age group. One minute they were overly invested and the next they wanted to do nothing but watch videos and play games on their phones. They were exhausting, actually, but there was something different about Peter—or, his Peter, he should say.

This new-but-not-really version of Peter was confusing.

“Did you figure it out?”

Tony turned his head to the door, the quick jolt of shock easing as he spotted Peter standing in the doorway. He looked a little better, the shock of before having worn off after his impromptu nap. He was no longer dressed in his suit, instead wearing a pair of sweatpants that looked just a little too big, a baggy t-shirt, and some slippers.

“Sorry, what?” Tony frowned.

Peter huffed and shuffled into the room. “Did you figure Bucky out? Miss Romanoff said that you got him and Rogers pardoned, but she didn’t say if you figured out how to fix him.”

“Miss Romanoff?” he said slightly teasingly. “And no, not yet,” Tony said. He stood from his seat and stretched his limbs, slowly stepping closer to the boy. Despite Peter claiming to have the mentality of a twenty-something year-old, he sure as hell didn’t show it. His eyes couldn’t seem to look at Tony, a slight blush to his cheeks just as he’d looked when Tony had first surprised him back in his apartment in Queens.

“Just finished talking with Shuri, actually. Said she’d look into my tech, but she didn’t have an exact idea off the top of her head. It’s a work in progress.”

Peter nodded along, his curls bouncing slightly. “Righ, right. Good. Just- just checking in, that’s all.”

Tony snorted, crossing his arms. “All good, kid. But Rome wasn’t built in a day, and all this won’t be fixed in the blink of an eye either.”

Peter seemed to shrivel in on himself, rubbing at his arms. “Yeah, I know. I just- I can’t-” He grumbled, keeping his eyes to the ground as he squeezed his arms. “f*ck, I’m sorry,” the boy sniffled and Tony’s heart pang. “This is all just really confusing and messy and I’m still thinking that this is all a dream of that I’m dead and it’s really, really hard to focus on anything when I can’t do anything and—”

“Slow down, kid. Take it easy.” Tony reached his hand out to grab at his shoulders, the boy stiffening at the touch. Tony rubbed gently at his shoulders, trying to soothe him without getting too close. Peter may know him in the future, but Tony had still only met him not long ago. There wasn’t any instinct he had for the kid beyond the words Protect that were running through his head like a stampede.

“Breathe with me, okay? I need you to breathe. In,” Peter did as told, “and out,” Peter let out a shuttering gasp. “Good. Feel better?”

“No.”

Tony snickered. “Yeah, it doesn’t really make me feel better either. Just breaks apart the thoughts and actions for a couple seconds.”

Peter gave a tight smile. “I don’t think I could forget anything at this rate. Photographic-ish memory.”

“Ish?”

“Started happening after the bite, and it’s only been amplified with every interaction with magic I have,” Peter shrugged. “It’s good for remembering the finer details… but it’s also really overwhelming.”

“Magic gave you a better memory?” Tony honestly couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing on top of all the things Peter had already told him today. Why was it this that felt more obscure than time travel?

Peter said, “Something like that. Not really sure. I’ve been trying to stay away from it. Every time I get wrapped up in the stuff, something bad happens.”

“Come on, kid,” Tony said. “That can’t quite honestly be true.”

Peter raised a brow, looking around the room. “You say that, yet here I am… in the past… standing in the workshop of my former mentor… and trying to protect the future from a crazy witch.”

“…Okay, yes, that,” Peter smiled in slight amusem*nt from his blustering, “but the only thing your fabulous memory has to do with the past now is helping us save the future—your future, specifically as it would seem.”

Peter shook his head, confusing Tony as the teen simply sighed. “That’s not how time travel works and I think you know it.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Whatever, kid. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason to believe any of the laws of space and time when you’ve subconsciously traveled through time into the past to fix the future and for all we know this could either be an alternate timeline or the actual timeline being rewritten.”

“I’m going to go with an alternate timeline since the TVA hasn’t come knocking down the doors yet.”

“The TV-what?”

“The Time Variance Authority. They control the timeline and make sure everything goes according to plan.”

Tony mulled it over for a moment. “So no free will?”

Peter nodded. “Yup. No free will.”

Tony stared straight ahead, blinking owlishly into the distance, then frowned. “Huh.”

“Don’t worry,” Peter snickered. “You’ll get used to the world no longer making sense.”

“Not sure about that, kid,” Tony hummed in thought, “but I think that I can make it through whatever the Hell’s going on now. And that means starting with you.”

Peter gulped, a slight tinge of nerves flushing his cheeks as Tony eyed him over. The boy was young and afraid, that much he was certain of. It couldn’t be helped when he’d been to literal Hell and back, pushed past his breaking points more than Tony cared to know of, and was now all alone, expecting himself to be dead or have this reality be a total dream. In a weird sort of way, Tony wanted to hug the kid, but thought better of it, even if he couldn’t help but feel the strings of his heart tighten in his chest as he gazed upon this teenage wreck.

“Look,” he said, Peter blinking up as the kid bit nervously at his cheek. “I know that this is all scary for you, but I’m not about to abandon you or chuck you off to the side. Though it pains me to say,” Tony said with a humorous glint in his eyes, “I’m going to trust the not-actually-fourteen-year-old to help me save the world. And, hopefully, save yourself in the process.”

Peter bounced lightly on his feet, swaying gently back and forth as he took in the levity of Tony’s words. Tony didn’t know how deep their future bond ran, but he had an inkling of an idea. Even so, he could tell the kid knew the amount of promise in the undertone of Tony’s words, promises that may not be completely kept, promises that may be left unfulfilled, and promises that he should have no right to make in the first place.

The kid asked, “And that means…?”

“It means that we’ve got our work cut out for us, kid.” Peter glared softly, almost fondly. “That is, if you’re willing to work with me on this? I know that you’ve known me for years and that I’ve only just met you, but I’m willing to try at… whatever the relationship is supposed to be here—mentor I think you said?—but only if you’re willing to work with me. There’s only so much I can do to help if you’re not willing to put in an equal amount of effort. That means knowing all the details even if it’s painful. Any little thing could help, kid. And, if your warning about Wanda is true, then we need anything and everything we can get to stop whatever coo-coo land she’s got planned for us. Okay?”

Peter worried his lip, hands clenching and unclenching as he stared the man down. It took all Tony had not to look away from the boy, his eyes showing a depth of darkness he’d only ever seen in war vets. Well, Tony assumed, Peter technically was a war vet if his claims about the future were true. Time has yet to tell.

“Okay,” the kid said, nodding. “I can work with that. Honesty to figure this out and hope I don’t f*ck anything up along the way.”

“Yeesh kid. I know you’re like twenty, but hearing you swear just sounds so wrong.”

Peter smirked. “Well calling me ‘kid’ isn’t helping. I may look young, but up here,” he tapped his head, “is a fully fledged adult who is not looking forward to possibly having to go through puberty again.”

Okay now that was hilarious to think about. Tony let out a barking laugh, startling the kid in the process. “Yeah, I can’t imagine that. But I’ll make you a deal that you try not to swear and ruin this young image you’ve got going for you,” Peter glared, “and I’ll try not to call you ‘kid’. Deal?”

He held out his hand.

“Deal.”

And Peter took it, the raw strength Tony viewed in wonder at the forefront of his grip.

The kid may be messed up in the head, hauntings flying around him like a tornado, but Tony knew that he had a wisdom, that his adolescence (however that was developing, Tony really wasn’t completely sure) wasn’t something to undermine. Peter Parker had been through a great ordeal to get where he was today, and to Hell was Tony going to let the kid fall now.

Chapter 6: A Bleak Recollection

Chapter Text

“Peter?”

No, he wouldn’t answer. He wouldn’t give in—not again.

“Peter?”

It’d go away eventually, he just knew it. And besides, it was just a figment of his own imagination anyway. It was nothing to worry about.

“Peter?”

Nothing at all. Just his subconscious pestering him.

“Peter?”

It would go away.

“Peter?”

It always did.

“Peter?!”

It—

“Stop it Stop it Stop it!”

Panting softly, Peter’s eyes fluttered open, a cold itch tickling his nose and cheeks. His breath was sharp and pierced, almost chalky as the world came into focus around him. He felt like he was floating in a bubble.

“Peter?”

He blinked once, twice, to see a sea of red around him amassed in a great fog. Billowing dark clouds that thundered black around him etched in, rumbling and echoing as they brewed. It was thick and ridged, encasing him like a mummy in its sarcophagus as he merely continued to float in its vast unknown. Peter couldn’t even tell if there was a ground to stand on, only barely aware of the presence of texture around him as his body continued to float around in the thickened air.

“Peter?”

Peter twisted his head around, hair flailing about like it was under water as he looked around for the voice. It was always the same voice.

“Peter?”

“Who said that?” he called out into the red void, the haze only growing thicker. “I know you’re there.”

“Peter?” the voice whispered right against his ear. Peter twisted around as quickly as the red world would allow him, blinking fiercely as the voice continued to taunt and tease him.

“Peter?”

(“Peter?”)

“Who said that?” he called out, the haze growing thicker as small bright balls of red light began to form around him like fairy sparkles when he closes his eyes too tight. But, from the orbs, the voice—or, really, voiceS—spoke through, echoing around him like a heartbeat.

“What is it that you desire?” they said, beating with each word.

“Could you really do such a thing?”

“What price are you willing to pay?”

“You will always be my son.”

“There isn’t much time left.”

“This was your choice. Not mine. Don’t ever confuse the two.”

Over and over, the voices continued to churn around him, shifting and swirling like a tornado of red as tears began to fall down Peter’s cheeks, his breath wheezing as he tried to gain control of himself.

(“Peter?”)

“Peter…”

“No, no, no… Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!” he pleaded, but the voices would not cease. He couldn’t keep going like this, he couldn’t keep listening to the voice. It wove its way into his head, haunting him until his ears bled and his eyes watered. It was a part of his every movement, every thought. It wasn’t just in his head anymore, it was now his literal body and soul.

“Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it Stop it!”

These weren’t his thoughts, they weren’t really what he thought. It was just the voice taunting and teasing him, trying to rile him up. Yeah, that’s it. That’s all the voices were.

The voices chuckled. “This was your choice.”

“No! No it wasn’t!” he shook his head, scrunching into a little bawl as he pressed his hands closer and closer to his ears, enough that his fingers dug into his skull.

(“Peter?”)

“This wasn’t my choice! This wasn’t what I wanted!”

What did you want?

“Shut! UP! This isn’t what I wanted!”

This is exactly what you wanted…

Peter shook his head, tears falling down in ripples as he seethed and screamed.

“No! No! No! No! NO—”

“Peter!”

“NO!”

Peter gasped and shook, shooting straight up in the bed. His skin was on fire and he was shaking like a leaf as he quickly reached for the small trash bin by his bedside. He coughed up the little vomit making its way up into his throat, spewing the watery tang out as he panted.

“Peter?” Peter jumped at the voice, falling back against the bed frame and smacking his head on the wood as he realized the voice wasn’t a dream anymore, that it was just F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“sh*t,” he groaned and rubbed at the growing bump, hissing at the sting. At least there wasn’t any blood on his fingers when he pulled his hand back—that had happened on one too many occasions previously for his liking.

“Peter,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up again, “are you alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he tried to assure. He held the bin close again, coughing and spitting a little more until he felt his stomach subside and the wave of nausea ease. He set the bin back down on the ground and reached for the water bottle on the nightstand, taking a swig of water to roll around his mouth before swallowing back, finally settling his unease. “Just a nightmare.”

“I’d like to disagree,” the A.I. said. “Your heart rate was above the normal levels one would have for a dream to be considered a nightmare. You were teetering on the edge of having a panic attack, meaning your ‘nightmare’ was more likely a night terror.”

“Eh,” Peter shrugged off, “same thing. Comes with the trauma.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s alright. Boss has programmed me to report any trauma or mental breaks from stress since your arrival. This will be reported to him.”

Peter groaned and lolled his head back, rubbing at his eyes. “Please don’t. It won’t happen again. He doesn’t need to worry. It’s not worth it.”

“I think Boss would beg to differ…”

Peter rolled his eyes, but didn’t press further. He could care less, really, not when Mr. Stark suffered from similar bouts of sleep deprivation and stress. It was something that despite his young age the pair had been able to bond over originally. The mentor would try to help Peter work through the dreams that plagued him at night, of the people he was too late to save or the incidents he should’ve prevented from happening. It had amazed Mr. Stark how mature and traumatized Peter already was for only being fourteen, and that wasn’t even counting having watched Uncle Ben being killed in front of him (and Peter didn’t count his parent’s death because he’d barely been a toddler at the time of the crash and he had no real memories formed of Mary and Richard for there to be much emotion to latch onto).

But despite such trivial things, Peter also knew that once F.R.I.D.A.Y. reported the night terror that Mr. Stark would want to know what it was about so he could fix it. And that’s where the problem presented itself because Peter didn’t really know what the dream was about.

It had been three days since he’d tackled Wanda through the portal and found himself in the center of the Avengers civil war, three days since he had to break the concept of reality and thought as he brought down the hammer of trust between the members. It was utter chaos, and it wasn’t getting any better.

After his depressing recap and impromptu drugging by Natasha (which he’d later thanked her for because he had needed the rest), Peter had taken it upon himself to keep his distance from almost everyone despite their well-meaning advances (minus Rogers). With Wanda’s presence unknown and her impending doom pressed on their shoulders, Peter had managed to convince everyone that their first step should be getting the government to trust them again, starting with rehabilitating Bucky. From when Peter had known the soldier, he’d taken an almost brotherly attitude towards him, the pair often communicating in silence after his re-adoption to the team. Bucky had been his main form of support with addressing his trauma, the man introducing him to meditation and other coping mechanisms in the light of his reveal to have been erased from memory. It hurt that they no longer had such a connection, though Peter figured that if everything worked out they could forge it again.

Peter had presented the idea after his little confrontation with Mr. Stark, the man questioning Peter’s motive behind such an odd request when there were definitely more pressing matters at hand, but Peter had simply brushed him off.

“Think of it like a move of good faith. I know how you feel about him right now, but we’re gonna need Steve when we finally confront Wanda.” Mr. Stark had given a deep eye roll. “And what better way than to show him that we’re willing to work with him by helping out his troubled best bud?”

Mr. Stark groaned. “I know you’re right, but it’s still suspicious. And I’m willing to bet we could take Wanda on without him.”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly and leaned back against the table. “Maybe. But are you really willing to bet on it? You’ve never faced off against the Scarlet Witch; I have. She isn’t someone to mess with or take lightly.”

Frowning, Mr. Stark gave in and agreed to focus for the time being on Bucky while Peter figured out the rest—the rest, of course, meaning hiding away from everyone as he tries to wrap his head around everything and how to deal with it at all.

After the day of initial shock had subsided, Peter had stuck to Mr. Stark’s side like glue while simultaneously dodging around his interactions. Just because he could exist in his presence, didn’t mean that he could exist in his presence, you know? It was all so overwhelming and trippy that when Peter spaced out for too long he’d sometimes forget the man was still in the room until he asked him a question, which would then in turn send Peter into a miniature hidden panic as he told himself it wasn’t a fever dream, that Mr. Stark really was here with him, that he was going to fix everything and save his mentor before it was too late.

That didn’t, however, start with telling the man about his dreams of red.

It was the same thing he dreamed of each night since Natasha induced sleep into him—and it was what he saw in his mind’s eye every time he felt a flutter of sleep run across his eyes.

His dreams were never not red, always echoing with hollowed out voices, voices of promises and deceit, his voice even, and within it all inlaid Wanda herself, smiling and laughing and humming as she called out for him. It was unsettling at the minimum considering how with each thought he felt, each memory that claimed to have existed, he couldn’t seem to recall any such conversations sliping through. And he would know, too, considering his perfect memory. It was all just… odd, and he couldn’t seem to figure it out. Peter didn’t like not being able to figure something out. It meant an unknown variable, and the unknown made him weak.

But his dreams didn’t matter right now, not when he had another problem at hand, one that he’d been pushing off since Wanda’s haunting words on the battlefield: “She’s alive…”

Peter gulped and ran his fingers through his hair. May would be expecting him home later this afternoon, his supposed excursion with Mr. Stark up. He had school tomorrow and a life that his former self had to get back to, and… f*ck Time Travel!

Shaking himself out, Peter stretched his limbs and stood up from the bed, listening for the sounds of his bones to pop with each twist and pull. He cracked his neck and torso rhythmically, sighing at the ease upon completion, and sniffled. Mr. Stark had given him a room close to his own on the other side of the Compound from the others. Apparently, the far off ghost look in Peter’s eyes had signaled to the man that Peter needed as much seclusion as could be given during this trying time, especially after noting how jumpy he was at any move made by anyone around him. It made the older man pout, and then made Peter feel guilty.

Peter took three deep breaths in and out before moseying his way to the bathroom. He relieved himself and brushed his teeth, splashed some water on his face and checked for stubble. Still hairless, he surmised. Curse his genes for never granting him anything more than some light leg and arm hair.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, Peter quickly changed into some plain sweats and a t-shirt, thankful for Happy having grabbed his suitcase out of the German hotel before returning to the states. Made his life a little less embarrassing then having to possibly ask to borrow someone’s clothes for the time being.

“Right,” he told himself as he looked in the mirror, “you can do this. Another day.” Despite his best efforts to put himself together, he knew he still looked a mess. The bags under his eyes had never looked heavier, and red tinged his eyes as he scratched at the dull acne bumps that threatened to sprout but never would. This was the best he could do, and Peter could honestly admit he didn’t quite care when all he was allowed to do was stay inside and hide away from anyone who wasn’t Mr. Stark or Avenger.

He nodded hopefully at himself, running his fingers through his hair one last time before declaring before his reflection, “f*ck it,” and left his room for the mess hall, his metabolism beginning to kick in now that it remembered it’s semi-empty and tumultuous stomach.

The dormitories were on the opposite side of the Compound from the general area where workers were found and the training grounds were issued. It was more peaceful, and right along the lake, so it allowed for a bit more privacy amongst the chaos of what living on the Avengers Compound is like. They ranged in space, several currently empty and entirely uninhabited, and surrounded a communal area that included a living space and kitchen. That was where Peter was headed to now, with all the hope he could muster that the residence would be empty considering it was nearly 11A.M. now and believed that the others had better things to do than just loll around.

He was wrong.

Stepping into the communal area, Peter was met with the hunched forms of the Rogues over the kitchen island, all huddled around a bowl of fruit with mugs in their hands, casually sipping and conversing. Sam and Steve were covered in sweat, most likely having just come back from a run, Scott was knowhere to be found, and Natasha looked sleep-worn while Clint antsy. They’d all seen better days, Peter decided.

“Look, all I’m saying is,” Sam was saying, only to be shushed by Rogers nodding his head in Peter’s direction. The others perked up and looked over one another at their sudden intrusion, surprised almost as if they thought that they wouldn’t be disturbed conversing in private in a public area.

Peter pressed his lips together and gave a slight wave. “Hi.”

Rogers took in a sharp breath through his nose, turning away back to his cup and said, “Let’s pick this up another time.” The others nodded while Natasha gave a limp eyeroll and went back to her drink. Sam and Rogers shuffled out, the former throwing a final look over his shoulder as the door closed behind them and it was just Peter and the assassins left.

“Um,” Peter gulped, rubbing at his arm, “I can always come back later? I mean, it’s not too late to call them back in and—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, kid,” Clint interrupted. “It’s not a problem, there’s no need to come back later, so pop a seat.” The archer stood and cracked his neck, grabbing his coffee and leveling Natasha with a look. She smirked, and nodded in reply, as the man left, giving a gentle pat to Peter’s shoulder on the way out.

Peter suppressed a squeak and turned back to the Widow who took a long sip of her drink then began to move about the kitchen, pulling out a pan and some food from the fridge.

“Take a seat, I’ll make us some breakfast.”

“Uh, are you sure that—”

“Kid,” she spun around with a raised brow, “take a seat. You look about ready to pass out. Means you need to eat.”

Not really looking for a fight, Peter gave a short nod and made his way to the island where he plopped down on the nearest stool. He began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, simply kicking his feet about as Natasha began working on some eggs and sausages. The smell alone made Peter’s stomach give an audible growl, the now-teen blushing and hunching in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he heard Natasha say, “Thought so,” under her breath as she began to plate the food.

“So,” she said as she placed the food in front of him along with a fork, knife, and glass of juice, “you want to talk about whatever’s eating at you?”

Peter snorted and happily began to dig into her peace offering. “No offense, but I don’t really know you. Any version of you.”

Natasha hummed and took a bite of her own eggs, dumping some salt and pepper over them followed by a dash of hot sauce. “Didn’t seem to matter when you latched onto me back at the airport. I’d say that that means we have some connection.”

“Only through Yelena,” Peter shook his head. “You, uh… you know… died before I joined the team. I only know you through your sister and Germany in my original timeline.”

“All good things I hope?”

Peter smirked, nibbling on one of the sausages. “Of course. I think Clint was more likely to spill his secrets on you than Yelena was.”

Natasha smirked into her mug, “Bastard.”

“He didn’t say anything bad…”

“Still,” she shrugged. “But that isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about—even if you still owe me an explanation on everything you know about my sister.” Peter blushed. “No, let's get back on topic, shall we? How are you holding up? Are you ready to face the music yet?”

Peter scrunched up his face and curled one hand into a fist as he poked lamely at his food. He was really getting tired of people asking him if he was okay as he was very obviously not okay. Who would be, really, in this kind of situation? No one sane is the answer, but even then the decision is iffy. There was just so much output to process with not enough time to handle it—at least not with enough time that Peter could find to manage and direct.

“No,” he settled on, “I’m not. I’d literally do anything else.” Which was true. His aunt was a sore spot in his armor, a memory he’d grown to long for, but now faced with the opportunity completely dreaded. Why, after all this time, was he suddenly having to deal with such a decision? With such hope? Peter knew that returning to the past (despite what it foretold and the circ*mstances surrounding the journey) should be a joyous occasion, a time to reconcile and exist in a little pocket of happiness for as long as he was capable… But those feelings had long been buried down, and he was frightened as to what would happen if he let them back out for even a little while. He’d already dealt with the grief of his aunt’s passing; was it really happiness he should be feeling when the woman would most likely die all over again within the next decade?

Peter sighed. Amongst all the lessons he’d learned of time and space, there was one overall truth—death was finite. There was no stopping it, only preventing it, but in the end, the someone would die and never live past their fixed point of existence. It was a topic that Peter had greatly cursed Doctor Who for predicting to be true.

“It’s just…” he began and bit at the inside of his cheek. “It’s just that I’ve faced off against men in masks, aliens, low level street criminals, and witches, but literally confronting reality—confronting May, is terrifying. I mean, how am I supposed to approach this? ‘Hi Aunt May! Remember when you said I could go off with Mister Stark for the weekend? Well, it turns out, the weekend didn’t go as planned because my future self got blasted back into my past body, meaning that I may look like your nephew, but I’m not actually him. Also, you’re dead in the future, and I’m an official orphan.’ Like…?!”

Peter bent and banged his head on the edge of the counter, the cutlery rattling as Natasha snickered at his dramatics. “Probably not the best way to go about it, but I get what you’re saying, and I’d think it’d be best to just not mention any of that.”

“Ugh, you don’t say?” he said as he twisted his face up, his bangs falling lightly over his eyes as he peered up at the Widow.

Natasha smiled. “You know, for someone who claims to be in their early twenties, you sure don’t act like it.”

Peter let out another groan and sat up a ways, folding his arms to rest his chin upon. “Don’t remind me. It’s like I have all my memories intact, but my mind just wants to revert to my sad teenage self’s mannerisms. And let me just say that this,” he gestured to his entire self, “was something I was hoping to never have to go through again.”

“Charming.”

“Thanks. Being fourteen again sucks.”

“Lucky that it isn’t me then.”

Peter didn’t respond and just pressed his face back into the table as Natasha hummed.

“No, but seriously, you need to come up with a better way to talk to your aunt.” Peter rolled his eyes. “I’d help if I could, but I don’t think my presence would be welcomed when she thought you were just with Tony.”

That made Peter laugh a little. He picked his head back up, his pouting session complete, and returned back to his food, realizing the assassin had already completed her meal and was beginning to clean up. “Yeah, I can’t really see that. I’ve had the guts to text her though, so that’s progress, right?”

Natasha gave a little fifty-fifty hand wiggle in response. “Anything questionable to not?”

“Not really,” he shook his head. “She’s just suspicious about how Iron Man was reported to be in Germany and asked if I’d been kidnapped. Something about making me Mister Stark’s new heir?”

A genuine chuckle erupted from Natasha’s lips, the teen jumping in surprise at the sound. “Ah, yes. When in doubt, assume the genius teen kid is actually the long lost son of Tony Stark. Classic move, and one I could totally see.”

Peter flushed all the way up to his ears and down his neck. “Not true. I’m not his kid,” he squirmed in his seat.

“I don’t know,” Natasha continued to tease. “You’ve got brains to match, that same self-deprecating meets self-sacrificing behavior, and one could argue matching eyes. Couldn’t be a far stretch. Besides, if you’re actually nervous about it, we could always get a secret DNA test done.”

Peter frowned. “I genuinely can’t tell if you’re just joking or if I’m going to wake up to the feeling of my hair being yanked out or blood being drawn.”

“Okay, first off, I am offended that you think you’d notice if I took your DNA. I am much too good at my job for that to happen.” That sounded a lot like something Yelena would say. “And second, this is obviously all theatrical… probably.”

Peter let out a soft groan and turned back to finishing his food.

It was kind of strange to be talking with Natasha so casually when he’d only ever been close to Mr. Stark. The man had been his mentor and another pseudo-father figure to him. In a way, there was a refreshness to having Natasha input herself into his business, a kind of maternal link that he’d so long lacked since May had left. It was still unnerving, however, to Peter how he seemed to latch on and imprint on any adult that gave him a lick of hope or trust. That’s what happened to him with Happy, Beck, Strange, Clint, even Doc Ock and Osborn for that short period of time! Actually, now that Peter was thinking about it, this pattern of his should probably be looked at by a therapist.

Peter remembered just yesterday when Mr. Stark had made an offhand comment about attaching himself to Natasha like a newborn duck, following after her when he wasn’t around.

“Actually,” the man said as he worked on the adjustments of B.A.R.F., “it’s a little more surprising—no, unnerving, actually—to see the great Black Widow take so easily to motherhood as she has.”

Peter flustered and ended up dropping one of the tools he was holding while working on updating his web shooters. “She’s not my mom.”

“Yeah right,” the man joked. “She’s not your mom as much as those shining eyes of yours don’t think of me as your dad.” That actually made the older man pause in thought, humming it over for a moment before stating, “Ignore that last part.”

Was it really that obvious? Peter’s mind whined now. Did everyone really think of him as Mr. Stark’s son? Even Mr. Stark? Even though they literally didn’t know him?

No, no. Peter scolded himself. Not the time to deal with the daddy issues. Push it back. May first.

Ping Ping

Peter felt his phone buzz in his pocket and quickly pulled it out, tapping the screen once to see it was from May.

May: What time does your flight get in at?

PP: 2:30 but mr. Stark said he’d give me a ride back home so I’ll meet you there for dinner?

May: Perfect! We can get whatever you want while you tell me all about the trip.

Peter had a sad smile on his face as he gave the message a thumbs up. God, there was no way that he could tell May any of this and have it make sense without her entirely flipping out. Sure, originally she’d been fine with it all after the smoke settled and Pepper had helped put out the flames that Mr. Stark had fanned, but this was entirely different now.

There was no way that he could keep it together and balance saving the world (again) from a crazed witch (again) while also putting up the front that his home and school life were normal—not without outing his identity, that is, and there was no way that Peter would ever be going down that path again. It wasn’t worth it and left a bad taste in his mouth at the thought.

No, what Peter needed was more time. He’d already had an infinite amount, sure, but at the end of the day all that was relevant was time and the way the world seemed to lack giving him a break with it.

This way and that, Peter was pulled in every direction until all that was left for fault was time: no time to figure out who the real villain was, no time to stop the inevitable catastrophe with rationality, no time to—

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, startling the assassin enough that she began to choke back on her drink slightly.

“What’s it?” she said between breaths, wiping at her chin.

“No time!” Peter said and rushed out of the hall calling out, “Thanks for the food!” as the doors closed behind him and he rounded the corner only for him to remember then that he was at the Compound and technically had no idea where anything was because this was not the Compound Avengers headquarters he was used to and had to backtrack his steps. He sluggishly reentered the common area to where Natasha was cleaning away his plate and bit the inside of his cheek as he asked, “Do you happen to know where Mister Stark keeps the spare car keys?”

Natasha raised an inquisitive brow. “I do, but first I’m gonna need to know why you need to hijack one.”

Peter pouted because of course she would. “I need to go into the city.”

“You want to head back to see your aunt so soon? Thought just a minute ago you were staring off into space brooding about how to break the news to her.”

“No, not that. I need to go visit an old… friend. They’re in the city and I have no idea how to contact them besides heading to their place.”

The Widow still did not look pleased as she placed the last of the dishes into the sink and finished off Peter’s juice for him. “Well, first off, your ‘friend’ might not take too kindly to not meeting you at all when you get pulled over for driving without a license and underage.”

Oh. Yeah. He forgot about that.

“And second, go grab what you need and meet me in the garage in five. I’ll take you myself.”

Peter perked up. “Really?”

“Sure,” she shrugged. “Besides, if I’m going to trust what your saying is true, then what better way than to follow the little spider to visit his little friend. We agreed?”

Peter mulled it over for a moment, worrying the inside of his lip as he thought about it. It was right to assume that even if Peter left without her, there was a good chance the woman would just follow along behind him, and since he didn’t really see her as a threat, there was no chance of his spidey-sense picking up her whereabouts in an attempt to lose her. Plus, he didn’t think he’d be able to if she was anything like Yelena. That woman could find Peter before even Peter knew where he was going. It was scary—sweet, but scary.

“Alright, fine,” he agreed. “But you have to wait in the car.”

“Fine by me,” she smirked. “We leave in four.”

Peter nodded and turned back to get his things. This would probably all blow up in his face, but it was worth a try. It had to be.

After all, what other choices did he have to choose from?

Driving into the city instead of swinging was strange, especially since when he last saw NYC it was ravaged by demons and in the midst of an apocalypse. Now though, with its pristine skyscrapers that sparkled from the sun against the grime of the streets, it was a haunting reminder of what was to come.

Of the rides available to them, Natasha had chosen a simple jeep that she proclaimed had one of the best motor engines of the bunch.

“What? You think that Tony wouldn’t make sure no matter the car they could all withstand a high speed chase and are bulletproof?”

Still, it was a little strange to be listening to the radio for the hour or so drive into the city from upstate with Black Widow at the wheel. If they were made into a meme, Peter was pretty sure that they’d be the picture of a mom taking her son to the doctor’s office with how nervous Peter was given the constant jitter of his leg.

“Relax,” she said as they entered Lower Manhattan, the former Avengers Tower long in the distance. “You said you weren’t going to meet your aunt, you shouldn’t be this nervous.”

A little breathy chuckle that ended on more of a squeak was Peter’s answer. “Oh it’s not. It’s just the, uh, business I have with them that I’m worried about.”

Natasha didn’t look impressed as she turned down another street, the greenery of the city coming into full throttle. “You’re worried about what your friends in Greenwich Village will say to you? I don’t believe that for a second, not unless you’ve got some new generation hippies who are gonna wave some crystals to read your aura.”

“Okay, that’s rude to my generation. Just because we’re trendy, doesn’t mean we’re also crazy.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Also, there will be no rock waving and aura reading. My friend never learned how to do that.”

The Widow sighed as she turned on the last corner and pulled into a parking spot with practiced ease right across from their destination. “You’re really making me regret my decisions right now, kid.”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one.”

Among the lined red brick buildings, great foliage, and masses of hipsters that lined the streets with their trimmed beards and big hats sat an older structure, one that had a unique circular skylight protruding from the top with artistically patterned swirls Peter had come to learn were runes. To the untrained eye, the building looked almost everyday, and he had no doubt that despite all of the Widow’s skill, she too gazed upon it with a sense of normalcy and utter confusion as to why Peter would come here.

“Well, here we are,” she said as she turned off the engine to stare up at the structure. “One-Seven-Seven-A Bleecker Street as promised.”

“Thanks,” he said. Peter checked to make sure he had everything he’d need and unbuckled, stepping out of the car as he continued to peer up at the building, a wave of magic already outlining itself that he could barely make out. “And you promise to stay in the car?”

Natasha huffed, but nodded. “Yes. So long as you come back out in an hour. Otherwise, I’m breaking in.”

Peter snickered slightly. “Sure, totally. One hour and then you attempt to break into a heavily fortified fortress,” he said as he closed the door, Natasha blinking and starting to say, “Wait—” as Peter quickly hurried across the street and up the steps of the townhouse.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, Peter had once called this place his home. After being erased and forgotten, his re-adoption by the Avengers had called for an investigation into his claims after having vanished for almost an entire year. But through the questions and concerns, the probes and digging, it had been Doctor Strange who had stuck up for him and stayed by his side throughout the debacle.

“I’m not going to undo the spell, Peter,” he’d told him one fateful evening. It had been a week since Sam brought him back, and the pair were sitting by the fire in the Sanctum after Strange decided to take responsibility for him.

Peter knew that it wasn't a possibility, but it hadn’t stopped him from sniffling and blinking back a couple loose tears. “What do you mean?”

Strange leveled him and refilled his mug with a flick of his wrist. “I know that you’re too selfish to ever ask such a thing, but to put your mind at ease, I won’t be undoing the spell. It’s too risky. Memory spells are tricky enough because of how they mess with one’s psyche, and I’m not about to cast another spell of such power onto a couple minds to please the hope that you won’t be forgotten anymore, that you’ll have friends again.”

“Oh,” Peter gulped and rubbed at his eyes. “I mean, like you said, I wasn’t going to ask, but…”

“But the possibility was still there.” Peter glanced up through his bangs to see the doctor give him a soft smile. “I may not remember you in full, Peter, but I know you enough to tell you this: the past is set, it is immovable, but what matters now is what you want to do with your future. I’m willing to stick up for you, to give you a place here in the Sanctum and temporarily live as my ward like America does. But you have to promise me something in return.”

“What’s that?”

Strange stood and came to kneel before Peter, the fire crackling behind the man as he handed him a tissue you, the cloak drifting from its master’s shoulders to comfort Peter. It made both of them chuckle lightly as Strange said, “I need you to promise me that you’ll stop closing yourself off, that you’ll make friends. You’re lonely, and there’s no longer a reason to be.”

Peter gave a tight smile and nodded his head. “Okay. I promise.”

“Good,” Stephen smiled. “Then in that case I’ll show you your room. It’s about time we get you out of that rat infested apartment.”

Peter had chuckled knowingly then and did so now as he called upon the memory, the normalcy he felt of stepping up to the door. Only, this time, where once the thick wood would open invitingly for him, they now remained latched shut.

“Right, you can do this,” Peter pepped himself up. With a shaky hand, he rapped his knuckle lightly on the wood, the glass pains crackling with the echo, and waited.

“Hello?” he called out after the beats of silence continued. “Anyone home?” Even back when Peter had first come to the doors, Strange hadn’t waited long to throw all the extravagance he could into bringing Peter into the Sanctum, the doors bursting open to reveal the wonder that lay within the magical hall. This time, however, instead of the clean shaven and haughty persona of Strange, the doors instead opened to reveal a dark man with a shaved head dressed in dimmed yellow and green robes that looked closer to what America used to wear as a novice standing with an impervious gaze down at him.

“Uh, hi?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Who are you and what do you want?”

Okay then, this guy wasn’t one for pleasantries apparently.

“Um, my name is Peter Parker. I’m looking for the Sorcerer Supreme?”

The man stiffened, breath intaking harsh as his nostrils flared and eyes widened. “How do you know that title?”

God, Peter hadn’t really thought this through. He really should have thought a bit deeper into what kind of confrontation he’d have with Strange who doesn’t know him yet, let alone some complete random person who was clearly more hostile than curious.

“I’m in the superhero business and ran into him a couple times—”

“Him?” the man asked with a snort. “There is no ‘him’ here, kid. You’re better off heading back to wherever you came from. And think better than to pretend to be a superhero.”

The man began to close the door, but Peter quickly stuck out his foot and stopped it from shutting, wincing in slight pain at the feeling of the wood smashing against his foot. “Wait! Please!”

“Back off, kid,” the man growled, and made to push Peter back, but the teen just caught the door with his hand and kept it from closing any further, even slightly denting the structure if the slight groan and splinters digging into his skin was anything to go by.

“No! You don’t understand. I need to see the Sorcerer Supreme. I need to meet with Doctor Strange!”

“I know no one of that name,” the man answered, continuing to try and heave the door closed and shove Peter away, but the boy wouldn’t relent. He stood his ground and pushed his body to stand between the door and its frame as the man continued to try to fight against him.

“I’m warning you, child,” he said, fingers beginning to burn where they held onto Peter’s shoulder, “it’s best to leave now before any real harm comes to you.”

Peter grit his teeth. “There wouldn’t need to be any harm if you just let me in and let me see the Sorcerer Supreme!”

“Do not speak such a name to me you—”

“That’s enough.”

Both Peter and the man froze as a calm voice fell across the scene. The man moved away, letting Peter go, and took a step back to turn and face the new presence, leaving Peter still squeezed between the door and its frame.

“My apologies,” the man said with a slight bow. “I was just dealing with a disturbance, I had not meant for it to turn so childish.”

The figure gave a soft smile, beginning their descent down the steps of the sanctum as a portal closed behind them, the faint whip of snow capped mountains blowing through as the sparks shrunk and disappeared. The figure was poised with a clean shaven head and bright golden robes dawned, a fan in their hand.

“There is no need for apologies, Master Drumm,” they said and rested a hand upon the man’s—Master Drumm’s—shoulder. “I shall take it from here.”

“But—” Drumm tried to interject

“Ah, ah,” they soothed. “This boy is not a threat, but an ally, and one whom I have been patiently waiting to arrive.” They gave Peter a soft smile, then flickered their wrist, the winds pushing Peter within and the doors clicking shut softly behind him. They gave Drumm one last smile and said, “You are excused, Master Drumm.”

Drumm was not too pleased, not as he eyed back to Peter one last time and sighed in compliance. “Of course,” he said and turned on his heel with a head nod and disappeared through his own sparkly portal.

Once Drumm had gone and it was just Peter and the stranger, he turned back to them with a tight smile and half-made excuse on his lips, ready to plead and thank, only for them to turn and walk off, a soft, “Come on,” trailing behind as they walked back up the steps.

Peter stared and blinked for only a moment before hurriedly following after taking the steps two at a time.

Just as before, the second floor was filled with glass display cases depicting different relics. Peter had never paid much attention to Strange’s lectures on them, so he couldn’t name any of them except for the Cloak of Levitation that was hovering all alone. That couldn’t be right, could it? The Cloak should be with Strange. So why wasn’t it?

“Terribly sorry about the fuss,” the figure said, snapping Peter back to the present. They’d found their way into a study, Peter blinking in confusion as a headache set in at the feeling of magic washing over him. “We don’t get many visitors claiming to know about the Sorcerer Supreme, especially those who do not already practice magic.” The figure smiled and snapped their fingers. A tray of drinks and food soon floated their way as they gestured for Peter to sit, the teen too confused to not comply and plopped down into the ancient lounge.

“Tea?” they asked as they poured two cups, gently offering the other to Peter.

“Oh, thanks,” he grabbed the cup with a shaky hand and brought it to his lips, the drink surprisingly the perfect temperature as he took a long sip. He hummed in delight at the familiar taste.

“I’m sure you have many questions, Peter, but I believe the first is who I am and where Doctor Strange is?”

Peter nodded, taking one of the small cookies from the tray. “Yeah, that’d be great. I’m sorry if I did something wrong earlier, too.”

The figure shook it off. “It’s alright. And you did nothing wrong. You just said it wrong.”

Peter raised a brow as he took a bite of the cookie. “Are you about to start talking in riddles?”

The figure gave a light laugh. “No. No I won’t. I don’t think this is the time to talk in tongues, not when there are more pressing matters at hand, such as your apparent near improbable time travel.”

Peter choked slightly on his tea and cookie. “How do you—?”

“Like I said,” they spoke, “you were asking the right questions, just not in the right way. You asked for the Sorcerer Supreme, but one who has yet to come into power. You spoke of a ‘him’ when there is only a ‘she’ or ‘they’. And you never once asked for help, only stating your identity, as if we don’t already know who Spider-Man is.”

Peter was spluttering, mouth opening and closing as he tried to wrap his mind around it all as it finally clicked into the place. “So if Strange isn’t the Sorcerer Supreme at this time, then that means someone else is.”

“Yes,” she answered, Peter now taking in her delicate features and her implications.

“Which means that you’re…”

She raised a brow, almost amused by Peter’s flustering. “That I’m the Sorcerer Supreme? Yes. I am. You’re a little too early to see Strange become the guardian of this Sanctum, I’m afraid. And even then, Strange is not meant to become the Sorcerer Supreme for some time, which means that I am both Strange and Wong’s predecessor known as the Ancient One.”

“The Ancient One?”

“Yes.”

“…That’s your name?”

“No, it’s not,” she chuckled. “But it is what people call me as it is my title and the name people know me by. And so, therefore, it is my name.”

“Oh. Okay then, Ancient One.” It sounded weird for him to call her by such a name, but Peter wasn’t here to judge. He’d met plenty of people who have had more questionable and confusing names anyway, like that one girl named Paper.

“Uh, Ancient One,” he began, sitting a little more up in his seat, “I’ve come here to ask for your help.”

“Yes, I imagine you have,” they said. “Ever since your disturbance in the timeline, I’ve been keeping a tab on you. I’m surprised you didn’t come here sooner.”

Peter frowned a little and grumbled, “It’s been a busy couple of days. But that’s not the point.”

“No, I suppose it’s not. The point is that you’ve managed to change time thanks to the Scarlet Witch without ever truly destroying the timeline.”

Wait? Really?

The Ancient One shook their head and stood, calling forth a ripple of magic to form a line with no seeable end. “It isn’t that simple, I’m afraid,” she said. “Because you have traveled back into your own mind rather than creating a duplicate of yourself, you have, essentially, not broken any laws of time. This is an unforeseen and unknown loophole, I’m afraid. One that I cannot fully explain or that I can guarantee will make much sense.”

They reached out a hand and touched the line at one end and then again at a further point. “When one travels back, we create a second branch of time,” the first dot sprouted off into another stream, slowly forming and traveling closer to Peter as it began to branch off further into other branches. “However, in this case, you haven’t created a second branch of infinite branches,” the branch disappeared, replaced with the further point round back and creating a circle around the first point. “Instead, you’ve created a new timeline atop of the old timeline, two overlapping times as you do not plan to actively affect the events of the past, only move alongside it. Everything will occur as such, you cannot change absolute points in time such as a battle or death, only affect when they will eventually occur—generally, sooner. As such, the Scarlet Witch has become a new variable in this equation as you are now tied in a loop of possibility. She's a beacon of chaos magic, meaning the laws of time and space may just bend to her whim if she so chooses. But we must wait and see.”

The line vanished with another flick of the Ancient One’s wrist, leaving Peter more confused than before. “You're right. That made absolutely no sense.”

The Ancient One sighed and took her place back down across from Peter. “I’m aware, but it’s as close as I could form to a reason as to what’s happening and why there haven’t been any ripple effects yet. Which brings us to why you are here.”

“Do you not know?” he questioned.

“More or less. I know that you have come here for my aid—well, the aid of Doctor Strange specifically, but you’ll have to do with me for the time being. But what I don’t know is why. We are on a different path of time now, one that I cannot truly predict, so you will have to tell me I’m afraid.” Her cup refilled itself and she gave a cheeky smile. “Though I have some form of an idea. I’m assuming you’re here on account of assistance towards the Scarlet Witch?”

Peter smacked his lips, setting the cup down on the table by the chair’s side and said, “I’m actually not here about Wanda,” he gave a weak laugh.

The Ancient One was not amused, her face frowning as she eyed him over. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded. “I’m not. Well, I mean, I’d actually love your help in stopping Wanda if you’re able to, but she really isn’t the reason for my visit this time.”

“Then why are you here if not for help?”

Peter cleared his throat and felt his palms begin to sweat. Suddenly, this wasn’t feeling like such a good idea. Peter didn’t know the Ancient One, didn’t know how far their generosity extended, whether or not they truly were a friend of acquaintance.

With Strange it had been easy for Peter to read the man. He was straight forward, happy to help when he could as long as everyone followed his rules without question (which Peter now wished he had done more expertly, but to be fair the Strange who’d erased him had turned out to be a Skrull who’d been bad about giving all the information while Strange was in another dimension, so was it really his fault?), and hadn’t thought Peter’s questions to be childish or pointless. His concerns were validated and known, each point thought through and given time to develop so he wasn't taken for granted or lightly being one of the youngest and most questionable members of the newly reformed Avengers. The man hadn’t locked possibilities in a box, had explored the options and given a rational opinion based on them that oftentimes led to the success of the team.

But from what Peter could remember of the minimal conversations Strange told him about his mentor and predecessor, the Sorcerer Supreme hadn’t always been as understanding. At this point in time, the Sanctum was a secret from the world, untouched by greedy government hands and completing their missions of the multiverse with ease.

Would the Ancient One want to disturb such a reputation for Peter’s childish request?

“Well…” he said, ringing his hands lightly. His leg began to jitter once more. “It’s just that in the future—my future past, that is—I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved or cared about, and now that I’m displaced in the timeline, I have the chance to fix things, right? I have the chance to see them again. But the thing is…” he bit his cheek, willing tears to not fall, “The thing is that I’m not sure I can confront them. I’m not sure that I can face them. Not again, not after knowing what happens to them all.”

The Ancient One did not speak, simply humming and refilling both their cups as she allowed Peter to continue.

“In my time, I made a mistake. I trusted someone who ended up betraying me and revealed my identity to the world. I couldn’t handle it, and so I went to Doctor Strange for help, and he said that he could erase the memory of Peter Parker Being Known as Spider-Man from everyone. But it didn’t go as planned, and in the end to fix the rips in the multiverse, I told Strange to erase me from the memory of everyone in the world.”

The Ancient One raised her brows, thinking in thought. “Well, that is a big order, isn’t it. I’m hoping you’re not asking me to do something similar? Memory spells are fickle things.”

“Oh, God no.” Peter said. “No, none of that. I don’t think I could ever do something like that again. But,” he said, the Ancient One waiting patiently, “I was hoping that maybe you’d be able to pause time for me for a little bit? I can’t confess or go back to my fourteen year-old self’s life just yet. I can’t! You know this. Wanda is still out there doing who knows what, and what? Am I just supposed to go back to ‘normalcy’ and pretend like I’m not looking over my shoulder at every little whisper or keep looking at everyone like they’re a ghost? I don’t know about you, but I think that that’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

Peter couldn’t read what the Ancient One was thinking, her face impassive if not in thought as she spoke. “So, to summarize, you want me to give you more time to not have to confront your friends and aunt?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Just, you know, without wiping me from existence if possible?”

“Without wiping you from existence, you say?” She was not disproving or approving in her look, simply neutral (and Peter suspected to be taking some revelry from his nervous behavior).

“Preferably…”

“Hmm,” she said and rose. “I have to say that, despite what I know of you, I may have to agree with Miss Romanoff’s assessment from this morning that you are quite selfish and self-deprecating.”

“Wait how do you know about—”

“On top of that, you seem to think that just because you have messed up the timeline that you are therefore required to have given reparations from those around you to help your own needs. Why must one person, afterall, help one continue in their selfish ways without gaining anything in return?”

Peter grumbled, “Strange was never like this…”

“Well, by that logic then, you may always wait for him to finish his training, for me to die, and for him to take on the role of Sorcerer Supreme, though I suspect that wait may be too long—”

God, she was just like the dreams, the voices circling around him and sucking him down to the ground. The right and the wrong, the choices he’s made; she knew them all, and she had no intention of hiding such knowledge from him.

“Please,” he weekly begged, “please don’t. I know that I’ve—”

“Which is why I think that just this once such a power can be persuaded.”

A single tear fell down Peter’s cheek as he tilted his head up. The Ancient One now stood directly before him, a slight smile tinged at the edge of her lips as she looked down upon him.

He gulped. “Really? You’ll… You’ll do it?”

“Hm, I think we can manage such a request just this once.”

With a smirk, the Ancient One quickly turned on her feet, robes swishing as she walked off down the hall, Peter shoving up out of his seat and dashing after her. From what little he knew of the Ancient One from Strange, he should’ve led with how dramatic and secretive they were.

The Ancient One led them back down the way they came, standing within the entrance hall of the Sanctum and began to cast a spell.

“Uh,” Peter said with growing concern, “what are you…?”

“Relax, Peter,” she said. “You are already familiar with this spell.”

Peter raised a brow, but said nothing further, only taking a slight stumble back when the Ancient One threw her hand forward, shattering the world around them until it echoed. Ah, yes, his old friend the Mirror Dimension.

“I will only ever do this once, and you are not allowed to interfere in any way.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed. There was no way that he was gonna repeat that mistake again.

“Good,” she smiled. “Then let's begin.”

With practiced ease, the Ancient One flung her arms out, sparks eliciting from her palms as she began to draw in mid air. A swirl of golden magic wrapped around the pair, circling them in as runes began to form around them, glowing brighter with each added ring that the Ancient One brought forth.

“Woah,” Peter said, taken aback by the sheer power he felt swell around him and brush through his hair.

“It is quite amazing, isn't it?” she teased. “Especially when it’s done right.”

Another flash of light lashed out, this time wrapping around the wrist of the Ancient One and Peter’s own. “What the—”

“This is a bond promise,” she explained. “It limits the depth of a spell and acts as a binding contract between you and the caster. This is what will keep the spell in check.”

Cautiously over thought, Peter asked, “And this spell will…?”

The Ancient One smiled and tightened the bond string. “This spell is intended to make the friends and family of Peter Parker forget of his existence—but none of whom know him as Spider-Man.”

“What?!” No, no, no! This was not happening again! There was no way that Peter was letting this happen again—

“With the condition,” she pressed on before Peter could truly start to hyperventilate and panic, “that the spell will be broken upon sight between one who forgets facing Peter Parker.”

Oh.

“Oh,” he squeaked, immediately settling down.

“It’s all quite temporary,” she explained, drawing another line around them until they were encased in a slow swirling orb of rotating light. “I’m not a fan of anything permanent that one is unsure of. Makes the future messy.”

“Maybe you remember this when Strange eventually starts learning.”

“Oh, he already has,” she said. “But I’ll make sure to take special note on how to properly train him in the use of memory spells. Can’t have the Sorcerer Supreme indirectly wiping the memory of everyone on the planet again, now can we.”

Peter gave a soft chuckle and nodded as the Ancient One sent out a few more symbols, tightened the string one last time, and brought her hands down to rest, the marks fading as she took in and released a final breath.

“There it is done,” she said, cracking the Mirror Dimension for Peter to stumble back into reality. “When you walk out those doors, everyone in your immediate circle who knows you as Peter Parker and not of your identity as Spider-Man will not remember you until they see you in person once more. I hope that that shall suffice for the time being?”

Peter smiled, tight and watery. “Yeah. Yeah, that’ll do. Thank you so much.”

The Ancient One smiled and looped her arm through his, gently guiding him to the door. “Of course. And, if you do ever end up needing my help after all, take this as a favor.” She grasped Peter’s hand and turned it over, releasing it so that sitting in the center of his palm lay a small piece of paper with numbers scratched on it.

Peter frowned. “The phone to the Sanctum?”

“Actually, no. This is my private number.” She suddenly held up her hand, showing off the latest Stark phone model of 2016 in her hand. “What? Did you think that just because I dress like a monk that I behave as such?”

Peter vehemently shook his head. “No! Of course not. Wong’s proven that on multiple occasions.”

The Ancient One hummed in delight and opened the door. “I’m sure he has. Take care Peter.”

“I will, and thank you,” he said one final time as he took a step outside, the door softly clicking shut behind him as he began to skirt down the steps, stuffing the paper into his back pocket.

Natasha remained exactly as where Peter had left her, though she’d since stepped out of the vehicle across the street and now sat on the hood of the car scrolling through her phone in one hand and holding a hotdog in the other. Where she got that from, Peter had no idea. Vendors weren’t really particular about hanging about Greenwich.

With quick and light steps, Peter ran across the street, looking both ways to dart over to where the Widow sat. She barely gave him a glance at his approach, simply sliding off the hood and pocketing her phone as she munched down on the last of her food.

“Well that didn’t take long,” she mused.

Peter raised a brow. “How long was I in there?”

“About forty-five minutes surprisingly,” she shrugged and dusted her hands off against her pants. “Gave me time to do some digging and write up a list of favors to call in.”

“You planning something?”

Natasha didn’t look too impressed as she opened the car door and climbed in, Peter following swiftly on the other side. “I’m not the one planning anything. It’s you who’s planning something. This is backup for whatever you’ve got coming up.”

“Oh.” He felt his cheeks warm and rubbed at his arms. “Thanks.”

Natasha smiled and started up the car. “No problem. World ending events are part of the job description. Which, by the way, did you get what you need from the Magic House?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “It’s not a ‘Magic House’, it’s a sanctum.”

“Ah, yes, because that makes all the difference,” she teased. “But seriously, did you solve your issues?”

Peter sighed and twisted in his seat as they drove off, the building fading into the distance and the Ancient One’s number burning hot in his pocket. “Yeah. I think I did. I bought myself a little more time.”

Natasha gave a half-nod, content with his answer, but didn’t try to press. Instead, she turned on the radio and let the music of the 80s play on low as they left the city.

Chapter 7: Chthon

Chapter Text

(“If you are to face the future, you first must face the past.”)

Wanda blinked bleary eyed, the fresh tears burning tracks into her cheeks as America’s portal began to close, shrinking down and taking away the faces of her boys, of her beloved Billy and Tommy.

I can’t do this again, she thought, trying to will the reality of the situation back into her control, to find herself just waking from another dream—another nightmare—with her boys waiting for her with smiling, open arms, only to close her eyes as the star portal disappeared, leaving her to rest in her own silence and misery.

Wanda let her magic carry her, dropping her gently on the stone table, her knees collapsing under her as she let the tears fall. This pain was what she’d run from for so long, what she had carried close to her heart for years, only feeling it grow and fester with each day she went on without her parents, without Pietro, without Vision, and now…

She had hoped to never feel such pain again.

“What now?” America asked as the fortress shook, the walls crackling and ground quaking as Wanda’s magic rippled throughout.

On the ground by her side, Zombie Strange was huffing, trying to keep the last of his connection between universes as he struggled to continue on. “Get out of here,” he ordered the girl. Despite his power and great concentration, Wanda could sense his power wavering, the connection dying as the energy drained from the form.

America looked worried, but agreed nonetheless to his request, nodding gently, “I’ll find you.”

This girl, with powers so strong and unique, a future force of nature surely only devised in the bravery she now presents, turned on her heels with a final glance back at Wanda. Not even a shiver ran up her spine as she put her trust in faith and walked away. America used all her concentration to punch a new star portal, one leading to the decimated planes of Kamar-Taj, and stepped through with Wong at her side, the Sorcerer Supreme looking worse for wear.

The portal closed, and then there were only two.

The ground continued to quake, the magic unsettling itself as it sensed what would come next, a last act of preservation to haunt Wanda as she submitted to her fate.

Wanda looked down upon Zombie Strange, the man holding on with the last of his energy to face her. It was time.

Tears stained her eyes as she spoke softly, “I opened the Darkhold. I have to close it.”

Zombie Strange nodded in kind. A little part of Wanda had hoped the sorcerer would defy her, would tell her it was her choice, that she did not have to sacrifice everything for all, that she could still have her happiness if only she would atone.

But I do not want to atone. Why should I?

Tears trickled down her cheek as she gently wet her lips. “Know one will ever be tempted by the Darkhold again.”

With her remaining strength, Wanda raised her hands to the sky and called her magic forth. Red light swirled in her powers, a strength of power she drew upon from the depth of her mind, siphoning the magic embedded in the walls to aid her in her defiance.

The walls began to crackle all around, the pillars shattering and stones crumbling as she lifted Wundagore above her head. Her effigy was cracked, her throne destroyed, but she could care less. She would not be deterred. She would not tempt herself to endanger her children again. She could not succumb to that fate.

Goodbye, my loves, her mind whispered.

Wanda closed her eyes and let go.

Wundagore came crashing down.

The world rocked around her, the ground crumbling beneath as everything collapsed around her, plunging her deep into the mountain. Wanda let herself fall, she didn’t fight it, simply tumbling along with the world around her as stone and dust tore against her skin.

This is not your end…

Wanda gasped and cried out as another stone hit hard into her shoulder, her legs beginning to flail as her sobs were silenced by the noise.

This is not your destiny…

A breath entered her lungs, her eyes fluttering back into her head as the world closed in around her. She gasped and shuddered, feeling everything sting and tear as her body began to convulse, a power that was not her own yet eerily familiar wrapping around her, running through her, and taking over her every limb.

There is still work to be done.

With a wailing cry, Wanda let the power carry and envelop her right as a boulder fell to meet her head.

This is my end, she told herself. This is what I deserve.

But the world did not seem to think the same, didn’t not feel to offer her such a kindness. Her magic wrapped around her, cocooning her, and pulled her through the madness and strife. Her power erupted around her, whisking her away in a flurry as Wundagore turned to smithereens.

It was instinctive to follow, her will collapsed as she simply let herself be pulled in every which way until the spinning madness ceased, she could feel her mind and body grounding once more, and she was falling down, down, down into the darkness.

No, she told herself. She would not let herself be pulled under again.

Wanda whipped her arms out, power flaring to life, and landed on the ground, head bowed and knee bent, power swelling around her and glowing in her eyes like flames, the memory receding as reality split away and became clear.

Like all her dreams since then, Wanda awoke to a desolate world. Where once a great kingdom stood, towers and cities all around, now stood crumbling foundations. A mountain beyond shook, the sky was barren to a dark red sky, and the sun was frozen in an endless twilight that cast the world in a burning hue. And, as always, before her in the center of such an endless, damning world, sitting on a throne of death was her master.

“Chthon,” she said with a shallow dip of her head.

The Dark Mystic’s power rippled around her, drawing her closer as she took precarious, careful steps to climb up his throne of bones and rubble. It was a demand of his to have his most prized student stand near equal to him—it kept her power close at hand.

“My dear, sweet Wanda,” he crooned, a clawed hand coming up to draw a finger under her chin. She lifted her gaze, pale gray’s meeting pure red. He smiled.

Looking more human than monster, Chthon stood from his throne, his monstrous frame nearly doubled her height and wrapped in a deep red cloth. He was broad and built, long limbs dangling haphazardly by his sides with talons for hands and muscles rippling from what little of his bare skin she could see, the black tone not masking enough from her sight to see abrasions forming the Darkhold perfectly carved into his skin, forever woven into his body. Despite such features, his face was human, beautiful and sharp, and accompanied by a wave of long black hair and two large horns that produced from the top of his brow and hooked back down at the ends.

Wanda straightened her back and co*cked her head as she stared up at the demon. “Why have you called me here? I thought I made our last correspondence quite clear: I do not need your help.”

The demon smiled, all sharp teeth, and dragged his hand down her cheek, tsking. “Your words do not live up to your actions, I’m afraid,” he belittled. “You may be powerful, but from where I can see, you are just as weak as before. You, my dear, are in over your head. Why not let me help you, hm?”

Wanda hissed and took a step away from the demon. “You know nothing of what you say. You pick and choose. You say I don’t know what I am doing for the singular reason that you have yet to see results. Results, may I remind, that you yourself forged and that I must now execute on the front of your lack of capacity to reach the real world.”

Chthon hummed, taking a step past Wanda to descend down to the ground. “Maybe. But what good is a deal made when results are not given?” He did not bother to turn back for her, simply carrying on down the steps, each foot quaking with the wait of his body and power. Wanda had no choice to follow, suppressing a growl and narrowing her eyes.

Her save from Wundagore had not been her own doing, an act of defiance from her magic. Wanda had woken in Chthon’s domain with little memory, only the impression of death. It was just as it is now, a hungry, archaic plane ravenous with monsters intent on lashing out to eat her soul and consume her power. It was as she suspected true Hell to be.

Wanda had crawled up from the ground, hissing and wiping away the bits of sharp rocks that clung to her skirt, palms, and cheeks. She’d sniffled, looking about, and found herself surrounded by creatures made of shadow and leaking a toxic sludge. They had fangs and claws, tentacles hissing from their heads around their beady red eyes and hunched over on all fours, ready to attack.

She’d sighed, settled and unphased by this twist of fate. It was her punishment for her actions, an eternal damnation to be physically torn apart just as she had torn apart the world around her, but she refused to go down without a fight. Wanda was the Scarlet Witch, afterall. She may have been broken and worn, her heart shattered, but she refused to be mocked and beat even in death.

With power rippling through her body, Wanda lashed out with every bit of strength she pertained. She ripped into the monsters as they began their assault, saliva whipping about as their teeth gnashed and claws swiped every which way until there was nothing left of them but cooling corpses. She tore off each of their limbs, tossing them in every direction, and ripped out each of their hearts (or what she assumed to be) and fed them to their brethren. There was no mercy or repercussions in Hell, she figured. There was no need for pleasantries or niceties.

Through the black blood that coated her skin and smelled of rot, the monsters seemed to have some sense of preservation, eventually backing down upon realizing that this soul would not be an easy kill. They bowed their heads before her, cowering in fear, but Wanda didn’t care. She had no longer a need for subjects or soldiers.

With a flick of her wrist, Wanda turned all of them into dust. They went down howling, leaving nothing behind but the scent of burning rubber.

She wrinkled her nose and dusted off her hands, intent to continue on her journey through purgatory, if not for the large monster that shook the ground as it appeared from behind some debris.

It was made of claws and tentacles, just like the others, only greater, more powerful, with a depth rippling over it that echoed Wanda's own power. It gnashed its teeth at her, great horns spiking out from the top of its head and wings unfolding from behind—two sets—to block all the light from sight in its endless shadow.

Wanda took a shuddering breath, marveling at its magnificence as it began to charge at her on two feet, then four, before it flew up into the air intent on smashing down on her.

“Not today,” she’d whispered, and flung up her power in answer, keeping the monster at bay.

It was strong than the others, far more persistent as its claws dug through her shield. Her eye twitched, intent settling over.

“No…”

Calling upon what magic she retained from the Darkhold, Wanda had unleashed every part of her fury, spilling out from an unknown resource deep within her own will as she blasted the monster into the sky, taking off after it to wrench its wings off. It screeched in agony and lashed back at her. One of its claws scraped along her cheek, cutting a long and nasty mark down her face that she quickly sewed back up as she noticed the black sludge oozing out.

Pain. She felt pain. The pain was real.

Wanda growled and blasted back as the beast called its own magic to its palms. Her eyes widened, the world slowing, as the dark magic wept from its talons and swarmed her like nothing she’d ever seen before. It was tenfold what Strange had unleashed upon her with the Souls of the Damned. The shadows consumed her, creeping into her every bit of being.

MineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMineMine

They clawed at her mind, trying to weave their way in, but she wouldn’t let them. She wasn’t weak, not as she once was. She was no longer so easily bendable.

Clawing for her arms to come back to themselves, Wanda let out a burst of energy. The shadows let go, dissipating as fast as they appeared, as she turned to settle her gaze on the demon monster. It still flew just out of reach, a grin on its lips as it showed off its jagged teeth.

Good, she thought. It was always more preferable to win when the other had an upperhand.

Wanda summoned her power to her fingertips, weaving it into a web and channeling all she could from everything around her, finding it easier to harness the magic of the world from where she now was then back on Earth.

Wanda curled her hands, revving the power into a ball, and blasted forward with a battle cry. The monster pushed back at first, holding off with its own brute strength, until a single slip from its arm had her pushing forward onto its chest. She drove it back down to the ground, thrashing and kicking all the way, and even then did she ensure it would not rise so easily as she drove it into the ground, dust and debris kicking up every which way to define the pair now at the bottom of a crater.

Wanda was panting, the strength of such a feet draining when she had not once felt power like it before. It was overwhelming and deadly… euphoric. Her power hungered for more even if her body felt as if it would collapse at any moment.

She wiped her lip, a small bit of blood beginning to trickle from a crack and took a step back to admire her work, but froze.

In place of where the great monster lay made of claws, scales, and tentacles, she was met with a young man. He was quite beautiful, though in a way that shouted danger with his sharpened features, devious smirk, and blackened eyes.

Wanda called upon her last reserves, magic forming at her fingertips to ready for another battle if need be, but the man surprised her—he did not move forward.

Dressed in robes of smoke and blood, he simply stared her down, grinning. “Perfect.”

Wanda hissed through her teeth and through up her palms, intent to blast this person into a new Hell if they came closer.

But they didn’t, instead just held their hands up in surrender. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. It’d be poor judgment of me, afterall, as your host.”

“Host?” she’d questioned, barely dropping her stance as magic continued to lick around her palms. Her muscles ached, the stranger probably able to see how they shook, but she could care less. If there was one lesson she’d learned from Steve Rogers it was to never back down. Fight until the end.

The figure smirked and gave a nod of his head. “Of course. I don’t just bring anyone to my realm. Not anyone worth note, that is. But you, the Scarlet Witch…” he smiled and sighed in content. “Marvelous. I’ve been waiting for you for so long now. It only seemed fitting for us to now be introduced.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes and flew forward into his face, magic rippling around them. It did not phase the stranger, though. Not one bit. If anything, he’d looked more pleased with her display.

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I won’t be so easily swayed by pretty words and vague answers.”

The figure smiled. “I know. It’s what I’ve admired about you for so long. Always told what needed to be heard, but never shown an ounce of truth or trust. Such sorrow you have led, Miss Maximoff. And only more to come, I’m afraid.”

“You know nothing,” she growled and lashed out with her power, knocking the figure away. He tumbled over himself, knocking back against the crater. Wanda readied for another strike, magic revving as she called what she could before her, but froze, fear trickling into her spine as the figure began to laugh.

He sat up, and where a beautiful face once shown, now displayed a malevolent sneer of the creature she had seen before.

“What a perfect prize,” he said and rose. The shadows of his cloak wrapped around, transforming him into a great monster of claws and tentacles, the monster under the bed, and wrapped Wanda in his own web of magic, lifting to face him and his now beady red eyes. “My Queen has come home.”

Wanda hissed and broke free of the bonds, dropping back down to the ground, ready to strike, but she was not fast enough. It was like being caught in a pool of water, the world slowing down as the demon’s magic wrapped around her, until its monstrous form bore over her and subdued her.

“Now,” it crooned, “let us begin.”

With a delicate claw, Wanda could only watch in frozen horror and wonder as power rippled from him, enveloping her whole as it pierced her heart. Her breath stuttered and she fell limp, simply allowing herself to give in to the dark power before her.

The demon grinned in delight as it watched her body shrivel, as it watched her mind splinter and shift. Her magic was battling against this foreign foe—yet, underneath, there was a calling of delight at the prospect of such power entwining with her own. The world shrank in on itself as Wanda faced the power in her mind, opening the door to absorb as much as she could with what little energy she had available.

Her mind burned, and she was met with darkness.

When Wanda had eventually come to, it had been to be in front of a throne of bones in a land of despair, the demon atop, and her power submitting to his as she recognized the monster for what and who he truly was.

“A great gift you bestowed upon me that day,” the demon broke her from thought. They had wandered through the domain to a canyon that had no bottom, where his horde awaited in its depth.

Wanda hummed, relaxing her shoulders. “A gift for you, damnation for me.”

“To you, perhaps,” Chthon smirked. “But I have gained a vessel, a soul to truly return to reality through, and you have gained the power you have so craved in return.”

“A perfect match, no doubt. And yet you have still decided to interfere in my affairs.”

“Only because you have turned into a fool.”

Chthon pushed some of his magic at her, a wispy shadow circling around her that she met in kind. Her eyes glowed deep red, the fire burning throughout her, as she pushed back, encircling her own magic around her master until the other pulled back his shadows with a smirk.

“At least my teachings haven’t been lost to you.”

Wanda gave a gentle eye roll and turned her back, walking along the edge of the canyon. “Your teachings serve me well, do not doubt yourself on that,” she turned her head to smirk. “But as I said before, you have no business meddling in my affairs.”

The demon tsked and swept a hand over the canyon. A creature flew up, a miniature dragon of shadow. Where once Wanda would’ve feared its talons and intentions, she now felt nothing, using her own power to send a dagger of magic through it and clipped its wings. The creature screeched in protest and tumbled back down to its brethren.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” she asked.

“You are foolish, but not a fool.” Wanda glowered. “You have yet to keep our end of the bargain. As my vessel, you should know how important that is. There is only so long that I may hold this rift in time.”

Wanda hissed. “You may hold the key, but I hold the power. Your influence is null to what I can do. My power is what allowed for any of this to occur; you merely provided the guidance of execution.”

It was Chthon’s turn to growl now, the monster taking over his form as his human face morphed. “Do not test me, Miss Maximoff. I may have prophesied your coming, but that does not mean it is set in stone.”

Wanda smirked and brushed him off, sashaying away to perch herself on a large rock nearby. “Agree to disagree, then. You have no time to train another, not when I am your only and best choice.”

Chthon chuckled, deep and seedy, a rattling prattle. “My best choice is not my only choice. My best choice can become my second choice, afterall, when that choice has decided to save the life and allow for a child to slip through the cracks of our plan.”

Of course, Wanda thought with a sigh. “I do not see a reason for your concern, I’m afraid. There is not much he can do.”

“And yet you have still allowed him to live. Peter Parker. Spider-Man. What an unfortunate life he has and must live. Shame for you to put him through such struggles again instead of just putting him out of his impending misery.”

Wanda growled and stood, her magic flaring to life as she one upped the demon lord. “Speak not of him. He still has his uses. The boy must live… for now, at least. I will not hesitate to take him out if necessary, but for now he is to remain untouched.”

The demon smirked as she landed back on the ground. “You’ve gone soft for the boy. I’d greatly suggest you change your tune soon.”

“You only see what you want. I may have cared for the boy once, but he is insignificant now. An unaccounted for variable. But he still has his use. That I promise.”

It was true that Peter had been unaccounted for. Back in the future, Wanda had known the boy would try to stop her—had counted on it, actually—but there was little to stop her from seeing him move through time with her. He’d always been unpredictable like, but it still shook Wanda that she should’ve seen it coming. Peter had no qualms with sacrificing himself for the greater good, so why would a little spell stop him? If only she had tried harder to protect him before…

No matter, she told herself. I am protecting him now. I will save him from himself. He will be safe. He is my boy.

Chthon hummed, eyes narrowing as he eyed her up and down, a cold shiver running down her spine."Not good enough," he growled."Deal with the boy. His presence is not worth the risk."

Wanda shuddered. "And if I don't? If I insist that you continue to trust my judgment? What then, Chthon? What punishment do you see fitting that's worth the risk of all we're set to accomplish still?"

Not often did Wanda have the gal to stand up to her master. A demon imprisoned, but a demon no less, Chthon was every bit of dangerous in name as in person. He was the greatest of all the dark magicians, a king of chaos and a breaker of will. He was someone whom know one but the bold and stupid dared to stand up against. But Wanda could care less, not as his nostrils flared and his lips snarled. To her, now, he was just a demon throwing a tantrum, unimpressed that he doesn't get to go outside to play quite yet.

"Deal with the boy before I do,"he ordered."I do not long to play your games just as you do not favor my own. So head my warning while you still can. The boy must die. By my hand or your's, it does not matter. Do not underestimate him again."

With a shuddering twitch of her lips, Wanda bowed her head, content for now. “If there is nothing else you’d care to berate me for, I’d like to wake up. I have things to do, places to be. That is, if you still want your freedom?”

Chthon growled and surrounded Wanda, a claw hooking under her chin, quickly turning to grasp her cheeks and hold her gaze. “Think not to undermine me, Wanda Maximoff. Your power may be great, but I am your creator, and you my subject. Do not forget that.”

Wanda grinned and wrenched her head from his grasp. “How could I?”

Chthon’s red eyes bore down into her own, and Wanda matched with her own power. Their magic accumulated and grew, swirling around them in a tornado of fire, each holding off until Wanda shrieked and Chthon disappeared from sight, the black swallowing her whole.

Wanda gasped as she came to, eyes blinking open as she awoke upon the stone table. Night was coming in and the snow was picking up, but it did nothing to chill the temple.

Vision hovered before her, looking down as her guardian. He may try to appear unworried, but Wanda could see the small crease in his brow, the soft sorrow in his eyes, and the quiver in his lip as she sat up and dusted off her clothes.

Do not deter from this path.

Wanda closed her eyes and took a calming breath. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “Communing unexpectedly is never a pretty sight.”

Vision sighed and floated down to sit next to her. Wanda moved to the edge of the table, her legs swinging over the edge as she tipped her head against her love's shoulder. The man brought an arm up, almost reluctantly, and began to string his fingers through her hair as they watched the snow fall and the setting sun alight it from gold to purple.

“How are you feeling?” she whispered, content by the warmth he settled against her side.

“Ill at ease, if you must know,” he responded. “This place is unfamiliar and twisted. I may not be able to connect as the mortal body can, but that does not mean I do not sense its presence with the stone. It’s cruel, and quiet. In other words, I do not take comfort in our new home as you have so proclaimed.”

Wanda sighed and nuzzled her head closer to his neck. “I’m sorry. It will take time, but you will soon know the same comfort as I. Trust me on that. Please.”

Vision sighed, turning away from her though he allowed her to continue resting against his body. “Wanda, how can I? I am confused by everything that has happened. You may have explained yourself, you may have given an explanation, but that does not mean I can trust in it—in you. I will promise to remain by your side, but I cannot in good conscious trust in you when I do not agree with your desires.” He took a shuddering breath and turned to cup her face. Wanda melted into the embrace, nuzzling into it as she held his wrist.

“There is a darkness about you, Wanda,” he said, his voice quivering ever so slightly as he spoke. “It is of pain and sorrow, an ache that I cannot truly understand and for that reason must doubt. We—another version of us—may have lived through it together in another life, but I have not.”

“Vision,” she shook, a single tear dripping down her cheek. Even now, with him back in her arms, she was still unsteady and unsure, wishing everyday that it wasn’t a dream, that when she woke next and looked back he’d still be there and that it wasn’t just another figment of her mind playing tricks on her. Wanda kissed his palm and said, “You have nothing to worry about. I would never do anything to put you in harm's way. I only want what’s best for us, and for that I need you to trust me just a little longer.”

Vision shook his head, breaking from their gaze. “Wanda, I…”

“No. No.” A bit of magic flared in her eyes, turning the stone a tinge darker that had Vision wincing as he looked back at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it. It all becomes so overwhelming at times. But I never mean to harm you.”

She needed him to trust her. She needed him to know it, too. Wanda couldn’t do any of this without Vision by her side. If she couldn’t have her boys, then at least she could have her love, and she wouldn’t let it slip away again.

“Hey,” she turned to sit on her knees and cupped her hand against Vision’s cheek, running her thumb across the bone. “It will all be okay. Everything will be alright.” She slightly gulped, settling into her choice. “And I’ll prove it to you. Right now.”

Wanda rose from the table, dropping down to the ground. Vision rose behind her, watching with curiosity and a frown on his face as Wanda took in a deep breath and conjured forth the Darkhold.

“What are you doing?” Vision asked, appearing right behind her shoulder as the book flipped open to an oh so familiar page.

Wanda hummed as the spell began to form before them. Runes lit around them as the wind began to sweep, twisting around them. “We’re going hunting,” she said.

From the pages of the Dakhold, tentacles climbed out, spilling down onto the ground as the slimy forth took shape. It formed into a twisted giant eyes with the body of an octopus, tentacles slithering about. It screeched in anger at its disturbance, but quickly silenced with the quirk of Wanda’s lips as the runes rushed forth and binded to its skin.

“Hunting for what?”

Wanda smiled. With another twitch of her magic, the monster let out a screech that echoed through the walls and then shrinked in on itself, and disappeared with a gust. “We’re hunting for a star.”

Chapter 8: A Plan in Motion

Chapter Text

Peter bit his tongue and cursed as he got his fingers pinched again by the mechanism. Working with nano tech had never been in Peter’s immediate repertoire between getting a new fancy suit before the multiverse broke and having to resort back to a handmade costume. It was proving to kick his ass now as he sat criss-crossed on a stool in Mr. Stark’s lab, fiddling away all alone.

There were so many little twists and curves that Peter hadn’t realized would be there, mostly because he’d originally assumed that Mr. Stark had perfected some sort of ray that would shrink and minimize the tech, not program it by hand. It almost wasn’t worth it, but Peter needed to keep busy, he needed to think, and this was the perfect way.

Upon returning from the Sanctum, Peter had hurried back into the Compound as quickly as possible. Mr. Stark had come to stand outside, waiting to berate Peter about where he had gone and how they were supposed to drive back to Queens soon, but everything had died on his lips as Peter brushed past him and allowed for Natasha to take the lead on what happened and why that would no longer need to happen.

“He made his friends and family forget about him?” Peter had heard the older man ask in disbelief. He’d decided to hide, not quite ready to disappear back into himself and listen in on just how Natasha broke the news. He needed to be prepared for any future lecture that may occur.

“That’s what he said,” Natasha murmured back. “Apparently wizards exist, and he’s friends with them in the future.”

Mr. Stark had groaned in dismay, probably shaking his head. “Of course wizards exist. Of course this is what my life has come to. I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore.”

“Is it really so hard to believe though?” Natasha had questioned back. It was something that Peter had begun to pick up on between the two—Mr. Stark wasn’t all too trusting of Natasha still because of how she had sided with Rogers, but there was still a level of respect between them, one that seemed to cultivate in their idea-bouncing tactics.

Mr. Stark had sighed, “No. Of course not. Time travel is real. A sh*t ton of aliens are real. Witches are real. Why wouldn’t wizards be real, really?”

“That’s the spirit,” Natasha teased, followed by what Peter assumed to be a slap on the back that was hard enough it made Mr. Stark make an Oof noise.

That had been yesterday, and since then Peter had been living off of nothing but coffee and jerky as he spent his time trying to occupy his mind and come to terms with his decision, the Ancient One’s number burning a hole in his back pocket, and forgoing sleep the possibility of burning red dreams.

Peter knew that he had made the right decision, knew that he could not bring his family and friends into all this chaos with their worries and doubts, and knew that he had no proper way of facing them—especially May. After Ben’s death, a part of her broke. Ben was the love of her life, her college sweetheart, her hope and drive to do good in the world, and without him… a spark had withered away.

The first couple of months after his death were both hard and unbearable. May was both overbearing and distant, trying to reign in her protective tendencies that were now in over drive. She didn’t want Peter to go anywhere that wasn’t immediate, wanted to have full updates of when he left or arrived anywhere, home, school, or otherwise, and often expected an hourly update. Peter put up with it because he knew it was his aunt’s way of grieving, and was there really any other expectation for her to not need to know Peter’s every move when the last time he ran out without his phone he ended up getting his uncle killed.

No, he berated himself internally as he forced another piece of material into place. He wasn’t going to think like that because he knew it wasn’t his fault for Ben’s death. He hadn’t held the gun, and he hadn’t shot the bullet, and it hadn’t been his decision to jump in front of the crossfire.

But whatever, it was all in the past now, even if the message couldn’t be clearer: Peter couldn’t fathom the reaction she’d have now with the given circ*mstances, and there was no way he was going to even attempt to put her through it.

The mechanism came to another stalemate, this time pinching in just the wrong way that it couldn’t unlock. Peter blinked in sheer stupidity, biting the inside of his lips to push down any comments as he rubbed wearily on his eyes. He didn’t have concrete evidence (yet), but Peter was pretty sure that since returning to the past the permanent eyes he’d accumulated the first semester of freshman year had only doubled and were most likely now embedded in his soul if they weren’t already before.

“Sheesh, kid, you look about one break away from destroying the table with a piece of pipe.”

Peter jumped (yes, physically jumped) out of his seat and landed on the ground, parts flying everywhere and the computer screen shutting down as he tried to adjust himself. He hadn’t heard Mr. Stark come in, the man apparently a master spy to be able to get past his spidey-sense even when he couldn’t see completely straight.

Mr. Stark jumped with him, not entirely expecting the teen to flip out as he had, before attempting to hide some snickers as he moved to help Peter back up. The teen just waved him off, only taking the stretched out hand when he wobbled slightly.

“I’m fine,” he said, dusting off his shirt and scratching at his head. “Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Mr. Stark snorted and moved to reopen his calculations and programming. “Sure. Because staying up for forty-eight hours straight for school is the exact same as driving an older body to exude over twenty-four hours in your younger body as life altering decisions rest on your shoulders. Sure, kid. Keep telling yourself that.”

Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed the coffee mug nearby, swirling the dark and mostly cooled liquid inside. “Oh, please. Like you have a reason to criticize me. You may not know me yet, but I know you. Don’t forget it.”

Mr. Stark simply shook his head with a grin and began to review through Peter’s work. The man was a ways away from inventing nano tech himself, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t already begun or had an idea of how it functioned—or, should function, that is. The man looked pleased with Peter’s work as he scrolled through his calculations and reviewed his programming, picking up his tools to fiddle with the mechanisms himself. He smiled in delight at how Peter had finally managed to get his web shooters to compress and expand without wear, testing it himself before tossing them back at Peter.

“Looks good. A few pointers here and there, but you’re really onto something, kid. Must’ve had a greater teacher.”

Peter gave a tentative smile, letting his bangs hide his face as he felt his cheeks tinge a bit. “Thanks. And you know that teacher was you.”

“Yeah, I know,” the man shrugged with glee and wrapped an arm over Peter’s shoulder. “This is next level sh*t, though. Very impressive for someone your age, even if you are from the future because let's be real, you’re not that much older in the future.”

“I’m like six years older…” he grumbled.

Mr. Stark gave a cheeky grin and ruffled his hair. “Kid, take the compliment.”

Like this, Peter could almost forget the drama of the world. Like this, Peter could remember a time when it was just him and Mr. Stark, when he’d come to the lab to work for the internship every weekend. They’d jest and chat, fiddling on whatever project they’d yet to complete until F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s alarm went off and they had to call it a night.

After the homecoming incident, Peter had often thought that he had ruined any of his chances to ever form a bond with Mr. Stark (especially after learning that he hadn’t actually been lying about there being a bunch of reporters in the next room to announce him as an official team member of the Avengers), and it was nice to be proven wrong. Peter thought that Mr. Stark had probably felt a little guilty from how the events had played out, but the man made it up in how he sought to engage with Peter after. He’d actually pick up the phone when he called, would support and guide him for big life decisions, and even bought him the fanciest suit Aunt May had been willing to accept on his behalf for prom his junior year. Course, he’d never been able to go to it with the Snap and all, but the gesture had been nice. Peter had held onto that suit for years to come, his one nice piece of formal wear he refused to part with.

The comfort and familiarity, the smiling and proud face that Mr. Stark seemed to continuously plaster on nowadays in his presence… Ugh, it was difficult. Peter knew it was all fake, that Mr. Stark hadn’t warmed up to him so quickly before and that part of this was probably a front, but he didn’t care. Peter would take whatever he could for however long it was willing to be given if it meant experiencing some form of simplicity.

But it was dangerous for him to latch on, to care and desire when he knew how everything would end.

Wrong, you don’t know how it’ll end, a traitorous little voice in the back of his mind whispered. You have no idea how any of this will end now. You just want to assume the worst so you have no favorable expectations. But you could prevent it all, you could save everyone.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek and began to clean up his work space, pushing the thoughts away. He wasn’t allowed to think like that, he couldn’t. If he did then he was no better than Wanda. She wanted to change the future; Peter wanted to protect it.

“Hey,” Mr. Stark said. “You good?”

Peter nodded and blinked rapidly, turning away from the man. “Yeah. I’m great. I’m fine. Just- Just peachy.”

Mr. Stark hummed, but didn’t push. “If you say so. Does this mean you’re in for a break?”

Turning back to face the man who was now casually leaning against the table, Peter co*cked his head slightly. “Yeah? I guess. Why?”

“Well, I know you love my presence,” Peter gently rolled his eyes, “but I did come down here for a purpose and not just pleasantries. The team’s ready to give updates and make a plan. They’re growing antsy—especially Steve, Steve’s always antsy,” he murmured, “—and we’re wanting to actually sit down and talk about what’s going to happen. We have an idea given your enlightening tale of the future, but we need specifics, kid. There’s only so long you can rely on blind trust.”

Peter huffed and nodded in compliance. He knew sooner or later he’d have to talk it all out, that he’d need an actual plan of action. It was a given, even if it felt impossible and all encompassing.

“Figured,” he said and turned off the last of the screens, patting his pockets to ensure he had his phone on him. “Shall we?”

“If we must.” Peter chuckled at Mr. Stark’s sighs, knowing the man wasn’t pleased either. If he had it his way, Peter could bet that it’d just be the two of them and maybe Natasha hashing things out and dealing with it on their own. If only that could be possible…

F.R.I.D.A.Y. turned off the lights as they left, the door locking softly behind them as they wandered through the halls to where Peter assumed was going to be the common area, the favored discussion spot for official Avengers business when not involving the government.

It wasn’t far from the labs, Mr. Stark had designed the Compound to have almost everything in equal walking distance (minus the press room because he’d wanted to ensure the vultures would always be as far from his privacy as possible). It made figuring out the building easier, though it took Peter a minute to think about since the New Avengers Compound in the future was much different and fairly more elaborate. Sam had taken over as the leader of the team and with the help of Clint and Bruce had decided that their base of operations needed to look a little less bootcamp-y and a little more… lavish, for lack of a better word. Peter had thought it a little over the top, but he didn’t spend enough time there to care much.

Peter and Mr. Stark wandered through the halls casually, Peter internally sighing in relief that the area seemed to be primarily uninhabited by any unnecessary bodies. It was enough having to face the Avengers as a kid, he didn’t need the pressure of also staring down government workers who probably thought he just broke in for an autograph.

“Stop moping,” Mr. Stark nudged his shoulder as they made their way out of the private labs and into common territory. “I know it sucks, but you knew it was coming. I get the hesitation and the fear, but it’s the price we pay as heroes. And I think you know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Peter answered, shuffling his feet as he moved forward instead of taking full steps. “It’s just… I don’t know. Intimidating?”

Mr. Stark gave a short snort like he always did when he knew all too well what Peter meant. Even in the short two-ish years that Peter had spent by the man’s side, he could safely say that he’d memorized many of Mr. Stark’s tells for any sort of mood or conversation. When he was mad a vein in his jaw and forehead would pop out and he blinked less; when he was sad he started blinking faster and stumbling over his words, the emotion often overlapping with either an anxiety attack and/or frustration; when he was in a good mood he made jokes that edge between inappropriate and genius as music was playing around him; and when he was facing an enemy or a fellow Avenger, Peter found the man to do a mix of keeping his words short if not confusing, trying to sweet talk his way through whatever situation was presented.

Mr. Stark shrugged in slight agreement. “Intimidating? Yes. Definitely. Steve and his Eyes of Justice have that effect on everyone about to say something he might not like. But it won’t be the end of the world, trust me.”

“What would be the end of the world?”

“You mean besides the literal end of the world?”

“…Touché.”

Mr. Stark hummed in amusem*nt and slowed his pace to barely a stroll, Peter copying his motions as he began to flex his fingers and tug at the sleeves of his hoodie. “It’ll be easier with me and Nat in your corner, though.” Peter looked up questioningly, but Mr. Stark just gave him a reassuring nod and smile.

“We’ve been working to keep the others in check. While I’ve been keeping Ross off our backs, Nat has been making deals with other officials in order to keep Steve in check. The world is still angry that he tried to aid a former Hydra agent. They aren’t as forgiving as us.” Peter highly doubted that last part to be specifically true for Mr. Stark, but he wasn’t about to question the man in any way.

“Besides,” he continued, “you’re not the only one who’s been keeping busy while they plot. I’ve already sent out an array of drones to try and find Wanda—without success, mind you. But it was enough of an effort to keep the peace on all sides. Even contact T’Challa to see if his sister could try and track her, but no success.”

“Mister Stark— Tony,” Peter said with too cheery a smirk. “You’re telling me that you asked for help?”

“Ugh…” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “Don’t bring it up again, but yes I did. I even tried to track Vision but I guess he turned off any type of identifiable tracer I could pick up on. And all this while I actively work on reversing the head trauma Hydra implemented on our lovely resident robocop.”

“Yes. You’re working very hard. I’m well aware.”

Mr. Stark nudged his shoulder as they continued down the hall. “The snark is unwarranted.”

“The snark is how I cope.”

“Fair enough,” he mused as he stuck his hands into his pockets. “Then I guess I have much snark to look forward to in the coming hour.”

Yeah, that was a near guarantee.

It was easy for Peter to take on a relaxed and serious demeanor, taking control of the situation as he laid on the hero persona thick. But that was only ever in the presence of those he knew he could trust, where he knew all aspects of the situation, where he wasn’t thrown a curveball in the form of an unforeseen time travel scheme. The situation was totally different when he was pushed to his limits, when he knew for absolute certain that his adversary was making it their mission to manipulate and throw every obstacle in their arsenal at him.

The last time Peter had felt even a glimmer of such familiarity was fighting against Quentin Beck. The man had pretended to be his friend, had bested him with his pretty words and support where Peter was craving a new mentor—and Peter had fallen for every single bit of it. It was embarrassing at the minimum for how he’d doubted that Beck could’ve had one last trick up his sleeve after manipulating everyone around him with his fancy tech illusions. Peter still chastised himself for being so gullible to endure it.

Peter could only hope that now, even caught in the unforeseen tidal wave that was Wanda Maximoff, he’d be able to find some form of a guide in Mr. Stark… even if it was only temporary.

(“If you could bring back anyone, who would it be?”

Peter sighed and looked away. “It doesn’t make sense, and seems kinda foolish or stupid, but I’d bring back Mister Stark.”

“Really? Why?” America asked as she bit into her burrito.

“I- Just because…” Peter gave an easy shrug. “My Uncle Ben may have been the inspiration for me becoming a hero, but Mister Stark was there to help me become the best hero I could be. He was my mentor. He helped make me who I am today. And for that I think I’d owe him a chance to live again.”)

Peter gave a short huff and shook off the memory. “If we can just get through this without much push back, I think I’ll be good.”

Mr. Stark as they reached the entrance to the communal, pausing briefly outside. The man gripped Peter’s shoulder before he could go further, the younger turning around to look up at him in question.

“Yes?” he said with an attempted grin.

Mr. Stark just shook his head and gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Nothing, kid. It’s just… only a few days ago you were this nervous teen with a hero-fixation ready to follow me into battle without a second thought and now… Well, now you’re this entirely different person.” Peter’s stance softened at the words. “It’s great to know you both now and who you possibly were before, but I have this gut feeling you haven’t really changed much; only your wisdom has shifted.” He couldn’t help but nod along. Peter had always maintained some form of wisdom above his years, but even he had to admit that this was on another level.

“Which is why I want to offer you some piece of mind,” he said. Peter co*cked his head. “No matter what happens next, I won’t stop fighting by your side. Everything right now seems absurd, but I won’t back down from standing behind you, Peter. I may not know you as you know me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t trust such a bond to form again. For the first time, I am willing to take on some form of an apprentice—if you’ll let me, that is. Trauma is funny, so I’m not sure if you’re willing to go that route again or—OOF!”

Peter threw himself around Mr. Stark before the man could finish his rambling, hugging tight as he bit back the tears. It wasn’t the time, and Peter just wanted to savor the moment of a bit of normalcy at the fact that even now, even with the strangeness of everything going on, Mr. Stark was still desiring to stand by him in such a way.

“Thanks,” he muttered as he drew away, clearing his throat as he shuffled in place. “I appreciate it.”

Mr. Stark gave a soft smile. “Of course. Any time. And before we go in, I just wanted to ask one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Mr. Stark seemed sheepish at the thought, averting his eyes and scratching the back of his head before adjusting his suit jacket. “Is this gonna get easier? You know, ever? Or at all?”

Peter shook his head with amusem*nt and rocked back on his heels. “Hell no. It will never, ever get easier. Actually, it gets more complicated. And painful. And traumatic,” he said with some (probably) glazed over eyes. “But that’s besides the point. If you’re looking for a little bit of good news, I can safely say that you and Pepper make it work in the end.”

Mr. Stark blinked owlishly for a second and then hummed in delight. “Well,” he said with what Peter thought to be some minuscule tears, “that’s good to know.”

“Now you’ve got something to look forward to.”

The pair smiled once more at each other, both a bit unsure how to proceed. Touching moments were always confusing to depart from, especially when faced with something so important as meeting with the Avengers to follow. That seemed to be what came over both their minds as with a final huff, the pair’s gazes separated and they turned toward the double doors.

“Ready?”

“No. Not even close.”

Mr. Stark pushed out his lip and nodded. “Yeah. Mean either. Let’s get this over with then.”

As the pair stepped forward, Mr. Stark took the lead and pushed one of the double oak doors open, stepping through before letting Peter through in what was a mirror image of how he imagined Happy felt for years leading Mr. Stark around as his personal bodyguard.

In the lounge sat Natasha on one of the cushioned couches laxed with her spread across the cushions with Clint to her side slouched back, Sam on the chair next to her hunched over with what looked to be an ever increasing headache plastered on his face, Rhodey surprisingly enough on the couch across from the assassins about ready for a nap, and Steve pacing around behind them as he spoke (though Peter could care little for the conversation).

The super soldier’s rant ended as Peter and Mr. Stark stepped into the room, though, the others turning their heads as they made their way into the room. They were all surprisingly dressed fairly casually, an ease among them despite the room and Steve radiating a yet-to-be navigated tension.

“Where’s pint size?” Mr. Stark asked as the door closed behind them, the pair walking to sit next to Rhodey on the couch.

“Scott went back to San Francisco this morning,” Sam explained. “Apparently he took Hank Pym’s suit without asking first and needs to deal with that. Plus he has a kid, so, you know…” he shrugged while Clint gave a slight eye roll from the dramatics, the man all too familiar with the concept of leaving family behind.

“But he’s on call if we need him. Especially since you made peace with Pym yesterday. They’ll cooperate when the time comes, I’m sure,” Sam concluded with a gentle nod.

“Perfect.” Mr. Stark clapped his hands together. “Then with that assurance in our back pocket, let’s move onto why we’re really here.” He bent forward and tapped the table, a hologram popping up to display an image of Ross and some blank surveillance footage.

“So far, Ross has been respecting our distance as we deal with the situation, but I don’t see him keeping silent for much longer.” Mr. Stark twisted the screen around to show recent footage of some of the military branches getting together. “He’s already calling in favors, getting ready for the worst case scenario when the Sokovia Accords council decides that they can’t trust us anymore. I’m already holding them off with the healing of one James Buchanan Barnes,” he said with a pointed look to Rogers who took to sitting against the armrest of Sam’s chair, “but it won’t last forever. They want results, and so far we have nothing.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” Rogers sniped, earning a nudge from Sam and a glare from Natasha.

“Which is why,” Tony persisted, “we’re sitting down today to get a full image of what Wanda is up to thanks to Peter’s further input. I do fear, however, that we may not be able to do anything until the witch in question makes a move.”

“Why not?” Sam asked with creased brows.

Peter took the opportunity to answer the question himself. “Because Wanda is an enigma. From my time, she’s always been fighting to get her family back: Vision, her kids, Pietro. She’s always been in a state of grieving, but right now she’s in a world where she can have everything she wanted.”

“Well, not everything,” Clint said. “As far as I’m aware Pietro is still dead and I don’t see him coming back anytime soon, right? I mean, it’s not like she can raise the dead, right?” The archer blinked hopefully at Peter who began to mull things over, the man beginning to get a more worried look as he asked again, “Right?”

“Peter?” Mr. Stark looked worried himself, but Peter just made a fifty-fifty hand gesture.

“I mean technically she could, it’s not very hard to do, the only problem would be maintaining such a spell and, like, ensuring that all of Pietro’s soul was returned to his body. Though I’m pretty sure that he’d look like a zombie, but I honestly have know idea. All I know about resurrection is that Doctor Strange once told me he was surprised that Wanda never actually tried it and that it usually was more painful than anything else and to not try it because more often than not it usually will eventually turn into Frankenstein.”

The Avengers did not look impressed, even Rogers making a face of disgust and horror as Peter thought Clint was about ready to pass out with how pale he’d gone.

Right, he reminded himself. They haven’t really dealt with the supernatural yet.

“Okay, moving on from that then,” Mr. Stark smoothed over, “it still doesn’t entirely give us a picture of what Wanda could be planning.”

“Yeah, I know…”

“Which is why you really need to think hard, son,” Rogers piped up. The others were grimacing and looking away besides Natasha who sent him a withering glare that treaded on the edges of'Choose your next words very carefully' as the super soldier rolled his shoulders and sat up a bit straighter.

Rogers huffed, taking it upon himself to break the ice of what Peter has so long been dreading to discuss.

“I’ve given up a lot to be here, kid,” he said, voice edging on stern and eyes narrowed. “This wasn’t the plan—you’ve made that clear—and I agreed to be here on the notion that you’d tell us what you knew because you have claimed that Wanda Maximoff is a danger to our world. So far, I haven’t seen you trying to engage, just running and hiding.”

Peter gulped and looked away, worrying the inside of his lip as Mr. Stark stiffened.

“So if I’m going to continue playing nice here, you need to work with us. You need to tell us what Wanda is planning.”

“But that’s just it, I can’t tell you!” Peter grit. The others jumped back slightly at his tone, surprised to see him have such a bite after essentially rolling over since arriving at the Compound.

Peter figured it was now or never to truly confront the super soldier. From what Peter recalled of this era, Rogers had been stiff and set in his ways. The man had been unwilling to bend a knee or take an olive branch (and Peter was pretty sure he had yet to truly apologize to Mr. Stark for keeping the death of his parents a secret). The man was a great fighter, but he lacked an initiative of understanding and the ability to trust others when he called for their own undying loyalty and trust to him.

It was aggravating, and Peter knew he had to put his foot down at some point if he wasn’t going to spend the rest of his time in the past being walked all over.

“Captain Rogers,” Peter stood as he spoke, “while I admire your want to do right and know the facts, it isn’t so black and white. I have been racking my brain day in and day out, living off of barely any food and coffee to the point where I have currently not slept in over twenty-four hours plus.” He saw Mr. Stark bristle from the corner of his eye as both Rhodey and Natasha sent him knowing glances. “From this unending madness, I have determined that I really don’t know what Wanda’s plans are at this moment, though they aren’t good and will definitely mess with reality.

“Right now, Wanda has two things: the definitive that Vision is alive and that the Darkhold has yet to be destroyed, both of which she currently has in her possession. In the future, she goes after her kids, in the future she wants to live in peace, and I have no doubt that she’ll try to attempt something like that again. The only question is how.” Peter could feel himself trembling, but refused to back down, keeping perfect contact with Rogers as he spoke.

“She’s an all powerful witch, she can take whatever she wants with just a thought. She can rewrite reality, can rewrite your identity. What use does she have to come to the past beyond knowing what becomes of those she loves?”

“And like you said, why would she come to a time before Pietro’s death?” Natasha added. The others paused in thought at that, mulling it over as their brows creased and lips pursed. Even Mr. Stark seemed to be thrown for a loop.

“Peter’s right,” she continued, giving him an easy nod he kindly returned before she squared her eyes at Rogers. “If she’s trying to protect her future, why not go back before Pietro’s death? Why now? What use does she have in twenty-sixteen instead of twenty-fifteen?”

“Exactly,” he said. He quickly moved forward, gently tapping at the table for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up everything the Avengers currently had on Wanda as well as a blank piece of holographic paper for him to draw on.

“Think about it: If she’s so set on protecting her family—which we shall now decide is her driving mode in life and her end goal—then why return after Pietro’s death? Vision would be alive then, the Darkhold would still be around. Her kids wouldn’t, but they never existed in the first place, so that doesn’t matter.” Peter reached out to draw a timeline, marking down specific events that occurred between Ultron, the present, and the future that all involved important moments in Wanda’s life.

“She would need something exceptionally powerful to hold onto whatever reality she may or may not try to conceive. She’s powerful, but even I think she has limits, and so did Doctor Strange.”

Mr. Stark shuffled behind and raised his hand. “Were the good doctor and Maximoff friends in your time?”

Peter snorted. “No. Enemies to the end. Doctor Strange was the one who originally convinced her to close the Darkhold, but they’ve never gotten along. Doctor Strange had to work for his magic while Wanda has always had it. It’s been a real moot point between them.”

“Got it.”

“But that does bring up another point,” Sam butted in. “You mentioned before how Wanda took control of an entire town and turned it into her own personal sitcom. Can you explain that further?”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter said. “As per how Doctor Strange had once explained it to me, Wanda’s power rests in chaos magic, which is essentially unstable, unreliable, and unpredictable. A lot of it is affected by emotion, which is how Wanda is able to create such vivid and strong hexes.”

“Wait a minute, ‘hex’?” Rhodey said with disbelief.

“Yeah, hex. It’s like a spell, but more permanent. A curse would be wishing someone bad luck or misfortune, a charm or enchantment is casting a spell on something or someone, and a hex is essentially the bewitching of others in a greater space.”

Everyone blinked at him dumbfounded while Peter just smiled, eventually laughing it off with a, “Yeah, it doesn’t make much sense to me either.”

Rhodey blinked, “No. It doesn’t. But continue.”

“Right. So Wanda hexed an entire town, rewrote everyone’s thoughts and trapped them in their minds. She was in control over an entire population’s every thought and action for months, rewriting everything that her hex came into contact with with whatever she wanted. I wasn’t around for this, but Doctor Strange told me about it one night when I was first starting to come to terms with just how many supernatural beings actually existed and how to face off against them if the time ever occurred. It was really dark, actually. Apparently her victims felt everything she did, and all Wanda felt was anger and sorrow.”

Peter sighed and sat back down on the couch, hunching over on himself as he thought back.

Before Wanda, before all the madness, Peter had been happy to have a family again in Doctor Strange. The man mentored him and America, cared for the pair as his own even after he’d once sworn off having children. The man had been everything to Peter during his time of need, and had helped him realize the world around him.

“I know I don’t know you as I should, Peter, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you still,” Peter remembered him once stating. It wasn’t long after he’d been taken in and they were sitting in the study drinking tea and having a quiet night at the Sanctum for once.

“I know,” Peter had said. “It’s just… hard, you know? Adjusting back to everything? And I can’t help but think about what would’ve happened if I’d taken longer to think about things, if I hadn’t gone to you for help, if I hadn’t—”

“Okay, no more ‘If I Hadn’t’s’ for now,” the man had chuckled lightly. “It’s not good to dwell on the past, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn a lesson from it.”

“And that would be?”

“To not trust or rely solely on magic.” Peter blinked in astonishment and co*cked his head. Doctor Strange just sighed and with a flick of his wrists conjured some magical pictures before him that had Peter’s eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“There’s magic everywhere in the world, some good and some bad, but all of it is unreliable.” The image formed some swirling forms of glittering magic, relics, objects, books, or loose balls of multi-colored light. “What matters is what you use it for and how you use it; the intention behind your pursuit. I first learned magic to regain my hands, but now I use it protect our world from threats that seek us harm. Like when Wanda Maximoff took over Westview.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember that. I thought you hadn’t gotten involved in it?”

Doctor Strange shook his head and cast the image away, picking his cup back up to take another sip of the drink that seemed to be unable to go cold. “I hadn’t. But I wish I had. Maybe then I could’ve saved her from being taken over by the Darkhold,” he sighed and looked down at his slightly shaking hands. “Wanda has potential, but she refuses to look past her own ego and needs to use her power in the right way. And that’s what makes her dangerous. And that is why even though what happened was tragic, I’m still glad you sought me out for help instead of her.”

Peter had pressed his lips into a thin line and looked at the fire flames nearby, mulling over the doctor’s words as they continued to sit in silence until the clock struck midnight and Strange ushered him off to bed.

Peter thought of that memory now, of what would’ve happened had he gone to Wanda instead of Strange, and the idea simply hurts his head. It fills his mind with read, strikes harsh at his brow, and eventually withers away as he blinks back to the present to see the others still with their eyes resting on him and waiting.

“Well that’s unsettling dark, but I think some of us here know what you mean,” Clint said. Peter looked around to see Natasha, Steve, and Mr. Stark with solemn looks.

Right, when Wanda had followed Ultron…

“So you understand that it’s bad then.”

“Yes, very,” Mr. Stark toughened up. “Which is why we’re here to help stop something like that from happening again.”

“Tony’s right,” Steve said, startling the others. Many brows raised as they eyed the super soldier, though the man did not shift in his spot or turn away as he faced Peter down. “If Wanda has the ability to take over an entire town with her mind and is in search of something in the past to do something similar again, then we need to stop her. Is there anything else you can tell us about where she might be or what she might be looking for?”

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes at the question, but didn’t say anything as Rhodey gently nudged him in the side.

Peter shook his head. “No, not really. The only other thing that I can think of is what Doctor Strange told me about when he faced her. The original copy of the Darkhold had been destroyed, so Wong—the Sorcerer Supreme and a friend—ended up taking her to where it was originally transcribed—Mount Wundagore.”

“You think she could be there now?” Clint asked.

Peter shrugged. “Probably. But it’s not really worth looking into in my opinion.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’d have it cloaked. Mount Wundagore is the sanctuary-temple of Chthon, the one who prophesied her. If she’s gone to Wundagore, we won’t be able to find her. It’s been hidden for millenia and considered sacred haunted ground. I also have no idea where it is since it was destroyed when Strange told me about it.”

Clint and Natasha nodded contently while the others sat in silence and Rogers looked away in annoyance. This meeting was not going how the super soldier had hoped it would.

“It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t let our guard down,” he tried to assure. “Knowing Wanda, she’ll come out eventually. We’ll catch on to whatever she’s planning, but for now it’s just a waiting game.”

“A waiting game that I’ve already taken the liberty of planning ahead on.” Natasha said. She uncrossed her legs and sat forward. “I’ve been calling in some favors, trying to get the word around to spot anything abnormal that could be linked to Wanda, but so far I haven’t come up with much. Then there’s the matter of Yelena you briefly mentioned before.”

Peter gulped a little at the look Natasha gave him. He may have never spent any actual time around Natasha (or ever officially met her beyond the airport), but Peter could clearly determine what made her so fearsome, why Yelena turned out somewhat as he had. It’d be sweet, really, if it didn’t mean having a very interesting side conversation and possibly starting up a side quest.

“Right, Yelena… What’d you like to know about her?”

Natasha arched her brow, unimpressed with an amused smirk. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Speak now.”

“Yes, please. Speak now,” Clint mimicked. “I’d also like to know a little bit more about how I became the mission of Nat’s baby sister.”

“Right, right,” Peter nodded along. “It actually kinda has to do with the Red Room…?” Both assassins' brows creased, frowning. “Yeah, you didn’t kill Dreykov and end it. It’s still very much active, and Yelena is still very much under its control. All the Widows are. You’re the only member I’m aware of who was able to get out.”

“What do you mean the Red Room’s still active?” Clint blurt, jaw clenching and unclenching as Natasha’s gaze drifted. “I was there when the building blew up, there’s no way it’s still active. It hasn’t been on any radars in over eight years.”

“Secret base. In the sky.”

…

“Oh.”

Peter pressed his lips together with an affirmative nod. “Yeah…”

“So what you’re saying is that on top of a crazy witch we also have to deal with a league of deadly assassins?” Rhodey asked.

Before Peter could speak, an explanation and drive to melo things out on the tip of his tongue, Natasha interrupted. “No. We don’t. But I do.”

“Nat…” Rogers pleaded.

“No, don’t, Steve,” she shook him off and rose to her feet, moving about to pace around the back of the couch, thinking it all over.

In the future the Widows acted more as private contractors than anything else, waiting for the last of their generation to either die out or retire, set in ensuring that no other girls are ever trained to become living weapons. Peter had met some during his time on the streets, helping them take down some underground rings or simply swinging them out of danger when their sniper spot was compromised at the last moment. He often got a solid punch to the ribs for it, but they’d thank him anyway then try to hit him with a memory neutralizing gas before fleeing.

For the most part, many of them just wanted to live normal lives, though the drive to use their skills often made them go stir crazy. That was why Yelena had convinced Bucky to convince Sam to help open an underground initiative to help Widow’s undo their training or find good ways to use their skills instead of just mindless killing (unless necessary, of course). Last Peter had heard on the subject, many had gone into the private bodyguarding business for some of the most targeted individuals on the planet.

“We’re helping them even if the jobs are undermining of our talents,” Yelena had told him. “I mean, could you really see me caring enough to protect the president of the United States on the daily? No! You can’t. And do you want to know why?”

“Why?” he’d humored her.

Yelena had been relaxing and took another bite of mac’n cheese when they’d started the impromptu conversation. “Simple: Because I have been assigned to assassinate world leaders before because of how corrupt they are. Why would I suddenly want to protect people who often favor one life over the masses? At least we get to legally stab people this way…”

That last part might not have been completely true, but Peter had understood what she meant.

Natasha huffed and pulled a knife out from her sleeve, hurtling it through the air to the wall, hitting the center head of a painting hanging. Everyone flinched, Sam the most feared as she simply shrugged it off and turned back to them while Clint looked on unperplexed.

“Peter. Do you know where the base is?”

Peter blinked, eyes still locked on the dagger in the painting as he spoke. “Yeah, ish. Yelena told me about when she was drunk one night when she was reminiscing about all the cool ways she almost died. She met with you at the Budapest—”

“Budapesht.”

“—safe house to give you an antidote to free the widows from the chemical mind control Dreykov instilled. Got a little chaotic from there. I can help Mister Stark pinpoint it exactly.”

“Good,” she said and nudged Clint to follow her. “Send me the details soon. Clint and I have some preparations to do.”

“We do?” Clint said as he stood, carefully wandering around the couch to face his best friend.

“We do. You really think I’m going after the Red Room alone? This is the second half of the Budapest Operation now.”

Clint groaned in dismay, grumbling something about hiding in the vents again as he shook his head. Natasha just snorted and rolled her eyes.

“We’re taking a couple days off. I’ll update along the way if possible, but expect some radio silence for a bit.”

Everyone nodded, unquestioning in her decision though Rogers looked as if he wanted to add something, but instead chose to bite his tongue. A smart move.

“Good. Then I’ll see you all in a couple days,” she said and turned to strut away, red hair waving around as Clint made quick to follow, but were stopped by Peter calling out as he sped walk forward to meet them.

“Wait! Before you go, can I ask one favor?” Natasha turned and eyed him up and down but nodded.

“What do you need?”

Peter smiled appreciatively. “I want to get into contact with Fury. He has some allies of his own who I think can help us bring in Thor and find Bruce Banner.”

Even facing away from the others, Peter could feel their eyes on him widen, the same way he could see the way the words shook Natasha from the slight increase in her breath and jolt in her eyes.

“I don’t know if Fury will listen,” she said cautiously.

“That won’t be a problem,” he smiled, knowing his odds all too well. “If you manage to get a hold of him, tell him that Goose is a Flerken.”

Natasha visibly frowned this time, her calm facade dropped. “What does that even mean?”

Peter shrugged. “Not important. Code term. He’ll know what it means.”

It was a roll of the dice, really. While Peter had no doubt that the code would work on Fury, he was less sure about whether or not Natasha would go along with his vagueness. The assassin was known for keeping a tight lip, and it was honestly a miracle that she’d even admitted to him that she could still contact Fury. For all he knew, the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director could’ve cut off contact with just about all of his old associates, but Peter had a sneaking feeling that he wouldn’t drop contact with his favorite soldier.

Natasha assessed him once more and turned her gaze to Clint. They held a silent conversation, their eyebrows telling all the story as Clint shrugged and said, “It’s your call.”

Natasha sighed and brought out her phone. “I’ll let him know you want to speak, but no promises that he’ll even reply even if your code works. Anything else you want me to tell him?”

“Nope. Not at the moment. I can hash out the details with him later.” It was ambitious for him to talk in such a manner, but it only seemed to amuse Natasha and Clint as she finished typing out the message and paused to wait. Within moments (to everyone’s surprise but Peter’s) a reply comes in, making Natasha’s brows sky rocket as she looks almost dumbfounded up at him.

“He says he’s willing to call,” she says. Clint doesn’t seem to buy it and barges over to look over her shoulder, reading through whatever Fury answered before matching his friend’s face perfectly.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

“I know, right?”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Stark piped up from the background. The three spun around to where the others looked on with bouts of confusion and disbelief. “You’re telling me that Eye Patch is gonna call in all because of the kid’s little catch phrase?”

Clint nodded. “Yup.”

Mr. Stark scoffed. “Wow. Three years of trying to help him get better stealth tech and nothing, now all of a sudden he wants to talk. Real mature.” From the corner of his eye, Peter saw Natasha give a deep eye roll while Rhodey gently shook his head from behind his friend.

“When will he call?” Peter asked.

“Few minutes. Clint and I won’t be sticking around for it though,” she said with a pointed look to the archer who seemed to wilt and began to stalk out of the room. “We need to pack and get going. Tony,” the inventor perked up at his name with a hum, “send me those coordinates when you get the chance. Clint and I’ve got some recon we need to do first.” Clint audibly groaned with exuberance as he walked through the doors into the hall.

“Will do.”

She smiled once to him and then turned back to Peter. “Update me on everything when we get back, yeah?”

Peter nodded fervently. “Of course. And thanks again for help with Fury!” he hollered as she dashed out of the room to catch up with her partner.

He sighed in relief, shoulders sagging as he turned back to the others, all with gapping faces that made him pause. “What?”

Rhodey and Sam both snorted while Rogers shook his head and Mr. Stark held up his hands. “Nothing, nothing. Just interesting to note that you’ve got some in with one of if not the most secretive people on the planet.”

Peter shrugged with a slap of his arms against his hands. “And it only took me two world ending events, my identity being outed, three rounds of arm wrestling that ended in a semi-shattered arm, and a bottle of kahlua to make it happen.”

Mr. Stark’s mouth opened and closed, mulling the statement over. “We’re gonna come back to that.”

“Yeah, because I wanna know whose arm was semi-shattered,” Sam added.

Peter smirked, sauntering back over to the table, “Well—”

“Mister Stark. Cyclops is trying to connect.”

Mr. Stark smirked appreciatively at his nickname, then quickly wiped it from his face from the glares being sent to him by the others. “Patch him through F.R.I.”

The screen erased any traces of faces and data and brought up a plain blue screen with a smaller box in the center. It took a second to load, a slight fuzz patch making its way in before the screen cut to an image of one Nicholas J. Fury popping up, eye patch, scowl, and all.

“This better be worth cutting into my vacation time, Mister Parker,” Fury glared.

Peter gave a breathy laugh and felt his palms begin to sweat as he stood in front of the screen. “Hello, Mister Fury.” The man simply continued to glare.

“Right. Straight to business?”

“Preferably, although I do have a couple of questions for you. But first I’d like to start with wondering why since dying the Avengers have decided to throw the world into chaos and let a highly powerful individual out into the world unguarded?”

“I mean she has Vision,” Mr. Stark mumbled to which Sam said, “Not helping, Stark.”

This was going to be a long conversation if they couldn’t break past the barriers first, something that Rogers seemed to be taking the initiative on as he rose to face Fury.

“Don’t even think about it, Cap,” Fury said before Rogers could even form his first words. “You haven’t been on your best behavior either. You get no say when you decided to pit the Avengers against each other over petty personal matters.”

Oh, how hard it was for Peter to not visibly snicker. Fury was scolding them like they were a bunch of children fighting in the schoolyard. The man had always been a hard ass, had always been the all-knowing eye to the world around him, but it was nice to know that at this moment, while he wrangled the Avengers and scolded them as a mother who was disappointed in the kids she’d raised, Peter couldn’t help but inwardly stroke his ego about the great secret he had in his pocket.

“So, moving on then,” Fury turned his gaze back to Peter, “let’s start with the basics. One: how do you know about Goose; and two: how do you know that Goose is a… Flerken? ”

It didn’t go unnoticed the almost bitter way Fury spat out the word, all forming curious glances as theta assessed their former (current secret?) boss.

Peter huffed and sucked at his teeth. He was fairly excited for this as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “I know about Goose the Flerken because I’m from the future where Carol Danvers personally told me.”

Fury simmered at his words. “Really?”

“Really.” He kept his grin at bay. “It’s how I also know that you’re not the real Fury.” Not-Fury’s brow creased and his breath stilled, the others watching on. “You’re actually a Skrull.”

Between one breath and the next, Peter kept his gaze locked with the man on screen, waiting. Slowly, Fury’s face broke, snickers breaking through as he tried to deny such accusations, shaking his head in dismay.

“A Skrull?” he said. “You think that I’m a Skrull?”

“I don’t think, I know.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because you’ve yet to even ask what a Skrull is.” Fury’s laughter paused. “How would you know what a Skrull is? You may haven’t stated what its abilities are, but the way you talk makes me think that you’re very familiar with the species.”

From the side he saw Mr. Stark nod along with his reasoning even if he and the others clearly had no idea what was going on or what he was talking about. It all felt so new and giddy to Peter to know the nooks and crannies of what was going on; a nice serotonin rush to bring some miniscule of joy to his increasingly depressed mood.

“So if he’s not Fury,” Rogers spoke up, “then who is he?”

For the first time that day, Peter saw everyone seem to get along as they nodded along in the desire to know the answer of the question and the confirmation that it wasn’t Peter just pulling their tail.

Only now did Peter let a bit of his grin break loose. “His name is Talos. He and his wife have been impersonating as Fury and Maria Hill for months while the pair have either been enjoying an extended vacation or have been off-world.”

Mr. Stark stuttered, “What the—”

“Shapeshifting alien friends come in real handy when you don’t want to be found and aren’t actually dead…”

Peter could see his eye twitch, slowly but surely coming around until the man conceded with a deep sigh that turned into a scratchy note as his vocal chords changed, his dark skin turned to green, and the eye patch melted away as two beady black eyes stared back at him through the screen.

“Fine. You’ve got me.”

“Holy sh*t!”

“What the f*ck!”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Are you serious right now!”

Peter winced at the overlapping voices as the Avengers began to freak out at the sight. Talos was completely done with their antics, simply shaking his head as he and Peter nodded knowingly to one another.

“You’re an alien?!”

“He’s an alien. We all see that he’s an alien, right?”

“Yes. Yes we do. We see that he has green skin, two eyes, elf ears—”

“We get it, Tony! He’s an alien.”

“A shapeshifting alien! Don’t forget that he can shapeshift.”

Talos rolled his eyes and lolled his head back. “This might not even be worth it.”

“Sorry,” Peter winced as he tuned out the continuing disbelief and accusations of confusion being thrown about. “It was the only way I could think to get you to trust me.”

Talos seemed to agree, mulling it over momentarily. “Fair. Though let's be clear that Fury and I are only doing a little test run right now. This hasn’t become permanent yet.”

“Good to know.”

“Yes,” he smiled, all teeth and sharp angles that had Peter sweating behind his neck a little. “Then could you please get these idiots to shut up!” The pitch of his voice had the four adult men shut their mouths as Mr. Stark and Sam’s screeches of fear finally ceased. They all looked ashamed, though by the twitch of Mr. Stark’s fingers, Peter figured the man needed to do a deep dive investigation into the occurrence of how Fury and Talos switched and how Talos’ DNA works.

“Thank you,” Talos said, a crease in his brow disappearing. “Now please remain quiet for the rest of this meeting unless it directly involves you.” That had each of them angry looking and sitting down to pout like children as Peter continued to stand before the screen, now content enough to simply watch and listen in.

“Now then,” Talos sighed, head co*cking slightly as his black eyes bore down into Peter’s brown. “I’m assuming that you want me to get into contact with the real Nick Fury, then?”

“Actually, no.” Talos’ face scrunched in confusion while he heard Mr. Stark gasp in shock, “What?” before the others told him to shush. Talos just pretended not to hear him.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t want to speak with the real Fury?”

Peter nodded. “Yup. You heard me right. I don’t need to get into direct contact with Fury, only with you.”

“With me?” Talos did not seem impressed, but Peter could sense his curiosity and intrigue rising with each breath. “Do tell how I can be of service then.”

“Yes, right, that,” Peter clapped his hands together. “I need your help getting in contact with Thor and finding Bruce Banner. I know that even though you may not be directly in contact with Fury that you still have some ways to get in contact with his contacts. I need you to contact Carol Danvers for me. Thor should either be on Asgard or traveling for Infinity Stones and Bruce is on the planet Sakaar as the Hulk currently fighting as a gladiator.”

“Of course he is…” he heard Mr. Stark mutter. Peter was pretty sure that he was causing the man to go greyer with every word he spoke.

The Skrull hummed at that, chuckling lightly under his breath. “Ah the trash planet run by the Grandmaster. Yes, I know of that, and yes, I can get in contact with Danvers to find the pair.”

“So you’ll do it?” Peter lit up.

“I said I could contact Danvers, I didn’t say I would, kid.” Peter wilted. “Not until you tell me why I should. Fury only wants me to intervene directly as him if it's the end of the world or with his explicit permission. Since I don’t have the latter, I need a good reason to trust your word.”

Peter huffed a sigh and felt his hands begin to curl into fists. Of course he did.

“Fine. I really hope this is the last I have to talk about it because catching people up on the issue is becoming a real headache,” he deadpanned. “The Scarlet Witch has been fully unleashed on Earth. I need to get the Avengers to work together to fight her when the time comes. That means getting people who can go head-to-head with Wanda Maximoff on a fairly equal playing ground. Hence the need of a literal god, a mutant destroying machine, and a fairly indestructible super powered space woman. Is that a good enough answer?”

Talos sucked in his cheeks, nodding over in thought. Peter had never really met the Skrull (or at least knowingly met him), so he wasn’t exactly familiar with his personality. He knew that Talos was primarily loyal to Fury and Danvers, and him being an unknowing factor probably wasn’t helping, but Peter was at the end of his ropes.

If he had to beg one more time, if he had to repeat his problems and distress and pain again, if he had to recruit through the retelling of his whole life story over and over again because people weren’t willing to take ‘scary witch is coming to rewrite reality’ at face value, he might just go on a destructive rampage.

Never had Peter thought that returning to the past would mean repeating his dilemma to every new eyes and ears that came across his path in need of immediate knowledge of the situation.

“Fine,” Talos decided. “I’ll contact Danvers on your behalf, fill her in on the situation, and round up some people to go track down Thor and retrieve Banner.”

Peter sighed, eyes dropping shut as he collapsed back onto the couch. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll get right on it,” he said with a small smile. Peter nodded in thanks again as Mr. Stark reached over and gave a gentle pat to his shoulder, but when Peter turned his gaze to meet him saw that the man wasn’t taking his eyes off the screen—and neither was anyone else.

“Are you having a staring contest with the shapeshifter right now?”

“Shut up, Peter.”

Talos chuckled. “It’s alright. You get used to it when your identity is revealed to those of a lesser intelligence.”

The spell over Mr. Stark broke from the words. “Now hang on a second. I—”

BwwoooP

BwwoooP

Peter shot his hands up and over his ears at the blare of the alarm, a single flash of red folding over the room as F.R.I.D.A.Y. came online.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Manhattan is under attack.”

“What?” Sam said.

“An Avengers-level threat?” Rogers inquired.

“Yes. It appears that monsters are attacking.”

“Monsters…?” Rhodey mumbled as the screen with Talos split to show a live feed from the news. Ravenous monstrous creatures that seemed to be appearing from the shadows of the buildings were climbing their way across the city like King Kong. They had tentacles and horns, wings and jaws the size of a train car, talons and tails, all mashed up into gnarly looking hybrid creatures that howled and screeched into the sky as they tormented onlookers all around.

Sam gasped, “Holy sh*t,” but Peter immediately knew who was behind this.

He looked to Mr. Stark for confirmation, the man nodding along. “It has to be her, kid. Like you said, we’ve been waiting for her to strike first.”

“Right,” he said. Why was his chest feeling tight all of a sudden? “So it’s time to suit up?”

“It’s time to suit up.” Sam, Rhodey, and Rogers seemed to already be on the case as they hurried out of the room, leaving only himself and Mr. Stark behind to finish up the call.

“I have to go, but thank you for your help!” he cried as he darted out of the room, barely hearing Talos’ “My pleasure!” in return.

I can do this I can do this I can do this he told himself on loop as he jogged down the hall. He didn’t have his nano suit yet, but he was really glad he’d taken to wearing his regular one under his clothes. Made things just a bit easier as he ran towards the waiting jet while essentially stripping.

Mr. Stark’s suit was already programmed into the jet, so was Rhodes, the only people they were really waiting on to be Rogers and Sam who appeared to be changing in the jet itself.

I can do this I can do this I can do this I can do this

Peter loaded himself up into the jet, fists clenched and eyes downcast as he took a seat nearest to the front.

I can do this I can do this I can do this I can do this

Slowly, the jet started to lift off the ground, the rear closing as they began to take off, the others completely unphased by the jolt that rushed through the aircraft. Peter gripped the bottom of his seat as he listened to the whirl of the engine, the rush of the wind, the snap, clicks, and clacks that rang about the interior as Sam and Rogers helped each other lock all their gear into place.

I can do this I can do this I can do this I can do this

“I can do this,” he told himself with new determination as F.R.I.D.A.Y. dispelled their ETA to be no more than five minutes.

It was time to face Wanda once more.

Chapter 9: From Myth to Reality

Chapter Text

Taking a quinjet from upstate New York to Midtown Manhattan was the easiest trip of Peter’s life. Normally one would probably have to drive for nearly two hours (and that wasn’t including traffic), but whisking through the air at top speed? Now that was a treat.

Of course, it didn’t really feel like one at the moment as the back hatch of the jet opened and Peter stood to peer down at the danger below terrorizing the city.

Three large monsters were ravaging the city, slipping between the shadows of the skyscrapers as they crawled across the New York skyline.

“What the f*ck…” Sam muttered from beside him. The jet was hovering in place just over the Tower, allowing the others to move to see all the mayhem for themselves in full view, mouths open and eyes wide in terror, their hearts speeding up as they heard the creature's roar.

There were three of them mucking about, all with distinguished forms the size of King Kong himself. The first looked like that of a dragon with its molten black body and glowing red veins. It had a hunkering body with thick limbs: two arms, two legs, matching sets of lengthy claws and snarling teeth, the head of a boar combined with a lizard, and two sets of wings that overlapped each other and blocked the sun out. It was crawling across the very tops of the buildings, flying between roofs as it roared and hissed down at the people running about below.

The second wasn’t any less horrid. It was that of a man-cat, almost werewolf-like though it roamed on all four of its limbs. Peter thought it looked like that chimera from the second Percy Jackson movie, only with a large snout, body, and a barbed tail. It was covered in spikes that flickered and adjusted with each of its movements, its claws easily slashing through concrete as it jumped between buildings and smashed into the ground upon landing.

Then there was the third monster, one Peter was sadly somewhat familiar with when it had appeared on the news years ago. It was a giant octopus with an abundance more tentacles than an average octopus should have, and a giant eye sitting in the center of its face. A dark putrid green made up the outer shell of its skin while its underbelly was a deep red.

Peter sighed in annoyance.

f*ck Gargantos.

“Wow,” Rhodey said as he peered down at the madness below. “I’m pretty sure that of all the possible foes on my bingo card, literal monsters were not on there.”

“You can say that again,” Sam agreed, checking over his gear again before pulling out Red Wing, sending the little drone down to do recon. “Aliens? Sure, no problem. Killer robots? Totally, not gonna question that humanity has the ability to birth such a thing. But monsters? I’m at a loss for this one.”

Red Wing flew down between the buildings, surveying the land and the creatures. Peter peered over Sam’s shoulder to watch the feed, eyes narrowed. People were either running away or trying to get inside, a mistake Peter had seen one too many times and a move he felt a lot of New Yorkers should know better than to do in the case a structure collapsed.

Thankfully, the monsters had so far refrained from doing any intentional damage, i.e., directly causing harm because of desire rather than accidental. The three were scouring across the city, their hulking bodies causing destruction with each and every movement. The chimera seemed to be sniffing around, only engaging with those who got in its way or directly attacked it—such as the millennials and gen-zers who threw their coffees at it, eliciting a roar and swipe of its claws in response as they scampered off. The dragon seemed to be acting in a similar manner with how it looked from above while the chimera searched below, every now and then clawing its way slightly into a building enough to stick its head in, giving a huff, then crawling back out to continue its search. Peter wasn’t entirely certain what the octopus was doing as it seemed to be causing the monster terror as it lifted things up haphazardly before chucking them somewhere else like buses and cars.

“No wonder health insurance is so expensive here,” Rhodey muttered under his breath, Mr. Stark snorting in reply, “And you wonder why I set up a separate fund of medical expenses for anyone caught in an Avengers-related issue.”

“You did?” Rogers asked, turning around to give the billionaire an inquisitive look.

Mr. Stark gave a fifty-fifty hand gesture. “More like it’s in the works. It’s been on my list of things to do for a couple months now.”

Rogers seemed puzzled by his statement, blinking around the room as if asking the others if they also heard his response, but nobody looked too surprised or confused as he was. Did Steve genuinely think that Mr. Stark didn’t know how to be generous? If he did, then Peter had to believe the man never once listened in on any of the charities the man regularly donated and even funded with his mass amounts of wealth.

“Not the time, Steve,” Sam said under his breath as he had Red Wing circle back up to them.

“Exactly. I think we’ve got bigger fish to fry,” Rhodey said, wrinkling his nose down below. “We need a game plan. And not one that’s just ‘attack’.”

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and shrugged. The man stretched his hand out to the wall where a scanner appeared and quickly began to unshell his suit. A classic metallic red and gold suit began to unfurl, rapidly expanding across Mr. Stark hand, up his arm, and encasing over his body as he turned his body back into the wall, allowing the rest of the armor to fit over his legs, torso, and other arm before snapping altogether. Rhodey mimicked something similar by stepping onto a platform in the middle of the ship, reaching his arms up for the top-half (and much bulkier) part of the suit to form. Within seconds the iron soldiers were armed and ready, their helmets respectively down for the time being.

“I don’t think we can come up with a definitive plan of action here,” Mr. Stark gently chastised. “It’s monsters, not military or akin personnel. I’m going to guess whatever they’re looking for can’t be good, and they only have a drive to find their spelling bee trophy, so to speak.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go in guns blazing.”

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and threw his head back. “Ugh. Fine. Here’s the game plan then: Sam and Rogers, take on the monster cat; Rhodey and me will get the dragon; and Pete will web up Cthulhu. Easy.” And that was all any of them had to plan for as Mr. Stark took the bout of silence to immediately jump out the plane, helmet forming over his face, and blast on to punch a dragon in the face.

Peter winced in sympathy as the monster’s face crashed into the side of the skyscraper, its tongue lolling out as it tried to regain its bearings. Its skin rippled and shook as the red fire beneath its skin began to flow bright, and soon from its mouth erupted a dense red breath that melted and singed all it touched as Mr. Stark quickly evaded, drawing it up into the sky for a better fight.

“And that’s my cue,” Rhodey sighed, mask buckling over his face as he shot out of the plane to go help his friend.

Sam huffed a slight laugh, crouching down on the edge of the plane as he pulled his mask over his head, shifting it into place as Karen came online (yes, he had taken time to get reacquainted with his AI).

“See ya on the ground,” he saluted, then front flipped down onto the ground as he heard Sam’s voice carry across the wind saying, “Pretentious kid.” He grinned with glee.

The wind whipped around his face, the cool breeze breathing through his suit as he plummeted to the ground below in a perfect dive. His eyes narrowed and he took in a single breath as the ground neared closer.

Let’s do this.

With a perfect flick of his wrist, Peter shot out a web to a nearby building, coming in fast he sped down to the ground and flipped up into the air as he felt Sam speed by and drop Rogers down on the ground nearby.

“Stay focused, kid,”Mr. Stark berate through the coms. The Iron Man suit was zooming around the buildings, leading the dragon on as Rhodey chased after with his blasters.

“Yeah, I know,” he said as he did another flip, rounding up to perch on the ledge of the closest building. He needed an eagle eye view of the situation because there was no way he was going to base all his strategies off of Sam’s video footage alone. He knew how to learn from his mistakes, afterall.

There was a time where Peter believed that he could trust anyone, that he had good judgment and intuition, that he could tell when someone meant well, when they had good intentions, and eventually lived up to them. Experience, however, proved otherwise. There were times where he could put his complete faith in another and they’d still undermine his judgment, his team of friends limited and not always reliable because they meant to please all around them. That was what it was like during Peter’s time serving with the Young Avengers.

(“Just because you know us, it does not mean that we know you. Remember that.”)

Peter shuddered, recalling how Sam would listen to his opinion, avidly consider the possibilities from his experience, but never went out of his way to correlate further. The Avengers and all those associated liked him for his strength, but not for much else. He was just another pawn to them, someone they weren’t willing to connect more with—and Peter couldn’t exactly blame them when their friends were taken out on a battle basis. It was risky to form attachments in an industry that’s known for attacking your colleagues regularly.

No, not the time, Peter shook his head. Self-deprecation was a big NO during a battle.

Already, the monsters were turning Manhattan into a warzone. Though they weren’t creating purposeful damage besides declaring their space and fighting back against those who attempted to antagonize them, there was already a great mass of chaos about. It was eerily familiar to the battlefield of Wanda’s Hell portal to the apocalypse, only without the red haze and bloodbath of continuous demons running amuck.

“Kid, you good?” Mr. Stark piped up. Peter watched as the Iron Man armor swooped up to take aim at the dragon’s wings, trying to unfurl and damage them, but only coming up to barely make any dents, only light tears that began to mend themselves as the dragon raised one paw to slash at the flying metal men like a cat to a ball on a piece of string.

“Yeah, I’m great. Just… taking it all in.”

“Well, if you could—ah sh*t!—take it in a little faster—RHODEY DODGE—that’d be great!”

Peter watched in a bit of horror as the dragon’s tail split into three pieces, each slithering about and whipping to defend its backside from the missiles Mr. Stark and Rhodey were bombarding it with. It held on with one to the top of the building it was currently perched around and used it to rip off part of the top, then chucked it at the two men who barely had time to dodge the main onslaught as it turned into a bunch of smaller pieces, raining down like a meteor shower.

Mr. Stark was doing his best to dodge as Rhodey took cover behind another building, but was hit in the side and tossed back onto a roof, wincing and shaking his head as Peter felt his fingers twitch and breath hitch.

“Actually, if you could recommend any weak spots that you see, that’d be great too.”

Peter bit at the inside of his cheek and zeroed in on all three creatures. Everything had a weak spot, big or small, obvious or not, it was just a matter of understanding where it was. The octopus would probably go down if Peter managed to remove its eye if recalled Doctor Strange’s story correctly; the chimera’s weakness could be anything, though Peter though if they just shopped of its head that’d probably do it; and the dragon appeared to be protecting its back, meaning that it probably had a pressure point somewhere along its spine or hidden in a crevice under one of its burning scales.

“Nothing super obvious. Try to go for the spine though, or maybe its belly.”

“Limited, but still helpful, I guess.” Mr. Stark got into a kneeling position and sprung back into action, flying around the dragon and forcing it to move upwards into a straight position. “See anything unusual?”

Despite knowing the man or anyone else probably wasn’t paying attention, Peter still shook his head. “No, nothing so far. It looks to be weaker skin, but usually demons need to get their heads chopped off or—” he gasped, eyes widening.

“Or what?” Mr. Stark asked worriedly, taking only a moment in his attack to glance back at Peter before dodging a swing of his tail at the last moment. “Peter?”

Peter gulped, zooming in on the dragon's neck right its head. Just as suspected, there were some familiar runes encircling its neck, the characters becoming thinner and light as it trailed down until they disappeared and perfectly blended in with the scales. Peter doubted anyone other than him noticed them considering how they looked almost like molten flames if not for their apparent glow and appearance when Rhodey tried to send a missile near the core.

“This may have just gotten a lot harder.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if we had our doubts that this was Wanda’s doing before, I know it’s definitely her now.”

“Explain, please.”

“Okay, okay,” Peter said, shaking a bit as he stood to his full height. “Around its neck, it’s kind of hard to see. But there are runes protecting its weak spot. The others probably have something similar guarding their instant kill spots. Runes are used by witches, meaning Wanda deliberately sent them here.”

Over the line, Mr. Stark groaned and sent a missile directly into the dragon’s mouth in exasperation. The demon happily swallowed it and burped out smoke as it teetered backwards, becoming dazed and confused.

“Great. Just great,” he groaned. “Any idea why she sent them then? You know, now that we know for sure it’s her like there was any real doubt on the matter to begin with?”

Peter tried not to take the sarcasm too personally, knowing it was just one of many infamous Tony Stark reaction responses to stress and anxiety. “No, not really. Last time she unleashed demons to ravage the world, but that’s not happening right now. They look like they’re searching for something, but they’re not actively trying to destroy anything.”

“But searching for what, kid. That’s the question. I need specifics so I know what to protect.”

“I don’t know! I know I’m from the future, but that doesn’t mean I know everything. A lot of these are assumptions and guesstimating based on the past, Mister Stark. It’s not definitive.”

Mr. Stark sighed, pausing in his flight to face Peter. “You’re right, kid. Sorry for snapping. Just get out there. Try to get Chthulu to wish he was calamari.”

Peter snickered, smiling under the mask as he gave a short salute to Mr. Stark and threw a line out, the web snapping into place as he dove off the roof and down between the cities. “On it.”

Swinging through the city was quite possibly one of the most familiar and simplistic things to happen so far for Peter. Sure, he was fighting against some witch’s monsters that were on an unknown mission, but it was still a basic principle.

With one hand, Peter would flick out a web, letting the wind and trajectory send it flying across the sky to the nearest building. He’d grasp it, use his own weight, and swing himself forward, flipping himself into the air, almost flying, before gravity returned to bring him back down and he repeated the process.

Focus, Peter, he mentally scolded as he came whipping around a building, landing on the side of the structure to zero-in on his target.

Cthulhu, as he was now mentally calling it, was crawling its way through the city, pushing aside obstacles and picking up cars and trucks to peer inside, keeping his vision locked on those in front of him, every now and then picking someone up, eyeing them carefully, and then tossing them aside.

“Oh, sh*t.” Peter jumped into action, grabbing the man with one web, careful of his neck to keep him from getting whiplash, and swung him away from the car crash he was about to hit. The man screamed, scrambling away as he tried to brush off the excess webbing, following the other panicking individuals trying to dodge the creatures circling around them.

“You’re welcome!” Peter called as he swung back into action, grabbing a deserted car with a web and swung it fast and quick at Cthulhu, hitting him directly in the eye. The monster screeched, whining as it bent down to rub a tentacle across its eye and blinked precariously.

Maybe that wasn’t the smartest idea Peter had as he watched Cthulhu’s eye begin to glow red, the runes lighting up, and suddenly the spikes on its body becoming sharper and thicker.

Peter blinked, mouth gaping. “Uh, oh.”

Cthulhu began to spin around, trying to pinpoint where the car came flying from. It lashed out at other vehicles on the ground, smashing and batting and throwing them about in retaliation.

Peter had to act quickly.

Tapping into every bit of his intuition, Peter swung about catching vehicles before they could hit anyone, dodging and sending them flying in a different direction.

There weren’t as many people out anymore, the public apparently getting it in their head that they’d be better hiding inside than running away, but that didn’t stop them from peering through windows to watch and film the action. Of course, that wasn’t very smart as Peter wasn’t quite fast enough, and a bus was thrown through a glass wall, shattering part of the foundation and causing the building to begin to tip.

“NO!”

Peter froze as the screams and cries of people began to turn into shrills and wails, as the fear running through them and fast beatings of their hearts faded as the few who were able to escape the tragedy began squirming their way out of the cracks, others waving helplessly before their flailing limbs went limp.

No…

Peter swung down to the ground and began to push through the weak crowds to the accident. The bus was lodged in tight, the only pillar holding up the building even just from fully losing balance. There were many crushed underneath, some plastered between walls, and deep crimson blood that was nearly black oozing everywhere.

It made Peter gag. The young hero pressed a hand to his mouth, choking back the bile edging its way up his throat at the sight, and moved his body forward to assess further.

“Karen, status?”

“Thirty-seven dead, fourteen in critical condition. Two are currently trapped under the bus and six inside. There won’t be much you can do for those who are actively bleeding out in fatal circ*mstances.”

Peter bristled, ignoring his trusting AI as he moved forward to see the bus. “What do you mean?” He pressed his face against the rear of the bus, peering through to see the six inside shaken up, some out cold and others trying to sit up and grapple the situation. He then looked underneath, spotting the two trapped below and how they weren’t crushed by the bus’ weight, merely trapped in too small of a crevice to safely shimmy out from.

“I’m going to do something,” Peter affirmed. “I can’t just leave them like this.”

“I know,” she sympathized. “You need to be quick about it. This building is fairly old, and its structure is already crumbling from the dragon crawling across it. You’ll only have one chance to do this with the best statistical outcome.”

“Understood.”

Peter laid down on the ground as muffled groans began to resound to see one of the two trapped victims begin to wake up. “Hang in there! I’m gonna get you out!” He tried to assure, but only got a muffled groan back from the male underneath. He’s fine for now.

The six inside were still quite dazed, only peering outside the window of the bus in curiosity, though Peter figured they had major concussion and weren’t able to decipher what their actual situation was like.

“Stand back!” he called over the shrieks and roars of monsters outside. Peter tapped his wrist, picking out the tool needed to best go about freeing the passengers within before the people underneath.

“Kid, what are you doing?”

Peter turned his gaze up to the sky as he watched Mr. Stark and Rhodey chase the dragon across the sky as Cthulhu swung a bus at the pair and then a car down the street to where Peter noticed the chimera tackling Rogers and Sam, the car forcing them back as it nearly knocked into their forms.

“Kid? Earth to Parker?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here,” Peter said, continuing to watch Mr. Stark battle across the sky.

“Great, good,” he said as he sent a rocket into the dragon’s eye. “Then can I ask why you haven’t taken care of eight-arms yet?”

“I’m trying to save some people from being crushed by a bus.”

“Where?”

“Umm…” Peter turned to see a street sign, but found all those of use to have been taken out in the conflict. “Can’t you just track my location?”

Mr. Stark groaned and rammed the dragon into the side of the building, crying out in anger. Cthulhu seemed to be on the case as it began to circle up the building, throwing more debris at the two iron soldiers.

“Yes, I could. But as you can see, I’m a little busy right now,” he grunted. “Which is why I need you to keep to your target right now.”

Peter felt his limbs stutter, head flipping back and forth between the monsters and the people. “You… want me to leave them?” His voice was weak.

Mr. Stark sighed then cursed violently as he was thrown into a building by one of the dragon’s tails. “You think I want to leave them? Because I don’t. But we need to take out the defense if we’re gonna protect the masses. I’ve already issued out the Iron Legion. Have Karen tag your position and send it to them so they can start working on getting people out and to proper medical personnel. Okay?”

Fingers twitching, Peter curled them into a fist. The screams were normal, something he’s heard a thousand times, but what was unsettling to him was always the pleading eyes, the way those caught in the crossfire always seemed to be wishing, hoping, praying for some salvation that Peter couldn’t give them. Because that was just another price to pay for heroes: they had to fight for the many over just the one.

It was like when May had died, having seen the light go out in her eyes, the acceptance that help wasn’t going to come. She’d made him promise to be good, to fight for the little guy, to make the hard decision even when he didn’t think he could—when he didn’t want to. Peter had let May down, though, he thought sometimes. He was never good about making the hard decisions. Instead, he always wanted to please the masses, to have his cake and eat it too.

But pleasing everyone was something he’d never managed to do.

“Okay,” he gulped, nodding to himself as he forced his body to turn away, as he began to press forward down the street. He took a shuddering breath and forced himself to take one step after another, speeding up and away until he was racing against the dwindling crowd. With a heavy heart, Peter shot out a line and flung himself up into the air.

“I’m on it, Mister Stark,” he assured as he flicked himself over and across the street, flipping himself over Rogers and Sam beginning to gain the upper hand by pinning the chimera to the ground and hacking away at its tail.

Only, as Peter approached Cthulhu in all his horrors, seeing him splay his body out across the street and holding its body up against opposite buildings as it searched along the ground, the octopus demon decided it had a memorable vendetta against him and sprung a surprise attack on him as he neared and threw out his first web to wrap up his slimy arms.

Cthulhu screeched, but it did not matter as Peter was vigorously tossed up into the air as he broke from the bonds, the runes glowing hot as he ripped off a billboard and tossed it at Peter.

“sh*t!” He didn’t have time to dodge with how he was flying and was hit like a baseball. Peter lost grip of his webs and flew across the city, hitting a building, and then falling to the ground in a heep.

Peter groaned as he barely caught himself, just managing to roll as he landed and hitting the side of a downed car in the process.

“Ow…” he winced as he shook his head, rising back up onto his hands and knees as he attempted to regain his composure. Hopefully nobody saw that or caught it on camera. He wasn’t looking forward to an instant replay of that failure.

Peter hissed as he stood, bending over slightly as he clutched at his ribs while trying to take a deep breath. “Karen? I think I broke a rib… and punctured a lung.”

“You’ve fractured a rib and your lungs are intact. Try not to curl your body too much to avoid exasperation.”

“Yup, got it,” he said as he straightened himself up, the ringing in his ears unwavering and thus dulling the world and its imminent dangers around him. “Anything else that I should… know…” he gulped, “about?”

Behind him, just on the other side of the street, stood a freed and scampering chimera. There were remnants of whatever trap Rogers and Sam had attempted on it, but the soldiers were nowhere in sight as it hissed at him, fangs gnashing and tail rattling.

“Karen?” he whispered, trying not to move from his place and play a game of ‘Statues’ instead. “What do I do?”

“I would suggest getting out of the way before—”

GRAAAHHWWW

The chimera roared and charged forward, Peter scampering backwards into the car as he swore. In the blink of an eye, the creature was right up in his face, oozing red and black saliva falling from the creature's lips as its fur flared.

“Good kitty…” he whimpered, turning his face away as the monster began to sniff.

The chimera took in a deep breath of Peter’s scent, pressing its nose right up against his neck and growled. Peter gagged at the sour, acidic scent it gave off, a mix of sulfur and rotting garbage permeating around the heir that seemed to burn his nose and throat.

“Karen?”

“I don’t… Don’t move.”

“Okay,” he squeaked, but wasn’t able to do much else as the beady black eyes of the chimera widened in awe. It growled, backing away just enough to sit back on its haunches and cry up into the sky louder than ever before. Peter covered his ears, his senses going haywire, and scrunched his eyes shut.

“Karen,” he said through the echoes, “what’s going on?”

“Kid? Where are you?” Mr. Stark answered instead.

“In the presence of the chimera. Why?”

Mr. Stark cursed and the roar finally ended. The chimera began to back away, only just to begin to circle around Peter, growling. Its claws dug into the asphalt of the ground as it moved, tail swishing around in warning as Peter began to rise, careful to not wander anywhere and instead keep his eyes plastered to the chimera, following its movements.

“You’ve got some incoming, kid.”

Peter perked up as he tripped over a piece of ruble, the chimera hissing and slashing a paw forward to keep him in line. “A rescue incoming by chance?”

Overhead, a great shadow covered the sky and the echoing roar of the dragon had Peter using all his might to stay stuck to the ground as the winds around him shook. He brought his arms up to his face to avoid the scattering dust as the dragon landed along the side of the building across from him, hanging off its street face to crane its neck down, jaw chortling as the chimera growled. Then, of course, Cthulhu returned slithering up the street, crowding Peter in from the otherside.

“You gotta be f*cking kidding me.”

Peter was surrounded.

The monsters had sharpened glints in their eyes, faces snarled as they zeroed in on Peter. There was no escape from their sights, each showing off their power to shovel him into submission, to force him to kneel, to let them—

Let them what? What were they going to do to him?

Did this mean that they were after… him?!

“Uh, Mister Stark?” Peter’s entire body was wound like a rubber band, ready to snap at any given moment. This was not looking good for him.

“I see you kid.” Peter looked up at the sky to see Mr. Stark and Rhodey zeroing in, followed by Sam and Rogers who was dropped onto the roof of one of the lower buildings before Sam landed by his side.

“Yeah, uh, what do I do?” The chimera slashed at the ground and moved into a crouch, Cthulhu raised its arms, and the dragon opened its mouth to show a calling of fire warm in its throat.

Oh, Hell no.

“Kid, run. Now!”

Now that he could do.

Swiftly, Peter threw out his arm, a web shooting up to where Mr. Stark was hovering overhead. The web snapped into place, and Mr. Stark took off into the air, hauling Peter up as the monsters began to lash out.

Peter held onto dear life as he was yanked away from the fray, far enough into the air to avoid the chimera’s lunge up to slash at him, Cthulhu’s tentacles reaching to chuck something at him in hopes of hitting the web and diminishing his escape, and just enough space for the dragon to unleash its monstrous breath without getting burnt to a crisp.

“Fly faster!” he called to Mr. Stark. He pulled himself closer to the billionaire as behind him the dragon took off to follow, the chimera and Cthulhu running after to keep up as the cat clawed its way up buildings to begin to run across the roofs to keep up and try and snatch at him.

“I am flying as fast as I can with a hundred and forty pounds of muscle being dragged behind me like those 'Just Got Married'cans on a car!”

Peter gave a soft grunt as Mr. Stark blasted forward, the web beginning to wear from the shaking. He grabbed onto his mentor’s ankle, the armor going stiff so as to not waver in its flight path as Peter crawled his way up onto the older man’s back, hunkering down as he made quick dives and movements weaving through the skyscrapers.

Behind, the dragon was making chase, its wings breaking the sides of buildings as it decided to fly up to better cruise along the skyline. Below, the chimera ran rampant as it leaped over the foundations and clawed its way higher to hopefully jump on top of the pair if it wasn’t for Mr. Stark’s quick maneuvering.

The pair rolled, Peter instinctively wrapping his arms and legs around Mr. Stark’s back like a child getting a piggyback ride. He pressed his face between the shoulder blades of the armor, only turning back now and then to check their status of escape.

“I think they’re gaining…” The Chimera was closing in, gaining speed and ferocity as Cthulhu had all but disappeared from sight and the dragon’s mouth was beginning to heat up once more.

Mr. Stark cursed, throwing out some flares down to busy the chimera while Rhodey came zooming in overhead to slice through the dragon’s wings.

“We need to get out of here,” Mr. Stark said. “Any idea why they’re chasing after you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Peter gulped as they spun around another building, doubling back through lower Manhattan as they made their way to the Tower. “Whatever the reason, Wanda’s behind it.”

“I thought she didn’t see you as a threat?” the man asked as he took to skyrocketing up the side of the tower, pausing to hover directly at its spire before dropping to the ground. His sentry mode went up, eyeing around as both F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Karen assured the pair that for the time being they had lost their pursuers.

Peter sighed, shrugging as he took to backing against a wall, shucking off his mask as to better breath, the anxiety welling up in his chest. “I thought so too! I mean, she beat me, remember? I- I don’t have the chops to be an actual threat. Why isn’t she going after Doctor Strange or the Ancient One?! At least they have magic.”

“None of those names mean much to me, but I get your point.” The mask broke away, Mr. Stark now gazing at him. The man put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, squeezing gently, as Peter toddled forward into his grasp, hugging the man as he gently patted his back.

Mr. Stark sighed, eyes closing tight. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I promise you, Peter, that I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Whatever Wanda wants, she won’t get. I’ll make sure of that.”

I don’t think that’s possible… Peter thought, squeezing his eyes tight. God, the past was really messing with his emotions. He didn’t think he’d cried this much in a long, long time.

“Thanks, Mister Stark. But I don’t know if—”

GRAAAAAW

From behind the Tower, the dragon shot up, its power and might cascading across the sky. It landed on the roof, sizing the pair up as it opened its mouth and a cascade of fire fell out, encircling the pair.

Mr. Stark’s mask came back up, Peter too tired to care, as the monster growled at them. “Better the Tower than Manhattan,” his mentor humored.

Peter gives a weak sort of chuckle, trying to keep his breathing intact as he balances against the fumes. He expects them to start creeping closer, but they instead turn to burn a bright white with the edge of red at its tips, content to remain in its given shape as the chimera makes its way up, Cthulhu still absent from the mass.

“Tell me that someone has eyes on the eight-legged menace?” Mr. Stark called through the combs. A light static reverberated back, but from it Peter could make out Sam’s reply.

“I don’t. It’s like it just… vanished. There’s no sighting anywhere in the vicinity.”

“And that vicinity would be…?”

Clang!

Right by their sides drop Rhodey, Sam, and Rogers, all looking a little busted up and gnarly gashes apparent all across the soldier’s bodies. Rogers was wincing, limping slightly as a long stretch of red trickled down his left thigh, while Sam had a makeshift bandage around his right shoulder and bicep.

“This is not looking good,” Peter muttered to himself, putting his back to Mr. Stark’s as the others narrowed in and took up their own positions to guard around Peter.

“You could say that again, kid.”

The chimera took that as its cue to push through the flames. The fire bent around its form, barely even licking its fur as it growled and clawed at the ground. Its tail rose up into the air, flickering around in warning as it began to back the group of heroes to the edge of the fire and closer to where the dragon was leering down at them, wings spread to cocoon them.

“Tony?” Rhodey spoke. “Tell me you have a plan?”

“Actually, does anybody have a plan?” Sam asked, guns raising despite his trembling arms. “I don’t want to die by the hands of mythical monsters. It’s not very heroic to be beat by a lizard and a cat.”

“That’s what you’re focusing on?!”

“Oh, tell me that hasn’t crossed your mind yet, Rhodes!”

“Of course it has! But at least we’re still going down swinging and it’s against something living and not something stupid like rob—AHH! ”

Peter flung around to watch as Rhodey bent forward, one hand clutching his head as the other rested on the ground to steady himself from collapsing completely.

“Rhodey?” Mr. Stark asked, not deterring from lowering his weapons as he tried to near his best friend. “Rhodes? Are you okay?”

Rhodey hissed, shaking violently as he ripped his mask off so they could see his eyes scrunched tight. “I- I don’t- I don’t know… My- My head it’s—”

From next to them, Rogers and Sam began to twinge, hissing as well as they were forced to their knees, clutching desperately at their heads as Rogers began to swear, “Get out of my head!”

What the Hell was going on?!

Peter gulped, licking his lips, trying to focus on his breathing. This was not the time to get worked, not when the unknown was at work, not when anybody could still get hurt, not when he might be the only one left standing! Peter had been in many battles in his life, many unique situations that had made his skin crawl and heart sore, but the unknown would still forever be scary now matter how many times he came into conflict with it.

“Mister Stark?” Peter turned to his mentor and his breath hitched. His mask had already unfolded, showcasing his scrunched up eyes and little beads of sweat forming at his brow. He was trembling all over, legs shaking as they strained to keep him upright, as he tried to fight whatever calling had overcome him and others.

“Mister Stark?” Peter reached out a shaking hand, gently touching the other's shoulder, only to be batted away.

“Kid…” the man croaked as he fell to his knees, hissing as he fought back against whatever mental intrusion was occuring. “Get away. Run away.”

Peter began to shake his head, lip wobbling as he fell down to his own knees. “No!” he cried out, uncaring of the growling and hissing monsters around him. “No. I’m not leaving. I’m not running.”

Mr. Stark grit his teeth, a soft crunch sounding from where he locked his jaw. “Kid, you need to listen to me, and do as I say.” Every word was strained and clipped, pitched an octave higher than the man usually talked as he continued to fight. “I need you to get out of here. Now.”

“But—”

“That’s an order!”

Tears began to sting his eyes, and not just from the smoke invading his senses as the fumes began to overtake.

“Mister Stark!” he pleaded, still unwilling to move his body as the chimera began to close in once more, as the dragon’s wings made the haze even more unbearable. “Mister Stark, please! Please! I- I- I don’t—”

“Peter…”

Peter froze, all the hairs standing up and a chill rushing over him.

“Peter…”

Peter turned around, still crouched and ready even as he blinked through the smoke, trying to find the voice and more than terrified to discover that the chimera was gone along with the dragon, leaving him and the others alone, and—

“Mister Stark?!” Peter turns back around to find the heroes gone, only leaving him standing among the inferno, coughing and hacking as the smoke grows and the flames lick closer. There was just red, only a haze around him, a world of smoke and flame and ash that burned beyond its own will.

“Peter…”

“Leave me alone!” he screeches. Peter scrunches his eyes closed and covers his ears, falling to his knees as he shakes away the nightmare.

“Just leave me alone! Please!”

“But Peter,” the voice croons, getting closer and closer to his ear with each little whisper that comes from its lips, “how can I?”

Peter gasps and snaps his head up, eyes widening as the shivers continue to race every which way.

Before him stands Wanda, made of pink and white flames, looking every so… lovingly down upon him. A hand of flame comes up to caress his cheek and he winces away from the heat it emits, the way it warms his cheek rather than burning it whole.

Wanda pouts, sighing and standing back to her height as she continues to look down at him.

“I had hope for you, Peter,” the flames said, but Peter could not bring himself to look, his eyes remaining locked on the ash ground he remained knelt upon. “I had hoped you would come back to me willingly. You’ve always been such a good boy. Can you not understand that I mean you no harm?”

Peter shook his head, all the words and curses caught in his throat as he simply wept.

Wanda sighed, tsking lightly. “You’re so strong, Peter. So bold. It’s why I need you back by my side. It’s how it’s been, and it’s how it should be now."

“What are you talking about?” Peter asked. God, why did this all have to be so confusing? Why did this have to happen at all? Was this all time travel was? A bunch of missing pieces that you didn’t get to see even if you lived it yourself? It was all so f*cking stupid!

Peter mustered up courage, keeping his hands fisted on the ground, the ash bleeding through his suit as he ran his fingers through it. “I have never stood by your side, Wanda. Never! And why- why would I? You’re crazy!”

Wanda hissed, eyes narrowing at the words and the flames rose a little, making Peter wince. “I have only ever looked out for you, Peter.”

“Oh? You mean like how you killed all my friends and then kidnapped me to the past and didn’t take responsibility then abandoned me? Yeah! Great looking out for me! Also, why the f*ck would you to begin with?! You don’t know me, Wanda.”

Despite his less than close relationship with the witch, Peter had found himself building an encyclopedia of knowledge on her. She could be conniving and cruel, empathetic and kind (though only to those she deemed worthy of her affections), and loyal to the bitter end, so strong that not even death could break such a bond. But with that loyalty and devotion came weakness. Wanda would fight to the end, would let her heart break to save those she loved, and would never give an ounce of mercy to those that crossed her path.

“There is a darkness about her. You must always be wary of this,” Doctor Strange had warned him. They stood on the battlefield, peering up at the madness around them, the decaying corpses of several demons scattered around them muddled with the corpses of innocent bystanders.

“I think I understand, Stephen,” he’d said, eyes wide to the sky as he refused to look upon the bodies of the dead.

The man had tsked, huffing as he sent out another spell to deter the path of their enemies from drawing nearer. “I don’t think you do, actually. I think you just have an idea.” Peter had huffed, gently rolled his shoulders, edging for a fight, but allowed the man to continue on.

“Wanda only knows pain, she doesn’t know mercy. She is an agent of chaos, she relies on her emotions above all else to guide her, and that in and of itself is another threat altogether. You’ll be lucky if she feels any remorse for you, and if she does, use it. But don’t think for one moment to undermine her. She will get in your head, and that is where she’ll stay. Don’t let her.”

It’s a little too late for that, Peter assumed.

Wanda sighed, turning away as the flames seemed to swirl around her, creating a vacuum that had the air in Peter’s lungs leaving with each wave. He clasped his hands around his throat, trembling, as he sat back on his legs and stared up at the witch and sullen smile.

“Oh, Peter,” she sighed as the world began to come back into focus, to the light of day and two ghastly beasts circling around him. “I think you’ll find I know you better than you think.”

With a final gasp and shudder that had Peter’s eyes stinging, the air exploded around him in all directions. The haze of smoke began to vanish, swirling up into the air and dissipating. Peter blinked through the haze and the feeling of his breath catching in his lungs, a shudder of relief sagging from his shoulders as he saw the other’s on the ground next to him.

“Mister Stark?” he weakly groaned. The metal man sat up groggily, blinking back a similar burnt feeling from the smoke as he stared at the kid, a small smile creeping up onto his lips as he eyed Peter over.

“Peter?”

Peter snapped his attention back to Wanda, though her form was nowhere in sight. It was now just the chimera growling in his face and the dragon keeping guard overhead, its flame circle simmering down into a simple halo of barely flaming coals.

“Peter.”

Peter grit his teeth, jaw locking. His body was frozen all over as the voice entered his mind.

“Get out,” he heard Mr. Stark grit from his side. “Get out of our heads, Wanda.”

The witch chuckled, light and haughty, but she made no move to do as told—her presence, the dark seated darkness that hung heavy in the back of their minds remind ever stead fast.

“Why would I when I have a message?”

“A message does not mean you need to continue with this useless torment.” The dragon growled from above, snorting smoke down upon them. Nobody dared move a muscle, all bodies frozen in unbearable pain as they listened to Wanda’s sweet words. “Tell us!”

Wanda, for all her folly, truly did know how to make her message clear. She had every step planned, every moment secured. Peter thought that she probably even knew how the team would divide up, how they’d take on her challenges, and how they’d all inevitably come here.

“It’s quite simple, actually,” she said, and for a moment, Peter thought she felt her hand run along his cheek. He gulped as the all knowing words were spoken: “I want Peter.”

Mr. Stark seized beside him, eyes flickering to Peter’s for them to catch gazes—the worried parent and the fearful child.

“What?”

“I want Peter. Surrender him to me peacefully, and we won’t have any issues. If not…” The flames began to rise again, the monsters edging ever so slightly closer. This was not looking good. “Well, I think you can imagine what might happen next.”

The chimera took that as its cue to pounce.

“Peter!”

Peter collapsed back onto the ground, the burnt scent of the monster's musk invading his senses as it held him down with one paw, its claws digging through the front of his suit. Peter couldn’t move, not as its breath burned down hot on his neck and bits of saliva threatened to drip down onto his cheek. He clenched his eyes and turned his gaze away, lip wobbling.

But the final attack never came, and it wasn’t because of Mr. Stark or any of the others.

From somewhere behind, a gold thread lashes out and hooks around the chimera’s neck. The creature paused, tried to thrash, but was unmatched as the thread yanked the creature back off of Peter, but not without slashing its claws across his chest and right over his heart.

Peter only had a split second to watch as the world imploded on him, as screams and cries of anguish enveloped his senses, and Mr. Stark dive towards him, crying out his name, as his world faded to black.

“This power was made for me. And I can share it with you…”

Hands opened the Darkhold, oozing black magic that dripped from its core and surrounded the woman before it, wrapping her in its embrace. She chuckled, smiling warm as the darkness caressed her cheeks and flew up into the wind.

His breath hitched and he stumbled back.

“Peter?”

Her eyes turned to him, quick and sharp, settling on him with a wicked grin.

“Peter?”

He shrieked, eyes closing tight as hands touched his cheek.

“Don’t fear the future. You have to face it.”

His eyes broke open, wide and harsh.

Vision now stood before him, stone glowing.

“Face the future. Don’t fight it.”

The stone glowed brighter, burning his eyes, but he forced them to remain open. The glow of the bright yellow-gold flared like the sun, splitting into five other entities that all took on other hues of blue, purple, green, red, and orange. They shone brighter and brighter, turning into their own little balls of starlight that had him crying out.

“You can’t fight it.”

“Help me!”

The world was pulsing, shifting and twisting. There was no break, only a continuous fall that numbed his limbs and burned his mind.

“Why should you try?”

“Help me, Peter!”

There were too many faces. All the faces of those he’s lost, of those he’s forgotten, of those he’s failed.

“Help me!”

America… He couldn’t fail her again… He couldn’t let her fall again… She was innocent in all of this, why must Wanda entangle her so?

“Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just…”

“Peter, help me!”

No…

Wanda stood before him, eyes of swirling crimson boring down into his own as she held his cheeks and bent forward to whisper in his ear, “…let go?”

“PETER!”

“PETER!”

Peter gasped, coughing for breath. The air was cool and clear, fresh without the smog or haze of magic entwined with it. There were no shadows keeping them in the dark, no fire singing the world or destruction eroding around him. In fact, as Peter realized sitting up a bit, there was no signs of the terrors that had just unfolded at all.

“Peter?” Peter jumped as a hand touched his shoulder, gripping him tight as he began to try and break away, as he freaked out, only to wince as he twisted a little too much and felt the sting of his chest wound snap him back to reality.

“Pete? Peter. Look at me, okay? Look at me. Focus on me. Focus on my voice.”

Peter shook and shook, trying to focus on the world, trying to do as told, trying to figure out what exactly was happening.

The sky is blue. The clouds are white. The sun is bright. The ground is solid.

The sky is blue. The clouds are white. The sun is bright. The ground is solid.

The sky is blue. The clouds are white. The sun is bright. The ground is solid.

“That’s it, you’re doing great. You’re coming back. Just keep breathing. You’re good now, Peter. You’re safe.”

Slowly, Peter let himself be guided by the words, becoming soothed into a simple patterned breathing of in and out-in and out, until finally he let himself blink to reality and focus on those in front of him.

“There we go, kid,” Mr. Stark said, a smile of relief gracing his lips as he bent his head, unwavering his arm from his grip on Peter’s shoulder. “And you’re back.”

Peter still wasn’t totally cognate, not completely trusting the world around him quite yet as he continued to stare in terror as he concentrated on controlling his breathing. Around him stood Rhodey with his guard up, Sam not far off leaning against the wall, and the great Captain America sat on the ground by his feet, legs splayed out with dirt smudged across his face. They were all on edge even if they wanted to pretend otherwise. “Back where?”

“Uh, too reality. I think… Yeah?” Mr. Stark frowned in question, turning to look behind him. Peter followed his gaze, arm coming up to grip onto his mentor’s wrist to station him as he unconsciously began to scoot just a tad bit closer to the man.

Mr. Stark’s unsure look remained as Peter took in the familiar golden robes and pale complexion of the Ancient One. They stood unfazed, their impervious not-quite smile twitching at their lips as they stood their respectful distance from them and the others.

“This is reality, right?” he asked again.

The Ancient One hummed, taking a step forward to crouch before Peter. Mr. Stark did not want to move, choosing to remain stationed by his side and only moving just enough out of the way as sparks began to conjure before her hands and move over Peter’s chest.

The boy winced, hissing slightly at the feeling of magic began to mend and heal his skin faster than his powers ever could. There were no lines or scars, no phantom pain to recall, only a light warmth that began to cool as she similarly began to stitch back together his suit.

Peter sighed in relief, teetering backwards into Mr. Stark’s arms as the Ancient One stood, pleased with her work. From behind, he heard Sam mutter, “The city rewinding was still weirder,” to Rhodey.

“Hello again, Peter,” she smiled. Peter gulped and nodded back knowingly, blinking a couple times to adjust as he sat up with the aid of Mr. Stark. “I won’t lie, I wasn’t expecting our paths to cross again so soon.”

Mr. Stark lightly scoffed. “Of course you can see the future.”

The Ancient One co*cked her head at the man. “Not in the way you’re thinking. And not always. Peter and Wanda’s presence here has assured that I cannot predict any future to occur as you could the stock prices to change. Nothing’s definitive anymore, I’m afraid.”

“That means nothing to me, just so you know.” Mr. Stark’s gaze hardened as he continued to hold Peter close, unwavering from the newcomer before him. “I’ve been lenient so far, but if you could skip to telling us your whole spiel, that’d be great.”

Peter gently glared at Mr. Stark over his shoulder and gently shook him off, intending to stand only to stumble slightly. Mr. Stark rose with him, holding his arm to help him balance, but he just brushed the older man off once more. The Ancient One remained where she stood, watching closely.

“I’m fine, I swear,” he tried. “Stop babying me.”

“I’m not babying you. I’m just concerned about your welfare after watching you get mind-boggled and nearly clawed by a monster cat.”

From the side Rhodey snorted, but quickly hid his remark as Mr. Stark sent the man a slight glare.

“I’m fine now,” he said. “And my health isn’t really a concern any more. She healed me. See?” he patted himself up and down in a ta-da fashion. “Nothing to worry about. Besides, we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

It wasn’t like Mr. Stark to let things go, but it seemed that even after only getting to know Peter for just a little while, the man gained some sympathy. There would always be an air of hesitance about him, but he let himself back away for Peter to have his own space.

He nodded in thanks, then turned his attention to the Ancient One entirely seeing as the others clearly did not trust to speak with her.

“Do you know what those things were?”

The Ancient One nodded. “Demons from the Darkhold, and fairytales brought to life. Wanda’s power exceeds that of reality. If it exists in this reality, she can conjure and control it. They are her minions, and they will follow her command till their dying breath.”

“Which you took care of,” Rogers pipped in. “We’re battered and bruised, yet you’re standing unscathed and handled everything faster than any of us could.”

“That’s right,” she said. Peter noticed that Rogers and Sam were also mended with only stains on their uniforms (though that didn’t include whatever bruised egos they were trying to mentally come to terms with). “When you’ve lived as long as I have, these sort of situations become second nature. That, and you were battling creatures of magic with mortal tools. They don’t often respond well to guns as they do spells, I’m afraid.”

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, the others shifting uncomfortably in place.

“You’re welcome,” the Ancient One proclaimed. “As well for reversing the effects of the disaster as a whole. I don’t think anyone here was looking forward to the press release of this incident.”

“Uh, yeah, by the way,” Rhodey stepped in, “how’d you do that? I may be new to this whole magic business, but that wasn’t… normal at all.”

The Ancient One smirked, sly as she eyed the armored man before turning back to Peter, waiting for the obvious answer he already knew as he looked over her wardrobe to find the Eye of Agamotto resting against her chest.

“The Time Stone,” he supplied. “She has one of the Infinity Stones. She’s a protector of time. That’s how she reversed the incident and why nobody will know any of this happened. She used the Time Stone to reverse time within a bubble.” She nodded in approval.

The Ancient One brought her hands up to cup the Eye, crossing them across to curl fingers and pull them apart, unraveling the stone from its enclosure. It shone a bright green for all to see, making everyone gap in awe at the sheer energy it radiated.

“Woah,” Rhodey and Sam said in unison.

It was just as Peter remembered it, just as he’d seen before. He could recall Doctor Strange’s use of the stone before Thanos, when battling against the Mad Titan, the way it glowed with promises as it laid embedded in Mr. Stark’s arm as he died on the battlefield not long after.

While the other stones could manipulate the world around them as it was, the Time Stone was by far the more powerful. The world could change all the time in the present, the active world manipulatable through one individual’s deeds alone. But to manipulate the past? To see the future? There was a heavier toll the green gem possessed than its brethren, one that had made Peter envious of its potential though he knew better than to be tempted.

The irony of it now, he supposed.

He thought the Ancient One could read his mind with the way she looked upon him, tentative. “With the universe out of sorts at the moment, there aren’t many repercussions to keep in mind when using the stone. But this will be the only time I shall use it. I don’t dine to abuse its power more than necessary. It’s not good to rely on its presence.”

Peter nodded, thinking back. “I hope you’re right, because I’m pretty sure Wanda’s got something up her sleeve.”

The Ancient One co*cked a brow, the others shifting at the mention of her name. Even Mr. Stark was jittered, the elder moving closer to him enough that Peter could sense the twitch of his hand trying to near him, only to retract and think better of it.

Peter shuddered, just wanting to get it over with. The ache of the battle was starting to weigh in and he was pretty sure that if he dragged this conversation on for too long he was going to pass out and topple off the roof of the Tower.

“When Wanda was in my head,” he began, licking his lips, “I saw something—or, something s. She was haunting me, which is normal, but it was more… deliberate, I guess? Like she was taunting me.” From behind, Mr. Stark gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Peter huffed, “She showed me all six Infinity Stones. She shoved Vision in my face as if to say that he’s hers, even though he seemed to try warning me about her. And I think she’s going after America Chavez again.”

“The multiverse traveling girl?” Mr. Stark concurred.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, her. But she’s still a kid right now, so that’s crazy right? She’s, like, five, maybe six years-old right now.”

Even for Wanda, that’d be reaching too far, right? Peter could only think that. He’d seen her attack teenagers, scare them to bits, and even hunt some of the younger novice sorcerers who’d felt brave and bold enough to fight her on the battlefield.

But to hurt a child? An honest, innocent, untouched by the horrors of the world child? Could Wanda do something so cruel?

The Ancient One closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, thinking long and hard. Peter could almost imagine the cogs moving in their head as they searched his claims.

“Fate is never kind, Peter Parker. Your dreams may prove to mean more than you perceive—starting with the fact that Wanda has a certain… entanglement of magic around you,” she said with a wave of her hand.

Peter followed the movement with his eyes, widening at the sudden electric feeling that surrounded him as the Ancient One’s magic took hold. A thin trail of sizzling red and gold magic unfolded from his body, looking almost like the human nervous system with most of its form concentrated around his head and neck. It only lasted for a moment before dispersing, forcing Peter to slightly seize in shock as the spell settled back into him.

“That felt weird…”

The Ancient One gave a slight snort. “I’m sure it did. Wanda’s magic is much different from mine. I may have dabbled in all forms I dared to try, but that does not mean I am a master of all. Simply, a jack of all trades, more or less. Besides, I wouldn’t want to try and tamper with this spell without proper preparation. It’s quite finite, and is wrapped exceedingly around your mind.”

Peter blinked, reaching gently up to his head to scratch his hair and feel his forehead.

From the side, Mr. Stark licked at his lips, fingers twitching as he ran over all the possibilities of what this meant in his head until he finally came to a conclusion. “Can you undo it?”

Surprised, the Ancient One hummed in thought, and locked eyes with Peter as she answered, “Only if Peter wants me too. Magic of the mind delves with want. Something of Peter’s past allowed Wanda to place the spell, meaning only his choice to learn the truth will allow me to undo it without any blocks in the path occurring.”

“So do it then!” Mr. Stark pulled Peter directly to his side, keeping an arm slung around the teen as he affirmed in the decision. “There’s no reason for Pete to be bound to her more than he already is. He was seizing earlier—” Peter perked up in surprise at that, “—so he needs this spell broken. As soon as possible, preferably. Please.”

Peter bit at the inside of his cheeks, keeping his gaze firmly placed between the ground. Even with the silence around them, the burnt energy that continued to seep out of them as the stress of the battle wore down, it wasn’t easy to cope with the decisions afoot. Mr. Stark would always have a protective stance for Peter, always want to ensure his safety above all else, and wouldn’t think of any other positions besides ensuring he didn’t become as entangled in the chaos and drama as one could be. But the others? The others seemed to have a different idea, one they were not all too proud of by the way they refused to make eye contact with anyone besides the ground.

It was quite obvious, really. It would just mean making a very questionable decision, one that could easily backfire in the process, but it was a decision he had to make. If Peter didn’t, then what kind of hero would he be for not trying everything?

“Peter?” The Ancient One said, calling Peter’s attention to her.

Peter pressed his lips together and hummed, rocking slightly back on his feet as he refused to look at his mentor as he said, “No. Don’t undo the spell. At least, not yet…”

Mr. Stark whipped around with wide eyes. “What?!” he cried, making Peter flinch.

“I’m not undoing the spell,” he affirmed, though he began to blush and stammer as he eyed the enraged man behind him. “I- I- I’m not! Okay? This could be useful to us.”

“Useful?!”

“Yes! Useful!”

Huffing and puffing, Mr. Stark grit his teeth with a classic disappointed dad look about him. “Explain. Now.”

“Alright, it’s simple,” Peter folded his arms and stood his ground. “If I’m still connected to Wanda, then that means she can check in on me, right? But that’s helpful to us because that means I could theoretically look into her head. And, if not, then whatever she decides to taunt me with could be a clue on what she has planned and give us some form of a leg up on her.”

“That does not matter when it clearly takes a mental toll on you.”

“I think it doesn’t matter either, but only because if it could help us, then it’s worth it.”

“Not if you keep seizing every time she takes over!”

“That won’t happen every time… probably…”

“Probably?! Peter, I swear if—”

“Gentlemen, enough!”

A short blast of power washed between them, pushing the duo back from where they had gotten into each other’s personal spaces. Mr. Stark grumbled, turning to simmer in silence with a dark cloud over his head as Peter took a step back, wanting to curl into a tiny bawl to prevent whatever emotion was bubbling up inside from bursting in full. From the side, Sam, Rhodey, and Rogers all bristled at the display of power the Ancient One assuaged over them, though did nothing to bring their presence back into the immediate fray of the situation.

“Can we all get along instead of arguing like petulant children now?” she asked, waiting for a reply and only getting weak nods from the pair who continued glowering in their own space. “Good. Then that means we can finish this conversation, and table the other for the time being.”

Mr. Stark whined in the back of his throat. “But—MMPH! ” A small spell formed over his face, gagging him. Rhodey visibly snorted from behind as Mr. Stark began to whine and fret, unable to move his mouth and make any sounds beyond confused shrieks and whimpers.

“I- I’m sorry,” the man said, now bending over in laughter as slowly but surely Sam and Rogers came around to also bending towards the humor of it. “I- I just wish I could do that! Would- Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble in the past.”

Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes, not impressed in the slightest, and took a couple steps over to smack the man on the back of his head, his armored gauntlet barely unfolding in time to keep the slap from being genuinely painful.

The Ancient One just sighed. “Children, all of them.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Peter grumbled, but his testiness and humor wasn’t taken in kind. The Ancient One instead narrowed her gaze towards him, taking her liberty to ignore the elder heroes as she squared her shoulders and gave Peter her final warning.”

“Be careful as you go forward, Peter. Wanda may be playing mind games, but don’t take them for granted, for better or worse.” The others seemed to quiet down as she spoke, turning their attention back to the matter at hand as Peter held his breath.

“If what you’ve said is true, be cautious going forward. Wanda may very well be after the stones and America Chavez. How those two correlate is yet to be known, but they shouldn’t be any less important to keep in mind.”

“Why would Wanda need the stones anyway?” he asked. “She’s the most powerful being in the universe. She can rewrite reality on her own. What would she need the stones for?”

“Why would anyone want extended, unlimited power?” she questioned back. Peter frowned, too tired to mull it over.

“Theoretically speaking,” she continued, “Wanda could harness the power of the stones to amplify her own abilities and make them unbreakable. She may be the most powerful being in the universe, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be broken. Wanda can create, yes, but that means her work can also be destroyed. What matters now is understanding what the pieces of the stones and America play in her grand scheme—the same way you must consider why she sent those monsters after you.”

She sent monsters after me…

Peter worried the skin on the inside of his cheek, gnawing at the thinning lining until he felt a soft crunch and the tang of blood began to stain the tip of his tongue as he rubbed precariously at the cut, already beginning to attempt to bite off the broken skin so there were no loose tags.

“I thought she didn’t see you as a threat?” Sam said.

Rogers scoffed, and pulled his legs up closer to his chest so he could use the wall as a stabilizer to haul his body up into a standing position. “Maybe, maybe not. She’s let Peter live since coming here, but she still seemed to at least have some interest in his well-being.”

“Yeah, because getting choked out really spells ‘I care’ in your books, doesn’t it?” Rhodey spat. Rogers just rolled his eyes and rolled his shoulder.

Peter bit at his lip, tapping his foot and moving up and down on his heels. Why did time travel and grudges of unknowingness need to be so complicated?

“You’re both right,” he concluded. All but the Ancient One turned in wonder.

“Wanda needs me for something, otherwise she would’ve just gotten rid of me when we first came back.”

“And she wouldn’t have cursed you,” the Ancient One added. “She hid your memories for a reason, and whatever that is, it means power. It also means you’re of value, so no matter what happens, you know that she’ll want to keep you alive.”

Mr. Stark grimaced as Peter’s face soured. “Gee, thanks. That was… really nice to hear.”

The Ancient One smiled and took a step forward to place her hand on his shoulders, squeezing it encouragingly. “Keep your friends close, Peter, and know that you don’t have to do this alone.”

If only I had the mental capacity to actually know and accept that.

With a swish of her hands, the Ancient One brought her hands up and into a circle, quickly forming a portal that had everyone besides Peter himself jumping back in shock from its appearance. The Ancient One seemed to take delight in this, though she quickly looked away to hide such emotion.

“This will take you back to your little Compound, Avengers.” The Avengers in question looked a bit skeptical, with Mr. Stark muttering something along the lines of “It’s not that little” as he moved forward to inspect the glowing orange circle.

“For the time being, I’d suggest preparing for the unexpected. I’ll be personally holding onto the Time Stone should Peter’s dream prove true and Wanda does come after it. For now, though, there isn’t much we can do other than wait and hope.”

Sam sighed and shook his head as he decided to be the first to test the sorcerer’s magic portal and ducked through with a weak, “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” as lovely parting words. Rogers followed shortly after, pausing to look over the Ancient One a final time, but a little smirk on her face had the super soldier darting his eyes away in favor of following his friend. Rhodey took that as his cue that such a marvel was safe, casting one last silent message to Mr. Stark. The pair nodded, Mr. Stark encouraging him to go on, and the War Machine armor disappeared to the otherside.

“Let’s get out of here, kid,” Mr. Stark nodded to the portal, his eyes twitching ever so slightly as he waved an arm around it. One of the gauntlets came a little too close to the amber sparks, causing a fizzle and pop upon contact that had the man darting away in disgust.

“I hate magic…” he said, and finally stepped through thanks to the insistent nudge Peter supplied coupled with Rhodey’s chicken clucking from the other side.

Peter sighed, feeling just about to pass out as he turned one last time to the Ancient One. How she could remain so steadfast and unphased by all of this, Peter did not know. He one day hoped to gain such a talent, but it seemed as if the world kept on throwing another loop of surprise his way with each new foe he faced that would keep him from every witnessing anything “normal” again.

“Thank you again,” he said.

The Ancient One smiled, bowing their head. “Of course. And remember, I am only a call away if anything changes.”

Peter gulped, but nodded, heavy in the heart that this instance of her kindness had not been extended just because of him. Cthulhu, the chimera, and the dragon had all been disposed of because it was her duty above all else. Peter did not think that she had a limited amount of favors in her pocket that she’d be willing to show her hand with, but he wasn’t about to test such a theory or push the limits if he could help it.

That seemed to be the end of it, however, as with only one foot through the portal, the Ancient One vanished in the blink of his eye, the portal beginning to thin as Peter quickly hauled himself through, desiring to not have a limb possibly be spliced from his body.

“Hey?” Peter was steadied from the drama by Mr. Stark once again.

He probably won’t stop this anytime soon.

“You okay, kid?”

Peter snorted. What kind of question was that? For heroes, they sure like to stick to the obviously not portion of questionnaires.

But the neediness in Mr. Stark’s voice had yet to leave, so Peter knew that his only logical answer was to nod his head, to assure the man that all was as right as could be for the time being.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” he gulped, letting the man lead him further across the Compound’s lawn and towards the private quarters section. “It’s just been… just been a… a long… d—”

“Peter?!”

That was all Peter had the energy to give, apparently, as the weight of the battle finally collapsed down on him, and he was thrown into the darkness of sleep.

Chapter 10: Déjà Vu

Chapter Text

For as long as she could remember, America had never once dreamed, only remembered. When she closed her eyes at night, instead of another world or forests, dragons and fairies, or whatever else her friends claimed to see when asleep, she was only ever met with darkness.

It wasn’t lonely, per say. Actually, America had first thought she simply couldn’t ever remember her dreams. She thought that she slept so deep, so peacefully, that her mind simply couldn’t bring her lovely dreams back into her mind when she woke, that they would simply exist as another world all on their own.

But America wasn’t a fool, and as she got older, she began to realize her mistake.

Her friends would say how they couldn’t always remember their dreams, but they didn’t have a never ending black void like she did. Instead, there would be an impression left, a feeling of heaviness in the back of their minds from where the dream had been. They knew that they had had a dream, could feel the back of their minds tingle in an attempt to recall it, but all they would be able to remember was the emotion it left, the fear, sadness, joy, anger, wonder that they had presented with that night.

It made America jealous.

Why couldn’t she ever dream?

Why couldn’t she ever see other worlds? Visit spooky castles? Climb twisted mountains? Fly threw the air with wings?

It just wasn’t fair.

Some nights, overcome with desperation, America would look out her window and make a wish to the Demiurge, their benevolent protector, asking for him to share a dream with her. She’d ask what she’d done, what she could do, anything to let her dream of other worlds and places and versions of herself.

When awake, America could think and wonder, create fantastic stories with sheer imagination, only to never be able to fully capture them in her mind. They were like smokey paintings, the shapes all fogged over and blurred together without any detail to be found. Just… possibilities.

It grew to be quite annoying.

After a few years of struggling for answers of her own, America finally braved asking her mothers about it one night during dinner. The two women had looked at her oddly, co*cking their heads and eyeing between each other at the innocent question of whether or not they only ever dreamed of darkness.

“What do you mean, my darling?” her Momma Elena had asked, while her Mamá Amalia moved from her seat to crouch down next to her.

America huffed and sighed, biting the insides of her cheeks as she shrugged and kept her eyes downcast. “Because Layla talks about dreams where she has superpowers and fights aliens; and Sophia said she onced dreamed about being a space pirate; then there was Asha who talks about always being on a baking show; and Kristen says she has dreams where she can’t ever run. And whenever they ask me about my dreams, I can’t say anything because I don’t ever dream. They all look at me funny and think I’m lying and just don’t want to tell them. Like birthday wishes.”

Her mothers had looked befuddled at her, not quite sure what to think. Even America knew that there weren’t any parental guide books on this—why would there be? Everyone dreams.

“Is it distressing to you? Your lack of dreams?” her Mamá finally asked.

America turned her head, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Her Mamá gave her small hand a gentle squeeze. “Do you feel… incomplete or, um, not normal like everyone else because you don’t dream?”

“Not really,” she shrugged. “People just think it’s weird.”

“And that matters?”

Huh?

America didn’t quite understand. “What do you mean?”

Smiling, her Mamá said, “They’re just dreams, America. They aren’t a defining quality. It shouldn’t matter whether or not you dream at night, and it’s weird that your friends are so focused on that. Everybody doesn’t have to be the same, our strengths can lie elsewhere. You may not be a dreamer like them, but I know you are the best in your class with sports.” She teased at tickling her, making America giggle. “It’s important to remember that dreams don’t define us. It’s what we do in the present that matters, what our actions tell others. And right now, your friends are telling me that they’re a bit too superficial.”

“What does that mean?” America asked, already feeling a bit better.

Her mothers both shook their heads and moved back to their places at the table. “Nothing to worry about now, darling.”

America had thought it was a classic adult response, but didn’t think much more of it as she went back to picking at her food and gently swinging her legs back and forth under the table.

Maybe her mothers were right. Maybe dreams really didn’t matter that much, that she was thinking too hard about it all. They were just imaginations anyway. She could imagine during the day. Yes, she would do that. Then she could also share her dreams, tell her friends she just had bad sleeping habits and could never remember them. Yes, that would work fine.

With her plan in motion, it didn’t take long for America to grow used to the endless black in her mind at night—she no longer questioned it. She didn’t complain or hope for something else to fill the void, didn’t try to force new worlds into her mind. She was used to the nothing, satisfied by it, even. Her mind relaxed, softening so she no longer scrunched her face in her sleep. Evern her mothers noticed the difference, taking in her more chipper nature after a while.

But of course, good things always had to come to an end, and America had been greatly unprepared for the dangers her mind could concoct.

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

The red fog seemed to only grow thicker as lightning cracked through the clouds, making her yelp as she ducked for cover behind the ruins of a building.

She couldn’t see, she couldn’t think. She could only feel the pounding of her heart in her chest and its echo in her ears.

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

A screech from overhead had her pressing her palms to her ears as a large winged creature flew overhead, cascading a shadow that stretched the entire block as black blood dripped down from its talons, a couple globs landing on her head.

She stifled a sob.

This wasn’t real, none of this could be real. It was Hell on Earth, so this couldn’t possibly be real. The monsters were just in her head, just a figment of fear as she continued to run through the city, opening sparkling portals now and then when a creature came towards her to hopefully send them back to from where they came or some place worse.

She was huffing, beads of sweat soaking through her close and falling into her eyes as she continued to move, for that was all she could do. She had to keep moving.

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

Why did everything hurt so much?

Why did her limbs feel like they were about to fall off?

Why did her muscles ache and plead?

Why was her throat so dry?

Why did her hands shake so much?

She just wanted it to stop… She wanted all of it to just STOP!

“America?!”

Her breath hitched. She knew that voice.

“America?!”

“I’m here!” she cried back, running faster than she had before. She had to get to him.

“America!”

“I’m here! I’m over here!” Her arms were waving wild above her head, trying to make herself pop among the growing mess of debris that seemed to tower higher by the minute.

Heavy gusts of air pushed her around, the heady flapping of wings above freezing her heart as she moved faster and faster, until she finally spotted bright gold tendrils of magic lashing out at a swarm of small demon-bats that were slowly dispersing into the remnants of a tornado.

The figure in the center—robes caked in dirt, cloak slashed and broken, and face plastered in mud enough that his normally bright salt-and-pepper hair could not be seen—fought with wild abandon as he finally laid eyes on her. He gave a slight smile that was quickly ripped away as a demon-bat came down to latch onto his back and take a giant bite out of him.

She gasped, screamed, and tried to run to help, only for the man to finally rage as bounds of swirling light ricocheted out of him, slicing and dicing everything in their path.

She duct, waited for the carnage to end as the man’s roar dimmed and she could finally peek out over the ruins of a turned car.

The bats fell to the ground in clumps, blood and smoke oozing and rising from their bodies as the man’s eyes cooled from their bright glow and that dreaded third eye began to close up. He was dizzy, catching his stumble as he rolled his neck and finally appeared around the carnage for her.

He sighed. “America,” he said as he trotted over to her. She couldn’t help the tears beginning to prickle at her eyes as she ran towards him, crashing into his embrace as he wrapped his arms fiercely around her and they crashed to the ground.

“You’re safe now, America,” he cooed. “You’re safe. It’s alright.”

She shook her head fiercely against his chest. “No, I’m not. None of us are! We’re not getting out of this.”

“America…”

“No! Listen to me Stephen!” she persisted, pushing back to look him in the eyes. “I just watched all my friends die. I watched them get cut down without a second thought because they weren’t powerful enough to do anything. And all I did was run away and left them behind, and—” her breath hitched as she fell to the ground to press her palms into her eyes. “It’s all my fault!”

“No, no it’s not,” he tried to soothe. The sorcerer crouched down next to her, knees crunching in the gravel, and pulled her to his chest in that pseudo-fatherly way that he’d adopted towards her over time.

She continued to weep. “But it is! If I had just given my power to Wanda two years ago, if I hadn’t tried to fight it, then maybe none of this would have happened, you know? Maybe she would’ve just gone off to another universe and she would’ve left all of us alone. Maybe—”

“‘Maybes’ are pointless, America. You know this.” The sorcerer sighed, petting her hair. “Besides, nobody could have predicted this. You should not blame yourself. If anything, I should be blamed for not ever confirming Wanda was, in fact, dead.”

“We need to stop playing the blame game…”

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

“Her portal is unnatural,” she murmured as they walked through the city, always alert.

“What do you mean?” the sorcerer asked.

She shrugged. “It feels wrong. There’s this… distortion, like it’s not real or it’s being forced. It’s eating away at any magic it can find to stay open. It’s wrong.”

“I didn’t realize you could feel other forms of dimensional travel…”

“I don’t think that’s it,” she says, blinking rapidly as another headache came about. “I’m the only one who should be able to create dimensional travel, so when someone does it wrong, it’s like my own power realizes it and wants to… correct it? I think? But instead of making it how I would by expanding the little holes between universes, it was torn open with chaos magic—an unnatural path.”

The sorcerer had hummed and stopped walking. “So the Hell portal is unstable?”

She bit the inside of her cheeks, mulling it over. “I guess? I mean, I’m not an expert, I just know that it’s not right.”

“But that’s good!” he had exclaimed. “If it’s not right like you say, then that means it may be easier to close than we anticipated. It could mean that we might be able to end this before it spreads any further. It means that you might be able to close it.”

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

“No!” she shuddered and pushed away from the man who now had a madness about him. “No, no, no! I refuse to even go near that thing. I refuse to touch that portal. We don’t know what it could do to me. I’m only just learning about all the details of how my own power works and you want me to close something that I am telling you is unnatural?!”

“Well, I mean—”

“No! That’s exactly what you’re saying! I don’t know what it is, I don’t know what it will do to me, and you want me to reach out and touch it? I’m not strong enough for that, Stephen!”

The sorcerer’s face twisted and he huffed. “I understand, America, but all I’m saying is that knowing this and knowing the possibilities might lead us to a way to stop Wanda.”

She snorted, hugging her arms around her torso. “I’d rather try and create another universe than touch Wanda’s would-be portal if it meant trapping her and staying clear of whatever chaos she’s unleashed.”

Oh, she realized then as her and her comrade’s eyes both widened at the same time.

That was the wrong thing to say.

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

“No,” the sorcerer warned as he held up a finger in regards to her eager and knowing grin. “Absolutely not.”

“But it could work! Couldn’t it? We could trap Wanda in her own pocket dimension,” she said with glee. “If I can create it, then you could manipulate her magic to become the prison and I can create a shell around it that could then trap her without my power ever being tainted by her. It would be a prison of her own making.”

The sorcerer tsked, looking at her in the way of a disappointed parent. “It’s not worth the risks, America. What you’re asking is far beyond your comprehension. The power could kill or destroy you, I won’t let you do something like that. I promised to look after you.”

“And you have,” she pleaded. “You have looked after me and cared for me. You’ve been the first real parent to me in such a long time and I’m grateful for it. But if we have a way to stop Wanda, then I want to take the chance. I won’t let my friends’ deaths mean nothing.”

But the sorcerer did not seem to care as he shook his head in dismay. “Please, let me try to find another way. I could siphon or borrow your power, use my own strength to both form the portal and trap her without ever having to fear of you giving up yourself for—”

“No.” He held his breath, eyes wide as he stood at her face, frozen and neutral. “You won’t be doing that. It’s not possible, and you know it. She’d just be able to taint your power instead and end up controlling you instead.”

The sorcerer snorted. “Doubtful, but I’ll let her try if it means you live.”

She just shook her head.

What a terrible, stupid, terrifying idea…

But it was one that just might work.

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

“As long as you stay in control, I know that I’ll be able to bounce back from it,” she smiled as she took his hands in her own. “I trust you, Stephen Strange. I trust you to do this. Besides,” she said with a shaky chuckle, “for all we know, I could just lose my power doing this, right? And I don’t think that’d be the worst thing in the world to happen.”

Slowly, he gained the courage to speak. “There’s no guarantee, but you might be right. It might just work. We could stop her without sparing your life in the process.”

She smiled though the sorcerer did not look pleased by his own admission, but he took her into his arms nonetheless. He brought a hand to stroke her hair as she breathed him in, her lip wobbling as a few tears began to escape.

“Please, Stephen… Let us try.”

They were really going to do this.

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

They needed a plan and fast, but most importantly, they needed to find any of their remaining comrades if this was going to work.

The pair ran through crumbling Manhattan as fast as they could following a simple tethering spell the sorcerer had formed. She kept her eyes pinned on the small ball of light, taking off at a faster place as her mentor and pseudo-father held off anything that got in their way with the opening of his third eye and absorption of a bright light erupting from his mouth.

She was panting, her lungs feeling as if they were about to explode, and her arms pumping at an incredible rate. They were going to make it, she just knew it. They had to.

(But that’s not how it happened, was it?)

She lost her footing as the bodega came into view, tripping over a small rock and crashing to the ground. She felt the sting of her palms as the skin split, the burn in her cheek as scrapes were exposed to her salty tears. They were so close—she could see the others inside, chattering in silence as they ate and healed.

(None of this happened, especially not like this…)

There was a fuzzy feeling in her ears, a ringing that seemed to over take her senses and blur everything before her. She turned her head back to see the sorcerer battling against another monster, though he had turned into nothing more than a mashing of shapes and colors.

“Don’t go,” she croaked, a hand reaching out, but her plea went unanswered as the darkness enveloped her into a deep smokey red abyss.

Then her body fell, the smoke swallowing her whole, and she screamed.

(Stephen Strange never said that he could save you.)

That’s not true…

(You only proposed the idea, but you knew you would die.)

That’s not right…

(You were always meant to die. Your power ensured that.)

“Stop lying!” she screeched and wailed. She was spinning and spinning, tumbling through nothing in nothing as she felt her heartbeat move to her throat.

The tears would never end, not as they seemed to weep without strength, simply to make her cry out as she fell farther from the light and the warmth of those she knew, and her fears were all that was left behind.

(Death haunts you, America. It stalks you wherever you go.)

Her eyes began to open wide as she watched the smoke shift into memories around her, playing out like a movie.

She’d stood so proud before the red witch, had given every bit of herself to that spell until she felt every fiber shout at her to Stop. There had been a blinding fury in her as she stood face-to-face with such tormented pain, looked it in the eye, and said No, not today. She’d cast aside every piece of doubt and shame, every inkling of fear and sorrow as she hoped to whatever power was out there for it to work, for them to win.

She’d given everything of herself to her power as she opened the portal and felt the sorcerer’s power flow through her and towards the witch, binding them together in a loop.

And yet, it hadn’t been enough.

She screamed as the energies converged upon her, overlapping like she was caught in a wave and couldn’t find her way to breath. It was electricity running through her body as her own power rejected her, fought against her, tearing her apart as she tried to persevere through before she finally fell to the ground with two bloody holes in place of where her eyes should’ve been.

(You failed as you knew you would.)

“No,” she trembled. She scrunched her eyes closed as another sob broke from her lips.

(You failed, and it cost your friends their lives. All because you wanted to be a hero.)

The smoke swept across her eyelids, forcing them open to watch as the assassins were devoured, the sorcerer was turned into a beast too great for even him to control, and as her best friend was stabbed by the witch herself.

She cried and screamed herself hoarse.

“No, no, no! No!”

(You have always been and will always be weak, America Chavez.)

No…

(And so, you will always be mine …)

NO!

The red mist began to swirl and change, sucking her into a tube as hands began to reach out from it. They clawed and slashed at her, grasping her hair, her clothes, her arms, anywhere they could to leave their mark.

She was hyperventilating, trying to shove them away as they continued to grasp and scratch at her, trying to tear her apart until closing in at the bottom of the tube appeared a mouth of smoke, long fangs poking out of the face of a woman as the hands began to laugh at her cries.

There was nothing she could do but scream as the mouth closed in, opening wide to swallow her whole.

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—”

“MooOOOMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!”

Her eyes burst open as her screams of pure, innocent terror pierced the quiet early morning of the day.

They were shrewd, one falling after another with no breath in between as they echoed through the house with such intensity it was a wonder no neighbors heard them in fear of needing to call authorities to investigate.

There was no end to them, either, overlapping and enveloping. There was barely a hitch of breath between each screech America let out, too narrow sighted to realize that she was awake, that she was safe, that it was all just a nightmare, not as she could still feel the hands grasping her arms, nails digging into her skin and ripping at her face, caressing her cheeks as a tongue shoved her down the throat of that monster and—

“Breathe, my darling. Breathe.”

She couldn’t breathe, she just couldn’t. Not as delicate hands circled around her body and held her tight, not as lithe fingers ran through her hair as if to soothe her. She couldn’t breathe, not as her eyes remained scrunched closed and she continued to shriek and wail.

But the voice persisted. “Breathe, America. Open your eyes and breathe with us mi hija. You can do it. Open your eyes and it will all be over.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” she blubbered. “No it won’t! You’re not real! MOMMY’S!!!!”

“It is us, mi hija. Son tus madres.”

America refused to believe the lies and tricks her conscience was telling her. How cruel was such a dream to exist during the day as well? It dared to play such a prank on her now?

“Please believe us, America,” the voice continued to pry. “It is us. Momma Elena and Mamá Amalia. We are here, America. We are here to keep you safe. You need to only open your eyes.”

A part of her told her No, it is not safe, but the more America clawed at the imprinted dream in her mind, the more she felt it begin to melt away. An echo kept skipping through her thoughts, but slowly, as her sobs began to turn into heavy whimpers and her full body shaking simmered into shivers, she began to regain a sense of control and belief. And when she finally had the energy, the hope, and the strength to blink her itchy eyes open, she couldn’t help but sob in relief at the sight of her mind’s promise.

Her mothers sat before her with worry in their eyes. Her mamá held onto her hands while her momma had wrapped herself around her side, bringing her close to her chest as she cooed and soothed.

America whimpered, body relaxing as she fell into the warmth and assurance of their embrace.

“It’s okay, America. It’s okay now,” they whispered. “You’re safe now. You’re safe. The nightmare is over.”

How America wanted to believe that to be true.

“No, no it’s not! It’s real! It’s all real!” A couple loose tears began to trickle down her face and mix with the trailing snot around her nose and mouth.

There was an unsettling fear that ran through her like waves, followed by an immense sorrow she could not place. It left her aching and longing, weak and broken. Was this all truly coming from just her mind?

“No, my love,” her momma cooed, “no it’s not. It’s not real at all.”

“But… But the darkness—”

“—Is all in your mind.” Her momma reached over to the bedside and tapped the circular platform on her nightstand. It hummed to life, an orb of golden light floating up from it to drench the room in a soft, warm glow. She could see everything now, all her books and toys, her desk and closet, all still and waiting for her.

America hiccuped. She suddenly felt quite silly.

“See?” Her mamá continued to run her fingers through her hair, untangling the curls and knots from her rambunctious bedhead.

She nodded meekly, but kept her face buried into her momma’s stomach.

“There darkness is gone, mi pequeño amor. It can’t hurt you.”

“But it’ll come back… I know it will.”

While America could not see it for herself, she could sense the worried and confused looks her mothers had on their faces. And, if she thought hard enough, could see them stare at each other in hopes the other would have an answer for how to proceed with the situation.

“Sweetheart?” her momma asked. “Why do you think it will come back?”

“Because the darkness always comes back, and she will with it! She’ll find me and take me again! She’s gonna get me and kill me and then kill both of you and then I’ll be all alone! I can’t ever fall asleep again!”

Her mothers seemed to pause, hands stilling as America fell back into a crying fit. What was their child going on about? They’d explained the concepts of life and death to her two years ago, and she appeared to understand it perfectly. She hadn’t seemed to fear it, accepting that it was a part of life, but not something that would occur for sometime. They taught her to live her life to the fullest, to be brave and do what she loves and wants to do, and to never live in fear of the end.

So how come now?

“Sweetie, who is ‘she’?” her momma inquired.

America froze, heart in her throat as her eyes widened and her grip on her momma’s nightgown tightened enough that she could possibly rip it.

(I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die)

(“They all died in the end, didn’t they?”)

“A witch,” she croaked before her mothers could ask again. “She’s a witch who’s pure evil. She hates people being happy. She wants to take everyone’s happiness away and kill anyone in her way. I don’t want her to take you! I can’t lose you again!”

“Oh, our darling…” Both mothers folded themselves on top of their child, cocooning themselves around her. “That won’t ever happen.”

That won’t ever happen? It will always happen. How could it not happen?

America broke from their embrace, crawling across her bed to spin around and stare at them as her little arms threatened to give out from under her. How could they not understand? Why would they not understand?

She cried, “But it already has! It was all really, madres! Everything! I had powers, and I was lost in space, and I couldn’t control anything. But then I started getting chased by these ugly monsters with funny letters on their bodies, which is how I met a wizard who said he’d help me, but then he didn’t. So I found another version of him who helped me get rid of the monsters but it turned out that it was actually the witch who wanted me and my powers! She tried to kill me and take my power, but we fought back, and she died, but she actually didn’t, so then I had to fight alongside the wizard and some other friends with superpowers when the witch tried to conquer the world and I died trying to stop her, and so did all my friends, because I could never control my powers which was how I ended up alone in the first place because I accidentally killed you both with it!”

(I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die)

Her mothers blinked at her, perplexed, as her sobs turned into quakes. She felt so cold and her chest so tight, but there was an ease in her mind as she let the words turn into vomit.

She sniffled. “Please, believe me…”

“Oh, our love!” Her mother melted, placing kisses across her face and hugging her.

“Of course we believe you.”

“…You do?”

Her momma nodded vigorously. “Yes, darling. We do. We believe in your nightmare. We believe that it was real.”

America’s lips pursed, shaking her head. “No! It wasn’t a nightmare!” she insisted. “It was really real! It actually happened to me! The witch is coming to get us! She’s going to—”

“Oh, America,” her mamá intervened. America fell silent with a wobble in her lip as her mamá pulled her into her lap. “I know that it felt real, my darling, but I promise you, it was not. Nightmares and dreams always feel real, enough that we can sometimes get confused between being asleep and awake. But that’s all it was, America: a nightmare. You are awake now, darling, so the witch cannot hurt you anymore.”

An inner screech seemed to build up in America’s chest as her mothers completely subdued and smothered her. How could they not believe her? Why wouldn’t they believe her?

It had to have been real, right? How else could she explain it all?

She had been there, she had traveled the multiverse. She’s watched universes collapse and be born in the span of a moment, had had her body rearranged in different configurations, been chased by all manner of creatures, befriended many and made an equal amount of foes in the process. She’d felt an energy engulf her body, created something greater than she could’ve imagined, had manipulated and mastered her power, all for her body and mind to be shattered when she believed herself to be doing the right thing.

How could her mothers say it wasn’t real?

She could still feel the way the power had rippled through her, the chasing voices and slashes of claws, the way she broke free and smashed down by a rock all at once; the way she could still feel the phantom touches and words spoken in a time of terror, sorrow, joy, hope, and—

“Mija, I can hear you thinking,” her mamá lightly teased. America bit the insides of her cheeks and simmered.

Her mamá hummed. “It’s alright, my dear. But I do know that we could never be hurt by this witch as you say because they don’t exist here. There is no darkness here, America; no struggles or hunger, no fear of disease or of war, and it is all because we are blessed to live here in the Utopian Parallel.”

Inwardly, America huffed, but her mind was growing tired, and she couldn’t think to fight back as her mamá began to tell the story of their homeworld that she’d heard and learned over and over again since she was very small. It was the given bedtime story that always seemed to ease her worries, just enough to remind her that they were safe and protected, and would always be.

“Once upon a time, a long time ago,” her mamá began, “a great being known as the Demiurge created reality as we know it. A great and omnipotent being, the Demiurge was lonely, for he saw himself as the only great power of the world. There were other forces that existed around him, sure, but none that he could ever touch, that he could ever be part of, that could fill the void that was his lonely soul. So,” she said with a little cheer, “with the aid of his great power, he began to weave the darkness around him into an endless trail of universes and created the multiverse. He formed every star and planet, every tree and river, every being creature that has ever and will ever roam the universe.

“Each one was unique, each made out of curiosity and possibility, not simply because. The Demiurge had a plan, afterall. He was like a child in his creations, yet restrained enough to not destroy his universes when he miscalculated.”

“You mean messed up?” America piped up, tears already beginning to dry up.

Her momma gave a small laugh and brushed a hand through her hair. “Yes, my dear. Mamá means ‘messed up’—she was just being nice about it.”

America felt a bit shy about her response, cheeks tingeing pink as she looked away in embarrassment, but it didn’t deter either parent.

“As I was saying,” her mamá continued, “the Demiurge had no desire to destroy, only to create, and so he did. However, he learned that his universes, his creations, were not of a similar mindset. While the Demiurge craved to create, his creations seemed to have an endless darkness about them. They were not happy with the worlds the Demiurge had created for them, and often fought others and each other over petty desires that had no real meaning or significance in the greater expanse of the worlds the Demiurge had created for them. They all desired to be remembered, to never be forgotten, and blamed others for the curse that was time—the Demiurge’s own creation. It made the Demiurge sad to see his creations unhappy, but he refused to interfere or fix such issues. Instead, he sought to make a perfect world, one free of the toxic darkness and outside of time and space itself, one that only strived to be good and peaceful. And so, the Utopian Parallel was formed. And we have only known serenity since.”

Despite her wishes, America felt her body begin to soften, slumping back into the embrace of her mothers as they looked down on her with nothing but love and protection. They seemed settled by America’s reaction, the ease of which now retained as the tears began to dry on her cheeks, her breathing evened, and her eyes began to droop, though she forced to keep them open. It was then she realized her mothers wouldn’t be believing her anytime soon.

“There we go,” her mamá said. She pushed back another strand of hair from her face, letting the back of her finger caress across America’s cheek that sent a tingle across her skin.

“There are no witches here, my love, only in spooky stories. We are safe, yes?”

America nodded.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about. And so, we no longer need to fret. Does that sound alright?”

(I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die)

America’s eyes twitched, and she shifted in her mother’s hold. “Alright…”

Her mamá hummed and kissed her head. “Good. Then in that case,” she said while eyeing her wife with a bit of mischief, “I think we should get started with our day. I don’t think anyone will be going back to sleep anytime soon?” America looked away as both her mothers snickered lightly.

“Then let us start the day,” her mamá concluded. “Come.” She stood from the bed, her wife following suit, and the pair flung off the sheets, eliciting a yelp of surprise to the cold from America in the process.

Her momma bent down and lifted her up into her arms, swinging her down to the ground. America giggled.

“Let us have a fun day and forget all about these nightmares.”

Her mothers went to work turning on all the lights, starting up the house for the day and leaving America to do her morning routine. They were smiles and joy, all things peaceful on what was sure to try and become a perfect morning, but America couldn’t feel the same way. She held her smile until her mothers disappeared from sight, then let it drop into a low frown as a familiar chill washed over her. She felt the way the cold ran over her, how her body began to twitch, and the feeling of a hand wrapped around her throat, ready to squeeze.

America gulped, but she paid it no mind, and clenched her fists as tight as she could to stop the tremble running through her body.

It was time to start the day.

🝮

It was a funny feeling to know when something was not right—or, at least, not supposed to be right. It was an itch that needed to be scratched, but unsure of where it was placed. One moment there was a tingle behind the ear, the next on the elbow, and then on the thigh. It was all encompassing, but nevertheless there.

The funny feeling—as that was the only way America could define it—seemed to be never ending. The moment was clear, the actions made themselves, but a nagging voice in the back of her mind wanted to scream, No, stop! Turn around and go back, do it all again.

Normally, America was good at listening to her inner voice, trusting her heart and head above all else to guide her. It was what made her more mature according to her mothers, that ex solicited her above all her other schoolmates and friends. It made America feel special, more confident in herself. She stood out among the myriad of brainiacs and gifted children that surrounded her.

But that was where the deceit lay (though, she would only realize as much later). In trusting in her inner voice, America would justly follow it without question. She’d rationalize with herself, think of all the outcomes and paths, but she would agree with her instincts in the end because they had yet to disappoint and deceive her. A foolish ideology.

(“You know who you are. Why doubt yourself? After all, it was just a dream.”)

America’s eyelashes fluttered as a twitch found its way to her eye. It was nothing, simply nothing. Why was she squirming and twitching over nothing?

(“Dreams can never hurt you, only guide you to what you already know.”)

Smack!

Without thought, America struck herself across the cheek as quick as a whip. She softly grunted at the realization, the stinging of her skin no doubt starting to redden, it she couldn’t care, not as the jitters of her mind continued to plague her senses.

It was just a nightmare, she reasoned with herself. It can’t hurt me anymore. It won’t hurt me. Don’t let it dictate the day. Don’t let it dictate anything.

If only she could believe herself.

Breakfast was on the table when America toddled her way downstairs. Her mothers were dressed in their blue and purple robes, hair brushed back into simple buns, ready for the day as they finished setting the table. It had taken America all her strength to pull on her clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to put her hair back, instead subjecting herself to her momma brushing it out and pinning it away from her face with a couple clips.

Her mothers served up some oatmeal that smelled of cinnamon and topped with fresh peach slices alongside scrambled eggs that were mixed with onion, peppers, jalapeños, and other spices she couldn’t quite remember the names of. It all smelled quite delicious, and before America could take her place at the table, her mothers ushered her to the family room, plopping her down on the couch with a plate.

America stared at them in disbelief. She was never allowed to eat meals on the couch.

Her momma smiled knowingly. “I think we can skip the rules for one morning, mija. Go ahead and pick out something for us to watch together, okay?”

America could only nod as her momma went back to finish up in the kitchen, giving a quick kiss to her mamá on the cheek as they each grabbed their own plates to join her.

(“The picture-perfect family. A moment to savor.”)

A slight twinge of pain hit her head that had America wincing, but she was quick to shake it off and push her thoughts of worry away. It was just the residue of the nightmare, that was all. It was all in her head. There was nothing to worry over.

But whatever it was, it wasn’t worth disturbing herself with as her mothers plopped down next to her, nudging close as a cartoon movie began to project itself onto the far wall.

(“You must learn to savor every moment of joy, or else there will be nothing left to remember.”)

Stop it, she hissed in her mind. She shifted and twitched, pretending to get into a more comfortable position as her mothers laughed along to the movie. Stop thinking silly things.

But the chill did not listen, continuing instead to creep and crawl over America as the morning concluded and her mothers made plans for them to venture to the park.

(“The perfect day for the perfect family.”)

Stop! she inwardly cried again. That’s not how it goes!

“That’s not how what goes?”

America’s head whipped around the couch to see her momma staring down at her, brows furrowed.

“Umm…” Her tongue felt heavy and caught in her throat.

“Nothing,” she settled on, biting at the inside of her cheeks as she forced a smile. “I was just thinking to myself. I didn’t mean to shout.”

Her mother instantly softened. She moved to cup her daughter’s cheek and kiss her forehead. “I know the feeling, my little darling. Sometimes the thoughts get the best of us.”

America could only give a watery grin and airy laugh in response.

(“This is all how it’s supposed to go. Treasure it.”)

But why is this how it’s supposed to go?

A part of her screamed in frustration and stupidity, berating her inner thoughts as her throat continued to remain locked in her throat. She wanted to stay home and curl up on the couch, let the day pass in a blur of movies and food—the perfect family day. That was what her life should be, that’s what it wants to be, but reality had other plans that she could seemingly not understand or change.

America gulped, hands shaking, as she silently pulled on her shoes and stepped out onto the front porch. Her momma was already waiting with a basket in hand and the simple instructions for America to fill it with wild flowers so they could create dried wreaths. She tentatively took it, unable to say no to her momma’s cheery face in the morning light.

“It is still early, so there won’t be many people out yet. Perfect for a lovely walk,” her mamá said as she joined them, then gave America’s head a quick kiss.

(“It’s just as it always should be.”)

America held her smile until her cheeks began to ache. Her mothers seemed pleased, calming and falling into ease after their startling awakening.

It was then that the nausea began to rise in the back of her throat. She carried on.

It was just a nightmare, she told herself. It was only a nightmare. It can’t hurt me.

Somehow, those words didn’t help to ease her heavy mind.

(“Moments like these never last, do they?”)

America bit at the inside of her cheek, crunching down on the skin until she tasted blood. It stung, but in a good way. She kept grinding down on the broken skin, turning it to shreds as she walked in perfect step with her mothers down the streets of the neighborhood and to the park. It was a grand area, tranquil thanks to the banding of their community to protect the wildlife that lived within it.

America used to cut through the park on her way home from school when she was little, would spend countless hours of the summer time running through the grassy fields and climbing trees to harvest fruit, spent many birthdays with her friends pretending to be fairies of the forest, and rolled down the hills into piles of leaves in the fall and sled down in the winter months.

But now as she marched through the shrubbery, basket sweating in her palms and jaw tight, she couldn’t help the shiver of dread that continued to build inside her take root.

While the land was green, the sky and all upon it were cast in a violet glow that illuminated everything before her. It was serenity, pure serenity at its finest, and just as any other day should be in the Parallel. The birds chirped, the leaves rustled in the morning breeze, neighborhood dogs were barking in the distance, and the sweet scent of flora wafted through her nose. America took in a deep breath through her nose, letting the world dim and calm as she held it close, then let it all out as her mothers called her towards the little bridge, pointing in joy at the flowers that lay along its banks and crawled to the otherside.

This was how it was meant to be.

I will not be afraid of today.

The sun was a warm glow on her skin, warming her core as it peaked out from behind the clouds. America let her hands drag through the tall grass and flowers, picking at a stem now and then to fill her basket. They were pretty little purple flowers, little bunches of buds that were somewhat prickly to the touch. They were a staple of the Parallel, the perfect organism of peace, prosperity, and life. They also happened to be her momma’s favorite.

(“Forever loved and forever blooming. Wouldn’t they make a pretty crown?”)

A pretty crown…

America reached a hand to gently caress the highest purple poms. They tickled with a slight bristle, but whole heartedly familiar and warm as she recalled falling into a mass of newbies that had stung her until she learned not to roll through flowered meadows.

Eying the tallest flowers, America reached to grab its stem, quickly snapping and yanking it away to place in her basket. Each was placed carefully on top of the other so none of the buds would be crushed. She had to be meticulous if she wanted her flower crown to be perfect.

(“Every part is delicate and fragile. Tread carefully. You don’t want to disappoint your mothers, do you?”)

No, she mentally scolded herself. Her eyes felt tight, blinking rapidly to alleviate the pain that was beginning to build up at the front of her head. I know I have to be careful.

(I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die)

America pushed her worries away and carried on. After all, there was no reason to worry and fear on such a perfect day, and there was no reason to let a silly little nightmare ruin the mood.

Her mothers were only a little ways ahead just starting the climb over the little bridge. America blinked brightly as her momma looked behind her and urged her to follow. She gripped her basket tightly and skipped through the grass to catch up, plopping between her mothers as they took their first steps onto the cobblestone.

The creek was low, still building up after the winter as spring was just about to be in full bloom. America peered over the edge and watched as the water washed over the stones, then sighed. It was so simple and pretty with how the water glistened in the light and shaped around the rocks.

It was how things should be.

(“It’s all how it’s supposed to be. It’s perfect the way it is.”)

Perfect doesn’t always mean it’s right.

But that thought vanished as she found herself on the other side of the creek surrounded by bushels of purple flowers. They stood tall and bright, and America thought that they probably bloomed last night.

They were perfect for her crown.

Her mothers were busy speaking among themselves, chattering as they strolled along the bank hand in hand. They looked so happy and content; it made America’s heart flutter as her chest tightened.

A crown will make the moment perfect.

In the blink of an eye, America’s basket was filled with purple flowers. They were nestled together, all perfect in their size, shape, and color, meaning they were perfect for her mothers.

“How are the flowers, mija?”

America turned around to see her mothers strolling towards her. They were going to be so happy with her discoveries.

“I found so many!” she cheered. America spun back to the ground and plucked a new flower, the most perfect she could see to present.

Her mamá reached out a hand, beckoning America towards her. She ran up to her, gave her mamá the flower, and was rewarded with a kiss on the head.

(“Just as it should be…”)

America watched from the corner of her eye as her mamá placed the flower delicately behind her momma’s ear. She needed another one as she turned back to the flowers—and she knew just the perfect one.

(“…just as it will always be…”)

On top of the flowers was one that was brighter than all the rest. It’s purple hugh darker, but no less bright as it had stood out among the other flowers as if waiting for America to pick it. It would go perfectly with her mamá’s eyes.

(“…a perfect little family…”)

A perfect family, always…

The weight in her chest began to settle, her mind finally relaxed. There was nothing to be afraid of, nothing to worry over, not on such a perfect day with her mothers.

America turned back to gift another flower, ready to put it in her mamá’s hair herself, but there was that chill again creeping along her skin and rustling through her hair. It came from afar, tip toeing up until a bee fluttered into view sniffing the flower—

(“…forever and always.”)

—then landed on her finger.

No!

America screamed and dropped the flower, the bee flying off as a power roared through her core and forced its way out. She felt a light blind her eyes as fear settled into her chest and a bright glittering portal cracked open before her. It’s bright and glittering, lightning cracked around the edges as a ripple of red reverberated through and made it grow in size.

“America!”

America turned to see her mothers reach for her.

This isn’t happening…

“Mamá! Momma!” she cried. The women tried to take a step forward, wanting to ease the terror clearly painted on their daughter’s face, but it was too late as her tears began to fall faster and harder.

This isn’t happening, this isn’t real, this isn’t real!

Her heart was caught in her throat. She froze.

(I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die

I don’t want to die)

And her mothers disappeared.

Then so did she.

There’s a moment of fear when darkness sets in and the unknown becomes apparent. It wraps around and tightens like a snake, keeping the breath held in the back of one’s throat. And then, when the light finally shines through, the plummet begins. The fear takes hold, the panic sets in, and all thought leaves the mind as the unknown closes in.

It’s as if the world stops and all one can focus on is the unknowing fear, the thought of This might be the end, as the darkness pulls at the edges of the eyes and tears begin to well as the body begins to shake with no end.

That was only one part of what was floating through America’s head as she spun through the portal.

With every twist and turn she shrieked, wailing and crying out for her mothers as the sparkling silvers rippled with red, an endless tunnel of smashed glass.

“Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop, please!” she cried out, but her words only became lost in the echo of the void.

It’s all happened before…

Tears poured down her cheeks. “MOMMAAA!”

The portal never changed shape, remaining it’s broken star self. She couldn’t control it, couldn’t reach out, couldn’t find a way to stop it all as she continued to fall faster and faster and faster.

Her eyes stung as the lights flashed around her, her body tending as in one moment she was falling through a dense forest, then caught in an endless sea where she was made of seafoam, spit out and shoved across a city skyline in the next moment, and on and on it went. America could feel her body be ripped apart with each fall, her body unsure of where it was supposed to go. She had to land eventually, it couldn’t continue forever, but until then she was at the mercy of the invisible thread tugging her through broken stars.

Now and then, she’d try to grasp into something of the world, trying to stop her descent, but it never worked. Her hands would slip through the material as if they didn’t exist and she herself was a ghost.

“Please let me go!” She didn’t believe in any higher powers, but what else was there to do now but pray and plead?

The fall was speeding up, the time between worlds shrinking until she felt as if her head was in one, her torso another, and her feet in a third. Her body was tearing and stretching, her bones shattering and repairing as her skin tore and sewed itself up again. America thought her body was thrust into an endless flame and being roasted on a spit.

The worlds were overlapping and running circles around her. There was no up or down, no left or right, just an endless spiral of sparkling glass that was spinning so fast it turned into darkness, the glass collapsing into itself and turning into a sea of stars.

America gasped as the worlds around her froze. She could finally breathe again, could finally open her eyes without worry, could finally choke out a hoarse cry as her body floated aimlessly among the nothing.

It’s all as it should be…

“This- This can’t be happening,” she muttered as she curled into herself. “This isn’t real! None of this is real. It’s just another nightmare. It’s all in my head.”

“You should know better than that by now.”

America shrieked. Her head twisted around, searching for the voice within the void, trying to find her possible salvation.

“Who’s there?! Who is it? Can you save me?” she called out and begged, “Help me!”

She tried to twist and turn around, to figure out where anything was or could be, but it was like moving in a pool of sludge. Every joint ached, muscles pulling and contracting as the stars began to glitter brighter and brighter as if they were mocking her.

“Memories are simply fixtures. In time, you will understand. In time, you will grow to learn.”

A piercing needle shot through her mind right between her eyes. It sang through every bone and muscle, digging into every reach of her brain, gripping and tightening as a vine of ivy wraps around a tree and suffocates it. Her hands snapped up to hold her head, a moan of pain erupting from her mouth as the shot splintered and stabbed over and over and over and over and over and over and—

“Make it STOP!!!” she asked, and the stars answered.

“As you wish.”

America wasn’t even given a moment before the stars began to attack.

One by one, the sparkling stars in the distance grew bigger and bigger. From small spots they turned into daggers that plummeted at racing speeds, digging into her skin upon impact as she screeched out in pain. It was excruciating.

“Stop it! Stop it, please!”

She tried to swat them away, but each block simply allowed the stars to stick to her as balls of brambles. They cut past her clothes, tangled in her hair, and dug into her skin until she bled.

Was this how she was meant to die?

America was on the verge of giving in. Her eyes hurt as the tears continued to spill, her voice raw from her screams, and her body was so, so tired. It would be easy to give up. It would be easy to allow the stars to dig into her until she disappeared and turned into a big ball of light herself.

I’ll see you soon, mamás…

But the universe could never be so kind.

As the last of the stars dug into her face, America was able to catch a glimpse of another star portal opening before. It was bigger than the others, more daggered and splintered, and pulsating red in a static beat. Her eyes began to widen as one final star slammed into her vision, blinding her, and the pull of the portal tugged her forward.

Her mind cried out for this time as her body once more tore itself apart.

As the stars began to peel off her body she began to tell herself, “It’s just a nightmare, it’s just a nightmare, it’s just a nightmare it’s just a nightmare!” as the ground was suddenly drawing closer and the silver oblivion came into focus.

She was going to hit the floor.

Flinging her arms out, America braced for impact, ready to meet her end at the expense of her skull being crushed. Her body was falling at what she thought to be the speed of sound, faster than just skydiving, but when the ground grew but a hairs length away, she stopped. Instead of the crunch of bones and smooshing of her guts, she merely plopped to the ground with a gentle Smack!

Please be over Please be over Please be over

America groaned as she raised her head from the stone ground and heard a gasp in the distance as a cold breeze wrapped around her.

She wasn’t alone.

A presence settles by her side and arms come to wrap around her as the figure kneels down to inspect her.

“It’s alright,” the voice says, gentle and cool. “You’re alright. Just breathe. Everything is alright now.”

Nothing is alright, she thinks with a clench of her fists.

Ignoring the pain, America flipped around to face her captor only to shriek at the sight of a red man with yellow rock in his forehead staring back at her.

“Stay away from me! Get back! Get back!” America willed her body to scoot away at a messy pace as her limbs felt jumbled and lanky, her mind throbbing as the weight of her own body dragged down her escape. She stumbled over her arms, hitting her head once again on the stone floor and giving the red man just enough time to approach and bend over her to what America assumed to be an attempt at examining her.

Tears sprung at the corners of her eyes as she took in a shuddering breath. “Please don’t hurt me…”

The red man gave a sad look, almost pitying, and shook his head. “I promise that I have no intention of hurting you. I only want to help—and I’d like to start by helping you to breathe.”

Lip wobbling, America gave a curt nod. The red man’s shoulders sagged and he helped to sit her up, gently holding her trembling hands as he began to instruct her to follow him in breathing.

“In through the nose, out through the mouth,” he said.

Weakly, she responded with a meek, “Okay.” America did as told, trying to calm her racing mind and body, but she could barely manage to follow along. Her exhales were stuttered and short as she attempted to stave off the panic. But it was apparently enough to the red man’s liking as he cooed, “Very good.”

It gave America the strength to finally look around and realize just how hellish the nightmare was shaping out to be as a heavy cold breeze whipped across her face.

There was no field or skies of purple, no spits of flourishing color of various textures, no endless night and sparkling stars—there was now only the snow and wind. Beyond the red man was a blizzard of gray, the snow whipping about so quick that not a single flake was visible. America could barely see the outlines and shadows of mountains through it all if she squinted. She didn’t even have to look up because the peaks in the distance were eye level to her. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Wh- Where am- Where am I?” she croaked. “What—” she gulped at the feeling of bile rising in her throat, “—What’s happen- AAHHHHH!”

The red man jumped back himself at her outburst. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes twitched and her mouth gaped. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t!

America finally took in her appearance, noticing how her hands were bigger, her fingers longer, her skin tougher, how her clothes were stretched tight over her limbs and cut into her joints as she moved. The ache in her limbs was starting to resurface as she focused on every inch of herself, patting herself down to realize that she was not a little girl anymore.

America screamed as she grasped her face.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” the red man tried to engage. America didn’t have the energy to fight him off again as she continued to twitch and squirm and scream. The red man’s face deepend with worry and decided this was the time to pull her into his arms and coddle her close as he tried to calm her.

“What did you do?” he asked, mystified. “What did you do to her?”

Her voice was caught mid-scream, mouth gaping, as she followed the line of sight of the red man to the true fear that had been haunting her mind.

In the center of the room sat a stone table, carved with the same images as those that decorated the walls, hidden with their own meaning and power. But it was beyond that table that gave America pause, and the figure upon it that made her body alight with a new sense of dread.

Floating precariously above the stone table, a mirror image of the effigy carved into the wall behind, was a woman in red. Her hair looked aflame as the winds swept around her, her body shaking as she held her position. The candles surrounding her were dimming in their blaze, one by one snuffing out around her as a red power contracted around her and stitched at the world around her. Sweat covered her brow as her eyes rolled back into her head, her power beginning to flicker and strain, her teeth gritting, until finally the last candle diminished and she fell to the table with a resounding crack.

Run, little girl, before the wolf can catch your scent, for the Scarlet Witch is on the prowell.

America gulped. The red man held onto her just a little bit more.

Wanda—for that was the name that echoed through her mind—pant, a grin upon her face as she gained her bearings. She cracked her neck, settling herself into a crouch upon the table as she gazed down at America in glee.

“Nothing much.” She spoke softly. “I only helped her to grow up a little faster. Right now, in 2016, America is too young to understand and know what is happening. I thought it would be easier for all of us if she was in a similar state of mind to the first time we crossed paths. But now she won’t be. Now, we can treat her like the adult she has so desired to be. I child would only get in the way, Vision.”

Vision, America looked at the red man from the corner of her eye. This is Vision?

“That is cruel, Wanda,” Vision tsked. “A child should not—”

“But she isn’t a child, is she? She’s more mature than she lets on. And besides, this is simply a safety precaution. I have no interest in bringing harm to such a small child.” America couldn’t help the quiet tears that began to run down her face, nor the choked off gasp at the sight of Wanda’s smile.

The witch moved meticulously, but didn’t take her sight off America. She was younger than before, a softer face, a more youthful glow, but the pain and anger from before radiated around her, unwavering.

Wanda used her power to lift her from the table to the ground, red sparks flickering as she held onto her strength. America curled into herself as the woman of her nightmares landed right in front of her. She hit a bit harder to the ground than she seemed to have expected, but Wanda didn’t take it as a sign of weakness, too mesmerized with America before her.

“Let’s have a look now, hmm?”

Wanda pulled herself towards America before she had time to protest and snatched her chin into her palms. America froze in her hold as the witch looked her over, assessing her work, and a sparkle of red fluttered through her eyes.

“There we are,” she murmured, and finally pulled back, content from whatever she found. America began to blink rapidly as a headache formed across her entire skull.

The witch hummed to herself, a little too pleased by America’s resuming distress. “You may experience some lingering side effects in the days to come. My power is great, but a spell such as that, well… even such a thing was taxing for me, and I must save my strength. But don’t worry, your body and mind will adjust soon enough. The key is to try not to fight the flood.”

America clutched at her ears, tightening her fists into her head as she bent forward. Her head was killing her—would she ever be free from the torture?

“It’s too strong! I can’t hold it! I’m sorry, but it’s the only way.”

“But we’re friends?!”

“I’m from another universe.”

“I travel the multiverse.”

“So the person you went to ask for help, and told exactly where I am, is the person that’s trying to kill me.”

“Protect that girl!”

“It doesn’t matter about all the other Steven’s. You’re not like them.”

“I understand now… I can’t control it. I can’t—”

“—Yes, you can. You have been all along.”

“I’m glad I fell into your universe.”

America moaned. It’s all coming back and it just won’t stop!

“You could be quite the sorceress if you wanted to be.”

“I think I prefer being a star-punching badass.”

“Why is everyone on the team so young? Is the government finally trusting superpowered kids?”

“Don’t get co*cky, this is just a test initiative. Code name: Young Avengers.”

“Wow, I feel honored.”

Please, just make it stop, she weeped to herself.

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker.”

“America Chavez. Welcome to the Young Avengers! This is Yelena Belova, Kate Bishop, Eli Bradley, Cassie Lang, and Hulkling.”

“Heh. Looks like we’re a copy of the originals plus Ant-Man like in ‘Rogers: The Musical’. This should be fun.”

“Don’t get too excited yet. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we want to be a team.”

Her mind was betraying her. Everything was overlapping and being placed on exhibition all at once. It was painful, it was agonizing, it was sad.

“It’s not about what your powers are, it’s about how you use them and who you use them for.”

“Is that why you look out for the little guy?”

“Yeah, actually. Something like that. I mean, somebody has to, right?”

“You once told me that you’re the somebody who looks out for the little guy. Well, I think it’s time to broaden that horizon a little further than just Queens.”

“I can’t hold back! I just can’t! I need to let go!”

“Stay strong! You are stronger than this, America. You are the strongest of us all. Just hold on a little longer.”

“You are the strongest of us all. You don’t deserve anything that has happened to you.”

“I’m glad that you are my friend.”

“I’m glad that I got to have one more parent in my life.”

“I will always be there for you, America Chavez.”

“STOP! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!”

A small bit of hope sparked for America that maybe Wanda would leave her be for a while. Maybe the witch would give her time to adjust, to come to her senses, and give America the chance to ready herself for whatever was to come next and what she might be able to do to escape. She needed time, she needed energy, she needed a shoulder to cry on; and maybe, just maybe, Vision would be able to help.

But even now as the memories began to pour in and drown her tearing mind, America should’ve known that there was no kindness in Wanda’s heart to allow her to breathe.

Wanda rose to her feet, swaying slightly as she regained her balance and composure. She forced a grin, tearing down at the little bit of hope America had for the possibility of maybe overpowering her even if for only a moment, then raised her hand and called her magic forward to wrap around America and lift her into the air.

Vision moved back, standing not far behind from her, but only watched as his supposed love froze her in mid air and held her captive.

“Now then,” she says, “as of right now, how much do you remember? How reasonable will you be?”

America felt the squeeze of the magic tighten around her wrists. “Enough. I remember enough.” She shuddered, catching her breath as she let the memories come back and let herself understand. “I know that we failed, I know that we played into your hand. I know that you kill– That you killed– That you—”

“Yes, I did,” she crooned. “You sacrificed yourself for nothing. And now, you won’t be given another chance to correct your mistake.”

I’m sorry, mamás.

America wanted to be brave. She wanted to be strong. Her mothers would tell her to stand her ground, to not cave in. They raised her to be fierce and thoughtful, to remain good and true to her beliefs, and to know when to make the hard decisions. America wanted to say that she had an unwavering resolve, that she could do as her mothers said she could… but her mothers weren’t here anymore, she was alone, and she was truly afraid.

“Please,” she whimpered with a shuddering breath. “Please, let me go. I- I won’t do anything, I promise. I won’t get in your way again. I don’t even know how to use my power now. I’m useless to you. I’m—”

“Shh.” The witch pressed a finger to America’s lips. “None of that now. You are very useful to me just as you are, America Chavez. Don’t think otherwise for a moment that you aren’t special. Your power may be new, yes—and I do apologize for aging you so rapidly that it has made your brain a little fuzzy, truly—but all you need is a guiding hand. Besides, like I already said, I want you to be treated like an adult, it’ll make everything much easier because I now expect you to be a good girl for me,” she cupped her cheek, “so no funny business, hmm? Not if you never want to go back home with your mothers, that is.”

Her mothers…?

America’s breath caught in her throat, and she croaked, “What?”

Her mothers were gone, just as before and just as they always would be. There was no other world where her mothers survived because there was only one America Chavez, and in every universe her other self had been to, she’d looked for an Elena and Amalia Chavez, but always came up empty handed. They simply didn’t exist, and when they did, they had always died off a long time ago. It was like a curse that haunted her through every reality.

But America had been responsible for her mothers’ demises. They had loved and trusted in her, and all she had done was spit it back at them with a single bit of fear that collapsed and separated their family forever. They were dead, or they were dying, but America knew they could not survive wherever they had gone, not when at the slightest scare she’d pop open another portal and fall through before the danger could get arms length before her.

But it’s not the same as before, a little voice whispered to her. It wasn’t the same as before.

She stiffened her lip. “They’re gone. They’re dead. I killed them. If you want my power just take it, but please don’t rub this in my face.”

Wanda only smirked, though, rubbing her hand over America’s cheek, squeezing it just a little as she backed away before releasing the spell holding her. “Your naivety is warranted, but do you truly believe that everything happens by coincidence, that it was all by chance?”

America feels her fists curl into the ground, the sadness and rage building up. It wouldn’t do much if she tried to lash out—she probably wouldn’t even come close to hitting Wanda with any true force—but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to. The woman should know a raw wound between a mother and child, yet she rubbed this in her face. However, she wasn’t given the chance, not as her fists went lax at the sight of the witch’s glowing red hand bringing forth two bodies out of thin air.

“¡MAMÁS!”

America tried to stand, but only managed to stumble over her feet before collapsing back to the stone ground in tears. “¡Mamás!”

The two women didn’t spare their daughter a glance, only staring straight ahead. They were encased in a sphere of translucent purple energy, their bodies limp and necks hanging crooked as their clothes became too big for their bodies and their skin began to thin and sallow blue, like the life was being drained from them. They were skeletons.

America thought she was going to throw up. “What did you do to them?!”

There was a glimmer of… something that shone across Wanda’s face—sadness, maybe? Or pity?—but only for a moment, as if even she couldn’t believe what she’d done, quickly masked with the twinkle of her eye and tug of her lips.

“Nothing yet,” she said. It sent a shiver through America how calm and gentle she was when she spoke. It was like her voice was made of ice. “I’ve only kept them safe, preserved them from the journey since the spell was really only designed for you. But I am kind, America. I grieve for my own children, as I imagine you would grieve for your mothers. So I’ve saved them. And I will happily ensure that you can take them off, safe and sound and just as they were before, but only if you cooperate. This spell isn’t meant to last long, and I currently do not hold the power to go against the nature of time. But that is where you come in.”

Wanda nudged her fingers forward and the bodies of America’s mothers’ living corpses were presented to her. “You are going to help me, America Chavez, and you will do it without a fight. And in return, I promise to ensure that you and your mothers will live together in peace, alive and well, forever.”

Forever?

The hopeful, idealist part of America wanted to scream Yes! Deal! at the witch, to give in without haste, if only it meant that the nightmare would be over. In the blink of an eye, Wanda could snap her fingers, take what she wanted from her, and sweep her back to bed only a few hours prior with her mothers waking her again from the nightmare, but this time it wouldn’t be a trick. It’d be so easy, too. She may be older now, but her mind was still alphabet soup trying to word together her memories and personality and history and everything that makes her her.

But would she? Would she truly?

America’s waring feelings were such a nuisance now, and she couldn’t even fully comprehend or understand it yet. She was meant to be a hero, wasn’t she? She was meant to do good? But they were her mothers; could she truly abandon them? Betray what they taught her to be to be selfish enough to save them?

It was all too much.

How was America supposed to make a decision like this?

And besides, there was still always that little hope that maybe, just maybe, it was all a nightmare. If she chose the right answer, would she finally wake up?

(I don't want to die

I don't want to die

I don't want to die)

But as America looked around at the cold tower, the violent snowy sky, she knew that there wasn’t any time left to choose and think. She had to make her choice now, in this impossible place, under these impossible circ*mstances.

“Promise. Promise me nothing will happen to them.” For mis madres. “You have to swear that nothing will happen to them or no deal. They have to live. They have to be safe. Or I will find every way to ruin this for you.”

Wanda smiled, pleased, and said, “You have my word,” then threw her mothers into the wall with a shuddering crack , and they became one with the wall.

America screamed, “NO!” as Vision shouted, “Wanda!”

Not even the jelly feeling in her limbs could stop America from scrambling up and away to where her mothers now rested. They’d become carvings, more pictures, but mangled and in pain, their mouths caught in screams, as if they had truly died and been buried in the walls, forever imprisoned within this cursed hall.

“¡Mamás!” America scampered against the side of the wall, trying to gain her bearings. She only made it to her knees, enough to reach up and touch each of her mothers’ legs. They can’t be gone, they can’t be gone, they can’t be gone…

America snapped around, glaring daggers at Wanda. “You promised! You said you wouldn’t hurt them!”

“And I haven’t,” she answered with a quizzical look. “I promised to keep them safe, and I have. They will be protected within the walls of Wundagore, and as long as this fortress stands, they will live.”

A lying witch. A rueful witch. A heinous, evil, wicked, malevolent—

“MONSTER! You’re a MONSTER! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you myself! You’re a monster. You don’t deserve happiness!”

Wanda only smiled, sighing. “Once, I would have disagreed, said that I was merely grieving. But I’ve learned to embrace myself. I’ve learned to stop trying to change people's perception of me. No name of fear will hold power over me ever again.”

Monster Monster Monster Monster Monster MONSTER

It was the one word that played over and over in her mind with absolute clarity and certainty. Wanda was a monster— and America had played right into her hands. And now there was nothing she could do about it, not as she curled into a ball on the stone ground and began to cry.

She was a monster.

“Wanda, why are you doing this?”

Vision?

America could only peak out from under the shag of her bangs. Vision had risen up, floating carefully before the witch with the most curious and worrisome expression.

Wanda clenched and unclenched her fists. She approached her love until they were standing toe to toe, and she smiled up at him. “What do you mean?”

Vision gave a gentle scoff. “I think you know what I mean. Why have you threatened a child? Why have you hurt this child?”

Almost shameful, Wanda straightened herself, watching her love with intensity. “Because it’s necessary. I don’t want to hurt her—“ Lie “—but I need her cooperation, and I’m afraid our history would not give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“So you kidnap her and her mothers instead?”

“I’m keeping them safe. I’d never want to rip a mother away from her child, or vice versa. It’s a cruel fate. And I do not plan to hurt the child.”

Her words were sickly sweet, her heart bleeding forward as she tempted her love to trust in her. It appeared to America that even with so much hate and bitterness, Wanda still had some version of love about her, even if it had been twisted by grief and loss. But Vision didn’t seem to be of the same mind, not as he glowered at the hand that came to cup his cheek.

Maybe there was a bit of hope left for America to grasp at.

“Peter said you killed a girl—that you killed America, who, from my understanding, would have still very much been a child from your own time.”

“And I regret it!” she pleaded. She grasped both of Vision’s cheeks and brought his face to hers, foreheads pressed together as the stone in Vision’s head began to softly glow. “I know my mistakes, I know what I did. I admit that I hurt a child, I do. But even I recognize that I went too far, and I want to atone, starting by saving her and her mothers from a much worse fate than whatever you’ve concocted I may do to them.”

His eyes widened, shocked and offended at the implication. “I did not mean anything by that. I must only see reason and question this new version of you, Wanda. You may know all of me, but I no longer know all of you. Help me understand. Help me to know I can trust you.”

It was surreal to see the battered woman melt at the sound of the man’s voice. America had witnessed how she’d fought for her children who weren’t truly hers, had seen her destroy people even at the sound of reason—and yet her anger and defiance disappeared as the apparent love of her life spoke.

“I promise you, I swear on Pietro, on my twin, that nothing shall come to America or another child ever again. I swear that I will make everything right. I swear that there will be no more death or destruction. And when it’s all over, we can settle down somewhere all by ourselves where the world can no longer bother us, where we can be safe and happy together. Because that is all I want with you, Vision. That is all that I have ever wanted.”

America could not begin to understand the bond between the pair. Even after their voices hushed, the way they stared into each other's eyes, the way each of their own powers alit, only told her that there was something deeper between them. They felt the other’s powers, were reading each other beyond just that of the mind. They were reading each other's hearts.

It was a battle of will, of desire. Vision hissed in pain as Wanda tucked herself against his chest and whispered Please ’s into his neck. She trembled as she let Vision invade her mind, as she let him look at every damning crevice of rage that had consumed her, laying it all out on the table. She needed his trust, craved it, probably, but America would not be quick to trust. Even in the face of love, she would not be surprised if the witch could betray and manipulate her love just to appease her wanted happiness.

When they finally broke apart, Vision took a step back, assessing her. Wanda held her hands close to her chest, waiting.

Please don’t bend, America prayed. Please stay strong. Please help me.

But again, as it always would, the universe betrayed her trust.

Vision looked at her with an apology and bowed his head to Wanda.

No…

The witch sighed in relief and wove their fingers together. “Thank you,” she said, “and I am sorry.”

Vision’s stone glowed once more, though he did not seem phased. It was like he expected it.

Satisfied, Wanda turned her attention fully back to America. With a flick of her hand, she called forth the Darkhold as her power began to alight around her. America knew it was no good, not as the witch stared down at her with glowing red eyes. She felt her wrist burn and looked down to see a rune carving itself into her skin then grasp at her magic.

America looked at Wanda, pleading at her glowing red eyes. She was trapped.

“Now then,” she sickly crooned, “let us begin.”

Chapter 11: Barely Conscious - Part 1/2

Chapter Text

Being bed bound was probably the second worst punishment Peter had ever had, the first being denied his hero duty instead of getting grounded. He would toss and turn in the starched sheets, ignore the pain in hopes that it would just magically disappear, try to tinker in secret on his tablet, and ultimately sneak out before anyone could stop him because they generally decided that once he was up and out that there was no use trying to get him back to bed again. That’s how Peter should be acting right now as he was once more bed bound (it was the unsaid rule)—but this time, he couldn’t help but feel that this was where he belonged.

It had only been two days since the monster attack, and Peter had already managed to run himself further into the ground than he ever had before. The first day post-monsters, he’d awoken in one of the private rooms of the med bay that looked more like a hotel than a medical facility with Mr. Stark pacing around just outside and Rhodey trying to calm him down. They appeared to be arguing, but Peter wasn’t really in a state of focus to listen in. Instead, he waited until one of them (Rhodey) noticed him blinking through the window, alerted Mr. Stark, and then became the center of the attention cyclone as his mentor went into over protective mode.

“You had us worried there, kid,” Mr. Stark chastised as he sat at Peter’s bedside while the doctor went over his vitals and did a general checkup. Peter didn’t fight it, just pressed his lips into a tight smile as he was poked and prodded until he was deemed alright. Mr. Stark was being more twitchy than usual, and it left a sour feeling in Peter’s chest.

“Your vitals are fine, as I’ve said numerous times before,” Dr. Ocejo said with a pointed glare at Mr. Stark, “you just need rest. You’re overworking yourself, Mister Parker. You’re on the verge of burnout. You can’t push your body. Your body is like a rubber band. It can stretch and snap back all you want, but eventually that elastic is going to wear thin and break. So take some time to rest, okay? It won’t kill you.”

Even as Dr. Ocejo spoke—and Peter could already tell the woman was fantastic at her job and knew how to put up with accident-prone heroes—he could see the way Mr. Stark and Rhodey rolled their eyes behind her. Peter would as well if it wouldn’t lead to a probable lecture. Everyone knew the drill.

Peter just nodded silently. Why did he feel like an ant trapped under a microscope all of a sudden?

Dr. Ocejo seemed satisfied with his less than trustworthy answer, though she probably didn’t believe him. It was a miracle that Mr. Stark had managed to keep so many doctors staffed within the Avengers Compound given how heroes hated being declared injured and forced to take time off to heal. Peter assumed that their paychecks must be huge to keep them around to do little to nothing for their supposed clients.

Peter allowed himself to be babied for only a little time after. Mr. Stark was a nervous wreck as he seemingly waited for Peter to get sick again. Rhodey chuckled at his antics, stating that his mentor had been apparently very vigilant on not leaving Peter’s side over the last 24 hours.

“He’s getting attached to you, kid,” he jest, which Mr. Stark glared and pouted at. “He only slept for maybe a couple hours in that chair,” he nodded to the one by his bedside, “because he refused to go anywhere.”

“You slept in a hospital chair for me?”

Mr. Stark rolled his shoulders and bit at the inside of his cheek. “Well, you’re technically under my guardianship and an important part of the team and the mission right now, so I needed to make sure you were alive.”

“Bullsh*t,” Rhodey coughed into his hand, then excused himself from the room to give Mentor and Mentee time to talk.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Mr. Stark whipped back to Peter and sat down at the end of the bed with an all too serious look about him.

“You really did worry me, kid. Passing out after getting your mind wiped isn’t a good look.”

Peter shrugged. “Was I supposed to just walk it off? Besides, it’s happened to me before, it’s not anything new. Plus, I’m fine now. No big deal.”

Mr. Stark scoffed, “‘No big deal’ he says. Yeah, right. It is a big deal. This isn’t something that’s normal that’s supposed to happen, you know?”

“Well it is for me.” He looked away. “It’s really normal for me. So, I appreciate the worry, but there’s no need to. I’m fine, Mister Stark. I promise.”

Was this a pointless battle? Absolutely. Did Mr. Stark know he was a hypocrite at this moment? Definitely. Did either of them care about that? No. Absolutely not. Persistence, stubbornness, and worry were the three built-in ideologies the pair of them shared. It was not a good mix by any means.

There was nothing else better to do, Peter had assumed, than to continue on with the hypocrisy.

Peter pulled back the blankets, taking care to do so quickly to ensure Mr. Stark had as little time as possible to figure out what he was doing. The man simply stared at him, mouth moving with a lack of words coming out, as he watched Peter fumble to straighten himself up on the hospital bed. He cracked his neck, and stretched his limbs as he maneuvered to the side and reached over for the drip pole.

“Uh, excuse me–” Mr. Stark tried to cut in as Peter gripped the pole, planted his feet on the ground, and hoisted his body up. It took a moment for him to gain his balance, but once he felt his knees snap to attention, he knew he had his balance. He was also glad to realize that instead of the standard hospital gown that let his ass feel the cold air, he was dressed in loose light pants and t-shirt. Made his getaway that much easier.

He was shuffling more than walking, but the principle was the same as he made his way around the bed and past Mr. Stark who had surprisingly still yet tried to stop him. All he got was a befuddled, “You’re on bed rest. Where are you going?” as he turned the corner down the hall.

Rest was important, yes—but fixing the future felt like a higher presidency.

People didn’t try to stop him as he toddled down the hallway, barely even giving him a passing look of worry. Maybe he should hold some concern towards the normalcy of heroes escaping from medical.

Then a hand grasped his arm and wrenched him back. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

Peter just stared at Mr. Stark’s hand. He wasn’t tense, wasn’t forceful, his hand was just there. His fingers twitched against Peter’s skin as his eyes pleaded. He didn’t have answers, he wasn’t in the loop, he didn’t have all the information… and it was scaring him.

Sometimes, Peter forgot that his mentor could worry.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark. I need to work.” His face was blank.

“Kid,” the man huffed, “you can work later. But for now you need to rest. I don’t care what’s going on right now or how old you may be. To me, you are the fourteen-year-old teenager I just recruited a week ago. You need to take care of yourself.”

Peter tsked and huffed, “I am taking care of myself. I’m getting answers. I’m going to fix all of this. And then I’ll rest.”

Mr. Stark didn’t appear to be buying it.

“Believe me, Peter, there is no rest for people like us. We can problem solve and fix all we want, but there’s always something else.”

That’s what happened when you died. Maybe I can change that.

There were many things that Peter wanted to say, but there was no time in his mind to do so. Peter was on a mission, and he refused to back down. Maybe that’s what Mr. Stark saw when he straightened his back and met his eyes—that unwavering fierceness, that drive that burned through him like a bullet train—and let him go.

Peter needed to work. It was the only thing that would bring him any ease.

There was a little moment of surprise when Peter finally made it to the lab and locked himself in that Mr. Stark hadn’t followed to just simply watch and keep an eye on him. But, then again, he could always do that through his security system, but something told Peter that the man would let him be for now.

“Okay,” he’d said to himself, “let’s do this.”

Alone and in his natural element, Peter pushed down every emotion telling him to scream and cry. There wasn’t time to act out yet. He could be brave and strong for a little longer. And that started with fixing what Wanda started.

Peter tapped into Mr. Stark’s database and booted up Karen. Though she was still only a baby at this stage, there was a greater comfort felt working directly with her than FRIDAY that Peter desperately needed at the moment. That being said, he would need FRIDAY’s input when it came to BARF if he was to get it working how he needed.

His idea was simple, and therefore so should the program once he figured out how it functioned. He knew he was missing something, knew that Wanda had hidden something from him or warped it or something, and just needed to find it. It was hard to admit, but it was a necessary truth he needed to come to terms with.

Wanda was powerful, but even her abilities had limits, and that limit rested in the mind. Peter knew that she could disguise or hide memories, give people a new identity and thoughts, but their true persona couldn’t simply disappear, only remain buried in the subconscious. So, if Peter was going to figure out what he was missing, he needed a little help to look past whatever illusion Wanda placed in his mind.

Peter worked tirelessly through the day to modify BARF so the program could stimulate the memories and brain waves that were subconsciously locked away and project them. It was genius if not a little ridiculous, and Peter had his doubts, but when he finally cracked the code after having Karen speed read and analyze thousands of articles and papers on neuroscience and memory to understand how this was supposed to work, the sting in his eyes seemed worth it.

Only, when Peter finally tried it himself, there was nothing.

That couldn’t be right. He’d done everything right, hadn’t he?

He checked over the wiring in the system, read through the program again, even made sure the little sticky dots he had to put all over his head to stimulate and record his brain waves were functioning correctly. He even had Karen affirm for him that every piece of this messy invention was in fact working as it was supposed to.

There just wasn’t anything to show.

Peter had stared blankly at the wall where his memory projection should be playing like a movie, only for there to be a plain white screen.

Why wasn’t anything showing?!

He tried again and nothing.

And again—nothing.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Again!

Why wasn’t there anything? There had to be something? Peter couldn’t possibly believe that after all he’s been through, after all he’s endured, that his mind was fairly intact, that he wasn’t missing anything, that Wanda wasn’t hiding anything from him, that it had all just been a tease and a game.

Did that mean that the Ancient One had been tricked by Wanda too? Was she just messing with them all? Was there really anything wrong with Peter—was there anything truly missing?!

Peter didn’t want to know the answers, didn’t want to consider the possibilities that it was all a lie and a trick. Wanda would never trust him to know so much about the last, would she? She’s trying to protect her assets, to keep them at bay for as long as possible. That’s why she took Vision, that’s why placed whatever kind of spell she has on him, that’s why that’s why THAT’S WHY—

He finally stopped when after the Nth time his head started to splinter, the world became fuzzy, there were sparkles in his eyes, and he collapsed from his chair onto the floor.

It was promptly after that (he would later learn) that Karen alerted Mr. Stark of his situation and overrode the doors to open so he could be scooped up and carried out of the workshop to be treated.

That was how Peter ended up in the med bay for a second time within the span of a day.

Surprising everyone when he did wake up again, Peter didn’t bother trying to fight getting out of bed, to fight and bicker about getting back to work, and instead rolled over after spotting Mr. Stark’s unimpressed dad-look to curl up and go back to sleep.

He was in a black pit, and panicking was not going to fix the problem any time soon.

Peter just wanted to close his eyes and will away this bad dream. He wanted to go back when the world was crashing down, when the world was rebuilding. He wanted to go back to when nobody could remember him, when he was just the mystery kid everyone saw wandering the blocks and thought was homeless, the kid who could hide under the radar and do as he pleased, who managed to become a real anti-hero vigilante of all things, who relied on what his mentors had taught him, who crafted his own path even when hope was slim and he craved for familiar warmth.

Peter wished the simpler times would return, that he no longer had such a hefty burden on his shoulder. He wanted to not be the leader, to not be the one with all the answers. He was too young, too juvenile to be the temporary face of the Avengers—how was he supposed to help when he’d gotten himself and others into so many disasters? How could he trust that the team could trust him? Would they trust him? How did he know that this wasn’t going to blow up in his face? Why did this have to be thrust upon him in the first place? Why had Wanda chosen him?

None of it was fair.

“Peter?”

Peter just curled further into the blankets as Mr. Stark sat down in the chair by his bed. He didn’t want to face his mentor. He may be 21, but he sure as Hell felt like a kid again. Was this a symptom of psychic time travel?

“Peter, we need to talk.”

“Do we though?” he grumbled.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Mr. Stark’s face looked like.

“Yes, we do. Or at least, that would be the mature, adult thing to do, don’t you think?”

Peter rolled his eyes and groaned. “And what would we talk about? Why is Wanda fascinated by a weird teen boy with spider powers who has only met her enough times I could count on one hand? Why Wanda disregards me one moment and then conducts a terrifying manhunt for me across the city? What is Wanda’s plan that she hasn’t told me because otherwise I’d be dead already or left behind? Why—”

“Yesh, kid. I get it. There are a lot of ‘Whys’ floating around. Work with me here.”

Peter shook it off and curled into himself. None of this was helpful—but, then again, was there anything that could actually help him?

Rationally, he knew that keeping all these thoughts cooped up wouldn’t do any good. Problems are solved through discussion, not mind spiraling (though if you asked Mr. Stark, he’d argue otherwise). Doing things alone never worked out well, and Peter had learned that the hard way throughout all of his life as a hero and even before. Mr. Stark was extending an olive branch, a hand, to what neither of them could fully comprehend, but it was there. All Peter had to do was reach out and take it. He just had to take the first step. All he needed to do was ask for help.

He sucked in a breath, leg jittering. “I think… I think Wanda hasn’t attacked us yet because she wants me to return on my own will. She doesn’t want to force me back to her.”

Mr. Stark’s forehead creased. “Any idea why?”

“Nope,” he shrugged. “Her power has to do with the mind and reality. She can force new memories, rewrite a life, see into your deepest desires and fears. If she wanted me back, she could’ve easily made me do it, but she didn’t. She gave a warning.”

“Unlike Westview, right?” Peter co*cked his head at Mr. Stark’s inquiry. “You mentioned in your rundown that she took over a town and rewrote everyone to fit her image. She could’ve done that again, yeah? So, why hasn’t she? What’s different this time? Why is she suddenly prioritizing freewill when clearly her final intentions are anything but?”

What’s different this time? Peter bit his lip in thought. Is there a difference? What does the past have that the future doesn’t? The obvious answer was Vision, but not her twin. Peter couldn’t wrap his head around why she’d come back to a world where her lover lives, but not her brother. Patterns weren’t forming, clues weren’t sprouting. There was something they were missing, something they were looking over, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I don’t know. I really, really don’t know, Mr. Stark,” he shrugged. “I can try writing things down, make a timeline of everything, but I don’t think it will do much. And even then, I’m not sure I’d trust it to be accurate. Wanda’s never been a real team player. There’s a lot of things we don’t know about her—that I don’t know about her. I can’t trust that what I have will be good, that it wasn’t twisted by Wanda. I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. But I don’t think I can be of much help.”

He could see the worry in Mr. Stark’s eyes. Normally, Peter would do everything to alleviate such concerns, to build that foundation of trust and assurance that he was alright. But things were changing, and he had no intent on lying to Mr. Stark when he’s been given a second chance.

Peter flopped back into his bed and stared at the ceiling. “You have no idea what I’m going through. You have no idea what it means to know all about the past to fix the future, to have this weird pressure rest on your shoulders telling you that if you do things right, if you fix things before they break, then your future will be better. And even I’m not sure this is really time travel. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if this is just an alternate reality instead of my actual past and anything I do does nothing because the past is already set. What do I do then? I can’t just go back to before. Everything will be different.” A couple of tears began to spring in the corners of his eyes and he sniffled. “This isn’t easy, Mr. Stark.”

“Whoever said it would be?”

Peter’s brows scrunched, face frowning. He turned over, head co*cking to see Mr. Stark shrug with an impassive look.

“What? It’s true. Nobody said that this was supposed to be easy. It’s not like riding a bike or building a robot.” He shifted in his seat, hands clasping in his lap. Mr. Stark was settling into his business mode. “This is some strange, reality warping, real-world sh*t we’ve got going on. I don’t know anything, you don’t know anything, nobody knows anything, kid. We’re all moving forward blind. We’re relying on each other to stand together even though we’re currently breaking at the seams. Because we’re a team, and despite our differences, we choose to stand for humanity. We choose to fight for the little guy. And right now, you need all the help you can get. So let us help, Peter. Work with us. Don’t just do it all on your own. Let us in—let me in.”

Maybe the universe was collapsing and this all was a dream, because Peter had never truly heard Mr. Stark be so sincere and warm before. It felt a little wrong, but Peter was willing to lean into it, starting with turning over to give his mentor his full attention.

“Be careful, Mister Stark. Your parental side is showing.”

The man gave a grin and gave a full body shiver. “Yeesh, kid. You’re making me feel old.”

Peter gave a half shrug. “It’s true. You’re acting like my dad more than my mentor right now. And to be clear, we never got that far into our relationship originally. You cared for me, worried for me, but I never saw this side of you.”

“Consequences of time travel?” he lightly joked, earning a small smile from Peter.

“As much as I hate to admit others being right even if I myself am not inherently wrong, you might actually be onto something. I’m worried for you, Peter. I care for you, Peter. Something’s changed, an echo from the past or maybe Wanda’s doing, but I want to protect you. I want to ensure that you’re okay.”

Oh. Mr. Stark cares about me. Peter’s chest began to feel warm.

“Okay, I’m going to tell you a secret. One nobody really knows, and something I only just figured out.” Mr. Stark sucked on his teeth, leg jittering. Peter worried the inside of his cheek. “A year ago, when we first met Wanda right before I accidentally made a super murder bot, I had a vision. At the time, I thought it was from coming close to Loki’s scepter, but now I’ve realized it was Wanda who got into my head and gave it to me. She showed me a world where the Avengers lost, where we were dead and defeated as planet Earth was invaded, and it was all my fault. I could’ve done more to save everyone, but I didn’t. It was my greatest fear realized. And it was then that I realized I would do whatever it took to protect Earth, to protect those I love, no matter how unethical it may seem, even if it made me the villain in the process.” Peter’s eyes widened just a fraction. “Because I’m willing to take the risks needed, I’m willing to push aside morals, to allow fear to take over in the name of protecting everyone else. Because sometimes you have to be the bigger person. Sometimes, you have to be realistic, even if you know it’s the wrong path to follow.”

Mr. Stark sighed and rubbed his face. “All of this is to say that, when she got into our heads back at the airport, I felt a similar power, and in it, I felt her desperation. I could feel Wanda’s grief, her pain, how it’s entangled her time and time again: the death of her brother, her love, and now apparently as a mother.” His face scrunched in confusion at the notion. “She’s allowing herself to be bewitched by her loss. And because you both are apparently from the future, she knows everyone’s weaknesses already. She can use her pain to exploit our own. Including whatever kind of relationship we had.”

Peter sniffled. “She definitely has a talent for preying on emotions.”

“I’ll say,” Mr Stark tsked. “I had no idea what it was I was feeling or why, only that I knew without a doubt that I needed to look out for you—to protect you. It was weirdly instinctual.”

Instinctual. Peter hoped he was hiding his surprise and fluster well.

“That, or as some kind of guilt tactic. The others probably saw something similar for all we know,” he couldn’t help but add on.

Mr. Stark frowned. “Why would you say that?”

Peter bit the inside of his cheek and sat back up proper in the bed. It was a bit stunning for Peter to admit how fast he could be turned around, be coerced, especially by that of Mr. Stark. But if honesty was what he needed, if trust was the way to go about it, if it was time for him to let others in and no longer be alone in this fight (even if it killed him inside to involve anyone else in this fight), then so be it.

So, he told of his fears. “Because of what I saw,” he said with a trembling jaw. “I saw Wanda take America Chavez, take my friend, cause the loss of her family and home, and force her to find the Infinity Stones under any means necessary. Wanda will do whatever it takes to find those stones for whatever reason she needs, and I can’t stand to see my friends be caught in the crossfire.”

“Yikes.” Mr. Stark rubbed his face. “That… that is a lot. I will give you props for having a possibly worse vision than myself.” Peter gave a soft smile in jest. “But that does lead me to my next question: What are the Infinity Stones? You keep talking about them with great importance, but you haven’t actually explained what they are.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I forgot.” Peter sucked his teeth. “Well, it’s going to sound weird and essentially hurt every theory of the creation of the universe you have.”

“Already past those thoughts. Literally dealing with time travel right now and the end of the universe. Please, continue on hurting every notion of math and science I have.”

Yeah, Peter should’ve considered that already. Still, forewarning was generally ideal.

“Okay, then, uh, the simple explanation is essentially then that the Infinity Stones are the Big Bang.”

Every muscle in Mr. Stark’s face froze and twitched as he ground his jaw.

“Yeah, that’s about right,” Peter mumbled to himself. “So, basically, there are six gems called the Infinity Stones that represent different parts of the universe. Blue is Space, yellow is Mind, green is Time, red is Reality, purple is Power, and orange is Soul. They’re all like little nuclear bombs that control an essential part of creation and literally do anything you want. They’re the most powerful things in all of existence, and as I kind of touched on a while ago but not really, when used all together, they can rewrite the universe at the snap of a finger by whoever’s will in whatever way they choose.”

He waited and gauged Mr. Stark’s, though the man could do no more than press his lips firmly together and stew at the ideas presented to him. Peter knew exactly what was going through his mentor’s brain as he began to twitch in place. Learning the laws and pieces of time and space were a bit more magical than scientific was preposterous, especially to someone so ingrained in the scientific way with a need for logical explanations to the never ending question of Why.

But knowing Mr. Stark, Peter knew the man would choose to compartmentalize the information and ignore it entirely.

“Right, then,” he nodded, “that makes sense. Magical crystal gems that grant wishes made the universe. Yeah, totally, perfect sense.”

Peter smiled. “The world made a lot more sense before 2012.”

“Pft, I’ll say. I miss when it was only science and unearthly rocks, but the science still made sense because there wasn’t a matching cohort of inexplicable magical science. Ugh, I used to be so smart.”

“I think you’re still very smart, Mister Stark.”

He waved Peter off. “Not compared to the big old galaxy out there I’m not. But, what can I really do about that, hm? The answer: Nothing. I can only be smart here, and tragically that will have to do for now.”

“Yeah, so tragic. The greatest mind in the history of this planet is feeling emasculated by space. We’re at a real loss.”

A crumpled tissue was thrown at his head in retort.

“Alright, that’s enough sass from you, mister. Back to the point about magic space stones granting universe altering wishes, please.”

“If you say so,” Peter shrugged.

“I insist, actually.” Mr. Stark crossed his arms and took a breath, settling into a more determined demeanor. “It’s time to break this down and try to theorize a possible reason for why all of this is happening. Let’s start with her powers: When you’re from, what were her powers like? What were they in comparison to her twenty-sixteen self and our known knowledge?”

“Well, for starters, she’s more powerful.”

“Obviously. Continue.”

“From what you know of her former present self, she can manipulate minds, lift objects, cause energy surges. Basically classic telekinesis and telepathic abilities. Dangerous, but uncontrolled.”

“She did never seem really sure of herself,” Mr. Stark hummed in thought. “But I always thought it was just because she never had real training with her powers, and I mean, why would she have when we were all assuming they were given to her by Loki’s scepter.”

“The Mind Stone, actually, but yeah. Now take that knowledge and amplify it like a nuclear warhead.”

Mr. Stark grimaced. “She’s come into her power. She knows more control.”

“Worse, she learned what she actually is and unlocked the door to every part of her power.”

“You’d think that’d be a good thing,” Mr. Stark muttered.

Peter sighed. “Her power is literally called Chaos Magic, meaning she can manipulate the entire world around her however she chooses. She’s easily the most powerful being ever.”

“Then why go after the Stones?” Peter furrowed his brows. “I mean, you just said yourself that Wanda is ‘easily the most powerful being ever,’ so why does she need magic space rocks? How does she benefit from them? Because my mind is saying that she’s stealing the only card in the deck that might pose a threat to her. You know the future, so you could lead us to the stones, and they might be able to actually best her.”

Peter shrugged, jaw clicking. “I mean, I guess? The only problem with that theory though is that some of the stones are impossible to get because they’re in space and we have no means of being able to go there and get them.”

“Couldn’t the Monk just teleport us?”

“I don’t think her power stretches that far. And that’s assuming she knows where the stones are and that she’s been there before. You can only open a portal if you know what where you’re going to looks like beforehand.”

“…Well that’s stupid.”

“I don’t make the rules of magic, sorry. I just get turned down by it. And haunted by it”

“Haunted?”

Oops. Peter had not meant to bring that up. They’d only just begun, barely even important in his mind. And, if Peter was being honest with himself, he’d chalk it all up to just being some kind of residual effect from psyche time traveling. It was what made some sense to him at least. Of course, Mr. Stark wouldn’t see it that way.

“Umm–”

“Don’t even think about fibbing. Spill. What do you mean you’re being haunted by magic? Does this have to do with your weird psychic twin link to Wanda?”

“Maybe?” Peter said with a scrunched face.

Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes and waved a hand for him to continue.

“I have dreams in red. I can’t tell if they’re memories or dreams, maybe visions or some kind of premonitions. I can’t even tell if it’s just fear or if they’re real,” he explained. Peter laced his hands together and began to twiddle his thumbs. “I close my eyes, and all I can see is a barren wasteland in red. The trees look like they're made of tar, the ground quakes, the air is thick, smoke everywhere, but there isn’t any color besides red. And always waiting for me, standing patiently with a smile, is Wanda. She doesn’t say anything, at least that I can remember, doesn’t really move. She just… stares at me. Watches me. It’s like she’s looking straight through me, just content to see me and nothing more.”

“So she’s becoming Freddy Krueger.”

Peter shuddered. He did not need that mental image taking over his dreams either.

“But that’s besides the point when you’ve just told me that you’ve been having nightmare dreams that are most definitely because of the psychic link and didn’t think they were important to tell me about.”

“They didn’t seem like the biggest issue!”

“Everything is the biggest issue right now, Peter! Everything! Every last detail and anomaly is the most important thing in the world. Nothing gets left out. Nothing isn’t mentioned.”

Not even a dad yet, and he’s already worrying like one. Has he always been like this?

Mr. Stark pressed his palms into his eyes and rose, then began to pace. “All this tells me is that you need to sever that link. Call back the Monk, have her unbind you from the Nightmare Witch because she’s clearly teasing you or leading you on somehow and this isn’t healthy. End of discussion.”

What?!

“What?!” Peter’s mouth hung open.

“Oh, you heard me.” Mr. Stark’s heartbeat was beginning to rise again. “We are shutting the mental puzzles down. We don’t need the connection, we can figure out everything without you having to be subjected to crazy red nightmares.”

“That’s not your decision to make!”

“Well, I’m sorry to say, but it is because you clearly don’t have your head on straight. One of us has to step up as the adult and not be totally self-sacrificing— WOW I’m hypocritical. You’ve turned me hypocritical!”

“You’ve always been hypocritical!”

“Only when I’m trying to make a point!”

“That’s every time you open your mouth!”

“I do not appreciate the accurate sass!”

“Well it’s sass that you’re gonna get.”

“Why are you just a smaller me?!”

“I’ve been being asked that since I first came into your life and after everyone remembered me and started seeing the resemblances. I learned from the best!”

Mr. Stark looked taken aback, now his mouth hanging open. “Too far.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“This doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to break the link yet.”

“It should. It better. Peter, this is not healthy, and I think you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter because this link might be able to help us out.”

“How? How, Peter? Because unless you can tell me with complete confidence that your witchy link is one-hundred-percent guaranteed to be the accurate truth, then I cannot support you running your mind into the ground on the basis of a theory.”

When did this headache start?

Peter scrunched his eyes and clenched his fists, then took a deep breath in and out. “I understand that, Mister Stark. I really do. But at the end of the day, I’m the only one who can agree to the sever the link, and I stay it stays.”

Peter could already sees the cogs turning in Mr. Stark’s brain. The ,an was going to argue with Peter in circles, pointless as it may be, until one of them finally folded from the annoyance. But if Peter was to start trusting in those around him, if he was going to be willing to let people in and help, then he had one slip move to pull before Mr. Stark could open his mouth.

“However,” he eased, “I will agree that if ever becomes too much, if the dreams or visions or whatever begin to take a physical toll on me, if they truly begin to harm me, then I will break the connection.”

Mr. Stark looked at him with surprise. Peter huffed.

“In the past, I wasn’t able to do much. I was the kid. I was the newbie. I was the one who was underestimated even though I am stronger and faster than Captain America and Barnes. I was always the sidekick. Often times I’d even be in the way, or- or would end up making situations worse,” he stammered. “But then the world forgot about me. They forgot I was a kid, that I wasn’t trained like everyone else, that I wasn’t the newbie. I became their equal and worthy of their time. I was finally part of the team and not just being pushed to the sidelines. I had a voice. And I had to grow up.

“I’ve been on my own for so long now, Mister Stark. Coming back here feels like I’m having to revert to my beginnings again, and that just isn’t fair. Right now, I need to redeem myself; I need to make everything right because I can’t feel good about dragging everybody down into a fight that wasn’t there’s to begin with, that wasn’t their mess that they need to fix. I can’t guarantee what will happen next, or how. I mean, I’m already messing up the actual timeline—everything’s getting rewritten and overlapping as we speak! And I’ve got to live with that. Me: Peter Benjamin Parker. It’s why I made my friends and family forget about me. They don’t deserve to be caught up in this mess anymore than the heroes willing to standby me. I have to protect them, and I can’t let the, worry about me in the process. It just isn’t fair.

“So, I’m gonna make a promise right here, right now, Mister Stark: I promise that no matter what happens, no matter what needs to be done, I will do what it takes to fix all of this and stop Wanda.”

“Kid–”

“No, Mister Stark, no. I promise this. And I need you to have faith in me a little bit longer. Please.”

Mr. Stark did not look pleased with his display of bravery, not in the slightest. He looked like he wanted to yell, wanted to reprimand and rant, to lecture his heart out until Peter felt defeated and belittled. But Mr. Stark miraculously held his tongue. He clenched his fists, bit the insides of his cheeks, and gave a harsh huff as he admitted defeat to stubbornness.

“Fine,” he conceded. “Fine, I’ll have faith in you, I’ll let you do what you need to, but only, and I mean only, if you promise not to do this alone. To let us help. You can’t agree to that, then no deal. I will shut you down in whatever way I think is necessary. Because I don’t care if you’re fifteen, seventeen, twenty, twenty-four, or whatever other age, you’re still a kid to me. You’ve been on your own long enough. You shouldn’t have to face threats like this alone. It does no one good, especially now. This isn’t a battle of sacrifice or bravery for a lone ranger, this is a battle that affects everyone and justly deserves everyone’s input. So,” he reached out his hand, “do we have a deal?”

(“You know, you’re a lot like him. Too much like him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think you share the same self-destructive tendencies. The same stubbornness.”

“Let’s hope that Morgan doesn't follow in our footsteps then.”

“Sadly, that is something I cannot prevent from happening. Stark genes run deep.”)

Solemnly, Peter nodded his head and took his mentor’s hand. “Deal.”

Chapter 12: Barely Conscious - Part 2/2

Chapter Text

It was official, Tony Stark was going to go gray before he turned 50. Terrific. Just what he had planned. Sure, the Avengers, aka Steve Rogers, was probably going to cause him to have a heart attack soon enough, but going gray? Guess the stories of parent-hood were true after all.

Parent-hood…

He shuddered. Just one more thing on his list of things that didn’t make sense. Tony really hated everything, and he really hated that he didn’t know what to do.

For one of the first real moments in his life, Tony didn’t have a plan. Which was nonsense because he would always have a plan. Even in moments where he was pinned against a wall, when one would assume he had no idea what was happening, he always had an inkling of a plan in the back of his head. But this time? Nothing.

First, he had to realize that time travel existed in apparently multiple forms and that he would one day go on to crack time travel; next, he had to deal with a real witch hellbent on revenge against everyone for causing her misery, plus the appearance of magic space rocks that could control the universe; and finally, he had a teenager who’s not-actually-a-teenager having a mental crisis that can’t be resolved who’s clinging to becoming a self-sacrificing idiot. That might be only three things, but they were three very big things in Tony’s book.

Tony huffed to himself. One step at a time. He needed to take a different approach to how he did things. Starting with settling his headache.

Peter had passed out not long after their conversation. It seemed that just having the debate took a mental toll on him, enough at least to make him start snoring as soon as his head fell back into his pillow. Tony had taken that as his cue to leave knowing that FRIDAY would keep an eye on him.

Oh, he had it bad. Even now, having barely left the boy’s side, he was already jittery with worry. He hadn’t even met the kid a week ago, and now, all he seemed to care and worry about was him! From what Tony could understand from Peter’s previous explanations, they hadn’t been super close in the original timeline—or, at least, they hadn’t had the time to create that type of bond.

It was scary, not just because he was becoming fond of a kid in the first place, but because Tony worried if what he was feeling was even real. Was this some kind of remnant of how his future self feels coming back to him? Or was this another one of Wanda’s tricks?

Tony just couldn’t figure it out, and that was worrisome. He wants to care for Peter, truly. But he doesn’t trust his own judgment. There are too many What If’s?

Tony rubbed at his temple. He needed some time to compose himself.

The halls were miraculously quiet for the time of day. There were plenty of personnel mulling around in the labs, technicians and the like, but the residents were seeming to keep to themselves for once. It was a good change. It meant less people badgering him more than they already have been. Or would be later.

The doors slid open, and Tony carefully poked his head around the corners as he strolled in. He didn’t see anybody, nor hear anybody, and FRIDAY didn’t alert him of anybody, so he should be all good.

Tony slunk into the kitchen and quickly began to prepare himself a pot of coffee. He stripped off his coat and loosened his time as the water began to boil. There were already some ground beans leftover, and Tony wasn’t one to let such supply go to waste, billionaire or not. And, if Tony was being honest with himself, he wasn’t quite in the mood for fresh coffee. Opting for leftovers as he had in college felt much more… natural at the moment. At least he wasn’t still drinking out of a run down 5th-owned-used communal pot.

The biggest mug was thankfully clean and hidden at the back of the shelf just in case. The other mugs clinked about as Tony reached his prize, and right on time as the high-end machine turned off and the fresh coffee slowly fizzled and wafted forward.

Perfection.

Tony was very pleased at the moment. He was in his own little bubble as the adrenaline and wear of the day began to trickle down, which was why he did not seem to pay attention when the doors opened and in trudged two weary, battered looking spies.

“Is that fresh coffee?” Tony was barely able to suppress snorting his drink up his nose as Clint made a beeline for the cupboards and poured out the last of the coffee all for himself—then downed it like a starved wolf.

He sighed in satisfaction while Tony internally wept that he would have to cut his coffee break short.

“Welcome back to you too, Barton.”

Clint gave a small nod as he settled down on one of the kitchen counter chairs. Then he reached for the bowl of fruit and started to peel at one of the oranges.

Tony shook his head and looked towards Natasha who was setting down gear and taking off parts of her leather suit. “Do you need anything?”

She shrugged. “I’m good for now. Not feeling hungry. A bit more concerned about fixing my nose.”

“What happened to your nose?”

“Broke it so I could kill Dreykov because he had a pheromone lock on me.”

Tony blinked. “Sure. Does that mean the kid’s info panned out.”

Natasha nodded. “A little too well.”

“I’ll say. It was Budapest all over again. But worse,” Clint snorted.

“It was going to be a sh*t show either way,” Natasha added. “But, yeah, Peter’s information was accurate. Yelena had just arrived at the Budapest safehouse when we got there. We had a slight altercation, but it was resolved, though getting my sister to believe us took a while.”

“I’ll say,” Clint interjected. “Only reason she agreed was because we knew about the serum in advance.”

“And even then she wasn’t sure. Either way, we were able to find Melina and have her take us to the Red Room, fought against Dreykov’s cyber-assassin daughter, and managed to get all of the intel about all the girls under Dreykov’s control before blowing him and the Red Room up. Its remains are just outside Saint Petersburg.”

Natasha pulled up the footage. Tony’s eyebrows rose as he watched the Red Room descend and eventually implode on the ground.

“Impressive.”

“Wow, thanks.” She reached into one of her vest pockets and pulled out a red tube, gently tossing it to Tony who snatched it out of the air. “This is the chemical antidote Yelena stole that can free the widows. We used the majority back on the base when Dreykov sent them after us when we were escaping. It’s an aerosol. I wouldn’t tamper with the formula if you can help it, but I’ve asked Melina to send me her research on how she tapped into the basal ganglia just in case.”

Tony inspected the vile. FRIDAY was already scanning what she could, coming up with a possible formula to synthesize and research to look over to ensure he did it right. “I can do it. As soon as possible, I presume?”

“The faster, the better. Yelena, Melina, and the currently freed widows are awaiting the antidote so they can free the rest.”

“Right then,” Tony nodded. He turned and handed the vile to Clint who looked at him confused. “Go ahead and take that to my lab so FRIDAY can start synthesizing. I need to have a word with Miss Romanoff.”

Clint took it, but looked warily between the two. Still, he did as told. He ate the last few pieces of his orange and then scurried off with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

They waited until the doors shut before the pair truly turned to face each other. Natasha settled down on the arm of the couch and crossed her arms.

“So, anything happen while we were gone?” she began.

Tony shrugged. “No, not really. Just more existential crises and Wanda starting her new life goal to become Peter’s personal boogeyman. That and the city got destroyed before some wizard lady reversed all the damage and made everyone forget about it because it apparently just never happened.”

“Was she bald? Yellow robes?”

“Ding, ding, ding! Wait, how do you know that? Actually, never mind. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m still not sure what she’s all about, but I’m keeping her contact in my phone just in case Peter’s connection to Wanda takes a bad detour to Crazy Town.”

Natasha hummed and nodded sagely. “Probably not a bad idea. I’ve already asked Yelena to keep an ear out for Vision or anything that might be connected to Wanda. It’s unlikely she’ll pick anything up since she’s focusing on the widows, but it doesn’t hurt to have an extra set of eyes and ears. Plus, she’ll be traveling everywhere to intervene and rescue deployed widows, so while she might not find anything, they may know something that’s been passed down the grape vine.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. That was awfully generous of her to do. Instead of saying so, he went with, “It probably won’t do much since we’re facing magic and not radical world leaders or anything, but thanks anyway.”

“Better safe than sorry,” she agreed. “At least this way we’ll have one more ally in our pocket, but I can’t say that all the widows would be willing to fight. Yelena might be the only one we could rely on in the oncoming war. And even then it might just be out of gratitude and obligation to me.”

Obligation and gratitude? Tony pondered. That didn’t seem right. Natasha had a soft look on her face, and ease as she spoke. It was very unlike the spy to see such fondness so prominently on her face. It warmed Tony a little, enough to show a small smile.

“What’s with that look?” Natasha asked.

“Hm? Nothing. What look?”

“That soft thing you did. Like you were looking at a puppy.”

“Oh, that face. I was just admiring you, that’s all.”

“Admiring me?”

“Yeah. You’re starting to go soft,” he teased, but that was quickly a mistake as Natasha narrowed her eyes. Tony gulped.

“I’m going ‘soft’?”

“Eh,” Tony tried to back track and made a little space between his fingers. “Just… seeing you talk about this mystery sister of yours is giving me a whole new perspective to you. You’re acting like such a sibling. It suits you.”

She held her stare for another moment, then dropped it for a soft, endearing look. Watching Natasha turn down her scary spy-side was quite irregular, and just a little unnerving, yet touching.

Natasha gave a soft huff. “Thanks. I only got to have a normal childhood for a couple years. Then, when the mission was over and my fake parents brought me back, I had to pretend that all the softness died away. I had to pretend not to care for my sister, real or not. I already knew what the Red Room was like, but Yelena… I didn’t want to think about what she’d go through. Still don’t.”

“I think that was the most I’ve ever heard you talk about your past,” Tony smiled, amazed. “The kid rubbing off on you too?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said with a look. “But, yes. I’ve always had a soft spot for kids. They need to be protected.”

“So they don’t end up like me,” Tony’s mind supplied. The meaning was loud and clear. Maybe Natasha was secretly a mother bear all along.

“But I would say the same is already established for you,” she continued, teasing.

Tony scrunched his face and waved her off. There really was no need for a discussion when the topic of obviousness came up.

“Do I want to deny it? Of course. Keeps up my emotionless image and lack of obvious desire to care.” Natasha rolled her eyes.

“But will I?” he continued, “No, I won’t. And I think that’s worse. I’m turning soft.”

“Or you’re just maturing, which, in that case, I’m proud. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Ha ha. Thanks. But no. I can’t deny it because I don’t know if it’s real.” He shifted his feet and rubbed his face. Admitting out loud was hard, but for some reason, Natasha was the one person he felt he could be honest to, the one who wouldn’t judge or ridicule. “I don’t know if what my strange new parental feelings for Peter are real or if they’re because of Wanda. Some kind of sick and twisted mind game. I don’t want this to become my weakness. Or his.”

Natasha didn’t so much as move a face muscle. She just eyed him with pity, he decided. But there was no judgment, only worry.

“Well, if you want my honest opinion, I think that’s a good thing.”

“What?” Tony exclaimed.

“You heard me. It’s a good thing.” Natasha gave a half shrug. She had a challenging look about her. “Peter needs someone to care about him right now. It’s very clear that he hasn’t had anyone in his corner for a long time. He’s skittish, self destructive, cautious. Tony, he may be an adult, but it’s only because the world made him grow up too fast. He still needs guidance. He still needs someone to care for him. And yeah, it might be a weakness, but it’s also a strength.”

“You mean that ‘someone to fight for’ sh*t?”

“If that’s how you see it, then yes. He wants to fix his mistakes. He’s running from something, but he’s also hiding something from us whether he knows it or not. He’s a lost and confused child that’s being over-stimulated by the world and choices constantly swirling around him like a tornado.”

Tony’s mind paused at that. Peter’s hiding something. So, it wasn’t just him who picked up on it. But whether he knows it or not…

“Go back, real quick. Back to that thing you said about Peter not knowing he has a secret. What do you mean by that?”

“What’s there to add?” she asked. “He’s always got this look on his face, like a permanent question mark. He looks like he’s trying to come up with the answer but it keeps hiding when he’s just about to remember it. Probably Wanda’s doing. Peter might not even realize it himself.”

“Okay, but you see it too, yeah? That’s what you’re saying.” Tony was really starting to grasp at straws. “You see that he’s missing a piece?”

“Yes, Tony. I am assuring and agreeing with you that your observations are correct.”

Tony sighed in relief and threw his head back, pressing his palms into his eyes till he saw sparkles. One less thing to worry going crazy over.

“Care to share your notes with the rest of the class?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but obliged. “Peter knows that Wanda has messed with his mind, but I don’t think he knows or realizes to what extent. There are probably layers to this, and if there are, that means there might be triggers.”

“So kind of like the Winter Soldier programming methods?”

“Somewhat, except Wanda didn’t use brainwashing she just… washed his brain.”

A snort escaped Tony. “Eloquent.”

Nat threw up her hands. “I’m flying blind here too. You don’t get to judge my phrasing when you don’t have the proper words yourself.”

A bit of a snicker decided to barge through, and a moment of panic for his safety flashed through Tony’s mind as he let a few more laughs out, but his worries were discouraged upon seeing Nat begin to gently laugh with him. He forgot how easy it was to talk to her. He didn’t even care if it was just because of her training—Natasha was still a genuine human.

The world was turning weird, time travel was real, people were scrambling, and there was nobody around. A perfect recipe for disaster (which it already was), but there was still a grounding and understanding between certain parties involved. The world was widening faster than it was supposed to. Tony had a feeling they weren’t supposed to know about a lot of strange things for a few more years. Everything was colliding and mashing together at once.

Normalcy was no longer allowed.

Still, the simplicity of the moment was comforting. Felt like old times.

“Despite your way with words,” he said, “you might be onto something.” Tony reached for his data pad and scrolled through different programs until he came up with a data set. It was a simple graph with two lines of data, red and black, following the same pattern, only with the red staying below the middle line and the black rising high above it.

Tony flicked the screen to display it in full between them.

“These are the brain waves of Peter’s brain from his little experiment with BARF. The red line,” he pointed, “show the active memories he recalls, while the black line infers the memories that are missing. Obviously, we can’t see what those memories are, but the program is smart enough to know that the memories Peter is seeing aren’t consistent or complete. They’re distorted enough that BARF can detect it, but not enough to know what it means.”

“In other words: blank spots,” Natasha inferred.

Tony nodded. “Now, that’s expected given the circ*mstances. But what’s concerning me the most is whether or not Peter is able to realize it himself. And if he doesn’t, what will happen when he does.”

Natasha turned her gaze from the data with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying that I’m worried about what will happen when the kid learns he’s been duped more than he already figures,” Tony shrugged. He tossed the data pad aside. “Peter has been through more than we know, and I’m amazed he hasn’t snapped already. I worry that this might be the final breaking point. It’s a miracle he hasn’t caved to the grief and darkness sooner.”

“Are you worried that if Peter remembers everything that he’ll go back to Wanda?”

“Tch, no. Not in the slightest. If there’s one thing I am absolutely sure of, it’s that Peter will choose the side of others before anyone else. Wanda would most likely just be his last option whether or not the blank spots have any real effect on his judgment.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m worried he might go rogue and adopt the belief that nothing really matters.”

“Push the big red button?”

“Push the big red button.”

Natasha hummed. She rolled back her shoulders and locked eyes with Tony. “Well then, we better not let that happen.”

Tony’s brows rose. “Well, I’m glad you agree.”

“I do, more than you realize. But that’s what leads me to a similar issue in this conflict: We need a team, Tony.”

Ah, the part of this conversation he was truly dreading. Curse Natasha and her all knowing mind, and curse himself for thinking he could lead her in a different direction of worry.

“Do we have to think about this right now?” he whined.

Nat co*cked her head. “Yes. It’s important. Sooner than later we’re going to be up against Wanda. That means we won’t be fighting against aliens or evil robots, nothing that we are familiar with or can scientifically explain. We’re a bunch of science experiments going up against the occult—we need to be ready. And if you haven’t noticed yet, we’re a bit broken.”

“Well that’s one way to put it. But I don’t think you have any room to argue about my current distaste for Captain Spangles not telling me that Robocop killed my parents then used my generosity and resources to find his best bud while leaving me completely in the dark. Now, if I had been told in advance, maybe I wouldn’t be so mad, but we’ll never know, will we? Because I’ve been lied to for two years now and thought to be incompetent to know the truth about what happened to my parents.” Tony leaned back against the counter. The muscle in his jaw twitched. “Sorry, but it’s hard to trust in a guy who refuses to own up to his mistakes and refuses to admit he’s a hypocrite. At least I didn’t hide all the bad things I’ve done, but I still get bullied.”

“No, no. I understand. I can honestly say that I am also disappointed in Steve… and that I agree with your worries.”

Tony blinked. “Wow, this really is the end times if you’ve willingly agreed with me twice back to back.”

Natasha just shook her head. “I don’t think now is the time to play games.”

“Actually I think it’s the perfect time considering that’s what Wanda has been doing to us thus far.”

“Doesn’t mean we have to stoop to her level.”

“This isn’t stooping. This fighting fire with fire.”

“Right, which has always proved to be a reliable way to beat an opponent.”

“It is if you’re okay with committing mass arson.”

“Stark.”

“Romanoff.”

He was pretty sure she knew he was joking.

Natasha sighed. She curled a little into herself and sunk down into the couch cushions. “I am sorry, Tony. I thought it was best for Steve to tell you—he said he would. I knew you always blamed Howard for being drunk and causing the crash, I knew what this would mean to you, but it didn’t feel like my place to tell. I’m sorry I relied on Steve to uphold his morals.”

Tony gnawed on his lips, nodding along. “Asshole. He never could pull his morals out of his ass,” he muttered. “He’s gonna be his own f*cking downfall.”

“I think that’s already come to pass”

“It’s at least in the process. Now all I want to do is see the stupid video so I can know just how badly Steve f*cked up with not telling me.”

Natasha pursed her lips. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Doesn’t matter. I want to see what happened myself. I deserve the right to know what happened to my parents in their final moments. I don’t care how painful it’ll be. I want to know how much Steve deserves to get pummeled for taking advantage of me. At least then I can have some kind of visual closure.”

Tony expected her to argue back and dissuade, but she seemed resigned. “If that’s what you want,” she conceded. “Not like I can stop you from hacking through all of the released SHIELD-Hydra files.”

No, she couldn’t. She was correct. But Tony’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve seen the footage, haven’t you?”

Natasha bristled, avoiding his gaze.

Tony cursed.

“God, has everyone but me seen it?!”

“It wasn’t out of curiosity if that makes a difference.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Tony glared. “But I’m going to be the bigger person for now and let the issue drop until a later time. I don’t need to be more distracted than I already am by this.”

“I’ll say,” she scoffed then grimaced as she stretched out her legs. “There's too much talk of death floating around, enough that we’re now capable of knowing our own future deaths.”

“Ugh, I don’t want to think about that,” he said, tossing his head back. Tony moved to sit directly on the couch next to Natasha, slinking into a similar slumped position of dread and harsh acceptance.

“At least you can now say how wrong Steve was four years ago.” Tony was confused as he slung his head to look at her. She shrugged, “Steve said that you wouldn’t be the guy to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you. Seems like he was wrong. You have a self-sacrificing streak that’s hard to rival.”

“Same goes to you too apparently.”

She shrugged. “It comes with the job.”

“But it shouldn’t.”

Tony reached over a hand, wondering where the most appropriate place to pat her with condolences would be before offering a fist bump. Natasha snorted, chuckling lightly, but accepted.

“Remember what you told me on my birthday six years ago?” he said, breaking the silence.

Natasha shook her head. “You mean when you were dying and asked me what I would do if I knew this would be my last birthday?”

“Yeah, that. Do you think we both got to do that?”

The spy looked caught off guard, but humored him. She bit her cheek before coming up with a response. “I think we did, just maybe not in the way we expected. I think we were selfish to sacrifice ourselves to make sure everyone else was happy. We didn’t care what would happen to us in the end if it meant those we loved and cared for lived.”

She offered him a small smile. “Looks like we’re both self-sacrificing idiots. Looks like we know more about each other than we think.”

Hah. That’s one way of putting it. Even now, Tony could see the tired look in Natasha’s eyes. It was as if everything that has happened was eye opening and he could now see just how much of a toll the past eight years had taken on everyone. There was no running from the job, no leaving the worry behind. There would always be a fight, and there would always be the drive to do whatever it took to keep everyone alive.

“You know, it’s kinda strange how we weren’t really friends sooner between all the lying and the spying and the saving the world multiple times sh*t,” Tony quipped.

“I think it has less to do with trauma-bonding and more that we’ve always had different objectives and loyalties. Fear of the unknown is always a sure way of bringing people together.”

Tony scoffed. “And death—although, I’d rather not think about that.”

“Death is inevitable. It’s just a bit more terrifying when you know more or less how it’s going to happen and when.” The fake bravado wasn’t doing her any good as she spoke. Tony could clearly read right between the lines now.

“That’s too guru for me. You’re sounding like the bald monk lady. Spiritual doesn’t really fit your aesthetic.”

Natasha smirked. “Thanks, Tony. Really. But I’m willing to bet the Ancient One knows as little as we do. Then again, I could be wrong. She’s practically a ghost story.”

Tony frowned in confusion. Right, he suddenly recalled Natasha knew who this magic person was vaguely.

“Underground networks coming up dry on ancient magical organizations?”

“There wasn’t even any record to begin with, actually. My sources deal in the tangible, not the hidden mystical.” She rolled her shoulders and pulled out her phone. Tony leaned to peer over her shoulder as she showed him a townhouse with a large round window that had peculiar marks crossing it, and at the doorstep, a woman in golden yellow robes, smiling into the camera.

“This is in Greenwich Village,” she explained. “Peter tried sneaking out to ‘do some business,’ and I managed to let me drive him. He was shaken up, but knew exactly where to go. After he went in, I took the time to try and do some research on the place. The thing is, I’ve been in the Village hundreds of times, and I’ve never noticed this building.” She scrolled to show some more photos of different angles, but nothing up close in detail. “I tried looking into the history of it, but all that came up was an account of when it was built by someone using the name of Yao. It was really vague though, so I’m guessing it’s probably fake.”

“You mean, you think the wizards made up a fake history of the building to hide in plain sight and not cause suspicion to people who might look into it such as yourself?”

“Exactly. And it worked. It was a pointless search that only revealed the necessary information to make people see it is legitimate.”

“Aw, are you sad that someone finally bested your stalker skills?” Tony teased, pushing down a laugh at Natasha’s displeased but humorous understanding look. “It’s okay, we all meet our match at some point.”

“Oh? And who’s yours?” she asked.

“TBD and impossible. Nobody is my match, not even my unintended child murder robot.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Anyway, like I told you when we first got back, Peter said the wizard lady made his friends and family forget about him to buy him time."

"Which is why Aunt Hotty hasn't come banging down my doors yet looking for her nephew." Tony grimaced. "That's still pretty hardcore."

“Something like that. He sees it as some kind of protection. I’d do the same thing if I could.”

“Seriously?”

“If it meant one less thing to worry about,” she gave a half shrug, “then yes.”

Tony blinked and crossed his legs and arms. “You damaged self-sacrificing agents are very worrisome, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm, actually.”

“Hmm. Anything else I should know about the wizards or the kid’s need to memory wipe people again?”

She closed the screens and pulled up medical records. Tony didn’t understand the lingo used, but from the images alone he could tell that the human body was not supposed to look like that. Bones were bent and twisted, limbs amputated, notes of severe nerve and muscle damage that led each of the conclusions to these patients as untreatable, which actually meant incurable. However, below each of the file cases were three pictures of each person labeled with ‘Before,’ ‘Accident,’ and ‘Recovery.’

Curious, very curious.

“Anything spiking your interest?”

Tony was squinting, displeased. “You mean the fact that all of these individuals miraculously recovered despite science stating that it’s not physically possible?”

“Yes, that,” she smiled. “All of these cases were deemed as lost causes, however, roughly six months to two years after each persons accident, they all have records of going to Nepal and coming back miraculously healed.”

“So magic?”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “This is as close to proof that this place is real. There are a bunch of medical records of people having gone to some temple called Kamar-Taj and returning months later miraculously healed of their disability and/or ailment.”

“This just sounds like the most secret all-healing hospital ever,” Tony huffed. He continued to scroll through Natasha’s work. “Wish I’d known about this place when I was getting the shrapnel removed from my chest. Probably would’ve been a lot easier than watering down Extremis.”

“You still would’ve fixed Extremis either way, so I don’t think it matters too much.”

“Have you always been this sassy?”

“Less noticeable when we’re in a group and you’re using all your focus to not kill Steve,” she smiled. “Now go get me an ice pack and some yogurt.”

Grumbling, Tony did as requested, muttering, “Bossy,” under his breath. He grabbed one of the larger squishy packs, the favored kind, and a plain vanilla yogurt cup.

“You didn’t bring me a spoon,” she accused as Tony handed her the items.

“Be resourceful and use the lid.”

She leveled him with a glare, but did as suggested anyway. Tony was fairly certain that Natasha could kill him with her aluminum lid spoon if desired.

The spy began to dig into her yogurt. She adjusted her position on the couch to make room for the ice pack to be wedged behind her shoulders, groaning in satisfaction.

“I was able to snag the number the Ancient One gave Peter.” She opened her phone to her contacts page and scrolled till she found it, then handed it over for Tony know and copy. “Just in case of an emergency.”

Tony hummed and showed her his phone in turn with a grin. “Great minds think alike it seems. But this so-called ‘emergency’? Yeah, it’s already happened, the kid just won’t let me do anything about it.”

“I was talking in the case of needing backup that is of the same background as Wanda,” Natasha clarified.

“Yeah, me too,” Tony blinked. This was all so stressful to deal with. “I’m really wishing right now that we could go back in time to when we were just fighting terrorists and the occasional alien, not all this time travel magic hullabaloo.”

Natasha seemed to agree with his sentiment.

“If it makes you feel better,” she said, “sometimes I dream about going back to when I was still in the Red Room. I hated what I had become, but back then, life was the simplest it’d ever been. Mission after mission. It was horrible and never ending, but at least it was predictable. I didn’t have to have all these feelings and worries. Only a goal. The world was simpler when I was upending governments and assassinating persons of interest.”

Well, that was a dark thought. Guess everyone was feeling the weight of their task.

“That is terrifying to hear, but I’m going to understand it and say—” he turned his head to her to find that the spy was grinning at him. “You’re joking with me. That spiel was a joke. Great, very funny.”

“You fell for it.”

“It’s hard to tell when you’re joking, you know that, right?”

“One of my greatest joys in life.”

Tony tsked and silently judged, but that was it.

In the early days of being an Avenger, everyone had kept to themselves. They had all started off in the initiative on a rocky foundation (and, looking back, Tony wasn’t even sure if he was ever officially accepted as an Avenger or if his presence just decided it for him), but the team had grown to become fond of each other. But it didn’t stop their walls from remaining up and secure.

At the start, Steve was the leader—and kinda still was. He made it his mission to get to know everyone on a baseline level so they all weren’t so stiff to each other and less untrusting (oh, the irony now). It was kinda funny to watch the super soldier try to play mediator between all of them considering the ones he actually got along with were Natasha and Clint, respectively. The three soldier-spies had enough in common that they were able to bond with ease and quickly fell into a routine the others in the group were not privy to be included in.

Awkward, yes, but it made sense, and Tony couldn’t fault them for it.

Tony was the aloof of the group, Thor was generally off world now that Loki’s scepter and the Tesseract had been retrieved, and Bruce wasn’t one for settling down permanently. The three of them didn’t really fit in as much if Tony was being honest with himself.

Thor was a literal god from space, and the fact that Fury had somehow roped him into joining a team of relatively normal people on Earth was baffling and impressive.

Bruce, on the other hand, was a science project gone wrong. He really didn’t fit in among the others whose goal in life was to fight. He was a pacifist and their ,ost unwilling participant. Tony wasn’t an idiot, he could see how scared Bruce became whenever it was time for a Code Green, and then the spiraling he suffered after he was back to normal size. It’s why Tony wasn’t actively out searching for him and trying to break his own stealth gear as Steve and Natasha had previously requested of him. The guy needed a break, and Tony was going to let him be for as long as possible.

But that led them to himself in the end. Tony Stark: genius, billionaire (former) playboy, philanthropist. He was at the top of the world, and what does the secret world spy organization he’s dedicated his time towards ask of him? Not funding, that’s for sure, and definitely not a partnership into developing new gear. No, they wanted him because at the end of the day, he was and would always be The Merchant of Death. A weapons dealer. A weapons maker. And nothing more.

It was stupid of Tony to ever try and convince himself that he was important for more than that, but recent events seemed to finally snap him out of that delusion. The team were moochers. They took advantage of his need to make up for his past mistakes to exploit him for all the benefits he had. It was quite obvious, but he himself had been willing to ignore that if it meant rectifying his conscience.

How foolish he had been.

Only useful, never important.

Despite their differences and their beliefs and their goals, they all ended up going down the same road. They’d bonded and laughed, squabbled and fought, but at the end of the day, they somehow always came back together for the greater good. And Tony knew in his gut that no matter what the others said, they were all putting up with each other to mend their moral compass and do right to their past mistakes.

Natasha was the one who knew that the most. It was why, despite her betrayal at the very beginning, he’d still been fond of her and trusting. She was the least attached of them all, and it was that that made her resilient. It was also that that made her an easy ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on.

Really, how had Tony never noticed these mother-bear instincts she seemed to have until now? He’d figure that out later when reality wasn’t collapsing.

He had to focus on the now.

And now, here they all were. Divided, alone, retired, missing, deranged.

They were a mess without an end.

But the world still needed them. It was a fact that couldn’t be ignored no matter how hard Tony tried. The world needed the Avengers, and Tony wasn’t one for backing down without a fight.

“Hey,” Natasha asked, breaking the silence and startling Tony from thought, “did you really need to talk to me about something.”

Tony sighed and shook his head. “Nope. Mostly just wanted to know whether or not I have a friend for all this.”

Natasha smiled, genuine and soft. Maybe she was feeling just as lonely and cornered as he was.

The spy nudged his shoulder, ready to what Tony could hopefully assume to be a similar compliment to him, when FRIDAY interrupted them to an alert.

“It appears that Mister Parker is having a violent nightmare and panic attack,” the AI said. “I would recommend waking him up as I was unable to.”

Tony’s eyes widened, Natasha matching as they stared at each other.

“Peter.”

Tony jumped from the couch and jogged across the room and out the door, Natasha following him in worry. He ran down the halls, pushing past employees and a confused Steve and Sam who were probably making their way to the kitchen. Tony doesn’t feel the need to respond to the worried calls of his name echoing from behind. He has only one thing on his mind driving him forward.

FRIDAY had apparently been underselling the severity of Peter’s nightmare as once Tony had run around the corner and into the wing of private rooms, he could hear the teen screaming. Nothing deep and guttural, only shrill and sharp as if he was being attacked. But as soon as the bedroom door opened, Tony was only met with a young boy alone in his room thrashing about in a panicked rage as he tried to sleep.

“Peter!” Tony jumped into action. He settled on the bed and reached to hold Peter’s wrists, sitting on his legs to keep him from squirming.

“It’s okay, Peter. It’s just me, it’s just Tony. You’re okay, everything’s okay. It’s just a bad dream. You just need to open your eyes.”

Peter was barely listening. He continued to scream bloody murder, but his limbs finally started to relax. It was enough to allow Tony to release the teen’s wrist to hold his face as his eyes blinked through bleary tears.

“Come on, Pete. Come on. You just need to wake up and it’ll all be over.”

“I’m going to get a cold towel and some water,” he heard Natasha say from behind as she marched across the room into the adjoining bathroom.

“Right, yeah, water’s good,” he told himself. Natasha knew how to keep calm in times like this. She was reliable.

Tony continued trying to soothe. “Peter, you’re okay. You’re okay kid, it’s just a nightmare, it can’t hurt you. You just have to open your eyes.”

His screams were starting to turn into wails, his body beginning to go limp as his eyes fluttered. The torture of the nightmare was beginning to wear him out.

“That’s good, you’re good. Come on, Pete, just open your eyes and it’s all over.”

Natasha was back again with some water and a towel, draping it across the teen’s face. He gasped and thrashed, smacking Tony in the process as he finally woke up.

“Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!” he cried out, but Tony wasn’t listening. He grasped Peter’s arms and shucked the towel off his face to reveal his red rimmed eyes and snotty nose.

“It’s me! It’s me!” he reasoned. “It’s just me! It’s Tony!”

“Tony?! Tony!” Peter startled himself, but seemed to snap out of the panic. “Tony! Mister Stark! Oh my God!”

Tony was already pulling Peter towards him as the teen collapsed forward into his arms. His cries were simmering down, muffled against his shirt, as he simply hung onto Tony like his life depended on it. Tony didn't make a fuss about it; he was just happy that Peter was alright, that parenthood-motherless Natasha had teased him about popping out.

It wasn’t all that bad, he decided.

Tony held onto Peter, unwilling to let go until the teen did first. He just kept his arms wrapped around him tight, staring down at Natasha with what he assumed was some kind of panic in a need to seek assurance that he was doing this right.

Thankfully, Tony’s instincts seemed to be right by the assuring smile she gave him accompanied by the feeling of Peter’s sobs and shaking beginning to dwindle as he just let himself be held.

“You’re good, Pete. You’re alright. Just breath, you’re doing great,” he cooed.

Peter disagreed. He shook his head against Tony’s shoulder, his grip never wavering from holding onto him. “I’m not, and nothing is alright, Mister Stark. It’s all so wrong.”

“What do you mean? What’s so wrong?” Besides the obvious.

Peter sat back, finally slumping into himself. He pushed himself up to wipe at his face, his breath shuddering, and stared directly into Tony’s eyes with such fear and anger.

“It’s Wanda,” he said, “she did what I tried to tell you about before. She has America, she’s going after the stones. Everything’s repeating again and again and there’s nothing I can do to stop it!”

“Pete, I’m sure that—”

He did not get to finish his thought as Peter promptly passed out again into his arms.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

Chapter 13: The Infinite Possible - Part 1/4

Chapter Text

Possibilities were endless, but only to those who understood their reasoning and purpose. They were fickle, elusive, and always changing. Any small slip, any little waver of a notion, and the possibility could change—for better or worse (and usually the later). But there were those that knew how to map those possibilities and manipulate them to their advantage. How to control the possibilities, to make them flow and branch out, then wrap around, loop around, and eventually overlap upon themselves before splitting once more.

A tree of time, a tree of possibilities.

A never ending story.

It was a good thing then that Wanda knew how to navigate the plethora of possibilities—of What If’s?

So far, her plans were coming to fruition. There was less struggle and fighting than she had expected, and not nearly as much thwarting from various other parties than she had been prepared for. Everyone has so far bent to her will, even Peter. It was almost a bit too perfect, but she wasn’t going to think too much about it.

Still, there were some loose ends she had to deal with.

The sun began to break over the mountain tops, turning the snow peaks into tips of gold. Even this high up in the mountains, the sun’s light shed a warmth on Wundagore that seemed to fill it with life. Wanda took a deep breath in, savoring the feeling, as the night disappeared and a new day began. She would need all of her strength in the coming days.

Once America had been acquired, Wanda felt to keep the peace to give each of them time to adjust. For her, it had been meditating, learning to become intune with her powers once more. There was a greater depth to them than before, the pot thicker as she dipped into the more vast expanse of what she could conjure. Even with Chthon’s guidance and teachings, Wanda knew there was much to learn from herself. She had the raw talent, afterall. What her powers held might not even be known to her dark lord.

Wanda would sit on the stone table and breathe, let her powers come to life and guide her. She could feel everything around her—the way of the wind, every flake of snow falling to the ground, the hiss of the stone walls, and the minds of her companions. It was how she determined the state of mind her love and prisoner were in.

Where America had become docile and a shell of a bubbly young girl, Vision was cautious. America spent her time sitting with her mother’s stone forms, whispering to them to tell them stories and make promises and letting her eyes drift off to the nothing as she had no other care in the world. But Vision was always watching.

Even in the past, Vision had been wary of her. While she could see into his head at any moment, he could not—or, at least, would not. Wanda could not stand the thought of not knowing, whereas Vision believed in letting everyone reveal their secrets in their own time. She thought it was always somewhat ironic considering he was the bearer of the mind stone.

Now, it was a weakness on both their ends.

Wanda held power over him, and Vision held true to his morals of trust. She knew that he could over power her if desired, could figure out every little part of her in a single moment, but he wouldn’t. He felt her emotions, felt her longing and pain, and trusted that. But what good was trust if there was never any known reasoning behind it?

She cursed to herself. This had been her one mistake so far, and one that she could not easily correct.

Vision, too, seemed to be meditating in his own way. Wanda could sense it. She could feel how her love tried to become one with the stone, tried to gain more understanding. He knew there was a part he was missing, something the stone held and knew that if he could just know more of it, then maybe it would answer his questions. Questions of what it is, what it can do, what it means to be entwined with him—what it means to Wanda.

There were silent questions that were asked between them with each little glance. Wanda pleaded with her eyes; Vision looked away. It hurt, but there was no reason for her to lose faith in her love, not with the way between each of those side looks she could see the longing and love from deep within.

Only a little longer, and everything would be right. Only a little longer, and her love would trust her completely.

A chill ran through her back. The darkness called to her in worry.

Patience, she whispered back. Vision posed no threat to the possibility of what they feared. Wanda was in control. And everything was going exactly as it should.

It was time to begin the next phase of her plan. It was time to create a possibility.

Ignoring the world around her was a daring task. It meant blocking out not only the physical distractions of the world, but also the emotional mental aspect. She needed total concentration. She could not let anything break her flow of energy, which meant she’d have to also trust the world around her to let her be.

Wanda rolled her neck and conjured forth the Darkhold. The pages unfurled past any spells and forgotten languages to two blank pages. She traced her fingers over them, feeling the paths and print hidden within. It was different from other scripture, ancient and otherworldly, a secret lost to the mortals of the world that they once felt so devoted to pray to.

The air cooled around her, darkness unfolding as the carvings on the table began to glow. She bent her fingers and runes appeared around her, locking her in and shielding her from the unknown turmoil arising on the other side.

This would be fairly dangerous.

When the snap had first been undone and everyone was in disarray and the funeral had ended, everyone had to figure out what would be their next path, where would they all go from there. The Avengers were disrupted, people were confused and scared, and there was much unknown. It was all terrifying.

Wanda had been sitting outside, taking in the world, trying to figure out what to do now that she was alive, Thanos was gone, and her love was dead—and how she’d killed him for nothing. She had no idea what she was to do next. She spent her time walking through the woods, watching the lake, following the river, keeping to herself as comrades began to depart on their next adventure, leaving her behind.

It was expected, of course, but it still hurt a little. Afterall, she was always left in the end.

But that was when she heard Thor and the raccoon chattering away, inviting him on their journey, and how they could return to somewhere special.

“Nidavellir is not a place one seeks out, rabbit,” Thor had said. “Weapons are to be forged for battle, to be used as tools only when needed. They are meant to honor their masters in glorious battle. They aren’t meant to be trophies for profit. And what comes out of Nidavellir is more sacred than any other tool one could imagine. They aren’t meant for the hands of just anyone. Nidavellir forges the tools of gods.”

“Was everyone on Asgard a god?” the raccoon had countered. “Because I don’t think I saw anyone else wielding a hammer that can summon lightning or an ax that could open rainbow portals walking around.”

Thor had smiled. “Tools of the gods are their own being, but they can be guided to a handler. They choose who’s worthy.”

The raccoon had complained and muttered on about it being unfair, but Thor hadn’t minded, insisting that the forge was not to be abused.

Nidavellir forges the tools of gods

That line had rang in Wanda’s head, but she couldn’t understand why. Maybe her power knew what was to come before she could even think of the possibility.

To hold the power of the universe in one’s hand, you must wield the strength of the gods.

The gods know the secrets of old and guard them with their lives.

The gods are always listening, always watching, and know the path foretold.

The gods will hold these secrets close, never to be told.

An almost rhyme—but, more importantly, a warning.

Once upon a time, Wanda would have never believed in gods of any kind, not even in God. But then she was touched by the power of another world, and a light ignited within her, and suddenly, she could see everything in a new light. She had the power to rival the gods, and if there was ever a moment to do so, she knew her power would keep her strong.

Wanda licked her lips, and began to speak.

“I call forth the Allfather, I name you as the Watcher;

“Jeg kalder Alfædrene frem, jeg navngiver dig som Vagteren;

“Ég kalla fram alfeðrana, ég nefni þig sem vaktmannin;

“Jeg kaller frem Allfedrene, jeg navngir deg som Vakteren;

“Jak kallar fram Allfathers, jag namnger dig som Vakten.”

Over and over, she spoke the words. They rolled off her tongue and filled her, their power swallowing her whole. And she let them. She held on, her tongue moving faster as the power flowed through her veins and reached out into the wind.

“I call forth the Allfather, I name you as the Watcher;

“Jeg kalder Alfædrene frem, jeg navngiver dig som Vagteren;

“Ég kalla fram alfeðrana, ég nefni þig sem vaktmannin;

“Jeg kaller frem Allfedrene, jeg navngir deg som Vakteren;

“Jak kallar fram Allfathers, jag namnger dig som Vakten.”

The words knew her intent, could feel her power, and were deeming her worth. She had to keep pushing. She had to break through their veil. She had to reach him.

“I call forth the Allfather, I name you as the Watcher;

“Jeg kalder Alfædrene frem, jeg navngiver dig som Vagteren;

“Ég kalla fram alfeðrana, ég nefni þig sem vaktmannin;

“Jeg kaller frem Allfedrene, jeg navngir deg som Vakteren;

“Jak kallar fram Allfathers, jag namnger dig som Vakten.”

Her mind traveled across the stars. It was an endless darkness with specks of light that flickered now and then as her mind was pulled further out into the universe. Then, finally, she began to see the end of the road, the glittering gold in the distance, and the bridge that would lead her to her fortune.

Take me to him.

Her power sang, clawing its way through the stars till she was met by a simple plane of glass separating her from the beauty beyond, and guarded by a daunting pair of golden eyes. They stared out into the void, watching all, waiting.

I see you.

Wanda drew in a shuddering breath. Though the eyes did not seem to stare at her, they knew she was there. They were watching each other from a two-way mirror. This would not deter her.

She reached out a hand and skimmed the tips of her fingers over the glass separating them, and the eyes moved, looking right through her. She flinched. They were daring her to continue.

With a tentative hand, Wanda placed her hand upon the glass and began to push. It splintered, sensing her strength, but did little more than crack.

You shall not pass.

We shall see.

Wanda raised both hands to the mirror and siphoned her power forth. She let the red seep into the cracks, lengthen them, until she could chip away enough to reach a single hand through.

Oh, the power she felt on the other side.

Wanda grinned, winding up for her next strike, only to falter at the feel of a hand grasping her arm with great strength.

Not today.

Her eyes went wide.

The golden eyes disappeared and in place a great sword was shoved through the glass, piercing her shoulder. Wanda screamed. The blade pushed her back, forcing her arm away, and with a final swing, she was forced to let go, her magic retreating with her.

The mirror mended, the sword vanished, and Wanda fell back into her body with a shriek.

“Wanda?”

Wanda blinked. She lay on her stomach on the table, her runes gone and the spell broken. She was shaking, and not just of anger.

She hissed to herself and pushed up onto the table. Vision stood next to her, observing. He reached out a hand, but changed direction at the last moment and let it rest on the table instead of her shoulder.

I’m still me…

No, not now. She couldn’t right now. There were other things still to be done.

“Dammit all,” she cursed. The Darkhold was splayed before her, the pages of the spell taunting. The circular pattern burned and dimmed. Dammit all again.

“Wanda? Are you alright?”

No, clearly not. But she couldn’t let herself snap back at her love, no matter how foolish a question was.

“It didn’t work,” she rasped. “I can’t break through, he’s just too strong.” Her entire body was twitching and humming. “I need his sight, I need to find the map.” She was scraping at the ground. “I can’t fail, not now, not when I’m this close.”

Wanda couldn’t stop. She couldn’t give into the pressure, nor to the endless possibilities before her. She had to succeed, and she had to on her own. Wanda could not fall back on her master, not if she wanted to prove herself worthy of trust and the power that was to come. This was a task she must venture on her own volition.

“Wanda…”

A hand touched her hair to run gently through her locks, but Wanda swatted away.

“I’m fine! I’m fine,” she said. Her teeth were bare. She swung around, grasping at the hand as another came to calm her, but she snatched it too.

Vision frowned at her. Wanda held back a snarl, but she couldn’t quite keep herself from digging her nails into her love’s wrists.

Wanda wanted to roar.

“I SAID I’M—”

But the words caught in her throat instead as her eyes caught the face of her love—specifically, the jewel embedded in his head.

Could she do it?

The stone had awakened her power in full, it had reached out to her even before she knew of its existence. The Mind Stone was forever tied to her, and her to it. It was an extension of her potential.

It was a tool she could utilize.

“I need you,” she said, her voice soft as she changed her tune of tactic. She released him; his hands remained frozen in the air. “I need you. I need your help. You’re the only one who can help me.”

Vision’s face softened, and he cupped her cheeks. “Anything, my love. You just need to let me in. You just need to ask.”

A smile graced her lips.

“Come,” she beckoned. She rose back onto her feet and centered herself on the table, Vision standing across. He smiled.

Wanda lifted her hands, palms to the sky, and nodded for Vision to rest his over her own. “This might hurt a little,” she warned. “I’m not quite sure what will happen or if this will work.”

Vision released a breath. “If it will help you find peace, then I shall suffer a hundred lifetimes to ensure your happiness.”

Never again, she thought with a bitter smile.

Wanda closed her eyes and began to search. She reached out to the stone, palms glowing. Vision hissed as her power took hold and she grasped his mind.

“Don’t be afraid,” she told him through the link. “You will be okay, you have nothing to fear.”

This time, Wanda had no need for her runes or candles or ancient scripture. She was one with the stone, and the stone with her.

She took in a sharp breath, hands shaking, and let her power go.

Energy seemed to blast around them as she connected in total with the stone, tapped into its power. She could hear every thought, see every mind near and far. It was exhilarating as it was overwhelming.

Focus, she told herself.

Wanda grasped Vision’s wrists with her eyes still closed in order to tether her to this plane of the world. The stone was very strong, and she could not let herself become swept up in its endless waves.

She licked her lips and took in a shuddering breath.

Then she whispered a name.

“Heimdall.”

Faster than before, Wanda was flung across the universe as she tasted the name and spoke its power.

“Heimdall.”

The stars guided her, pulling her forth until she reached the mirror once more, and the golden eyes guarding it.

They narrowed. You shall not pass, witch, they said once more.

I’ll do as I please, she said in return.

Wanda held out her hand to the glass, her fingers caressing the surface, and watched it begin to splinter enough that a small formed larger enough for her index finger to fit through. On the other side, she could hear the warrior roar and his sword raise in anticipation to strike her down once more.

“Heimdall.”

The sword froze.

The glass shattered.

And Wanda walked through and took hold of the mind behind those golden eyes.

You shall not pass! the god roared in her mind. He was strong, Wanda would give him that. But his was like any other she’d entered before.

The mind had its own world inside, each different and unique to compliment the person they belonged to. The weaker the mind, the simpler the world; the stronger the mind, the more treacherous it was to remain within the domain.

Wanda had expected a caravan of armed men, a maze that could never be solved and trap her forever, a guarding of beasts and boobytraps all around. But instead, the mind of the god was only that of an endless pool of water that held the stars, and in the center a circular platform where the god himself stood in grand regalia and only a sword. He was his own conscience. He was his own protector.

His eyes narrowed, and he raised his sword into position.

You shall not pass into this realm.

Wanda’s fingers trembled as she held onto the reality around her. She’d have to be quick—she wasn’t sure how much longer Vision could hold on to her.

Red sparks formed in the palm of her hand as she raised to forth.

I have no need for this realm, she spoke, only the world within your mind.

The god roared, running at her with great might, but Wanda remained confined to her place. The power in her veins thrummed, black trickling up the tips of her fingers, and her eyes glowed red. She twisted her wrist and seized forward into the god’s consciousness, stopping him in his tracks.

The man was gasping as she brought him to his knees. The mind began to shake and fall into shadow.

Show me the path. Show me the realm.

Wanda gave another boost to her power. Heimdall screamed as her tendrils tore into him. They weakened him, his walls beginning to collapse just enough for Wanda to use her other hand to conjure forth the map the god held close to his heart.

The water began to ripple, startling Wanda. The water was changing, feeding off her desire and the god’s mind. Yggdrasil appeared, the Tree of the World, and showed her the map of the realms. Earth sat at the base of the trunk, the middle ground of the godly realms as branches grew from the top to Asgard and roots below that led all the way down to Nidavellir.

There, she smiled. The path.

She printed it in her mind, breathing it in, and when she was satisfied with her new knowledge, she turned to the god with a wicked grin. She flicked her fingers, releasing him from her hold and flinging her back through his mind, back through the glass mirror and the stars, all the way back to her own body and mind and to the cold stone floor.

The pair were flung apart by the end of their power convergence. Wanda took a tumble off the table and into a pillar while Vision was flung into the wall with barely enough time to catch himself before his power gave way and he collapsed to the ground.

Wanda groaned. She felt as if her power was overheating, and the sweet sensation of the snowy wind was helping to cool her mind and hands. Although, as she did look upon her hands, she discovered them to be somewhat scared and burned with an intricate circular pattern that faded away in the blink of an eye—but she could still feel it in her skin.

The worry of it was not important to her right now, however, but the success she now felt of having tapped into the Mind Stone and broken into a god’s mind.

She truly was a marvelous creature…

“What did you do?”

…even if her love could not see it that way.

Vision stood against the table, hunched over and panting. “Wanda, what did you do?”

Wanda sat up and leaned back against the pillar as she assessed how to go about this situation.

“I needed to find a map to Nidavellir,” she went with. “There are few who I know of who would know where it is, even fewer of who I know I could reach out to. I have limits as well, you know, and there’s only so much I can do with the power I hold that won’t rip me and any I use it upon in two. It’s fickle, really. Counterintuitive in some cases.”

“But what was it that you had me do?” Vision pressed.

Wanda’s jaw twitched. “I used the stone to amplify my power to breach the mind of the Asgardian god known as Heimdall. He is a watcher of the realms and would know where it is. Nidavellir is hidden and protected by Asgard for a reason, meaning only Asgardians know where it is—and none would ever willingly give up the secret.”

“You shattered the mind of a god for a map?!”

“I didn’t shatter his mind.”

“Maybe not, but I saw what you did to him, I saw the pain and torture you inflicted upon his mind!” Vision stomped around the table to face her as she remained on the floor. “You used me and my power for your own will.”

“You consented,” she hissed back, rising to her feet. “You said you’d help me in whatever way I needed.”

“Then that was my mistake for not asking what it was you needed prior to the act.”

The stone glowed in his head to mimic the burning glow of her eyes. She was losing him. She couldn’t keep acting on the offense to win him over.

The glow of her eyes died, and Wanda hung her head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my intentions. I thought I would be protecting you. I don’t like you seeing this side of me, but you need to understand that I am willing to do what it takes to save everyone. I refuse to take the long road when I know that there is a short cut. And that’s what I did.”

“But at the expense of hurting others, I cannot—”

“But no one was hurt!” Wanda held his face and looked deep into his eyes. “I swear this to you, I did not hurt anyone with any malice in my heart or actions. I did not kill or maim or torture beyond what was necessary. I don’t like causing pain, Vision. I don’t want to. But I will do what is needed only when I have no other choice.” Her hands slid down his neck to his chest, and she leaned into his body. “Please, my love. Please believe me. And forgive me. I can’t lose you again.”

Logically, Wanda knew that at this moment in time, Vision had yet to embrace the humanity of his being. He was still made of metal and wiring and an artificial conscience, yet filled with the human emotions of caring and love and heartache. So, Wanda hoped she could reach that human part of him now. If she had wheedled it out of him once, she could do it again. She just needed time.

A slight gasp left her lips with a watery smile as Vision’s arms rose to embrace her. One hand carded fingers through her hair as the other brought them closer.

“Thank you,” she whispered, but he did not reply.

A single tear rolled down her cheek.

🝮

Time was of the essence, but even Wanda wasn’t foolish enough to try and push her limits in a singular moment. She had the wisdom to understand that patience was the key to her success and to rush would lead to failure.

She could not fail.

The toll of breaking Heimdall’s mind left her dizzy, enough that she had decided to take a real rest to regain her strength. With her love in a similar state and America on a leash, Wanda did not fear falling asleep upon the stone table to let her magic regenerate. It was a simple spell, one of the first she had taught herself. She would fall into a light trance, asleep but not quite, and let her power heal her mind and body in order to strengthen itself.

Then nightfall came, and her wait ended. It was time to begin again.

Wanda took a deep breath and rose from the table like water. Her power swirled around her in glee and disappeared as she settled into her body.

She faced the mountains and crooned, “America,” with a simple turn of her head to find her. The young girl froze, popping her head out around the corner of the pillar with wide, cautious eyes. Wanda gave a soft smile. “Come here, please. It’s time to go.”

America gulped, but followed. Her legs were trembling, but not from the cold. She kept herself small, arms hugged around her. “Where are we going?” She bit at the inside of her cheeks, stopping once she could no longer hide.

What a silly girl.

“Out,” she replied. “I have things to do, places to be, and I need your help getting there.” Wanda turned from the mountains and marched over to America to lace their arms together, startling the girl, then led her forward to the opening mouth of the temple. “You play a very important role in this. Without you, I’m in a bit of a stitch.”

“But I can’t control my power,” she weakly argued. “I know you gave me my memories, but that doesn’t mean I know what—”

“Which is why you won’t need to because I will be guiding your power to do what needs to be done,” she soothed.

Wanda released their arms and turned America towards the mountains. The wind blew at their faces, their eyes pinching from the cold sting.

“Vision.” She looked back at her love. “Please join us.”

Vision was wary, but approached with hesitation until he stood behind her with his head slightly hung.

“Where to, Wanda?” His voice was soft. “What is it that you desire now?”

Wanda tried to hide her grimace. Later, she told herself. They would resolve things later.

She took a deep breath in through her nose and rolled her neck. Her hands raised and bits of red began to tingle at her fingertips.

“I know you don’t trust me, and I can’t tell you what it is I plan to do quite yet. But what I can say is that I need the Infinity Stones for this to work.”

“The Infinity Stones?” Vision asked, then touched the stone in his head.

“Your’s is one of six,” Wanda replied to his unsaid worry. “They started the universe and have the power to change and manipulate everything. They are all powerful—and they are what I need to ensure everything will be set right. But I can’t hold them. Not all at once, anyway. The stones take a toll on the holder if they are not strong enough to wield it. So I need something to hold them together safely so that I do not become corrupted by their power.”

Wanda raised her hands and turned directly to America. The girl was jumpy, taking a shuffling step back, but one look from the witch had her standing perfectly still.

Good girl.

Power began to flow through her veins as she reached out. Her hands hovered around America’s head, not even touching, then let her magic flow. America gasped.

“Back in the before, the Titan known as Thanos hunted down the stones and wore a gauntlet to hold and control them. Alien made, alien forged. Later, when the Avengers went to steal the stones themselves, Tony Stark made his own gauntlet out of vibranium.” Her fingers twitched as a little spasm of power was released, making America whimper as they began to attach to her mind.

“So we are to obtain vibranium and make a gauntlet?” Vision deduced. “I’m not sure Wakanda will take kindly to us seemingly stealing their resources. And what does this have to do with Nidavellir? You never explained what it was.”

Wanda hummed. “Vibranium isn’t an option. I’m trying to keep my distance from the Avengers, and putting me in the line of fire of Wakanda is troublesome. Which is why I needed to find Nidavellir, the planet that makes weapons for gods where the first gauntlet was forged.”

Another lick of power struck America. Her eyes began to glow ice blue as power tickled her fingertips.

“I-… I- I- I can see it,” America stuttered. “I can see the- the worlds! They’re calling to me.”

“Focus,” Wand implored. “The worlds can wait. Stay grounded to our universe and follow the map.”

Wanda closed her eyes and showed America the way: the great tree, the roots dug into the cosmos, and the path the stars made that led straight to Nidavellir.

“There,” she said. “There it is. Grasp the image, America. Hold onto Nidavellir.”

“Okay,” she croaked. Her body tensed, breath in short puffs as she clenched her fists.

Wanda could feel America’s power warming. It was ready to ignite, ready to follow the path it was meant to take. And now, with her help, she’d be able to guide the young girl to control an extraordinary gift.

“Now,” she commanded, “release your power.”

Wanda retracted her hands quickly as America swung. She screamed and punched the air, her power conjured forth, and broke the barrier through space.

Wanda grinned.

A shining star stood before them, but it did not look out into the mountains. Instead, it opened to a sky full of unknown stars and a great metal hall beneath.

Nidavellir.

America was gasping for breath as she kept her hand outstretched. “Can I let go now?”

“In a moment,” she said, and took the girl’s other hand. America jumped at the feeling. “Let’s go.”

Wanda took the first step, tugging America along with her and Vision lagging behind. She walked through the star and could feel the way the air changed as the gravity fluctuated. From a cold mountain range, the three of them entered a brisk dark hall of metal that was too still and quiet.

“You can let go now.”

America gasped and dropped her hand. The star closed into itself from behind and the light died out from the girl’s eyes. She fell forward onto her knees, gagging.

“Keep an eye on her,” she told Vision, then began her trek further into the hall.

Darkness surrounded them. The only light seemed to come from the stars outside that cast this place with a deep blue glow. Webbing and loose wires hung all around as little sparks would prick now and again as she took careful steps, her boots echoing. There was no sign of life anywhere. This place had been abandoned.

Wanda clenched her jaw.

No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t end like this.

She snarled to herself. The realm of Nidavellir was destroyed, forgotten. Asgard had failed them, and so they had failed her.

It wasn’t fair.

Wanda’s eyes began to glow as she reached out to hoist a great piece of metal and flung it across the room with an echoing Bang!

America yelped.

“Nothing to fear.” Wanda turned back to them, her grimace still apparent. The girl was cuddled against Vision. “I’ve just discovered that this was all a wild goose chase. There is nothing here but junk. We are alone.” Her fists clenched and the metal around them creaked.

“I’m not so sure about that.”

America screamed as Wanda ducked just in time as a large hammer flung out from the shadows. It hit a pillar, causing it to collapse and rubble to fall down upon them. She acted quickly. Her power created a shield around the three as Vision covered America with his body until the debris ceased. Wanda released the spell once they were safe, turning her fury to the darkness where the hammer had come from to find a large disheveled figure run at them.

Wanda gasped. She threw up her hands as they neared to freeze them in place. The being groaned and snarled, still holding tight to their weapon.

“You have trespassed upon Nidavellir. What business do you have here, midgardians?” the being boomed. Its teeth remained bared as it tried to trash within Wanda’s grasp.

“I am in need of the services of Nidavellir and its disciples,” Wanda answered. “I seek a device capable of holding and harnessing the Infinity Stones.”

The being scoffed. “Well, I’m afraid to tell you that your request has already been completed, and its payment dealt. Your master has already collected his prize.”

Wanda frowned. “This master you speak of is not mine,” she said. “I do not serve Thanos. I serve myself. And I need to harness the stones so that I can kill Thanos before he has the chance to decimate everyone I love.”

The being gave a hollow chuckle. “Even if what you say is true, I’m afraid you will be given nothing. Many lie for glory, very few seek tools of greatness to lead the world to justice, and I have seen too many of my creations fall into the bitter hands of those who lie for a greater intent. So I shall tell you this: Nidavellir is dead. You shall not be granted your weapon.”

Well, this may prove to be an issue. But Wanda couldn’t let herself become worked up now. She had to contain her emotions if she wanted to try and gain any kind of understanding with this being. She had to remain patient.

“What do you mean Nidavellir is dead?” America spoke up from behind. “It’s still here, and so are you. I call that living.” She took a couple steps forward, cautious of the being and Wanda, but curious enough to not let the fear consume her. What was she up to?

“Ah, dear child,” the being chuckled, amused by her. “Three-hundred dwarves once lived on this rig until Thanos gave me the task of forging a device that could harness the power of the Infinity Stones. I did as he asked, hoping that in doing so he would leave my people in peace. But instead, once he had what he desired, he slaughtered them all anyway—all except for me. He told me, ‘Your life is yours to live, but your hands are mine.’” The dwarf raised his hands to show them to be encased in molten metal, deformed to nothing more than glorified fists. America gasped, and the dwarf seemed to take pride in the fear, yet his eyes softened in sadness at the same time. “I am all that remains of Nidavellir, and I refuse to forge again. Nidavellir is dead.”

Was there no place in this universe that was untouched by the titan?

Wanda lowered her hands with some hesitation, but she allowed for her magic to unravel and retreat. The dwarf relaxed and collapsed to the floor, head hung as he tried to curl into himself. Grief was always woven into acceptance.

“What was this place like before?” she asked. Wanda came forward to the dwarf and touched on his metal hands. “May we see it?”

Shaggy hair parted as the dwarf lifted his head to meet her eyes. He frowned, confused. “Did you not hear what I just said moments ago?”

“I did,” Wanda answered with the quiver of a smile. “But I have a talent for reviving the past.”

Looking into the dwarf’s eyes, Wanda raised a hand and summoned her power. A twinge of red fell into the eyes of the dwarf, followed by an explosion all around as ripples of red ran over the rig and twisted it into a brighter thing.

The dwarf gasped.

Around them, the rig mended itself. Its desolate halls turned to bright gold as ghostly figures walked around. Metal clattered in the distance, sparks flew, and the rings spun around like a beautiful ring of light with the star at its center—a grand ball of fire that lit the hope of the smith’s ring and made all that was forged there glow.

“My brothers,” the dwarf whispered.

“It’s beautiful,” America murmured. The dwarf turned to her, a small smile at his lips, as a tear ran down his cheek.

None of this was fair. Wanda would be sure to avenge them all.

The memory faded into a dusting shimmer, the golden light retreating back to harden the deep blue and black the real world resided in. Back to the world that was left.

The dwarf was sniveling on the ground. His teeth were barred. He beat down on the ground, the clashing metal causing the rig to tremble and Wanda to watch her balance as the dwarf bemoaned in rage.

This was her chance.

With caution, Wanda took a couple steps forward and knelt down before the dwarf, placid.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” She kept her voice as composed and gentle as she could. “I know what it is like to lose your family—to lose the people you love the most. I don’t want anyone to feel that kind of pain ever again. I only want to mend what has been broken. Which is why I need your help to harness the stones.”

The dwarf shook his head. “How can I believe you? How can I trust you?”

“Because I am on a journey to make the universe whole again, to correct all the wrongs that Thanos and his ilk have brought down on so many worlds. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I shall make this promise of kindness to you now: in this new world that I shall forge in peace and mending, I will ensure that your people are reborn again.” That dwarf’s head perked up. “Your people will be alive and protected, left alone to do as they please and serve who they choose and create what they want.”

The dwarf shifted, finally raising his head to become face-to-face. “How do I know that you will keep your end of this promise?”

Wanda gave a soft smile. “May I see your hands?”

The dwarf frowned, confused, but held them forward. He was shifty, and Wanda couldn’t blame him. A craftsman’s hands were their most treasured possession.

Wanda held her hands over each molten fist and closed her eyes. She reached inside, to a deeper power within. She could feel the blackness at her fingertips begin to grow with her intent.

Unravel and unfold, she thought to herself.

A sharp ping resounded through the hall, followed by scraping and tearing as the metal began to move. The dwarf grunt, but remained still as he watched.

Unravel and unfold

The metal screeched, heating under her touch.

Unravel and unfold

The metal shattered.

Wanda retracted her hands as the dwarf gasped in glee. He clenched and unclenched his hands, wiggled his fingers, traced his palms, and wept.

“Thank you,” he said.

Wanda nodded. “Will this do to ensure my promise?”

The dwarf gave a delighted chuckle. “Yes, this shall do. I am Eitri, the Dwarven King. What am I to call you and your companions?”

“Wanda,” she introduced herself. “They are America and Vision.”

“Well then, Wanda,” her name rolled off his tongue, “what is it that you wish me to forge?”

Wanda smiled. “I’d like you to design me a necklace that can hold five of the stones.” She brushed her hair back to show the collar of her dress. There were small diamond holes punctured across it, like an intricate halter. “Something akin to this.”

Eitri hummed. He traced a finger along the collar, measured her stature with his hands. “Yes. I believe I can create such a thing. But what about the sixth?”

“Unnecessary. It is safe with its keeper,” she said with a light look back at her love.

Eitri did not ask further, just nodded.

“It will take time for me to design properly, and even then we have the issue of the star,” he nodded out beyond the rig. “It’s gone cold, and I cannot heat the proper metal to create your necklace without it.”

Wanda rolled her shoulders, power alighting in her eyes. “That won’t be an issue. So long as you can create what I have requested, I can ensure your home world will be returned to its rightful glory among the universe. I am a patient woman. Do as you need.”

Eitri gave her a curious look, almost smug, but nodded. She could practically feel the spark of life returning to him at the prospects and promises she has spoken. “Then it is agreed.”

Wanda smiled. She turned to make her way to the edge of the rig to stare out at the desolate star.

“Then let us begin.”

If anyone had doubted Wanda’s strength before, there was no reason to now. Afterall, she had just reignited a star.

Since Thanos had destroyed Nidavellir, the star and rings had grown cold and froze over. The metal was weak and the star without a single drop of light. But Wanda could sense the power it held within, the power it once had—and the power it would have again.

With all of her might and strength, Wanda called upon the energy in her veins. She reached out with tendrils of power, grasping onto each ring and began to pull. They were stuck tight, and the strain was great on her, but she would not give up. More of her power was released, the red veins running out and along every inch of the base, pulling and pushing, alighting it with a new glow until finally, the gears began to creak, and the ice began to break, and soon the rings began to swirl about, and Nidavellir breathed once more.

Oh, it was a beautiful sight.

Wanda had never seen such power before, never felt such warmth. It was… mesmerizing.

That was until she collapsed. Her knees hit the metal floor with a sickening crack! and Vision raced to her side.

“I’m fine,” she said, holding onto him as he settled her onto a nearby bench. “I’m fine, Vis. I promise. It was just a lot.”

“Wanda, you restarted a star. You are clearly not fine,” Vision worried over her. “You need to rest and replenish. You are not unbreakable.”

Wanda dug her nails into her palms. Patience, she told herself. He needs to trust me again.

She sighed and looked up at her love.

“I will rest,” she promised. “But once the work is done. Then I can be at peace.”

Eitri had already begun to forge, not wasting a single moment of the star’s new life. Metal clattered as he hammered and cut away, engrossed in his work. She had given the dwarf all the time he needed to make his work perfect and as immaculate as could be.

Vision huffed. He seemed to know his defeat against her. “I shall leave you be then.”

Give him time. He will come around with time…

But will you be able to wait for him?

Wanda’s breath hitched. Better now than to keep him waiting.

Lowering herself to the floor, Wanda crossed her legs and laid out her hands upon her knees. Her eyes rolled back, her power taking hold, and she let go. She fell into the nothing, breathed in, and opened her eyes to a realm of red.

The wind whipped and the clouds thundered and the earth groaned. The world of ash and smoke curled around her like a friend, shadows slinking about between the cracks and creases to watch and listen, patient, as the master and apprentice stood face-to-face once more.

Wanda rose to her feet, head raised and strong, and smiled. “Chthon.”

Chthon, her master, the Dark Mystic, sat on his dark throne of bone and ash. His horns bent and twisted, eyeing Wanda as he flexed his hulking form to show the scales and horns and knife-like teeth. How pretentious. She rolled her eyes.

“Why have you called me?” She began to stroll closer towards the demon.

Chthon seemed amused, enough that he rose from his throne and began to shrink his form till he stood before her as a man—more or less. A man with horns and the eyes of the devil.

“Do take kind to your master, my child,” he grinned.

“I take plenty of kind,” Wanda said. “What I don’t take kindly to is being checked on with every move I make like I am a child.” She narrowed her eyes, waiting. “Why have you called me?”

The wind whipped around them, pulling Wanda closer to the demon.

“I simply wanted to congratulate my protege on such a momentous occasion. Our plans are finally beginning to form, and you have done great things for us to reach this point.”

Wanda was not convinced.

“I don’t need your validation, I know what I am capable of,” she said, and took a step out of the wind with her power, circling around and back down the steps to the ground. Chthon followed not far behind with heavy steps that shook the ground. “Everything till now was possible, everything was acceptable, and you’ve always had your faith in me to do what’s needed. What you worry about is what will happen next. You don’t trust that I can do what comes next.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust your emotions to not interfere with what must be done. Your love for the boy still clouds your judgment. I worry that you will not have the will to take action, and thus fail.”

This again…

Chthon seemed to know her mind, giving a cheeky laugh as he began to circle her.

“You’ve grown too fond of him. You try to protect him when you know, and I know, that he will not be spared from what’s to come. And yet here you are, trying to play God in a world where know one can be spared. Your persistence is admirable, but it is also a flaw. A weakness. One that I sense could become your undoing.”

“A weakness can be a strength,” she snapped back. “You just have to know how to use it.”

“But will it be yours?” Chthon smirked.

Patience…

“I have everything under control,” she persisted. “You may not see what I do, but Peter still has value to me and to you. I know how to keep him in line and I know how to prepare him for what is to come next. You just need to be patient and trust me.”

Chthon snarled, his eyes alighting in flame as the wind around them blew. Wanda held her ground. She never once let her eyes break from his piercing gaze. If he intended to fight, so be it. He could do little to her.

But the dark lord seemed to soften, settling. Maybe he found her will amusing. “You must be careful, my child. You cannot let your past emotions get in the way of what needs to be done.”

Wanda narrowed her eyes. “I won’t. And they haven’t. Everything is happening as it should.”

The demon still did not seem pleased.

A little bit of her power began to trickle from her fingers. She brought her hands up, beginning to play with the ball of energy in her hand, changing and shaping it like sand as it circled around her in glee. “This world is different from the old. There are things that have to happen still, sacrifices that must be made. If I am to succeed, then these events must occur.” The power began to knot and loop in on itself as something knew began to tickle the back of her mind.

“We will succeed, we shall win. But to do that, I can’t have you interfering and doubting my judgment. The boy is of value. He is crucial to what must happen.” The ball of power began to harden, turning into a stone before blowing into little pieces. “He will do as I say, he will follow the path I choose. Because now, he has something to lose. And no matter what he does to try and prevent the future from playing out, try to change the course of fate, he knows that he won’t be able to protect everyone he loves. So he will do as I say, lest the future catches up too fast, because he knows in his mind and soul that I am the only one who could possibly save everyone from their oncoming fates.”

A small smile grew on her lips, and she co*cked her head, turning slowly around to stare into the void, her eyes alight, and whispered;

“Isn’t that right, Peter?”