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I.
Peter didn't really know Wanda Maximoff, but he'd heard things, things he wasn't sure he believed. It didn’t help that, from the moment she'd joined the Avengers, the media was in a state of frenzy, of never-ending questions: An Avenger without a codename? A superhero going by her actual name? Who is this Wanda Maximoff? And what, pray tell, can she do? There were never any answers, either, mostly just speculations, the next one always more absurd than the last.
"Wanda Maximoff is a walking, talking, ticking time bomb," Mr. Stark told him once, which was about as close to a credible account as Peter got. "And that's on a good day, kid, which, as you can clearly tell, today is not. Really, my advice? Let the adults handle it; let me handle it. I'll take care of Wanda. You—you just take that can of silly string you've got tucked up your sleeve and go play nice with Cap and the others. Keep your distance, web 'em up. Got it?"
And Peter, heart racing in his chest because he was on the way to Germany to fight Captain America, nodded and gave him two thumbs-up.
"Yeah, Mr. Stark, absolutely, sir: I got it," Peter said, and agreed to stay away.
Funny how much had happened since then, how much could change in eight years. Well—three years; though these days, the less time Peter spent thinking about the space-time continuum, the better.
In fact, there was a growing list of things he tried not to think too much about, college admissions now included—and maybe that explained why he’d missed the first balloon until it was too late.
Paint splattered across his chest and he yelped in surprise. Shouting cost him time; by then, the next balloon was already hurtling across the street, and he instinctively shot out a hand—and ended up grasping at air.
Someone else had caught the balloon; someone had intercepted it inches from his face.
“Parker," Sergeant Barnes greeted, without looking at him. He was glaring across the street at the culprits, the second paint balloon in the palm of his vibranium hand.
Peter gaped at him, disbelieving. "Hey, Sergeant Barnes," he managed. "What brings you to Queens?"
His question earned him a glare of his own, and he immediately recoiled. “Not that you aren’t welcome here, sir. On the contrary, you’re, uh, very welcome. You're—I'm really glad..." Peter swallowed nervously, then straightened up best as he could. "Thank you?"
Sergeant Barnes rolled his eyes, tossing the balloon into the open trash. "This happen a lot?" he asked, eyebrow arched.
"No," Peter lied.
But he was a lousy liar, and in the end Sergeant Barnes didn't even have to twist his arm to get to the truth. One bodega sandwich and a cup of coffee later, Peter was telling him everything. He must have told this story a hundred times now: Peter Parker makes a mess and has to fix it; it was the story of his life.
“Christ, Parker, I'm sorry," Sergeant Barnes said, sounding sincere. "Is there anything I can do?"
Peter had to look away then. He'd be lying if he said he'd never considered it; he'd thought about it a lot actually: asking for help. But May always told him to trust his instincts, and his instincts always pulled him back. He knew he was on his own with this one. He knew he had to be.
It was the only way to make sure no one else got hurt.
"Thanks, Sergeant Barnes, but I don't think there's anything you can do," Peter said. He scrounged up his best smile, which felt more like a grimace at this point, and added, "I mean, hey, it's not like things can get much worse from here, right?"
"Right," Sergeant Barnes said slowly.
But he was frowning, studying Peter closely. Peter stayed as still as he could; he could tell that Sergeant Barnes was trying to decide something about him. He just didn't know what.
"You're right, Parker, I can't help you," Sergeant Barnes said then, eyes clearing. "But I might know someone who can."
In retrospect, Mr. Stark’s warning fell pretty short of the reality of seeing Wanda Maximoff in action in Germany. After successfully rolling out of the way of the first of many cars she'd sent flying, he quickly realized the tabloids were never going to get those answers they so desperately wanted. There were no answers.
Wanda Maximoff couldn't be explained.
You were better off fighting an avalanche—or staying away, like Mr. Stark had said. And Mr. Stark would know: it was a little harder to roll out of the way in an Iron Man suit, and by the end of things, his suit resembled a heavily-dented, rusted can.
Still, nothing broke the ice better than fighting to save the universe together, and so when Sergeant Barnes told him that he was heading to Wanda's for the weekend for a visit, and would Peter like to come with, Peter didn't even have to think about it. Sergeant Barnes said Wanda might be able to help him, of course he was going to go.
"I just need to clear it with May," Peter said.
“I don’t know, Peter," May sighed, once Peter'd filled her in on the plan. "Do I have to remind you what happened the last time you went traipsing around Europe with another so-called superhero—"
"But May," Peter interjected, "May, Sergeant Barnes is an Avenger. You can trust him—“
Peter dropped his voice, looking up: three of May’s co-workers had entered the office break room, making a beeline for the coffee machine. May smiled warmly at them; then she began clearing the remains of their dinner, stacking their empty white cartons.
Once they were alone again, May poked him in the shoulder. "I don't have to trust Bucky Barnes," she said, "I trust you." And then she sighed again and planted her chin on her fist, thinking it over again. "I guess, maybe, a weekend away wouldn't be the worst thing in the world," May said finally. "Even Spider-Man needs a break every once in a while, right? A chance to catch his breath?"
"You have no idea," Peter said; he still had the splattered suit in his backpack.
"Well, then, that settles it." May held up one finger. "But I want a phone call every day, and a back-up number to call in case I can't reach you."
"Yeah. Yeah, of course."
"And I want you to be careful, Peter. Please, please just be careful."
Peter reached across the table and took her hand in his. May had made a point of refraining from telling him the details of her time in the interrogation room, but he could always guess. "I will. I'll be careful. I'll be safe," he said.
May nodded and with one last heavy sigh, got up, bringing their cartons to the trash. "So," she said, "Sokovia, huh?"
"Yup," Peter said, sounding it out.
Between the two of them, he thought they had a decent idea of Sokovia: F.E.A.S.T., along with every other non-profit in New York, had been running donation drives for the country long before Ultron even happened; and Midtown High's own fundraising booth was still operational to date, spouting facts and updates across the intercom over lunch. That was how Peter came to know that Novi Grad City alone had gone from a population of 1.8 million to a large hole in the ground. After that, it wasn’t long before Sokovia, as the world knew it, was practically wiped off the map.
May turned around then, biting her lip, looking like she’d been thinking the exact same thing. “I’d still feel a lot better if I knew you weren’t going alone,” May said.
"Can I bring MJ and Ned?" Peter asked, once Sergeant Barnes answered his call.
Sergeant Barnes looked momentarily confused by his question, then said: "Can you bring who and who?"
"MJ and Ned," Peter answered. "My friends. They know about Spider-Man," and he winced, because, well, there wasn't anyone who didn't anymore, was there? "They knew before everyone else knew," Peter clarified. "They helped me with Mysterio, and the Vulture, and—"
"Right, okay, okay, I get it," Sergeant Barnes said. He shoved his fingers through his hair, thinking it over; his hair stuck up, making him look like a disgruntled bird. "Sure, Parker—bring your friends."
"Really?" Peter blinked; he'd expected to have to beg, at least. "You mean it? Are you sure?"
"Yes," Sergeant Barnes said. "Now, let me get off this thing before I change my mind. I told you to call," he added, "not—whatever this is."
"FaceTiming," Peter supplied helpfully, and Sergeant Barnes promptly hung up on him after that.
II.
Peter didn't know what to expect, seeing Wanda again after so long. He tried not to overthink it: he'd learned early on that expecting things to go one way was the quickest way to guarantee they'd blow up in his face instead. The only thing you could do, he thought, was to be prepared for anything.
Once they reached Wanda’s, though, he wasn't the only looking a little confused. MJ had taken one look at the acre or so of land leading up to the house, before turning to Sergeant Barnes, one eyebrow raised.
"Pumpkins?" she asked dubiously. She stopped to tap one with her foot; it was almost as tall as her knee.
"Wanda loves Halloween," Sergeant Barnes said, as though that explained it.
Ned looked equally flummoxed when Peter caught his eye. Halloween? Ned mouthed at him, and Peter showed him empty hands and shrugged. Aloud, he said: “Right, Halloween. That makes sense.”
Except it didn't. They'd learned enough about Sokovia to know that pumpkins were not native to the country, not never—and certainly not since four billion tons of radioactive debris had fallen from the sky and contaminated everything on the ground, making it harder than ever to grow anything fit for consumption.
In truth, Peter found himself inexplicably perplexed by the pumpkins, though he couldn’t exactly explain why. He felt the urge to touch one, though. He had a feeling if he touched a pumpkin, he would understand.
His fingertips had barely grazed the thing when Ned slapped Peter's arm three times quick, trying to get his attention. "Dude," Ned said, looking straight ahead.
Wanda was standing at the very end of the patch, lifting a pumpkin off the soil. At first, Peter didn't recognize her: with her back to them, all they could really see were the overalls and the gardening gloves, the oversized sunhat pulled down over waist-length brown hair: all in all, not the Wanda he remembered. But it had to be her: Peter could tell, if anything, by the way Sergeant Barnes smiled.
"Hey, stranger," Sergeant Barnes said.
"James," Wanda returned fondly, turning around, "I thought we could carve them, for fun—" and then she caught sight of the rest of them standing there, and seemed to turn to stone.
“Looks like Sergeant Barnes forgot to mention he was bringing company,” MJ mused, peeking out the window.
Peter joined her and looked out as well. From this angle, they could only see Wanda's face, but that was fine; she seemed to be doing most of the talking, anyway. She talked a mile a minute, from what Peter could tell, and the more she talked the more she paced around, alternating between throwing her hands up in the air and hugging herself tight.
And then Sergeant Barnes did the strangest thing: he slowly took one step forward, then another, and extended his hand, palm face-up. It took a few seconds, but Wanda placed her hand in his and let him draw her close. Sergeant Barnes seemed to be the one talking now, Peter guessed; Wanda had shut her eyes tight and was slowly nodding along to what he had to say.
“Do you think she’ll ask us to leave?” Peter asked.
MJ gave it some thought, then shook her head. “She already invited us in and gave us a room. She wouldn’t have done that if she wasn’t going to let us stay.”
“Maybe she’s trying to be a good host,” Ned chimed in, joining them at the window, too. “My nana's like that. She won’t send anyone away, even if she isn’t happy to see them. And if you ask me, Miss Maximoff doesn’t look too happy...”
Peter frowned. Now that Ned had mentioned it, Peter could see just how unhappy Wanda looked. Suddenly, it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I never noticed before," he told May on the phone later, "how miserable she looked. I never—I mean, you should see her on the field, May. You don't even have the time to react, let alone think..."
Peter broke off, remembering that day in Germany. Wanda had had the same downcast look in her eyes then as she did now, and even then Peter had thought nothing of it. What he had thought a lot about was that red energy she expelled from her hands; and how she'd used it to throw cars at him, to fly, and to slow an airport control tower from crushing her friends. But not her misery. Wanda's misery had been the least unsettling thing about her, all things considered. It still was.
"Should I have noticed? Am I a bad person for not noticing?"
May’s expression was gentle. “You know now," she said. "You notice now."
"But I could have—if I had—"
May shook her head. “Peter, listen to me,” she said. “You listen to me, okay? Could have's and should have's don't make a person—choices do. It's not about what you could have done, and it's not about what you should have done. It's about what you choose to do now. That's the only thing that matters. Do you understand?"
Peter opened his mouth; closed his mouth; opened it again. "Yeah," he said uncertainly, "Yeah, I think I understand."
Looking back at the house, he could see MJ and Ned and Wanda and Sergeant Barnes in the kitchen, getting things ready for dinner. Something Wanda had said had made Ned and MJ laugh, and when they left, arms stacked with plates and glasses and cutlery to set the table, Sergeant Barnes elbowed Wanda and winked. Peter wasn't sure what to make of it; he couldn't even picture what Wanda possibly could've said.
"May, I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" he said, looking back to his phone.
"Okay," May said. "Enjoy your weekend. I love you."
"I love you, too. Bye," Peter said, and hung up and went inside.
Wanda brought the last of the dishes to the table, a sinfully buttery mushroom soup, and with it, there wasn't a single inch of space left that wasn't occupied by food. "Dig in, everybody," she said, taking her seat at the head of table. She smiled warmly, if a little nervously at all of them. "I hope you like it."
"Everything looks great, Wanda," Sergeant Barnes assured her, going straight for a casserole topped with baked potato slices. "You've outdone yourself again."
"There's enough to feed an army," Ned agreed.
"Or one Super-Sarge and three tag-along friends," MJ said.
Sergeant Barnes furrowed his brow at her, unamused. “Super-Sarge? Really, Michelle?”
"Super-soldiers have four times the average human's metabolism," MJ replied, ladling soup into a bowl. "We learned that last year in gym."
"We did," Ned told him, nodding.
Sergeant Barnes scowled at both of them. "Well, your gym teacher’s full of it,” he said. “What's he thinking, teaching children that nonsense.”
"Um, well, technically, sir," Ned said, "Captain America was the one taught us. The old one. Steve Rogers, your—" and Ned wilted instantly under the withering look Sergeant Barnes was giving him. "He said it on a tape. There's a tape. That they play in gym class. Every year. Tapes on physical exercises and fire drills and—and—"
"Detention," MJ said, throwing him a line.
"Right, detention—" and while Ned stammered through the rest of his explanation, Peter turned his attention to Wanda.
Wanda hadn't touched any of the food yet, but she had her fork in her hand and was tapping it against her plate. Then, as though she'd sensed him watching her, she looked up.
"Something wrong, Peter?" she asked, showing him that same warm-nervous smile.
"No," Peter said immediately. The room had come to a full stop, everyone looking between the two of them. "No, I was just—" He cleared his throat. "You looked like you were about to say something."
Wanda blushed. "I was," she said, after a moment. Then she looked down the table and said, "I would like to apologize for the way I reacted earlier. I was—surprised, that's all. I don't usually get visitors, aside from Sam and James. James told me why he brought all of you here, what happened," she added. "I'm sorry to hear about what you're all going through, back home. I didn't know."
Peter blinked at her. "You didn't know?"
"No. I didn't," Wanda said, shaking her head.
A moment later, Sergeant Barnes pointedly cleared his throat; Peter was still staring.
"It's just—everyone knows," Ned explained, much more tactfully. And then his face fell, and Peter felt another stab of guilt; Ned, unlike May, had told Peter everything about his interrogation. “It’s been all over the news since word first broke out. Everyone's obsessed. I mean, Spider-Man is all the Bugle even talks about anymore."
Wanda's eyes flickered from Ned to Sergeant Barnes, then back to Ned. "I don't own a TV," she said finally.
Peter frowned. The sudden shift in her tone made the hairs on the back of his neck stand, his own instincts kicking in. But for what? He didn't know. He'd clearly missed something: next to Wanda, Sergeant Barnes had gone just as eerily still. His eyes were locked on Wanda, watching carefully.
"That's cool," MJ said, breaking the silence. "No one should, really. Those things'll rot your brain."
They all turned to her as one. MJ shrugged, going back to her dinner as though nothing had happened.
Wanda blinked at her a few times, then turned to Sergeant Barnes, who looked equally baffled. The corner of his mouth lifted.
"Don't look at me, Maximoff," Sergeant Barnes said. "You know I can't fall asleep without mine."
Peter got his first real chance to talk to Wanda later that night, coming down the stairs to find the kitchen lights on. She was pulling a tray out of the oven when he came in, hair pulled high and loose above her head, cheeks smeared with flour. Turning around, Wanda saw him, and jumped.
"Peter," she said, hand flying to her chest. "God, you scared me. I didn't hear you coming in."
"What..." Peter glanced out the window. It was pitch black outside. "What time is it?"
Wanda glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's—a little past three," she said, answering him. She didn't seem concerned about it; she made it sound like it was something people just did, bake cookies shaped like spiders and ghosts and witch hats, at three in the morning.
"Miss Maximoff, don't get me wrong," Peter said, watching her. Already, she was sliding two pies into the empty oven. "But why are you baking at three in the morning?"
That stopped her.
Wanda looked at him, chewing her bottom lip. "I have trouble sleeping sometimes," she said finally. She reached for the kitchen timer, and wound it a couple of times before setting it back down. It began ticking softly. "My head runs in circles, and when it does I...I find it best to do something with my hands. Baking helps," she added, flashing him a small, wry smile: What can you do?
Peter nodded sympathetically. He was no stranger to sleepless nights, lying awake in bed. He had dark purple circles under his eyes, too.
"Do you want any help?" he asked.
Wanda was trying to get to a set of bowls on a higher shelf in one of the cabinets. Stretching on her tiptoes, she glanced his way as he neared, looking amused.
"Do you know anything about baking, Peter?"
"No," Peter said immediately, this time not a lie. "I mostly work the fire extinguisher back home." And when Wanda's smile widened, he smiled, too, and added: "That, and reach for items on the top shelf."
"Thank you," Wanda said, taking the bowls from him.
"May—my Aunt May, she's the baker," Peter continued, following her back to the counter. "She likes to experiment with recipes a lot."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We spent an entire month on date loaves alone. They kept coming out like rocks," Peter said.
"I don't believe that," Wanda said, pouring powdered sugar into the different bowls.
"Trust me," Peter said. Date Loaf Month had been the longest month of his life. By the end of it, both freezer and fridge were stacked to maximum capacity, and what wouldn't fit ended up either at the bottom of Peter's backpack or the table in F.E.A.S.T.'s break room. "You know," Peter continued, a memory coming to mind, "one time she asked me to bring a test batch over to her office. And on my way over there was this sleazy guy in the street trying to steal this nice old lady's purse. I didn't have my web shooters on me, so I—I threw a loaf at him."
Wanda froze, whisk and bowl in hand, and looked at him. "Did it work?"
Peter grinned. "He went straight down," and he mimed the guy falling face-flat on the ground using his arm. "I told May after. I had to, because there was an entire loaf missing. I didn't have a choice. And I was so sure she would freak out," Peter said, "but she didn't. All she did was pat me on the head and say: Good job, Peter, I'll use less flour next time—" and Wanda gave him that same bewildered look again, and laughed.
It was the first time he'd heard her laugh. Wanda scrunched her nose when she laughed.
After, once she'd finished preparing the different colored icing, she told him, voice soft and wistful: "My mama loved to bake. I would watch her all the time."
"Yeah?" Peter said.
Wanda nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yeah," she said. She extended a bag of red icing, offering it to him with a small smile. "Wanna do the spiders?"
"I'd love to," Peter beamed.
It turned out Wanda was right: baking did wonders to quiet his own mind, let him focus on breathing and the immediate task at hand. Some of his spiders turned out droopier than the others, but all in all, he didn't think he did too bad a job. They worked side by side, Wanda doing the ghosts in white icing, and the hats in black. She was on the last hat by the time Peter finished his own cookies and said: "Sergeant Barnes mentioned you love Halloween."
Wanda paused a moment, then resumed icing. "He did, did he?"
"Yeah, he told us while we were coming up the pumpkin patch. We were wondering about them," Peter said, bringing the used dishes to the sink, "the pumpkins."
There was another pause. Peter glanced past his shoulder and saw that Wanda had gone still. She'd stopped working entirely. "What else did James tell you?" she asked then.
Peter hesitated. "That was pretty much it," he said slowly. "He's not much of a talker, Sergeant Barnes," he added, when Wanda still hadn't said anything. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he mostly just glares a lot," and oddly enough that was what got her to look up.
Wanda gave him a funny look then, head tilted to one side, like she was thinking hard.
"Miss Maximoff," Peter began uncertainly, "did I say something—?"
"It's magic," Wanda said abruptly, voice so soft Peter thought for sure at first he'd misheard.
He blinked at her. He'd definitely missed something this time. "What's magic?"
"The pumpkins," Wanda said. Her hands were clenched at her side. "I created the pumpkins using magic."
"You created..." Peter repeated, frowning slightly and not following.
And then it clicked. All at once, it hit him, what she'd just said; he felt it hit him like a train going full speed.
"Magic? Like—magic? Wizard magic? Doctor Strange and his flying cloak magic—?"
"No," Wanda said quietly. "Not like Strange. I'm no sorcerer, Peter." She lifted her chin, holding his gaze: "I'm a witch."
III.
“Like a real…?” Peter broke off, unable to finish the question.
Wanda pat him on the shoulder consolingly, guiding him to a chair. "Don't worry. I didn't believe it when I first found out, either," she said.
She told him a little more after that, but only a little, because every time she answered one of his questions, she had to pause to shut her eyes and take a few deep breaths, as though answering them caused her great pain. Still, Peter learned more about Wanda Maximoff in the next half hour than he had in the last eight years. He learned that learning she was a witch happened more recently than he thought; that Wanda was still trying to figure this whole magic thing out; that that was why she'd been so terrified to see all of them in the first place. Wanda wasn't exaggerating when she said she didn't get visitors; ever since the magic, she'd made sure of it.
"But Sergeant Barnes and Sam Wilson still found you," Peter pointed out.
"Of course, they did," Wanda said resignedly, "stubborn always wins the race. James was the one who figured it out, did he tell you?" Peter shook his head. "He did. And then he and Sam came here. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy for them." Wanda looked away. "I didn't make it easy for them."
"What did you do?" Peter asked.
"What I thought I had to," Wanda said. She closed her eyes. This time, the corners of her mouth spasmed, and her brow furrowed in pain.
"Miss Maximoff, we can stop if you—" and Peter whirled around just as Wanda's eyes snapped open again, the both of them sensing another presence—but it was only Sergeant Barnes, coming down the stairs.
"So," Sergeant Barnes said slowly, looking between the two of them. "I take it no one's sleeping tonight?"
Wanda's gaze softened; she got up, and went to get the coffee started. "Peter and I were just talking," she was saying. "We must have lost track of time."
"Talking?" Sergeant Barnes echoed, joining her.
"Mhm," Wanda said.
Peter chewed his spider cookie, watching them. He could easily tell they'd done this before, made coffee at four in the morning because they couldn't sleep. Sergeant Barnes had even known which of the cabinets the coffee was stored in; he’d opened the third overhead cabinet from the right and gotten it on the first try. Peter narrowed his eyes, observing him: as he scooped grounds into the coffee machine, there was a noticeable tremble in his flesh hand.
"You okay?" Wanda asked; she’d noticed it, too.
"Me? Why, I'm peachy-keen, Red. And yourself?"
Wanda smiled. "Just a little tired," she admitted. "I might try and squeeze a nap in before breakfast."
"You should," Sergeant Barnes agreed. "You look like you need it."
Wanda snorted. "Gee, thanks, Sarge,” she deadpanned, and a second later, one corner of Sergeant Barnes’ mouth twitched.
"That's not what I meant," he said. "You know what I meant. Go. Sleep. I'll take care of coffee. Hey, I'll take care of breakfast."
Wanda turned to look at him then. "Tell me you're joking," she said.
Sergeant Barnes smirked, leaning in. "I can work a stove, Maximoff," he said. "I'll even have you know, I've even been known to fry an egg or two, back in my day."
"Great," Wanda smirked back, "and what'll the kids eat?"
Sergeant Barnes laughed, caught off-guard. Laughter did him good, bringing some color back to his cheeks. Then he shook his head at Wanda and began steering her towards the stairs.
"I'm going, I'm going, I'm go—Peter," Wanda said abruptly; she'd stopped on her way and placed her hand on his shoulder.
Peter looked up. "Yeah?" and Wanda winked at him.
"Fire extinguisher's under the sink," she said, to which Sergeant Barnes squawked, and continued pushing her out.
Peter grinned and saluted her as she made her way up the stairs. After she'd gone, he turned to Sergeant Barnes, who was staring at the spot where Wanda'd stood, a soft look on his face. He looked at Peter and said, "What?"
"Nothing," Peter said immediately. "I mean—" He hesitated. Oh, what the hell. "Are you—are you and her—?" He didn't even have to finish the question; Sergeant Barnes got it right away.
"No—no, we're—" Sergeant Barnes glared at Peter, then said, patiently as though he were talking to a small child: "Wanda and I are just friends."
"Friends," Peter said.
"Yeah. Friends."
"Just friends," Peter said.
Sergeant Barnes continued to glare at him. "We've been friends since Germany," he said. "We lost touch a little after that. We reconnected recently."
"Earlier this year," Peter said, knowing this part, "when you and Sam found her here."
"Yes."
"So you know," Peter said.
This time Sergeant Barnes wouldn't give him anything; he crossed his arms, face smoothing over, expression turning blank.
"You know, right?" Peter insisted. He wiggled his fingers. "Come on, you have to know."
"Parker," Sergeant Barnes said, planting his hands on the counter with a deep sigh. "Are you trying to ask me if I know about the magic?"
Peter threw out a hand accusingly. "You do know! I can't believe you knew this entire time!"
"Of course, I—" and Sergeant Barnes groaned then, like he was suddenly very, very tired. He ran a hand down his face, then exhaled and said, " Wanda told you?"
Peter nodded.
"Good," Sergeant Barnes said.
"Good?" Peter gawked at him, surprised.
Sergeant Barnes looked up at the heavens. "You do understand you're the first person she's actually told, right?"
Peter frowned. "But you and Sam," he began.
Sergeant Barnes was already shaking his head. "Sam and I already knew," he said. "That's why we were looking for her. That's why we came."
Peter just blinked at him, not knowing what to say. He'd never had to tell anyone he was Spider-Man; mostly people just found out, like Ned and May, or figured it out, like MJ and Mr. Stark. He remembered working up the courage to tell MJ, what that took. He wondered why Wanda would have done the same for him.
"It's a good thing, Parker," Sergeant Barnes said sincerely, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Wanda telling you about the magic."
"It is?" Peter asked.
Sergeant Barnes nodded, opening the fridge. "It's a start," he said, and began pulling breakfast things out.
"So, this isn't real?" MJ asked, lifting one of the smaller pumpkins to eye-level to give it a closer inspection.
Beside her, Ned narrowed his eyes at the pumpkin, too; out of the three of them, he'd taken the entire magic thing the best. "My nana says we've got magic in our family, too," Ned said then. "But that it skips generations. My great-grandfather was magic. Or was it my great-great-grandfather..." He turned to Wanda curiously. "Is that what it's like in your family, too?"
Wanda blinked at them both a couple of times before turning to Peter, wide-eyed and bewildered. Peter crossed his arms and grinned proudly: he had the best friends in the world.
"The pumpkin is real," Wanda said finally, answering MJ's question first. "My magic works a little differently than others. I can create things—sometimes without even realizing," and she looked away pointedly at that. "The pumpkins are practice, so things like that happen less. And," Wanda added, blushing, "I really do have a soft spot for Halloween."
"Costumes and candy," Sergeant Barnes said in passing, carrying three pumpkins to the house at once. "What's not to love."
Wanda smiled gratefully, before turning to Ned: "I don't know if anyone else in my family was magic," she said. "As far as I know, my brother and I were the only ones who—turned out different."
"Is he a witch too?" Ned asked.
Peter perked up at the question as well. He didn't know Wanda had a brother. No one, not even Mr. Stark, had ever mentioned a brother.
Wanda shook her head. “No,” she said, almost wistfully, “Pietro wasn't magic. But he was fast—very fast.”
"This one's you," MJ told him, rotating the pumpkin for him to see.
Peter frowned. She'd drawn guides for carving with a black marker, giving the pumpkin downturned eyebrows and a small, o-shaped mouth. "That's me?" he asked dubiously.
MJ tipped the pumpkin back to get a better look at it. "Yep, definitely you," she said, chuckling to herself. Then she gave him a look and said, "Since the moment we arrived, you've had this exact look on your face, Peter."
"No, I haven't," Peter protested.
"Yes, you have."
"No, I haven't. That pumpkin looks surprised," he pointed out. "I don't think I look surprised."
MJ narrowed her eyes at him. "Ah," she said sagely, "but you do look way out of your depth."
Peter sputtered. "What—" He laughed nervously. "And you're not?"
MJ smiled, rotating the next pumpkin in line as if to answer his question. "I've decided my new philosophy for this whole superhero thing is to just roll with the punches," and Peter never would've imagined a pumpkin looking like it could shrug, but there it was. "Last summer," MJ said, capping her pen, "we were running from a fake water monster created by drones. With that track record, it almost makes sense we spend halloween with a witch. Even if it's one who doesn't actually use her magic."
Peter furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? She made the pumpkins," he said.
"Well," MJ bit her lip, "look at the facts. The pumpkins are practice so accidents don't happen, right?"
"Right," Peter said.
"So," MJ said, "those accidents that might happen? They already have. And she doesn't want them to happen again. Besides, we've been here a day and a half, and she hasn't done any magic yet," MJ pointed out. "No squigglies, no glowing eyes, nothing people say she's supposed to be able to do."
Peter gave it some thought. "Maybe she doesn't like using her magic unless she needs to," he said.
"Maybe she doesn't like using them at all," MJ replied.
Together, they glanced toward the living room, where Ned and Wanda and Sergeant Barnes were huddled around Ned's laptop. The all-familiar, "So you..." rang out from the laptop speakers, and both Wanda and Sergeant Barnes' eyes widened to the size of saucers. He and MJ looked at each other and chuckled.
"I like her, though," MJ said, after a moment. "She's...weird. But in a good way. Plus, she almost crushed Thanos like a grape, so for that, I am one huge fan."
"I saw that happen," Peter nodded. "It was pretty cool."
"People say was the only one who ever got close to taking him down," MJ said. And then, as though a thought had occurred to her, she hesitated, before adding: "People say all sorts of things about her."
Peter thought he knew what she meant: when Lagos had happened, the Internet had exploded with all sorts of anonymous accounts listing a million and one reasons to lock Wanda Maximoff up. And then, when she and the rest of Captain America's team had gone off the grid, stories would pop up; people would describe a mysterious red mist that made them want to run away, or else left them driving in circles for what felt like hours. Mr. Stark's own words came to mind, too, the warning there. Peter'd stood by that warning, once upon a time, but now...
"People say all sorts of things about me, too," Peter said.
"I know," MJ said gently, threading their fingers together and squeezing tight. And she did know, Peter thought. Because the people who said things didn't stop at him; they said things about MJ, too, about Ned and May.
Clearing his throat, Peter forced the dark cloud above his head away. "Is there a Ned pumpkin?" he asked.
"Pumpkins for everybody," MJ confirmed. One-by-one, she revealed the rest of her handiwork: Ned's pumpkin grinning earnestly from ear to ear; Sergeant Barnes' scowling petulantly. But it was Wanda's pumpkin that struck Peter most. Wanda's seemed trapped somewhere in-between, with a warm smile carved onto its face that didn't quite reach the hollows of its eyes.
Wanda didn't look at all surprised this time to see him when he came down the stairs later that night. In fact, she was clearly expecting company, sitting at the kitchen counter with two mugs set out next to a kettle and a box of tea.
"No baking tonight?" Peter asked.
Wanda shook her head. "I had a feeling you might want to talk instead," she said.
She had him there. "You know," Peter said, taking his seat, "it's cheating when you've got telepathy," and it was the kind of thing he never would have had the guts to say before, but now—now it only made Wanda smile.
She tipped hot water into their mugs and said, "I don't need telepathy to read your face, Peter."
Peter chuckled, steeping his tea. "Am I that obvious?"
Wanda wouldn't answer him. Instead, she clasped her hands around her own mug, and bowed her head, staring into the water. She seemed to be waiting for his first question, waiting for him to address the elephant in the room.
“I’ve always wanted a brother,” Peter said instead. “I don’t have any siblings, or any—“ He cleared his throat, “It’s just me and May.”
Wanda lifted her head then. "Your parents?" she asked.
"They died when I was six," Peter said.
Wanda's expression softened. "I'm sorry," she said.
"I can still remember them a little," Peter admitted. "Just most of it's a little hazy around the edges. Most of the time, it's like trying to remember a dream."
He took a sip of his tea. There was a spiciness to it that warmed his throat, relaxed his mouth.
"What was your brother like?" Peter asked.
Truthfully, he'd been afraid to ask the question. Loss was a very personal thing; talking about it often led to varying results. But Wanda seemed to like talking about her brother. Her eyes brightened, and she broke into a watery smile. "Pietro was the best," she said. "It was just the two of us, too, for most of our lives." She trailed off, still looking into the water, lost in the memory. "Sokovia was a different place then. Every day a fight to survive, everywhere the country was slowly falling apart. But he never wanted to leave; he loved this city with all his heart, just like our parents. He would never have left like I did. All I ever wanted, from the start, was out. "
Wanda took a long sip from her mug then. She was clasping her mug so hard her knuckles had gone white.
"But here's the funny thing," Wanda said, setting her mug back down. "As bleak as things were growing up, and as much as I wanted us to leave, I don't recall ever feeling afraid. Our living room fell through the floor right before our eyes, our parents—" and Wanda shuddered then, shutting her eyes, like she was trying to block out the memory. "Even when that happened, I don't remember being afraid," she said finally. "Confused, yes. I remember being confused. And angry."
Wanda opened her eyes. Her mouth twisted ruefully.
"I remember being angry for a very long time. And I thought maybe that was it, that that explained it: that I was so busy being angry, I didn't have the time to be afraid," Wanda said. "But I was wrong." She carefully unwound her fingers from her mug then, setting her hands flat on the table to look at them. "When Pietro died, I became afraid of everything."
"Miss Maximoff," Peter began softly.
"Wanda," Wanda said, still looking down. "You should...you should call me Wanda." Then she let out a strangled breath, and looked to the ceiling, blinking rapidly.
Peter jumped out of his seat and grabbed the paper towel roll by the sink and brought it over. He tore off a sheet and handed it to her, and Wanda accepted it gratefully and dabbed at her eyes.
It took her a few more breaths to collect herself, but once she did, she got up with a deep sigh and pulled a glass from the cabinet, taking it to the sink. Watching her, a thought occurred to him. "Wanda," Peter said. "Can I ask you a weird question?"
"Sure thing, Spider-Man," Wanda said, refilling her glass. "Knock yourself out."
Peter drew a deep breath, thinking hard how best to put it. "What you said, about being afraid," he began uncertainly, "is that why you came back here?"
Wanda set her glass down and turned to face him. "Sokovia is my home, Peter. For all the grief it's given me, it's still the one place I feel most...safe."
"But, how can you—" Peter hesitated, "But you're all alone here."
To his surprise, the corner of her mouth lifted. "You sound just like James," she said. "He's always saying the same thing, trying to get me to come back to New York. I wonder..." and Wanda narrowed her eyes, feigning suspicion, "if that was his secret plan all along, to bring you here to charm me into packing my boxes. Is that why you're here, Peter?"
Peter smiled softly, playing along. "What? No way. No, that's, uh—that's not why he brought me here. He brought me here because—" and his throat caught then, the actual reason coming back to him. The reason he'd decided to come in the first place.
"He brought me here because he said you could help me," Peter said.
Wanda blinked at him, still smiling. "Help you?"
"Yeah," Peter said. "Help me."
Her smile slowly faded then, realizing he was being serious now. "Peter, how am I supposed to help you?" she asked, forcing a laugh. "I can barely help myself."
"I—I don't know," Peter admitted. "But I was telling him about how things were—about Mysterio, and the FBI interrogation, and all the media coverage and..." He broke off, seeing how confused Wanda looked. "Last Summer," he said, backtracking, "Midtown organized this school field trip around Europe. And it was nice, you know, a break from all of—from being Spider-Man. For the first time since I got bit by that spider, I actually enjoyed being just a normal kid again. I wanted to hang out with my friends; I wanted to ask MJ out on a date. I wanted all these things, and I made a lot of stupid decisions trying to get what I want."
Wanda's expression remained unreadable as she took this in. "That Mysterio guy tricked you," she interjected. "That's what James said. Mysterio was pretending to be your friend and he tricked you."
"But I let him," Peter said. "And I shouldn't have. I made a mistake, and it put a lot of people in danger."
"You fixed it," Wanda said.
"I—I thought I did." Peter hesitated. "After taking Mysterio down, I thought everything was finally going to be okay. Everyone I cared about had discovered my secret, you know? Everyone I'd always wanted to know about Spider-Man knew about Spider-Man. I suddenly had everything I'd ever wanted," Peter said, "and it lasted all of one week. And since then it's been people throwing bricks through my window, and the world thinking I'm a murderer. I think I could take it if it was just me. But it's not just me, it's..." Peter trailed off.
"It's everyone you love," Wanda said quietly, saying what he couldn't. "It's different when it's the people you love."
"I just...I wish I could have it back, that one week, when everything was okay. Like, if there was some way I could convince—" and Peter broke off then, looking at Wanda like he'd found the missing piece of a puzzle he didn't know he was trying to solve.
"Novi Grad had a population of 1.8 million," Peter murmured to himself.
Wanda frowned at him. "Peter, what did you—"
"Novi Grad had a population of 1.8 million," he said again, louder this time. "But the day it flew into the sky, there were under a thousand people trapped in the city."
A long silence fell between them, a stillness in the air. “The authorities evacuated the people," Wanda finally said. But there was something clipped about her tone; something careful about the way she was looking at him.
She was lying to him, Peter realized.
"Midtown barely managed an evacuation when aliens attacked New York," he said. "Even with resources and time, it would have been impossible to get all those people out of Novi Grad. It would have been sheer chaos even to try—" and Peter didn't miss the way Wanda flinched.
Her flinch told him everything he needed to know.
"It was a spell, wasn't it," he said.
"It was a push in the right direction," Wanda said finally, reluctantly.
"It was you," Peter said, mostly to himself. "That's amazing."
"No," Wanda said, her voice surprisingly hard, "it's not."
Peter blinked at her. "What do you mean it's not? You saved an entire city, Wanda. You convinced an entire city to save itself. And if you can do that—"
"Peter," Wanda interjected coldly, "if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, you're gonna want to stop right now."
"But if it were possible—"
"I am sorry you are being harassed," Wanda continued, ignoring him. "And I am sorry about what's happening to MJ, and Ned, and your Aunt May. But if you're looking for an answer to your problem, magic is not it. Magic can't help you Peter. It can't help the people you love. It can only hurt them," and with that, she turned her back like she couldn't bear to look at him anymore. She reached for her glass, shakily bringing it to her lips.
Peter stared at her. With her free hand, she was gripping the edge of the counter tightly with one hand, practically digging her nails in.
"MJ mentioned something to me earlier," Peter said slowly. "She said you practicing with pumpkins to avoid accidents meant that the accidents must have already happened."
Wanda was quiet for a very long time. Then she said, voice low, "MJ's a very bright girl."
"So, she was right, something did happen," Peter said. He paused to consider this; something else Wanda had said had stuck: it can only hurt them. "Someone got hurt."
Wanda put her glass in the sink and turned around. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," she said, slipping past him. "Good night, Peter."
Peter turned, watching her leave. "Someone did, didn't they," he continued. "And that's why you're afraid."
Wanda stopped cold, but didn't say anything. Her hands were balled into fists, but he could still see they were clearly trembling. "That's enough," Wanda said warningly.
"You are," Peter said, and it was all so clear to him, now. "You're afraid to use your—"
A flash of red blinded him then, the entire room lighting up like a wire, and then he was flying backwards, crashing through wood, skidding across dirt. When he opened his eyes he found himself looking at the starry night sky.
Swaying to his feet, he whirled around in the dark, trying to get his bearings. It took him a couple of turns to find the house again—and once he did, he quickly realized why it had: there was no house; the house was gone. All that remained were a series of faint red lines running up and down, like blueprints. He could see MJ and Ned upstairs, shocked and unsure what to do, where to step. He could see Sergeant Barnes already running, on his way to help them. He could see Wanda, standing in the kitchen, looking right back at him. Her hands were clapped over her mouth, eyes glowing, expression shifting from shock to regret to pain.
And then, just like that, she was gone, too. Wanda stepped back and vanished right before his eyes.
IV.
"Tell me exactly what happened," Sergeant Barnes said, stalking over to Peter with MJ and Ned at his heels.
"I—" Peter hesitated, and Sergeant Barnes grabbed him by the shoulders.
"What happened, Parker?" he demanded.
"We were just talking," Peter blurted.
"Talking?" Sergeant Barnes looked incredulous. "Wanda destroyed the house because you were talking?"
"Hey!" MJ protested, grabbing him by the vibranium arm. "Let him go," and Sergeant Barnes blinked at her, looked at his hands, and released Peter.
"Are you okay?" Peter asked, holding her by the shoulders, checking for injuries.
"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," MJ said immediately. "You?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. Ned?"
"I'm good," Ned said, looking around. "Um, where's Miss Maximoff?"
"She disappeared," Peter said. "She just—" and looking at Sergeant Barnes, he added, "I didn't know she could do that. I swear, I didn't know—"
"Yeah, she can do that," Sergeant Barnes muttered under his breath. He was staring at the remains of the house like he was trying to derive some sort of answer from it. The red lines glittered against the dark night, slowly starting to lose its glow. "You gotta give me something to work with, Peter," Sergeant Barnes said. "What were you and Wanda talking about?"
"I—" Peter swallowed thickly; his mind was racing as fast as his heart. "You," he said abruptly. "We were—I was telling her everything I told you."
Sergeant Barnes looked at him. "Everything you told me?"
"Mysterio, the FBI, all the media coverage," Peter said, and now Sergeant Barnes got it. Sergeant Barnes jut a short nod: keep talking. Peter swallowed. "I told her everything, and then I—I asked her about how they managed to evacuate Novi Grad City when Ultron attacked."
Ned's mouth fell open, catching on. "No way," he said, "that was magic?"
"It was," Peter nodded. "And I—I asked her if it was something she could maybe do again. If it would be possible—to convince the world that Spider-Man isn't a threat."
Sergeant Barnes, MJ and Ned stared at him.
"You..." Sergeant Barnes began. He didn't seem capable of finishing the sentence.
MJ slowly pushed him aside, stepping in. "And then what happened?"
Peter looked at her. "You were right," he said. "About the pumpkins," and then he turned to Sergeant Barnes and said, "Why is Wanda afraid of her magic? What aren't you telling us?"
Sergeant Barnes's pressed his lips together. He bit down hard on the insides of his cheeks, hollowing them out. Finally, he glanced between the three of them and sighed. "Last year, a few weeks after the blipped was reversed, an incident occurred in Westview, New Jersey," Sergeant Barnes said. "Any of you hear about it?"
"No," Peter and Ned said, shaking their heads.
"Yes," MJ said.
"I read about it online on some forum," MJ explained, when Peter turned to her, stunned. "Someone from Westview wrote about the experience, but—but it sounded so insane, I thought for sure he was making it up. They said she held the entire town hostage and turned Westview into a sitcom. I mean, how much of that can be true?"
Sergeant Barnes, who was listening warily, said, "All of it."
"What?" Peter rounded on him, incredulous. "What do you mean all of it?"
"Wanda's magic isn't like other magic," Sergeant Barnes said. "It's called chaos magic for a reason, and believe me, it lives up to its name. The power to do anything you want, change anything you want—on a whim or a wish, sometimes without even knowing. You could turn a town into a sitcom from the fifties, for instance. All without batting an eye. Or, if you're Wanda," Sergeant Barnes said heavily, "you take it one step further, and create things that don't exist. A house out of thin air. A pumpkin. A—" Sergeant Barnes hesitated, "A family."
"She created a family?" Peter asked, his voice oddly small, even to his ears.
"A husband and kids," Sergeant Barnes said.
They all fell quiet after that, the weight of that sentence sinking in. It was the kind of sentence that begged a question none of them wanted to ask; were too afraid to ask. Peter saw the obvious discomfort etched across Sergeant Barnes' face: this was not a topic broached often, maybe at all.
"Look, the thing you gotta understand about magic is that it comes with its own set of rules, too. Undoing the spell on Westview undid everything," Sergeant Barnes said finally, not quite looking at them, "even the spell that created her family."
Peter turned away, not sure how much more he could handle any more after that.
"Why didn't we hear about it?" he heard Ned ask.
"The authorities handling the situation tried to contain the incident best they could," Sergeant Barnes replied. "They didn't want word to spread, for selfish reasons. The world was still recovering from the aftermath of the Blip, from the last time reality as we knew it was challenged. Tell them there's an Avenger that could do the same as Thanos, maybe worse—well, you can imagine what would've happened next."
Peter frowned deeply; he could picture the headlines, alright. The media in another state of frenzy, with a whole new set of questions:Wanda Maximoff: Hero or Villain? So what else are the Avengers keeping from us? And who can we actually trust to keep us safe? The press would have had a field day running the story. The court of public opinion would have burned her at the stake.
Peter knew that more than anyone.
He felt Sergeant Barnes looking at him, and reluctantly met his gaze. "I thought if anyone would know what you were going through, it would be her," Sergeant Barnes told him. "And I thought if anyone would understand the loss she's been through, it'd be you. I'm sorry, Peter; I was selfish in inviting you here. I'd hoped you might be able to help each other out. But that was wrong of me, to put that on you. Just let me make a call, I can get you guys out of here in—"
"We should look for her," Peter said.
Sergeant Barnes frowned. "You still want to stay?" he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
"Well, we're not gonna walk out on her just because she destroyed the house," MJ said, crossing her arms.
"Yeah," Ned said. "Besides, she kinda only did it because Peter pissed her off."
Peter stuck one thumb up. "Thanks, Ned," he said, grimacing. Then he turned to Sergeant Barnes and said: "He's right, though. This is my mess, and I want to fix it. Plus, we like Wanda," he added, and MJ and Ned nodded their agreement, "and right now, she's out there, all alone, when she shouldn't be. We gotta bring her home, Sergeant Barnes."
Sergeant Barnes stared at all of them a little wonderingly, before slowly nodding. "Okay, team effort. We'll find her," he said.
"Do you have any idea where she might've gone?" MJ asked.
"There are a few places, but..." Sergeant Barnes shook his head. "She could be anywhere, really. She ran here because of Westview, because of what happened there. She grew up here, her family lived here, and that made her feel safe. I don't know where else she'd go if she doesn't feel—" and Peter lifted his head, an idea coming to him then.
"I know where Wanda is," Peter said.
Wanda had told him everything he needed to know, he just didn't know it. Sokovia was safe in a way the rest of the world wasn't—her family had lived here, and were buried here. He wove around chipped headstones until he found the Maximoff plot, found Wanda sitting cross-legged on the ground, picking idly at the grass. By then, day was breaking, the first rays of light peeking timidly through the grey clouds. Far above, a low grumble sounded, and Peter glanced up at the sky; it was going to rain today.
"You're relentless," Wanda said, looking straight ahead; of course she'd noticed him coming. "You should know that."
"I've heard stubborn always wins the race," Peter replied, sitting down next to her.
That got her to look at him, eyes uncertain. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay," Peter said.
"And everyone else? MJ? Ned?"
Peter nodded. "Sergeant Barnes got them out safely," he said.
Wanda looked away then, composure cracking, relief slipping through. "Right," she said softly, "of course, he did."
She turned her attention to the headstones again. There were five headstones, all the names inscribed in Sokovian. Two of the headstones, Peter noted, didn't have listed dates.
"How old were they?" Peter heard himself asking.
Wanda exhaled shakily, closing her eyes. "Ten," she said, voice thick. "Billy and Tommy. Twins. They were—they were such sweet boys."
Peter considered this. "At ten? I was a menace at ten. I was practically jumping off the walls," he said, and to his surprise, Wanda smiled.
"They did a lot of jumping, too," she said. "And running—and there was an incident once, involving Halloween candy..."
She trailed off. She'd stopped picking at the grass; she'd curled her fingers in, hands in her lap.
"My magic gave me everything I wanted, at a price," she said, looking down at her hands. "The problem was, I wasn't the one being force to pay it. Thousands of people needed to lose what they had for me to get what I want. Thousands would have had to suffer like I had time and time again. So I made my choice." Wanda looked at him, then, desolate and resigned. "But what does my choice say about me?"
It was a rhetorical question. But that didn't stop Peter from answering anyway. "I think," he said, "it says that you didn't want other people to have to experience your pain."
"Or," Wanda smiled sadly, "maybe it says I'm better off alone."
"I don't believe that," Peter said.
"That's because you're you," Wanda told him, "and I'm me. All I've done is make mistake after mistake my entire life."
"That's not all you've done," Peter said. "You've helped people, too, Wanda; you were helping people with your magic even when you didn't know what it was. I mean, I still stand by what I said: you've saved lives with your magic before. I know that if the situation calls for it, you'll do it again."
Wanda looked at the ground for a long time after that, contemplating what he'd said. He could tell she wasn't quite convinced, but at least she hadn't actively rejected the idea; she'd heard him, she'd listened.
"I can't be around people yet," she said finally. "I'm not ready."
"That's okay," Peter said immediately.
"I thought I was," Wanda admitted after a moment; she shook her head at herself. "I wanted to be."
"Hey, I thought you did a pretty decent job," Peter told her sincerely. "I'd give you like a B , maybe—you know, always room for improvement," and Wanda looked at him.
"Did you just grade me?" she asked, head tilting one side.
"Constructive criticism saves lives," Peter replied, getting up. Then he grimaced. "I don't know what it can do for your house, though. That's completely gone."
He extended his hand to pull her up as well. Wanda looked at it for a long while, still unsure, then looked at him. Finally, she took it and let him pull her up.
" Don't worry," she said. "I can put it back together. I've done it many times before."
V.
"I'll come see you in a couple months, okay?" Sergeant Barnes said, hugging Wanda.
"You always do," Wanda said, hugging him back. And when Sergeant Barnes released her, she held on and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was a first: Peter could tell, if anything, by the way Sergeant Barnes froze, at a loss for what to say or do. Leaning away from him, Wanda rubbed her lipstick off his cheek.
"Don't be a stranger," she told him, gently patting his chest.
Sergeant Barnes stepped back awkwardly, blinking repeatedly. And then he caught sight of MJ giving him two thumbs up from where the three of them stood behind Wanda's back, and he scowled.
"Next time, I'll come alone," he told Wanda pointedly, and Wanda must have read something off his face, because a moment later she turned around.
The three of them quickly averted their gaze, eyes darting in different directions. Peter coughed, looking back at Wanda's house. She'd put everything back the way it was easily, like she said she could, including the five pumpkins MJ had carved, which now lay spread out on her porch steps. Peter's own pumpkin lay at the very bottom step and smiled softly to himself; not so out of depth anymore.
"Thank you for having us," MJ was saying when Peter turned back.
"I'm glad you guys came. Really," Wanda told her, hugging her, too. "I only hope it was worth it, all things considered."
"Believe me, Miss Maximoff, last night was relatively calmer than what we're used to," Ned told her, hugging her next.
Wanda looked relatively alarmed to hear that, and exchanged another look with Sergeant Barnes, before clearing her throat. "You can call me Wanda, too, Ned," Wanda told him, and Ned beamed.
Peter was up next. He opened his arms and said, "He's right, it was a lot fun. I don't think I thought about the Bugle or college even once."
Wanda hugged him. "You're going to be okay, Peter," she said.
"You think so?"
"Without a doubt. You've got a big heart," Wanda said, "that's what's going to get you through all of this. Not magic," she added, poking him the chest, "your heart."
"Thanks, Wanda," Peter said, meaning it. "Look, when you think you're ready, and if you're ever in Queens..."
"I'll look you up," Wanda said, smiling. "And hey, if you ever feel like you need another break..."
Peter broke into a smile. "I can come back?"
"All of you can," Wanda said, nodding MJ and Ned's way, too. "Come back any time you want, Peter."
He never got the chance to go back, not with everything that happened. And by the time the dust settled, there was no reason to: nobody knew who Peter Parker was anymore. He'd decided early on to keep it that way: MJ and Ned were happy and looking forward to college, and they were safe. That was the most important thing. They were safe. He really was on his own now.
And if this was his life now, it wasn't too bad. At the very least, he'd somehow managed to scrounge up his rent for his first month, which was an achievement in itself. When his landlord came knocking, Peter grabbed the cash envelope and went to the door, grinning as he opened it.
"Hey, Mr. Ditkovich. First of the month, don't worry, I remembered. Happy new year, by the—" He broke off, staring.
Wanda Maximoff stood in his doorway in a red wool coat and hat, her hands tucked into her pockets. She was smiling at him, rocking back and forth on her heels. Nervous to see him. But happy, also. Happy to see him, Peter thought.
"So, can I come in?" Wanda asked finally.
"You...You know who I am?" Peter stammered.
Wanda took that as a yes, gently brushing past him into his apartment. "If Stephen Strange wants to pull one over me," she said, already shrugging out of her coat, "he's going to need a bigger spell."
Peter said nothing; he just tackled her in a hug, catching her by surprise. They stumbled two steps back, and a second later, Wanda wrapped her arms around him and hugged him back.
"I heard about May," she said softly.
"How?" Peter managed, muffled and pressed against her shoulder. She was here. She knew him. She was here.
"I saw it on the news," Wanda said.
Peter frowned. "You got a TV?"
"Well, some kid kept giving me weird looks for not having one," Wanda replied.
A low chuckle escaped him. He leaned away, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, and began shoving clothes and books aside on his bed, giving her space to sit. Wanda sat down and lifted a t-shirt with Joe's Pizza printed across the back. She eyed him curiously.
"I—I just started last month," Peter said.
"They let you make the pizzas?" Wanda asked dubiously.
"They let me deliver the pizzas," Peter corrected.
"Ah," Wanda smiled. "Yes. That makes more sense."
Peter took the chair by his desk, and they looked at each other. He shook his head in disbelief; he still couldn't believe it. Wanda was in New York.
"What—what are you doing here?"
She was admiring his bedside table: the picture of him and May, the little LEGO Palpatine, his Stark Industries Internship Certificate. "I'm having dinner with a friend," she said. Then: "And I thought I'd stop by and see if you wanted to come with."
Peter smiled sadly. "I don't know, Wanda. I don't know if that's a good idea," he said.
"We don't have to tell him you're Spider-Man," Wanda offered. "You could just be Peter—my long lost distant cousin, something."
"Yeah, because that won't be weird," Peter said, making a face, "bringing a cousin to a date."
Wanda's mouth twitched. "Still not the weirdest thing to happen to either of us this year, don't you think?" she said.
She lifted one of his study books, and Peter said, "I'm gonna get my GED. Once I do, I was thinking—there's a college here, and I—I want to teach." Wanda looked surprised, but pleased to hear this. "High school science," Peter added. "I think—I think teaching is something I want to do."
Wanda put his book down, then looked at him. "I wanted to see how you were doing," she confessed then. "That's why I'm here."
"I'm..." Peter shrugged, "...doing. I'm okay," he tried to assure her.
But Wanda didn't even look remotely convinced. "You're a terrible liar," she said. "You have an awful poker face. No wonder you need that mask."
"I'm going to be okay," Peter amended. "Hey, you said I would," he accused. "And you still believe that, right?"
"Of course, I do. You know I do," Wanda said, and he could tell she meant it, too. "You look like you're..." she began, scanning him up and down. She trailed off, then made a face and said, "...hungry."
Peter blinked at her.
"At least let me take you to lunch," Wanda continued. "I mean, look at you. Just you and me. Come on, Peter, what do you say?"
Peter grinned at her; eating always sounded good, and so did talking, and maybe losing track of time. He didn't even have to think about it.
"Lunch would be great," he said.