⧗

You sit at your desk near the window, fingers curled around the edge, eyes fixed on the trees outside.

It’s easier that way.

“Y/N?”

Your shoulders tense.

You know that voice.

Soft.

Careful.

Like it doesn’t want to scare you.

You turn your head just a little. Your teacher, Ms. Maximoff, is kneeling beside your desk now.

Her red hair falls forward slightly as she tilts her head, studying you with gentle concern.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” she says. “Is everything okay?”

You nod immediately.

Her expression doesn’t change much, but something in her eyes softens even more, like she doesn’t believe you, but she won’t push. Not yet, at least.

“That’s alright,” she murmurs. “If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here.”

You look back at the window, not wanting to continue the conversation.

Wanda notices patterns. It’s something she’s always been good at. Like, small shifts, quiet changes, the things other people overlook.

It’s part of what makes her such a good teacher.

And you… You don’t fit.

Not in the way the other children do. You don’t laugh loudly. You don’t raise your hand. You flinch when someone moves too fast near you. You freeze when voices get too sharp.

And sometimes—this is what unsettles her the most—you look tired.

Not sleepy.

Tired.

That deep, bone-heavy kind of tired no child should carry.

She tries again a few days later.

“Y/N,” she says gently after class, when the other students have left.

You pause at the door, your small backpack hanging off one shoulder.

“Can you stay for a moment?”

You hesitate.

Then nod.

You step closer, but you don’t meet her eyes.

Wanda keeps her voice soft. “I just wanted to check in. I’ve noticed you’ve been a little… quiet lately.”

Silence.

Your fingers tighten around your sleeve.

“You know,” she continues, “sometimes when something is bothering us, it can help to talk about it. Even a little.”

You shake your head.

Still not looking at her.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

The words sound practiced.

Rehearsed.

Wanda feels her chest tighten.

“Alright,” she says, just as gently. “You can go.”

You leave quickly.

Too quickly.

-///-

That night, Wanda doesn’t stop thinking about you.

Her wife, Natasha, notices.

She always does, too.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Natasha says from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a mug in her hand.

Wanda looks up from the couch. “What thing?”

“The ‘I’m worried but trying not to say it out loud’ thing.”

Wanda exhales softly, rubbing her hands together. “There’s a student in my class.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Only one?”

Wanda almost smiles, patting the seat next to her.

“She’s… different. Quiet. Withdrawn. But it’s more than that.” She hesitates, meeting Natasha’s eyes as she moves towards the couch. “She flinches. A lot. And she looks… exhausted.”

Natasha’s expression shifts instantly. Sharper now. Focused.

She sits down next to Wanda, knees touching her thigh as she tucks her legs underneath herself.

“How old?”

“Six.”

Natasha sets her mug down.

“Has she said anything?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Every time I ask, she shuts down. It’s like she’s… afraid of saying the wrong thing.”

That’s what does it.

Natasha straightens slightly, something cold and precise settling behind her eyes.

“Tomorrow,” she says, “I’m coming with you.”

Wanda blinks. “Nat—”

"Wands, I work in children's welfare. What you said is reason enough for me to look into it,” Natasha says calmly. “And if something’s wrong…” She trails off, but she doesn’t need to finish.

Wanda nods.

She trusts her.

Always has.

-///-

The next day, you notice her immediately.

She doesn’t belong in a classroom.

Not like Ms. Maximoff does.

This woman is… different.

She stands near the doorway at first, speaking quietly with your teacher.

She’s dressed simply, but there’s something about the way she holds herself, straight, alert, like she’s always watching.

Her eyes scan the room.

And then they land on you.

You look away quickly.

But it’s too late.

She’s already noticed.

Natasha takes her time.

She doesn’t approach you right away.

Instead, she observes.

The way you sit too stiff in your chair. The way your gaze flickers toward the door every few minutes. The way you hesitate before answering even the simplest question.

And then—

A boy runs past your desk too fast, and a chair scrapes loudly.

You flinch.

Not a small reaction.

Not subtle.

A full-body recoil, like you were expecting something worse.

Natasha’s jaw tightens.

Yeah.

Something’s wrong.

Later, during lunch break, Wanda sits beside you on the bench.

Natasha lingers a few steps away, pretending to check something on her phone.

“You remember my wife, Ms. Romanoff?” Wanda asks gently.

You nod.

“She works with children, too,” Wanda continues. “She just wants to make sure everyone is safe and happy.”

Safe.

The word makes your stomach twist.

Natasha steps closer, crouching down so she’s at your level.

Her voice is calm and steady.

“Hi, Y/N. I’m Natasha.”

You don’t answer.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

You glance at her.

Just for a second.

Her eyes are different from everyone else’s.

They’re not soft like Wanda’s.

But they’re not harsh either.

They’re… certain.

As if she already knows something.

“Can I ask you something?” she says.

You hesitate.

Then shrug slightly.

It’s not quite a yes.

But it’s not a no.

Natasha nods once, like that’s enough.

“Do you feel safe at home?”

Your heart stops.

The world goes very, very quiet.

You stare at the ground.

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

Because if you say the wrong thing—

If you say anything—

Your fingers curl tightly into your sleeves.

Natasha watches the silence stretch.

The way your shoulders tense.

The way your breathing changes.

And that’s all she needs.

She doesn’t ask again.

Instead, her voice softens—just slightly.

“You’re not in trouble,” she says. “And whatever is going on… it’s not your fault.”

Your throat tightens.

You blink hard.

Still, you say nothing.

But Natasha doesn’t push.

She stands slowly, exchanging a look with Wanda.

A silent understanding passes between them.

This isn’t nothing.

This is something.

And they’re not going to ignore it.

-///-

That afternoon, as you sit by the window again, the classroom feels a little different.

Not louder.

Not quieter.

Just… different.

Because now, someone has seen you.

Even if you didn’t say a word.

And for the first time in a long while, you’re not completely invisible anymore.

The man introduces himself as Steve.

He doesn’t stand over you like most adults do when they want something. Instead, he pulls a chair out slowly and turns it so he’s sitting across from you—not too close, not too far.

Just enough that you know he’s there, but not enough to make you feel trapped.

“Hi,” he says, offering a small, careful smile. “I’m Steve.”

You don’t answer.

You keep your eyes on the desk, tracing a faint scratch in the wood with your fingertip. You’ve already counted it before—three fingers long, slightly curved—but counting it again feels easier than looking up.

“That’s okay,” Steve says gently, like he expected the silence. “You don’t have to say anything right away.”

The room is quiet. Too quiet.

Outside the classroom, you can hear the distant noise of other students—chairs moving, someone laughing, a teacher calling out instructions. It feels far away. Like it belongs to a different world.

“I heard you like sitting by the window,” Steve continues after a moment.

Your finger stills.

He notices things.

You don’t like that.

“It’s a good spot,” he adds. “Lots of light. And you can see outside.”

You don’t respond.

But you don’t move away either.

Steve shifts slightly in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. He doesn’t take out a notebook. Doesn’t write anything down.

He just… sits.

“I work with kids sometimes,” he says. “Mostly I just make sure they’re okay.”

Okay.

You swallow.

“I talk to teachers. Sometimes parents. Sometimes kids, if they want to.” He pauses. “But only if they want to.”

Silence stretches again.

Your shoulders feel tight.

Your chest feels tight.

“Do you feel safe at home?”

There it is.

The question.

It drops into the room like something heavy.

Your heart starts beating faster. You can feel it in your throat, in your ears, and in your fingertips.

You nod.

Too fast.

Too automatic.

Steve doesn’t react right away.

He just watches you.

Not in a scary way.

Not like he’s angry.

But like he’s… thinking.

Like he’s trying to understand something you didn’t say.

“Okay,” he says finally.

That’s it.

No follow-up.

No pressure.

But somehow that makes it worse.

-///-

He comes to your house two days later.

You know it’s him before anyone says his name.

There’s something about the knock, firm but not aggressive.

Steady.

Your stomach twists so hard it almost hurts.

“Stay in your room,” your parent says sharply, already moving toward the door.

You don’t argue.

You never argue.

You close your door quietly and sit on the floor, your back pressed against the side of your bed. It feels safer down here. Smaller. Like, if you make yourself small enough, you won’t be noticed.

Voices drift through the house.

Muffled at first.

Then clearer.

“…just a routine check…”

“…she’s a quiet child…”

“…always been sensitive…”

You pull your knees to your chest and wrap your arms around them, pressing your face down.

You try to make yourself even smaller.

“…we would never…”

“…of course, we understand your concern…”

Their voices sound normal.

You know that tone.

You’ve heard it before.

It’s the voice they use for other people.

Not for you.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

If you don’t move, if you don’t make a sound, maybe he won’t come up here.

Maybe he’ll just leave.

Maybe everything will stay the same.

You don’t know if that’s what you want.

But it’s what you’re used to.

After a while, the voices fade.

The door opens.

Closes.

Footsteps.

Silence.

He’s gone.

Nothing changes.

At first.

Then everything does.

You don’t go to school the next day.

Or the day after that.

At first, you think you’re sick without knowing you were.

Or maybe in trouble.

You don’t ask.

You’ve learned not to ask.

“There’s no need,” your parent says when you linger near the door on the third morning, your backpack hanging loosely from your shoulder. “You’ll stay home for a while.”

“For how long?” you whisper.

They look at you.

Just look.

Your throat closes.

“…okay,” you say quickly.

Your backpack stays by the door.

You go back to your room.

-///-

Days blur together.

You lose track of time.

Morning feels like evening. Evening feels like nothing.

The window doesn’t help anymore.

You stop looking outside.

There’s no point.

No one is coming.

-///-

Wanda notices on the first day.

The empty chair.

Your chair.

She pauses in the middle of attendance, her eyes lingering just a second longer than they should.

“Y/N?” she calls out automatically.

Silence answers.

A student shifts in their seat.

“She’s not here,” someone says.

Wanda nods slowly, marking it down.

Absent.

It happens.

Kids get sick.

But something about it doesn’t sit right.

On the second day, she asks the office.

“No call or note,” they tell her.

Her concern sharpens.

On the third day, she calls.

No answer.

By the fourth day, she’s pacing.

“You’re wearing a path into the floor,” Natasha says from the kitchen, watching her with quiet focus.

Wanda doesn’t stop. “She hasn’t been in school all week.”

Natasha sets her mug down. “Did the office hear anything?”

“No. No call. No email. Nothing.” Wanda runs a hand through her hair, frustration and worry tangled together. “That’s not normal.”

“No,” Natasha agrees. “It’s not.”

Wanda turns to her. “What if something happened?”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away.

Because they’re both thinking the same thing.

“What if we missed something?” Wanda whispers.

Natasha’s gaze softens slightly. “You didn’t miss anything.”

“But she wouldn’t talk to me,” Wanda says, her voice tightening. “She wouldn’t talk to Steve either, and now she’s just—gone.”

Natasha straightens. “Then we go find her.”

Wanda blinks. “Nat—”

“I mean it,” Natasha says. “This doesn’t feel right. Not after what we saw.”

Wanda hesitates.

Then nods.

“I’m going there,” she says.

Natasha doesn’t argue.

“I’m coming with you.”

The house looks normal.

That’s the first thing Wanda notices, and it makes something deep in her chest twist uncomfortably.

The curtains are neat. The garden is trimmed. The front step is clean.

Everything looks… fine.

Too fine.

“She lives here,” Wanda says quietly.

Natasha stands beside her, eyes already scanning windows, corners, and small details most people would miss.

“Okay,” she replies.

Wanda steps forward and knocks.

The sound echoes too loudly in the still air.

They wait.

Nothing.

Wanda knocks again, harder this time. “Y/N? It’s Ms. Maximoff.”

Silence.

It presses in from all sides, heavy and wrong.

Natasha’s gaze flicks upward. “Second floor. Curtain moved.”

Wanda’s heart stutters. “She’s here.”

“Yeah,” Natasha says, already moving. “She is.”

The door is locked.

Of course it is.

Wanda’s hands are shaking now, panic rising fast and sharp. “Nat—”

“We saw movement,” Natasha says, calm but firm. “We’re not leaving.”

That’s all it takes.

Upstairs, you freeze.

You didn’t mean to make a sound.

You were trying to be quiet.

You’re always quiet.

But when you heard her voice—

When you heard your name—

Something slipped.

Now your heart is pounding so loud it feels like it might give you away.

They’re here.

They came.

You press your hand over your mouth, trying to silence your breathing.

Maybe if you stay still—

Maybe if you don’t move—

They’ll leave.

Like everyone always does.

The door downstairs opens.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Your stomach drops.

They didn’t leave.

Wanda barely registers how they get inside. The house feels too still, too empty in a way that doesn’t make sense.

“Y/N?” she calls, stepping forward.

No answer.

Natasha moves ahead of her slightly. “Upstairs.”

They climb quickly.

Each step creaks.

Wanda winces at the sound, like she’s afraid it might scare you.

At the top of the stairs—three doors.

Two open quickly.

Empty.

The third stays closed.

Wanda’s chest tightens. “This one.”

Her hand trembles on the handle.

“Wanda,” Natasha says quietly behind her.

Wanda pauses.

“Whatever’s on the other side,” Natasha adds, “we handle it together.”

Wanda nods.

Then she opens the door; the room is dim.

Curtains drawn tight.

Air stale.

And there in the corner.

You.

Small.

Curled in on yourself like you’re trying to disappear.

Wanda’s breath catches.

“Y/N…”

You don’t move at first.

Then slowly, your head lifts.

Your eyes find hers.

And something in her chest breaks instantly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says softly, stepping closer. “It’s okay. It’s me.”

You flinch.

Even at her voice.

Natasha steps in behind her, taking in everything in one sharp glance—the room, the stillness, you.

Her jaw tightens.

But when she speaks, her voice is gentle.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Your lips part.

“I didn’t say anything,” you blurt out suddenly, panic cracking through your voice. “I didn’t tell him anything, I promise, I didn’t—”

Wanda drops to her knees in front of you. “Oh, honey—”

“I didn’t—” Your voice shakes harder. “I didn’t say anything—”

“Hey,” Natasha says, crouching down in front of you. “You’re okay.”

“I didn’t tell—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, firm and steady.

You freeze.

Your breathing stutters.

“I promise,” she adds, softer now.

Wanda’s hand settles carefully against your arm.

“You haven’t been at school,” she says gently. “We were worried.”

“I’m not supposed to go,” you whisper.

The words are small.

Fragile.

But they hit like something heavy.

Natasha’s expression sharpens slightly. “Who told you that?”

You shake your head quickly. “I just—I’m not—I don’t—”

The words won’t come.

Your chest feels too tight.

Everything feels too big.

And then—

The front door downstairs opens.

The sound is loud.

Final.

Your entire body goes rigid.

You try to pull away instantly, panic flooding through you.

“They’re back,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “They’re back—”

Footsteps.

Voices.

Getting closer.

“No, no—” you start, trying to move, trying to make yourself small again, trying to get away—

Natasha doesn’t let you.

Her hand steadies you immediately.

“Hey,” she says, low and firm. “Stay with me.”

You shake your head frantically. “I can’t—”

“You can,” she says.

And then she shifts.

Just slightly.

But enough.

Enough that she’s between you and the door.

Solid.

Unmovable.

Wanda moves closer to your other side, one hand on your back, grounding.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs. “We’re right here.”

The footsteps reach the stairs.

Each step is louder than the last.

Your hands are tight in Natasha’s shirt.

You can’t breathe.

The hallway creaks.

Then—

The doorway fills.

“What is going on?”

The voice is sharp.

Demanding.

Wrong.

You flinch hard.

Instinct.

Natasha notices.

Of course she does.

She rises slowly to her full height, placing herself fully between you and them.

Her posture is calm.

Controlled.

But there’s something underneath it.

Something dangerous.

“We came to check on Y/N,” she says evenly.

“You can’t just break into our house,” your parent snaps, stepping forward.

Natasha doesn’t move.

Doesn’t give an inch.

“You left a minor alone,” she replies, voice still calm—but colder now. “No school. No contact. No supervision.”

“That’s none of your business—”

“It is now.”

The words land hard.

Final.

Wanda feels you shaking beside her. She pulls you gently closer, one arm wrapping around you protectively.

“It’s okay,” she whispers. “You’re okay.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you whisper again, clinging tighter. “I didn’t tell—”

Wanda’s heart cracks all over again. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“Don’t talk to her,” your parent says sharply.

You flinch.

Natasha sees it.

And that’s it.

Something in her expression settles completely.

Decision made.

“She’s coming with us,” Natasha says.

“No, she’s not.”

Natasha steps slightly forward.

Just enough.

“You can argue that with child services,” she says, voice low and controlled. “But right now? She’s not staying here.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Tense.

Heavy.

Your parent hesitates.

And that hesitation is everything.

Natasha turns slightly, her voice softening instantly when she looks back at you.

“Hey,” she says gently. “Come on.”

You don’t hesitate.

You move straight into her, clinging tightly, your fingers gripping her shirt like it’s the only solid thing in the world.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs.

Wanda stays close, her hand never leaving your back.

“You’re safe,” she whispers again.

And this time—

You believe her.

-///-

The car ride is quiet.

You sit in the back at first.

For all of thirty seconds.

Then—

“No.”

Your voice is small.

Panicked.

“I don’t—I don’t want to sit back here—”

Wanda turns immediately. “Okay. That’s okay.”

Natasha has already pulled the car over.

“Come here,” Wanda says softly, opening the door.

You move quickly, climbing out and into the front, into her side, before you even realize what you’re doing.

You cling to her.

Hard.

Your face pressed into her shoulder.

Your hands gripping her sleeve.

She wraps both arms around you instantly.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, pressing her cheek gently against your hair.

Natasha glances over.

Something in her gaze softens.

Then she starts driving again.

Slow.

Careful.

Like she’s carrying something fragile.

Like she knows she is.

-///-

Their home is warm.

That’s the first thing you notice.

Not just the temperature.

The feeling.

It’s quiet—but not empty. Soft—but not suffocating.

Wanda guides you inside, her hand never leaving you.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs again.

Natasha locks the door behind you, quick and automatic. Then she looks at you.

Really looks.

Her gaze lingers, taking in your face, your hands, and the way you’re standing.

“Hey,” she says gently, crouching slightly so she’s closer to your level. “When was the last time you ate?”

You blink at her.

You don’t know.

Or maybe you do.

But it feels too far away to explain.

Your shoulders lift in a small shrug.

That’s enough.

Natasha glances at Wanda.

Wanda’s expression softens immediately. “Okay. Food first.”

You sit at the kitchen table, feet dangling slightly above the floor.

The chair feels too big.

Everything does.

But the kitchen smells warm.

Safe.

Natasha sets a plate down in front of you.

Dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

You stare at them.

Really stare.

“Don’t worry, it’s chicken, not dinosaur,” Wanda says softly, a small smile tugging at her lips as she folds laundry at the end of the table.

Your eyes flick up to her.

Then back to the plate.

“Mm,” Natasha hums, settling into the chair beside you. “You say that, but you also insisted heart-shaped pasta tastes better.”

Wanda glances at her. “It does taste better.”

“It’s the same pasta.”

“It’s not the same experience.”

Natasha huffs quietly, something almost like a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Right. Of course.”

You let out a small sound before you can stop it.

A soft, surprised giggle.

Your hand flies to your mouth immediately, like you need to hide it.

But it’s already there.

They both look at you.

Not sharply.

Not suddenly.

Just… gently.

Wanda’s smile softens.

Natasha’s expression shifts—something warmer, quieter.

Neither of them makes a big deal out of it.

They just… let it exist.

And then Wanda goes back to folding.

Natasha stays beside you.

Like nothing’s changed.

Like everything has.

Your hand moves slowly toward the plate.

Careful.

Uncertain.

You pick one up.

Take a bite.

You try to go slow at first.

You really do.

But your hands move faster than you mean them to.

Bite after bite.

Like if you don’t eat it now, it might disappear.

Natasha doesn’t interrupt.

Doesn’t reach in.

Doesn’t tell you to slow down.

She just shifts slightly closer.

Grounding.

Present.

Wanda notices next.

Her hands still for just a second before she quietly reaches for a napkin, placing it within your reach without a word.

No pressure.

No attention drawn.

Just… there.

“Hey,” Natasha murmurs after a moment, her voice low and steady. “It’s okay.”

You freeze for a second.

Still chewing.

“There’s more,” she adds gently. “You don’t have to rush.”

You nod quickly.

A little too quickly.

She doesn’t comment.

Just stands, moving back to the counter.

There’s a quiet clink of a plate.

The soft sound of more food being set down.

No hesitation.

No questions.

When she sets it beside you, her hand lingers for half a second near your shoulder.

Not touching.

Just close.

“I’ve got you,” she says quietly.

Something in your chest tightens.

But it’s not sharp.

Not like before.

Wanda glances up at Natasha, then at you.

And there’s something unspoken in the look she gives her.

Something soft.

Something certain.

Wanda steps closer, brushing lightly past Natasha as she moves.

Her hand rests briefly against Natasha’s side—familiar, absent-minded.

“You’re hovering,” she murmurs.

Natasha exhales softly. “I’m not hovering.”

“You are a little,” Wanda says, but not unkindly.

A pause.

“…it’s okay, though,” she adds quietly.

Natasha doesn’t answer.

But she stays right where she is.

Close.

And you keep eating.

Slower now.

Because for the first time—

You believe it won’t be taken away.

It’s only after you’ve finished eating that Natasha notices.

The smudge of something on your cheek.

The dirt still caught under your nails.

The way your sleeves hang stiff.

Natasha moves to look at Wanda, only to find Wanda already watching her.

“Okay,” Wanda says gently, stepping closer. “How about we get you cleaned up a little?”

You hesitate.

Just a second.

Then nod.

-///-

The bathroom fills with steam.

Warm.

Soft.

You sit in the tub, water wrapping around you, and for a moment you just… stay still.

Let it happen.

Wanda kneels nearby, her voice soft and steady as she talks about nothing—about school, about flowers, about things that don’t hurt.

Natasha moves quietly in and out, grabbing what she needs.

Towel.

Cream.

At one point, she pauses, watching you for a second.

Making sure you’re okay.

You glance at her.

She gives you a small smile.

It stays.

After, everything feels… lighter.

Not fixed.

But softer.

You stand in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, while Wanda gently helps you into one of Natasha’s shirts.

It’s huge.

It swallows your form.

You glance down at yourself, unsure.

Wanda smiles. “Looks perfect.”

“Alright,” Natasha says, leaning lightly against the counter. “Come here a second.”

You step closer.

She holds up a toothbrush.

You hesitate.

Then step closer anyway.

“Open,” she says gently.

You do.

And then—

She starts brushing your teeth.

Carefully.

Slowly.

And—unexpectedly—

She starts humming.

Then quietly singing.

“Brush, brush, make them shine, Top and bottom, take your time…”

Your eyes widen slightly.

You weren’t expecting that.

“…little circles, nice and neat— Gotta take good care of teeth.”

A small sound escapes you before you can stop it.

A giggle.

It surprises you.

It surprises her too because she pauses for half a second, then—she smiles.

Really smiles.

Soft. Warm. A little amused.

“There it is,” she murmurs. “Knew you had more of those.”

Your face feels warm.

But not in a bad way.

-///-

Afterwards, stand awkwardly in the hallway.

“There’s a room you can use,” Wanda says gently, opening a door.

You look inside.

The bed.

The space.

The quiet.

Your chest tightens.

Too quiet.

Too alone.

You take a small step back.

“I—”

Your voice shakes.

“I don’t want to be by myself.”

The words come out barely above a whisper.

But they’re clear.

Wanda doesn’t hesitate.

“Okay,” she says immediately.

Natasha nods once. “That’s okay.”

They don’t question it.

Don’t push.

Just… accept it.

-///-

You find yourself in their bed, full and clean.

Your legs are tucked under you while you absently play with the wedding ring on Natasha’s finger as she sits beside you.

You twist it gently, careful, like you’re not sure you’re allowed but hoping you are.

She doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t even comment.

Just lets you.

Wanda stands behind you, gently brushing your hair.

Slow strokes.

Working through tangles without pulling.

“You’re being very patient,” she says softly.

You nod a little.

Your focus is on the ring.

The way it catches the light.

The way it spins.

Natasha and Wanda talk quietly above you.

Low voices.

Calm.

You don’t understand all of it.

Something about calls. Paperwork. Tomorrow.

But their voices are steady.

Not sharp.

Not scary.

Just… there.

Wanda’s fingers begin to braid your hair, movements careful and rhythmic.

You lean slightly into the feeling without realizing it.

Into the warmth.

Into them.

And for the first time, everything feels slow.

Safe.

Yours.

Even if just for tonight.

-///-

The cake is a little uneven.

You notice that first.

The frosting swirls aren’t perfect, and one side dips slightly like it leaned too long, but it’s still the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

Because it’s yours.

“Okay,” Wanda says softly, setting it down in front of you, a small smile on her face. “Ready?”

You nod, even though your chest feels full in a way you don’t completely understand.

Natasha stands just behind you, one hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

“Make a wish, baby,” she murmurs.

You close your eyes.

You don’t even have to think about it.

Then you blow out the candles.

Wanda claps softly, laughing a little. Natasha’s hand squeezes your shoulder once, and when you look up at her, she’s smiling—small, but real.

“Presents?” Wanda asks.

You nod again, a little more excited this time.

There aren’t many.

But that doesn’t matter.

Wanda hands you a small box first. Inside is something soft, a sweater in your favourite colour.

You smile, hugging it close.

“Thank you, Mom,” you say quietly.

Her eyes soften instantly.

Natasha hands you the last one.

It’s not wrapped like the others.

Just a folder.

You tilt your head slightly. “What’s this?”

“Open it,” she says gently.

You do.

At first, the words don’t make sense.

They’re too big. Too official.

Then you see it.

Your name.

Their names.

Together.

Something shifts.

Something settles.

You look up, your hands tightening slightly on the paper.

“…Mama?” you whisper.

Natasha’s expression softens completely. “Yeah.”

You turn to Wanda, your voice smaller now but steady.

“…Mom?”

She nods, her eyes shining. “Yeah, sweetheart.”

Your grip on the paper loosens as you move forward without thinking, wrapping your arms around both of them.

And this time—

You know you’re not going anywhere.

The SUV is quiet for the first several minutes after leaving the mansion. Rain taps steadily against the windshield while the city moves around you in blurred streaks of gray and gold. Carol drives one-handed, posture relaxed enough to look casual, but you notice the details now. The constant checks of the mirrors. The way her eyes move between intersections before the light even changes. The slight shift in her shoulders whenever a car lingers too long beside you.

You notice everything now.

The mansion did that to you.

You sit curled slightly toward the window, fingers tugging absently at the sleeve of your hoodie, Natasha’s hoodie technically, oversized and warm and still faintly smelling like her cologne.

Carol glances over briefly. “You’re thinking too hard again.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is. You get this little crease between your eyebrows.”

Your hand lifts automatically toward your face, and Carol snorts quietly. “There it is.”

You roll your eyes faintly, but the expression doesn’t last long. The silence stretches again after that, heavier this time. Your mind keeps drifting back to the mansion. To Wanda and Natasha standing in the doorway watching you leave like they were trying not to lock you inside instead.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?” you ask quietly.

Carol doesn’t answer immediately. “Working.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

You glance sideways at her. “Carol.”

Her jaw shifts slightly. “Kid.”

The warning in her tone isn’t harsh, just firm enough to tell you the subject is closed. You sink back against the seat with a sigh. “So they are interrogating people.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You basically did.”

Carol shakes her head once, eyes still fixed on the road. “The less you know right now, the safer you are.”

“That’s such a mafia answer.”

“That’s because I’m in the mafia.”

You huff softly and stare back out the window while rainwater streaks down the glass in uneven rivers. The silence lasts another minute before you speak again.

“Do you think this is my fault?”

Carol’s head turns immediately. “No.”

The answer comes so fast it almost startles you.

“But-”

“No,” she repeats, firmer this time.

You look down at your hands. “Everything got worse after me.”

Carol exhales slowly like she’s trying very hard not to say the wrong thing. “Wanda and Natasha built an empire before they met you. They had enemies before you. Blood before you. Problems before you.” Her grip shifts slightly on the wheel. “You didn’t create this.”

“Still feels like I did.”

“That doesn’t make it true.”

The SUV slows near a red light. Carol checks the rearview mirror automatically before continuing.

“You know what Natasha used to be like?” she asks suddenly.

You glance at her. “What?”

“Colder. Not cruel exactly. Just focused. Everything had a purpose. A use. She cared about people when it mattered strategically.”

“And Wanda?”

Carol lets out a short breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “Wanda was terrifying.”

“She still is terrifying.”

“Yeah, but now she also buys tea samplers because you said chamomile helps you sleep.”

You blink slightly.

“The whole house changed after you,” Carol continues. “People stay after meetings now. The kitchen actually gets used. Sam started cooking again because you kept wandering in there at two in the morning looking sad. Natasha stopped sleeping in her office.”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly.

“You made things softer,” Carol says.

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing for people like them.”

“No,” Carol agrees. “But it made them happier.”

The honesty in her voice catches you off guard.

You swallow slightly. “Do you think they love me too much?”

Carol laughs once under her breath, but there’s no humor in it. “That’s a dangerous question.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Another red light. Another glance in the mirror.

Carol drums her fingers once against the steering wheel before speaking again. “Wanda and Natasha do everything too much. Love included. But you’re the first thing I’ve ever seen either of them value more than power.”

That lands hard enough to leave you speechless.

Outside, rain continues falling steadily across the city.

You watch Carol’s profile for a second before asking quietly, “Do you think it messes people up? Being around me, I mean?”

Carol frowns slightly. “What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t know.” You tug at the sleeve again. “Maria got hurt because of me. The house is falling apart. People are lying to each other. Wanda and Natasha barely sleep anymore.”

Carol’s expression tightens briefly at Maria’s name before smoothing back out. “The house isn’t falling apart.”

“It feels like it is.”

“That’s because somebody wants it to.”

You glance over at her.

Carol keeps her eyes on the road. “People like Wanda and Natasha built their lives around control. Around knowing everything. Whoever’s doing this is trying to take that away from them.”

“And me.”

Carol finally looks at you then. “And you,” she agrees quietly.

The honesty of it makes your stomach twist.

For a second neither of you speaks.

Then you clear your throat softly. “So-”

Carol groans immediately. “Oh no.”

You almost smile. “You and Maria.”

Carol sighs heavily enough to sound personally offended by the topic. “We are not having this conversation.”

“You literally made out in a hallway.”

“It was a private hallway.”

“It was in the middle of the mansion.”

“That sounds like an architectural issue.”

You laugh softly despite yourself.

Carol glances over briefly, and some of the tension in her face eases at the sound.

“You really like her,” you say.

Carol’s expression immediately shifts into something deeply long-suffering. “Unfortunately.”

“She likes you too.”

“That’s still shocking to me honestly.”

You grin faintly. “Maria’s not exactly subtle when she watches you.”

Carol nearly misses the next turn.

“Oh my God,” you say, delighted. “You didn’t know.”

“She does not watch me.”

“She absolutely watches you.”

Carol looks genuinely alarmed now. “That’s horrifying.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m stressed.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m going to leave you at this intersection.”

You laugh again, quieter this time.

Carol shakes her head slightly, but there’s helpless fondness in her expression now. “It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“Actually caring what she thinks.” A pause. “Usually people either like me or they don’t. Maria,” She exhales slowly. “Maria makes me nervous.”

You blink. “You’re scared of Maria?”

“I’m not scared of her.”

“You literally just said she makes you nervous.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Carol mutters something under her breath that sounds deeply insulting, and you smile faintly before looking back out the window again.

“I’m glad she apologized,” you say quietly.

Carol’s expression softens slightly at that. “Yeah.”

“I think she meant it.”

“She did. Maria doesn’t do emotional honesty unless she absolutely means it. She’d rather fistfight a moving train.”

You snort softly.

“She cares about you a lot,” Carol adds after a moment. “More than she expected to.”

Your chest tightens again.

Outside, the rain begins to ease as the bookstore comes into view ahead. Carol pulls into the parking lot smoothly, but before getting out, she scans the area once through the windshield. Entrances. Cars. People moving along the sidewalks.

Then she kills the engine.

You watch her quietly for a second. “You do that automatically now, huh.”

“What.”

“The scanning thing.”

Carol looks completely unbothered. “Situational awareness.”

“You sound exactly like Natasha.”

“That’s the rudest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You laugh softly under your breath as both of you climb out into the damp afternoon air.

The bookstore smells like coffee, paper, and rain-soaked jackets. The second you step inside, some of the tension in your chest eases despite yourself. It isn’t enough to erase the unease from the drive or the image of Wanda and Natasha watching you leave the mansion like they expected something terrible to happen, but it helps. Soft music hums overhead while people drift through aisles carrying books and steaming drinks, completely unaware of the kind of world you just stepped out of.

Carol notices immediately.

“There,” she says quietly, grabbing a shopping basket near the entrance. “That’s the first normal expression you’ve made all day.”

“I’ve been making normal expressions.”

“You looked like you were preparing for psychological collapse in the passenger seat.”

You snort softly and wander toward the nearest display table while Carol follows behind you. Not hovering exactly, but close enough that every time you glance back, she’s there. Watching. Aware. Casual in the way dangerous people learn to be.

You pull a fantasy novel off the shelf and skim the back before Carol takes it from you automatically and drops it into the basket.

“You know,” you say, “normal people usually let other people carry their own books.”

“Normal people aren’t at the center of a mafia crisis.”

“That still sounds insane out loud.”

Carol hums quietly and gestures for you to keep moving.

For a little while, things feel easy. You drift through the aisles slowly while Carol trails after you carrying the basket and pretending not to listen when you start rambling about books you’ve read before. Every so often she throws commentary in from behind you.

“That cover looks depressing.”

“It’s literary fiction.”

“So yes.”

You roll your eyes and hand her another book anyway.

The rain outside gets heavier, tapping softly against the front windows while more people wander inside to escape it. Somewhere near the café someone laughs loudly enough to echo through the store. It feels safe in a strange, fragile way. Normal people doing normal things. No guns. No interrogations. No secrets threatening to split the house apart.

You pause near a shelf and glance back toward Carol. “You know, for somebody who complains constantly about babysitting me, you’re being surprisingly patient.”

Carol shifts the basket to her other arm. “I contain multitudes.”

“You contain caffeine and unresolved emotional issues.”

“That too.”

You smile faintly and drift farther into the store. Carol follows automatically, posture loose but eyes always moving. You notice now how often her attention catches on reflections instead of displays. The windows. The mirrored café wall. The movement near the entrance.

Your smile fades slightly.

“You’re still doing the scanning thing,” you say quietly.

Carol doesn’t look at you. “Occupational hazard.”

“You’ve checked the front windows like six times.”

“Maybe I just really like rain.”

You stare at her flatly. “Carol.”

That gets a small exhale out of her. “Kid, if something was wrong, we’d already be leaving.”

The answer should calm you down.

It doesn’t.

Because it’s careful. Too careful.

You watch her for another second before looking back at the shelves. “You know, you’re really bad at pretending things don’t bother you.”

“That’s not true.”

“You literally grip your jaw when you’re stressed.”

Carol blinks once like she didn’t realize that was something you noticed. “Wow. Hate that.”

You laugh softly under your breath and hand her another book.

Then her posture changes.

It’s subtle enough that most people wouldn’t catch it.

You do.

Her shoulders straighten slightly. The basket shifts to her left hand. Her attention flicks past you toward the front of the store before settling carefully back on your face.

Your stomach tightens immediately.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not your nothing face.”

Carol’s expression stays neutral, but her eyes move once more toward the café windows near the entrance. “Probably nothing.”

You glance toward the front instinctively, but all you see are people moving through the rain outside.

Still, something feels off now.

Carol steps closer without seeming to mean to, near enough that her shoulder brushes yours lightly. Protective. Controlled. Focused.

“You done browsing?” she asks casually.

You narrow your eyes slightly. “Not really.”

“Humor me.”

There’s no sarcasm in her voice this time.

That’s what finally makes your chest tighten.

You study her face for another second before nodding slowly. Carol relaxes just enough to notice before guiding you toward the checkout area. Not touching you exactly, just steering. Positioning herself slightly between you and the wider aisles while her attention keeps catching on the front entrance.

Something is wrong.

Carol just isn’t telling you what it is yet.

By the time you leave the bookstore, the rain has eased into a light drizzle. Carol keeps close as the two of you cross the parking lot, one hand carrying the bags while the other stays suspiciously near her jacket pocket. You notice she scans the lot before unlocking the SUV, eyes moving over parked cars, windows, rooftops.

You notice everything now.

Carol catches you watching her and sighs quietly. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly again.”

You slide into the passenger seat while she tosses the bags into the back. “You’re paranoid.”

“I’m alive,” Carol replies, climbing into the driver’s seat. “There’s overlap.”

The doors lock automatically the second she starts the engine.

You glance sideways at her while she pulls out of the lot. “So are we going back?”

“Nope.”

That surprises you. “Really?”

“You still need clothes.”

“You actually agreed to shopping?”

“I agreed to getting you out of the house for a few hours.”

The city is busier now than it was earlier. More traffic. More people out now that the weather is clearing. Carol drives one-handed again, eyes constantly moving even while she talks.

“You know,” you say after a minute, “for someone who acts like I’m a huge inconvenience, you’re putting in a lot of effort.”

Carol snorts softly. “You think this is effort?”

“You threatened to abandon me at an intersection like an hour ago.”

“That was emotionally deserved.”

You roll your eyes faintly, then glance back out the window. “Where are we even going?”

“The mall.”

You blink. “The mall?”

“Yeah.”

“That feels weirdly normal.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

You look over at her again. “Wouldn’t somewhere crowded be less safe?”

“Actually?” Carol shakes her head slightly. “No. More civilians means more witnesses, more cameras, more security. Less chance somebody tries something stupid.”

The casualness of the statement makes your stomach twist.

“You really think someone’s following us.”

Carol’s gaze flicks briefly toward the rearview mirror before returning to the road. “I think somebody’s interested.”

“That’s not better.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Silence settles after that. Outside, people move through crosswalks carrying shopping bags and umbrellas while the city keeps going around you like nothing is wrong. Like there isn’t a crack running straight through your life right now.

The mall parking structure is crowded enough that Carol circles twice before finally finding a spot close to the entrance.

“You’re picky.”

“I’m tactical.”

“You’re paranoid.”

Carol points at you as she kills the engine. “And yet I’m the one with combat training.”

You wait while she scans the garage before getting out. The movement is so automatic now it almost doesn’t look intentional.

Then she rounds the SUV and taps the roof lightly. “Come on, kid.”

The mall is warm, bright, and loud in a way the bookstore wasn’t. Music echoes faintly overhead while crowds drift between storefronts carrying drinks and bags. It feels strangely disconnected from everything waiting back at the mansion. Like the rest of the world kept moving while yours stopped.

Carol walks slightly behind and beside you this time, enough to guide without crowding. You notice she naturally steers you away from denser groups of people, always adjusting position without making it obvious.

“You’ve definitely done protection detail before me,” you mutter.

“A few times.”

“You make it look exhausting.”

“It is exhausting.”

You smile faintly despite yourself as the two of you pass brightly lit storefronts. “So what exactly am I buying?”

“Clothes.”

“That’s terrifyingly vague.”

“You said you needed more stuff.”

“I said Wanda keeps buying me clothes that cost more than my entire childhood and I need something lowkey.”

Carol snorts. “Yeah, that tracks.”

You stop outside a store window and grimace immediately at one of the mannequins. “That outfit is criminal.”

Carol studies it seriously. “Natasha would wear that.”

“That somehow makes it worse.”

A laugh escapes her before she can stop it.

For a while, things settle into something easier again. You move through stores together while Carol carries more bags than you despite your repeated protests. Trying on jackets. Arguing over colors. Carol refusing to let you carry anything heavier than your phone. It feels dangerously easy to forget what’s waiting back at the mansion.

Until you notice Carol stops walking. Not fully. Just enough. Her gaze shifts upward toward the second-floor railing across the atrium.

Your stomach tightens immediately.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“That’s becoming a really unconvincing answer.”

Carol doesn’t respond right away. Her attention stays fixed somewhere above the crowd before finally returning to you. “Stay close.”

Your pulse spikes.

“Carol.”

“Probably nothing.”

But her posture has changed again. Sharper now. Focused.

You glance instinctively toward the upper level.

At first, all you see are strangers leaning against railings and moving between stores.

Then one of them turns slightly. And your entire body goes cold.

The world doesn’t stop dramatically. There’s no cinematic crash of sound or sudden panic. Everything just narrows.

The crowd fades into meaningless motion around him.

Your heartbeat stutters painfully in your chest.

No.No, no, no.

He’s older than he was the last time you saw him. Thinner maybe. Hair shorter. But you know that face instantly.

You’d know it anywhere.

Your ex-boyfriend.

The man who started with small things. Telling you your friends were bad for you. Telling you nobody understood you like he did. Convincing you isolation was intimacy and jealousy was love. The man who checked your phone, tracked your location, decided what you wore depending on who would see you.

And when manipulation stopped working, he escalated.

A bruised wrist hidden under sleeves. Fingers digging too hard into your jaw during arguments. Being shoved hard enough to hit walls and then being told it only happened because you “pushed him too far.” The apologies afterward. The crying. The promises. The way he always made you feel guilty for being afraid of him.

The man who threatened you quietly enough nobody else heard it. The man you testified against at twenty-one with shaking hands and a cracking voice while he stared at you across the courtroom like he already owned you. The man who was supposed to be in prison.

Your breathing goes shallow without warning.

Carol notices immediately.

“Kid?”

You barely hear her.

He’s staring directly at you from across the atrium.

Watching. Not smiling. Just watching.

Your fingers clamp hard around Carol’s sleeve before you even realize you moved.

Carol’s entire posture sharpens instantly.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “Talk to me.”

Your throat feels too tight to work properly.

“He’s supposed to be in jail,” you whisper.

Carol follows your line of sight. And goes completely still. For one terrifying second, neither of you moves.

Then Carol steps directly in front of you, blocking your view of him entirely.

“Okay,” she says calmly, too calmly. “We’re leaving.”

Your chest feels tight enough to crack open.

“Carol-”

“Stay with me.”

Her hand settles firmly against the middle of your back, guiding you forward through the crowd. Controlled. Protective. Dangerous.

You risk one glance over your shoulder. He’s still there. Watching you leave like he already knows where you’ll end up.

Carol gets you out of the mall fast without making it look fast.

That’s the terrifying part.

She doesn’t grab you. Doesn’t panic. Doesn’t run. She just shifts closer, one hand firm against the middle of your back as she guides you through the crowd with practiced ease, positioning herself between you and every open space automatically.

“Keep walking,” she says quietly.

Your heartbeat pounds so hard it hurts.

“He’s supposed to be in prison.”

“I know.”

“You saw him right? I’m not going crazy am I?.”

“I saw him.”

The calmness in her voice makes you feel worse somehow.

People brush past carrying shopping bags and drinks, completely unaware that your entire body is locking up from fear. Your hands shake hard enough that you curl them into the sleeves of your hoodie to hide it.

Carol notices anyway.

“You’re okay,” she says quietly.

The words almost make you laugh.

You haven’t felt okay since you looked up and saw him staring at you from that railing like no time had passed at all.

You barely register the walk through the parking garage. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly while your pulse roars in your ears. Carol unlocks the SUV remotely before opening the passenger door for you.

“Get in.”

You hesitate. “Carol-”

“In the car now.”

The tone stops you cold. Not angry. Commanding.

You climb inside automatically.

Carol shuts the door, then leans slightly toward the open window. “Lock the doors behind me.”

Your stomach drops. “What are you doing?”

“Something stupid probably.”

“Carol.”

Her expression hardens slightly, all the warmth from earlier disappearing beneath something sharper. More dangerous.

“Lock the doors.”

Then she turns and walks away before you can argue.

Panic claws immediately at your chest.

You watch her disappear between rows of concrete pillars deeper into the garage, moving with terrifying confidence. Not rushed. Not hesitant. Predatory.

Your hands fumble locking the doors. The garage suddenly feels too quiet. Too isolated. You can’t see him. You can’t see Carol anymore either. Every second stretches painfully.

Then movement flashes near the far side of the garage. Carol shoves someone hard enough into a concrete pillar that the sound echoes.

Your breath catches violently.

It’s him. Even from this distance you recognize the shape of him instantly.

Carol has him pinned before he can react properly, one forearm across his throat while the other hand presses a gun hard beneath his jaw.

Your entire body goes cold. You can’t hear everything through the SUV windows. Only pieces.

Carol says something low and sharp. His hands lift immediately. Not fighting. Scared. Good.

For one horrible second your brain flashes backward automatically, his hand around your wrist too tight. The sharp crack of your shoulder hitting drywall. The way he used to apologize afterward like that somehow erased it.

Your stomach twists violently.

Across the garage, Carol presses the gun harder beneath his jaw.

Now you can hear her.

“Start talking.”

He says something too quiet to make out. Carol slams him back into the pillar hard enough that you flinch.

“I’m not asking twice.”

He panics visibly after that. You can see it even from here. This man used to terrify you. Now he looks terrified himself. Because Carol belongs to a different world than he does. A scarier one.

“I didn’t come to hurt her,” he blurts loudly enough for you to hear through the glass.

Carol laughs once, cold and humorless. “You are significantly too stupid to lie to me.”

He swallows hard.

Carol leans closer, gun still fixed beneath his jaw. “You were incarcerated.”

“I didn’t escape.”

“Then somebody let you out.”

Silence. Carol presses the gun harder. Finally he cracks.

“I don’t know who they are,” he says quickly. “I swear to God.”

Carol stills slightly. “What.”

“I never met them,” he rushes out. “Everything was anonymous. Phones. Messages. They just contacted me.”

Your chest tightens painfully. Carol goes very still in a way that somehow feels more dangerous than yelling would.

“And what exactly did these mystery people want?”

His eyes flick toward the SUV. Toward you.

Carol notices instantly and grabs his throat hard enough to cut off the movement.

“Wrong direction,” she says softly.

He looks genuinely panicked now.

“They said I could have her back.”

Your stomach turns so hard you almost gag. Carol’s expression changes instantly. Not anger anymore. Something colder.

“Oh,” she says quietly.

The realization hits her all at once. This isn’t random. This isn't a coincidence. Someone dug through your life specifically. Someone found him. Used him. Weaponized him.

“They promised money,” he says quickly, desperate now. “Protection. They said if I helped, they’d fix everything.”

Carol stares at him for a long moment.

Then: “Help with what.”

“I don’t know everything,” he says frantically. “I swear. Just watching her. Reporting things back. Keeping track of where she goes.”

Your blood runs cold.

“How long,” Carol asks quietly.

He hesitates. That’s enough answer already. Carol’s jaw tightens violently. “How long.”

“A few weeks.”

The garage suddenly feels freezing. A few weeks.

Before the attacks escalated. Before the paranoia. Before the house started turning against itself.

Carol realizes it at the exact same time you do.

This goes deeper than any of them thought. And whoever is behind it has been planning this for a long time.

Carol finally steps back slightly, though the gun never lowers.

“If you ever come near her again,” she says softly, “they’ll never find enough pieces of you to bury.”

He nods immediately. Terrified.

Carol believes he’s scared. She also clearly believes he’s useful. Which is somehow worse.

Then she turns and walks back toward the SUV without looking behind her. The second she slides back into the driver’s seat, you realize your entire body is shaking.

Carol notices too. For a second neither of you speaks.

“You dated that piece of shit?”

You nod once.

Carol stares through the windshield, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

Finally she says, “We have a much bigger problem than I thought.”

 ______________