The Glitch: Chapter 1
Summary: Your first mission needed to go smoothly.
Pairing: Wanda x fem!Reader
Warnings: Violence, slow-burn
The first thing you learned when you joined the Avengers was this: No one looked at your face first. They looked above your head.
42
You didn’t need a mirror to know it was still there. You could feel it like a weight pressing down on your existence, silently announcing to everyone in the room: Not impressive. Not exceptional. Not worth much.
“Forty-two?” You turned at the voice. Tony Stark stood across the room, arms crossed, staring not at you but at the number above your head. His number read 92 above his head as you tried not to glare at him. You had worked hard to earn your spot amongst the team, regardless of the number that stayed constant above your head.
“That’s… bold,” he said. “Recruiting someone the system barely acknowledges.”
“It’s not the system’s call,” Steve Rogers replied evenly, his own number sitting at 98. He looked at you warmly, ready to welcome you into the team.
“Everything’s the system’s call now, Cap.” Tony crossed his arms from his spot beside Steve on the round table in the conference room.
You tried not to react. You’d heard worse. Still, your eyes flicked, just for a second, to the others and the numbers above their heads....90s. 80s. 70s with Natasha Romanoff having the lowest score at 78. God-tier humans.
And then your eyes landed on her number. Her red hair flowed down her shoulders against her leather jacket. You knew she was the newest member, well, before you had been asked to join by Nick Fury, his own number sitting at a steady 91.
Wanda Maximoff, her green eyes briefly landed on your face, as if she was deciding her opinion without the relevance of the number, before she went back to looking at a spot on the table. 89. Not the highest at the table but definitely higher than yours.
But hers wasn’t steady. It flickered once and then again as she glanced at you again..86… 88… 85…Like it couldn’t decide what she was worth and unlike everyone else when she settled her gaze at you again, she wasn’t looking at your number, she was looking at you. Greens eyes taking in every inch of your face, the way your hair settled, the way your shirt bunched just a little at the collar. She was analyzing you without even considering what the number above your head was and it made your cheeks flush.
It’s subtle at first, just a warmth creeping up your neck, brushing across your jaw and up your cheeks, but under her gaze it feels like it’s blazing. Her green eyes flicker again… for a fraction of a second, something like curiosity or amusement crosses her face before she looks away.
Focus.
You weren’t here to get distracted.
You were here to prove you belonged regardless of your number.
“Alright,” Steve says, pushing off the table slightly, drawing the room’s attention back to something that isn’t you. “We’ve got a situation developing just outside Bucharest. Small group, but they’ve already taken out a convoy.”
A holographic map flickers to life above the center of the table, casting blue light across everyone’s faces. You latch onto it immediately, grateful for the distraction.
“Energy signatures are… strange,” Tony adds, tapping something on his tablet. “Not anything we’ve catalogued before. Which, lately, is becoming a trend I do not enjoy.”
“Civilian casualties?” Natasha asks, her tone sharp, efficient.
“Minimal,” Steve answers. “So far.”
“Meaning it won’t stay that way,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.
The words slip out, quiet but clear enough.
Every head at the table turns.
Your stomach drops.
Great. First meeting, and you’re already speaking out of turn.
Tony raises an eyebrow. “Forty-two speaks.”
You bite back the instinct to snap at him, forcing your shoulders to stay relaxed. “If they wanted attention, they would’ve made it louder already. If they haven’t… they’re building toward something.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then-
“She’s right.”
The voice is soft. Accented. Everyone turns again, but this time not toward you. Toward Wanda.
She hasn’t moved much, still leaning slightly back in her chair, fingers loosely intertwined in her lap. But her gaze is steady now, fixed somewhere in the hologram like she’s seeing something deeper than the rest of you.
“They are waiting,” she continues quietly. “Not hiding. Waiting.”
Tony glances between the two of you. “And we’re basing this on… vibes?”
Wanda doesn’t look at him as she continues. “On patterns.”
Your eyes flick to her again, curiosity sparking despite yourself. For a moment, her number flickers again...87… 86… 88…Unstable. But her voice doesn’t waver.
Steve nods slowly. “Either way, we move in carefully. Recon first. Then we engage if necessary.”
He looks around the table. “Romanoff, Barton, Maximoff—”
“I’m going too.” The words are out before you’ve fully decided to say them, an impulse you don’t catch in time.
Silence.
Again.
You really need to get better at that.
Tony lets out a short laugh. “Of course you are.”
You ignore him, focusing on Steve instead, you appreciated his genuine disposition as opposed to Tony’s arrogant one. “You said it yourself, it’s unpredictable. More eyes, more angles. I can help.”
Your number doesn’t move even as the decision is made. Still 42. You can feel it, heavy and unmoving, like it’s judging you for even speaking. Steve studies you for a moment, thoughtful.
Tony scoffs. “Cap, we are not bringing the statistical liability on a first run.”
“She’s not a liability,” Steve says firmly.
“Her number says otherwise.”
“And when has that ever been the only thing that mattered?”
Tony opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly annoyed.
You catch her gaze again. It lingers, just a fraction longer this time. You feel your chest tighten. Something unspoken passes between you, and then she looks away.
“She should come.” Wanda. This time, she’s looking directly at Steve. Then, slowly, her gaze shifts to you. There’s something unreadable in her expression. Not quite trust. Not quite curiosity. Something sharper.
“She sees things differently,” Wanda adds. Your breath catches slightly. You don’t know why that affects you more than Tony’s criticism or Steve’s defense.
But it does.
Natasha tilts her head, studying both of you now, her blue eyes seeming to find parts of you in a few seconds that you didn’t even know existed. “Interesting.”
Steve exhales, then nods once. “Alright. You’re in.”
Tony throws his hands up. “Fantastic. Love that for us.”
--
The Quinjet is quieter than you expected.
Not silent, there’s the steady hum of the engines, the occasional click of equipment, but quieter in a way that feels… heavy and ominous. You sit near the back, hands clasped loosely together, trying not to fidget and focus on your nerves.
Across from you, Natasha sharpens something small and metallic with precise, practiced movements. Clint lounges beside her, flipping an arrow between his fingers like it’s second nature.
Wanda sits near the window. Alone. Or at least, she looks like she prefers it that way. Her reflection stares back at her in the glass, red hair framing her face, green eyes distant. Her number hovers above her, faintly glowing. 87.
It hasn’t flickered in a while and you wonder why. Before you can stop yourself, you speak, the impulse feels easier to give in to while the anxiety of proving yourself slithers through your mind like a black fog.
“Does it ever bother you?” The words hang in the air.
Natasha’s hand pauses for just a second. Clint glances up briefly. But it’s Wanda who reacts.
Her eyes shift, not her head, just her eyes, from the clouds outside the window until they land on you. You notice how she leans a little forward towards you.
“Does what bother me?” she asks. You hesitate. Then gesture vaguely upward. “The number.” There’s a brief silence.
Then Clint snorts. “That’s one way to break the ice.” Natasha smirks faintly but says nothing.
Wanda, though… She turns fully this time and faces you. For a second, you almost regret asking as her eyes bore into you. You feel as though she’s trying to perceive something invisible.
But then she speaks softly. You can barely hear her over the hum of the quinjet “Yes.” Simple. Honest. Your eyebrows lift slightly. You hadn’t expected that.
“Most people don’t admit that,” you say.
“Most people lie,” she replies.
There’s no bite to it. Just a fact that floats between you.
You huff a quiet laugh. “Fair.”
Her gaze lingers on you. Longer than it probably should.
“Yours does not change,” she says. It’s not a question but an observation. You hadn’t even caught her looking at the number that had appeared above your head and never once changed since.
Your chest tightens slightly. “Not really.”
“Why?”
You shrug, trying to play it off. “Guess I’m just… consistently unimpressive.”
Natasha snorts softly at that as she finishes sharpening the dagger she was working on. But Wanda doesn’t smile, she leans forward slightly, elbows resting on her knees, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
“I do not think that is true.”
Your breath catches again. Gods, you need to stop reacting like that.
“Yeah?” you say lightly. “The system disagrees.”
For a moment, something flashes across her face. Something darker.
“The system is not always correct.”
Tony’s voice crackles over the comms before you can respond. “Careful, Maximoff, you’re starting to sound like a conspiracy theorist.”
Wanda doesn’t look away from you. “Maybe,” she murmurs.
--
The mission goes sideways faster than anyone expects.
One second, you’re moving through the abandoned structure, footsteps quiet, breath controlled.
The next...Everything explodes. Not literally. But it might as well have.
Energy pulses through the air, sharp and electric, distorting the space around you. The walls shimmer, like reality itself is glitching. Blue lines distort the space in front of you and if you squint and focus you think you can see binary hidden amongst the lines, flying upwards in the glitches.
“Contact!” Clint shouts. Figures emerge from the shadows, three, four, five of them, moving too fast, their movements jerky and unnatural.
“Something’s wrong,” Natasha mutters into her mic, already engaging. You duck as something slices through the air where your head had been a second ago. Your heart is pounding. Too fast. Too loud.
Focus.
You move, reacting more on instinct than anything else, grabbing a fallen piece of metal and swinging it just as one of the figures lunges. It connects with a hard thump.
The figure stumbles back, the impact of the metal slowing him down but not stopping him and your number flickers...42… 43… 41…You freeze for half a second as the number keep flickering above you. That’s new. Your number has never moved before.
You barely have time to process it before- “Watch out!” Wanda’s voice. You turn but you’re too slow.
Energy slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs as you hit the ground hard. Pain blooms across your side. The room spins and for a moment you can’t breathe as you gasp, trying to remember how your lungs work in the panic of not being able to bring air in.
Then all you saw was red. A flash of crimson energy cuts through the chaos, wrapping around the attacker and slamming them into the wall. Wanda stands a few feet away, hand outstretched, eyes glowing faintly as she takes in your condition, checking for any worse injuries. Her eyes swirl with the crimson and you see the fury that hides there.
Not at the enemy.
At the situation.
At the instability.
At.....you.
Your number drops again....41… 39. Wanda hesitates in her stance in front of you. Her eyes searching you for any sign of injury as her hand twitches, red energy flowing in a ball in between her fingers. You watch the energy and then slowly your gaze returns to her eyes. Red as she examines you mentally.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, stepping closer. “You are not paying attention.”
“I’m trying not to die,” you shoot back, pushing yourself up despite the pain. Her jaw tightens as she stares down at you.
“You must think before you act.”
“You think too much!” The words come out sharper than you intended. For a split second, everything stills as you stand up, wavering slightly as your body adjusts to the oxygen flowing in. You try to refocus on the battle around you but you can’t stop looking at her. The red swirls around her and her hair floats around her as she hovers in the air. She’s magnetic and you have to make a conscious effort to try and focus on something else. The chaos around you feels distant. Her eyes lock onto yours and you feel a pull to get her out of the battle, to somewhere safe. Her number spikes...85… 90… 93. A blue line appears as her number shifts.
Your breath catches. That’s not normal. Numbers only change once after a life altering decision. They aren’t supposed to change so rapidly.
That’s not...Another blast interrupts the moment, forcing both of you back into motion. The fight continues but something has changed. You can feel it and by the time the fight is over, the building is half-collapsed, the enemies subdued or gone, and your entire body aches.
You sit on a broken piece of concrete, trying to steady your breathing and calm the adrenaline flooding into your system. Your number hovers above you, mocking you.
Lower than it’s ever been.
You stare at it.
38
“You are injured this time.” You glance up and your eyes meet green. Wanda stands a few feet away, her expression unreadable again. Her number has settled, the flickering stopping during the fight. 89. Higher than before.
You let out a quiet breath. “I’ve been worse.” She steps closer, slowly, like she’s approaching something fragile.
“You should not have been hurt,” she says.
“Comes with the job.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Not like that.”
You tilt your head. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She hesitates, only for a second.
“When you were hit… your number dropped before you even stood up.” Your stomach twists. You hadn’t noticed that, being too distracted by trying to get air back in your lungs.
“You saw that?”
“I see many things,” she says quietly. There’s something in her voice now, something softer. “But I do not understand you.”
You huff a small, humorless laugh. “Join the club.” She steps closer towards you. Close enough now that you can see the tiny details that mark her face. The faint freckles across her nose, the slight tension in her jaw.
“Your number does not follow the rules,” she says.
“Maybe I don’t either.” That almost makes her smile.
Almost.
For a moment, neither of you speak but the air feels… different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
Then she says, very softly so that only you can hear her. “I would like to understand.” Your chest tightens but not in a bad way.
In a way that feels dangerous and new. You can feel your heart jump as she turns toward the rest of the team to regroup and for the first time since you got asked to join the Avengers the attention isn’t on your low number, it’s just on you and somehow that feels a lot more terrifying.
