#warewolf

Y/N walked into the kitchen early, shoulders loose, steps quiet. She wore one of the sleeveless shirts Wanda had picked out—soft fabric, breathable, familiar now enough that no one commented on it anymore. It suited her. She barely thought about it.

What she did notice was Wanda.

She was already there, standing at the counter, plating food with practiced ease. When she glanced up and saw Y/N, her face softened instantly.

“Good morning,” Wanda said.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, voice still rough with sleep.

Y/N was reaching for a plate when Vision appeared.

His gaze flicked to her—brief, sharp—before he stepped past and leaned down to kiss Wanda. Wanda returned it easily.

Y/N held back the urge to roll her eyes, turned on her heel instead, and walked away before the moment could linger. She sat beside Bucky at the table, setting her plate down with a quiet clink.

“Morning,” Bucky said.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, already eating.

The kitchen filled quickly after that—voices overlapping, chairs scraping, Sam and Clint arguing over something stupid, Tony providing unwanted commentary. Chaotic. Familiar.

Breakfast was the same as always. Maybe louder.

Then the doors slid open.

Nick Fury entered, and the room stilled in waves.

“I hope you all enjoyed breakfast,” he said flatly. “Because we’ve got a mission.”

Groans followed immediately.

“Easy one,” Fury continued. “Small team. In and out.”

Y/N slowed, instincts sharpening.

Fury’s eye locked onto her.

“And I want you there.”

A few heads turned. Vision frowned.

“Is that necessary?” he asked.

Fury didn’t even look at him. “Yes.”

Y/N set her fork down calmly. “Who else?”

“Not everyone,” Fury said. “Rogers. Romanoff. Barnes.”

Bucky lifted his mug in mock salute. “Guess I’m up.”

Y/N nodded once. “When?”

“Briefing in thirty,” Fury replied. “Gear up.”

As Fury left, Wanda’s gaze found Y/N across the room.

Y/N held it for a second—long enough to catch the concern there, the quiet faith underneath it. She gave Wanda a small nod, steady on the outside even as her pulse picked up.

Then she stood.

She returned to her room and closed the door, the familiar calm of preparation settling over her. Combat clothes replaced the sleeveless shirt—dark, flexible fabric, reinforced at the shoulders and chest, gear fitting her like it had been made for her body. She strapped on her boots, adjusted the holster, rolled her shoulders once.

By the time she reached the briefing room, Nat was already there, leaning back against the table, arms crossed. Her eyes flicked up, assessing—and then softened just a little.

“First mission,” Nat said casually.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

Nat stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You nervous?”

Y/N hesitated, then answered honestly. “A little.”

“That’s normal,” Nat said. “Means you’re paying attention. Stick close to Steve, watch Barnes’ six, and don’t hesitate if you need to shift.”

Y/N let out a quiet breath. “Okay.”

The rest of the team filed in—Steve calm and focused, Bucky already checking his gear. Fury took his place at the front, hologram flickering to life.

“HYDRA outpost,” Fury said. “Minimal resistance. Intel retrieval. No hostages, no civilians.”

Images rotated. Maps. Entry points.

“Y/N,” Fury continued, eyes on her, “you’re backup and extraction support. You move when Rogers moves. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied without hesitation.

“Good. Wheels up in ten.”

The room cleared quickly after that.

As they headed for the quinjet, Y/N took one last steadying breath.

First mission.

She was ready.

---

The quinjet cut through the clouds in silence.

Y/N sat strapped in across from Steve, hands resting on her thighs, fingers flexing once before stilling. She focused on her breathing—slow, even—letting the hum of the engines ground her. Nat stood near the ramp, checking weapons with practiced ease, while Bucky stared out at nothing in particular, already somewhere else.

“Two minutes,” the pilot called.

Steve looked at Y/N. “Stick with me. You’re on my left.”

“Yes, sir.”

Nat shot her a glance. “Relax. You’ll do fine.”

Y/N nodded, jaw tight—but steady.

The ramp lowered into cold night air.

They dropped fast, clean, landing in a wooded perimeter just outside the HYDRA outpost. No alarms. No movement. The building ahead was concrete and steel, half-buried into the hillside.

Steve signaled. Move.

They advanced in formation. Y/N stayed exactly where she was told—left flank, eyes up, senses sharp. Even without shifting, she could feel everything: the vibration of distant generators, the faint chemical tang of weapons oil, the uneven rhythm of guards inside.

At the first checkpoint, two sentries stood talking.

Bucky moved first—silent, brutal efficiency. Nat followed, precise. Y/N watched, learning.

Inside, the corridors narrowed. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

A guard turned the corner—

Y/N reacted before thought caught up.

She stepped in, grabbed his wrist, twisted hard. Bone cracked. Her other hand struck his throat, dropping him silently. She eased him down, breath controlled, heart pounding but not panicked.

Nat glanced back, approving.

They reached the main server room faster than expected.

“Too quiet,” Bucky muttered.

Then the doors slammed shut.

Red lights flared.

“Contact,” Steve said.

HYDRA agents poured in from both sides.

Training took over.

Y/N moved—fast, decisive. She ducked under a swing, drove her elbow into a ribcage, spun and kicked another agent back into the wall. A baton came at her head; she caught it mid-strike, yanked the man forward, and slammed him down.

She didn’t shift.

Didn’t need to.

Gunfire echoed. Steve’s shield ricocheted. Nat cleared the right side. Bucky held the rear.

An agent lunged at Steve from behind—

Y/N tackled him, rolling across the floor, knocking the weapon loose. She pinned him with her knee, disarmed him, and knocked him out cold.

Steve met her eyes briefly. A nod.

Trust.

The doors finally blew open—Nat’s work.

“Data secured,” she called.

They moved for extraction as alarms wailed through the facility. More guards tried to cut them off near the exit. Y/N took point this time, clearing the path with efficient strikes, covering Bucky when his arm jammed, pulling Steve back when debris collapsed.

They burst out into the night just as the quinjet swooped in.

Extraction was clean.

Only once they were airborne did Y/N let herself exhale fully, muscles trembling faintly now that it was over.

Nat smirked. “First mission, huh?”

Y/N nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”

Steve smiled at her, warm and certain. “You did good.”

Y/N blinked. “…I did?”

“Absolutely,” Steve said without hesitation. “You followed orders, adapted fast, and covered your team. That’s what matters.”

Bucky nodded once in agreement. “You didn’t freeze. That’s more than most on their first run.”

Nat added, a little softer, “And you didn’t rely on brute force. You thought your way through it.”

Y/N swallowed, something easing in her chest. She looked down at her hands, still faintly shaking, then back up at them.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Then… okay.”

Nat bumped her shoulder lightly. “Get used to it.”

As the quinjet turned toward home, Y/N leaned back in her seat, exhaustion finally catching up—but beneath it, something steadier had taken root.

She wasn’t just surviving anymore.

She belonged.

---

The quinjet touched down smoothly, the ramp lowering with a hiss of hydraulics.

As the others disembarked, voices overlapping—debrief chatter, dry jokes, relief—Y/N slipped away without a word.

She didn’t head toward the elevators.

Didn’t go to her room.

Instead, she turned the opposite direction and walked straight for the open doors leading outside.

The evening air hit her first—cool, clean, real. She breathed it in deeply, chest expanding, the tension of the mission still buzzing under her skin. Only when she reached the edge of the compound grounds did she stop.

She shrugged off her jacket and let it fall to the ground.

Then her boots—one, then the other—placed neatly beside the fabric, muscle memory precise even now. She stood there in her sports bra and combat pants, shoulders rising and falling as she centered herself.

For a moment, she just stood.

Then she let go.

The shift rolled through her like a deep exhale finally allowed. Bones realigned smoothly, muscle stretching and reforming, heat blooming under her skin. In seconds, where Y/N had been standing, there was only the massive dark wolf—fur rippling, golden eyes sharp and alive.

She shook herself once, grounding.

And then she ran.

The woods welcomed her instantly, trees blurring past as her paws hit earth and leaf litter with powerful, silent strides. Branches whipped by overhead, the scent of pine and soil flooding her senses. Each breath burned clean, clearing out the last traces of gunpowder, adrenaline, and command voices.

She ran hard.

Fast.

Free.

Deeper into the trees.

---

Wanda’s POV

Meanwhile in the compound, Wanda stood in front of Y/N’s door longer than she meant to.

She knocked once.

Then again, softer.

No answer.

Her brows knit together as she reached for the handle, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside. The room was empty—bed untouched, lights off, the air still and quiet in a way that felt… wrong. Like Y/N had never come back at all.

Wanda’s chest tightened.

She had been worried. More than she wanted to admit. Y/N’s first mission, real combat, real danger—Wanda had watched her walk onto the quinjet with that same guarded focus she always wore, and she’d waited all day for her to come back safe.

She stepped fully into the doorway, eyes scanning the room again, as if Y/N might suddenly appear if she looked hard enough.

She didn’t.

“Looking for the Y/N?”

Wanda turned sharply.

Nat was leaning in her doorway across the hall, arms crossed, expression knowing but not unkind.

“She’s not here,” Wanda said, trying to keep her voice casual and failing just a little.

Nat nodded toward the windows. “Yeah. She bolted the second we landed. Didn’t even look back.”

Wanda’s heart jumped. “Bolted?”

“To the woods,” Nat clarified. “Shifted right outside.”

Wanda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, relief mixing with concern. “She didn’t say anything.”

Nat shrugged. “Didn’t need to. First mission does that to people. Some need a drink. Some need silence.” Her eyes softened. “Some need to run.”

Wanda nodded slowly, fingers curling against the doorframe.

The woods.

She thanked Nat quietly and closed Y/N’s door behind her, the soft click echoing in the quiet hallway. For a moment, she stood there, staring at the door like it might offer answers if she waited long enough.

Then she let out a small breath and shook her head at herself.

It was fine.

Y/N was fine.

She had survived Hydra. Survived the mission. She knew the forest better than anyone else in this place.

Wanda returned to her room and went through her evening routine—shower, pajamas, brushing her hair—but her attention kept drifting. She found herself listening between sounds, half-expecting to hear familiar, gentle footsteps… or three soft scratches against her door.

She climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up, staring at the ceiling.

“She’ll come later,” Wanda murmured to herself, almost amused by her own impatience. “She always does.”

So she waited.

Patient.

Understanding.

Pretending her chest didn’t feel just a little too quiet without the steady presence of a wolf curled beside her bed.

Soon enough, she told herself.

Soon enough, there would be scratches.

---

Y/N’s POV

The run burned everything else away.

The mission. The gunfire. The tightness in her chest from holding herself together for hours. The forest took it all—the pounding of her paws against earth, the cold air rushing into her lungs, the familiar rhythm that reminded her who she was when no one was watching.

When she finally slowed, the compound lights were glowing through the trees.

She circled wide, silent as shadow, and padded back to the edge of the grounds. Her jacket and boots were still where she’d left them. She picked them up carefully in her mouth, careful not to tear the fabric, and slipped back inside through the service entrance.

She stopped only long enough to duck into her room and drop them neatly on the floor.

Then she turned down the hall she knew by heart now.

Wanda’s door.

She paused outside it, listening.

One heartbeat.

Two.

Only one presence inside.

Good.

She lifted a paw and scratched.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The door opened almost immediately.

Wanda stood there in soft clothes, hair loose, green eyes lighting up the second she saw her. “Hey,” Wanda whispered, like she didn’t want to scare her away.

Y/N padded inside without hesitation.

She went straight to her spot beside the bed and lowered herself carefully to the floor, sitting instead of lying down—still keyed with leftover energy, ears flicking, tail giving one slow sweep against the carpet.

She felt it before she heard it.

The door closing.

The soft click behind her.

Y/N turned her head just in time—

—and Wanda was suddenly there.

Arms slid around her neck, warm and firm, pressing close without fear or hesitation. Wanda’s cheek brushed against the thick fur at her shoulder as she hugged her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Her heart didn’t just race.

It exploded.

Heat surged through her chest, up her spine, down to the tips of her paws. Every instinct screamed protect, hold, don’t move, don’t scare her. She froze for half a second—then slowly, carefully, she leaned into the embrace.

A low, involuntary rumble escaped her chest.

Not a growl.

Not a warning.

Something soft. Something broken open.

Wanda’s arms tightened just a little. “I was worried,” she murmured into Y/N’s fur. “You didn’t come earlier.”

Y/N swallowed hard, golden eyes burning as she lowered her head slightly so Wanda could hold her more comfortably. Her tail curled closer to her body, grounding herself, containing the chaos inside her chest.

She hadn’t known she needed this.

Hadn’t known someone could choose her like this—wolf and all—without hesitation.

So Y/N let herself be hugged.

Wanda’s voice came soft, warm, right against her fur. “Nat told me,” she murmured. “She said you did really well today.”

Y/N made a quiet sound in her throat—something small and startled, like she hadn’t expected the words to matter as much as they did.

They stayed like that for another second. Maybe two. Time felt strange when Wanda was holding her.

Then Wanda pulled back slightly, hands still resting on Y/N’s shoulders as she looked her over.

“…You’re dusty,” Wanda said, blinking.

For a heartbeat, Y/N froze.

Then her ears flattened in pure panic.

She looked down at herself, then back up at Wanda, tail flicking once, then twice, like she’d been caught doing something terribly wrong. Her body stiffened, posture screaming apology, embarrassment, I didn’t mean to—

Wanda laughed.

Not mean. Not sharp. Just warm and genuine, the kind that bubbled out of her chest. “Hey—hey, it’s okay,” she said, still smiling. “I just meant you went pretty hard out there.”

Y/N huffed loudly, mortified, then stood abruptly and padded toward the door like she could escape the moment if she moved fast enough.

Before Wanda could even ask, it hit her—

loud, unfiltered, rushing straight into her mind.

I’LL BE RIGHT BACK—

Wanda blinked, startled, then smiled as realization set in.

“Okay,” she said gently, watching Y/N pause at the door, glance back once with those glowing eyes, and then slip out into the hallway.

The door closed softly behind her.

Wanda touched her own cheek, still warm from laughter and Y/N’s fur, her heart lighter than it had been all day.

Wanda didn’t need to wait long.

She had just curled up on her bed, switching on the lamp and scrolling through channels, when she heard it—soft footsteps in the hall, familiar and unhurried.

Then the door creaked open.

Y/N padded back in, still in her wolf form. Her fur was darker now, damp in places, little droplets clinging to the thick coat along her shoulders and chest. She gave a small shake just inside the doorway—careful, restrained—before padding over like she always did.

Wanda had already queued up a new sitcom, the theme song playing softly in the background.

“You’re back,” Wanda said quietly, smiling.

Y/N dipped her head once in greeting and went straight to her spot beside the bed. She lowered herself carefully, curling onto her side with her back to the mattress, paws tucked in close. Her fur brushed the edge of Wanda’s blanket, still warm even through the lingering coolness of the water.

Wanda glanced down at her. “Feel better?”

Y/N let out a soft, satisfied huff.

Wanda laughed under her breath and leaned back against her pillows, pulling the blanket around her shoulders. The room filled with gentle dialogue and canned laughter, harmless and steady.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

Y/N’s breathing gradually slowed, each rise and fall deep and even. Her ears twitched occasionally at louder sounds, but she didn’t lift her head again. Wanda felt herself relax too, the tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying finally easing out of her shoulders.

At some point, without fully waking, Y/N shifted closer—just an inch, maybe two—until the side of her body rested lightly against the bedframe.

Wanda’s hand slipped over the edge of the mattress, fingers brushing warm, damp fur.

Neither of them moved after that.

The sitcom kept playing, unnoticed.

And somewhere between one episode and the next, both of them drifted off—safe, warm, and no longer alone.

---

Few weeks later…

The street was chaos.

Shattered glass crunched under boots, smoke curled from overturned vehicles, and the sharp crack of gunfire echoed between buildings as the bandits scattered in every direction. Civilians were already cleared, but the fight was far from over—shouts, metal clashing, the roar of engines starting up in panic.

Y/N ducked under a wild swing and drove her elbow into the man’s ribs, following it with a sharp strike to the jaw. He went down hard, sprawling across the pavement.

She barely had time to breathe.

“Y/N!” Steve’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. “Two targets—northbound!”

She snapped her head up just in time to see it: a motorcycle tearing down the street, two men on it. The one in back clutched a reinforced briefcase to his chest like his life depended on it.

“Go!” Steve shouted. “Don’t let them get away!”

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She pivoted, breaking into a sprint—but even as she ran, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. The bike was already gaining speed, engine screaming as it weaved through debris.

So she let go.

Mid-stride, the shift rolled through her—fast, fluid, practiced. Bones realigned as her momentum carried forward, hitting the pavement not with human feet but with powerful paws.

The wolf burst into being.

She hit the ground running, muscles coiling and releasing with brutal efficiency as she surged forward. Wind tore through her fur, the world sharpening into scent and motion—the hot tang of exhaust, burning rubber, fear-sweat.

The motorcycle swerved as the riders glanced back.

Golden eyes locked onto them.

She gained fast.

Cars blurred past, storefronts streaking by as the wolf closed the distance, claws sparking briefly against asphalt when she pushed herself harder. The rider swore, twisting the throttle, but it didn’t matter.

Y/N was faster than a car.

The distance between her and the motorcycle vanished in seconds—each stride eating meters of asphalt like it was nothing. The engine screamed, the rider twisting the throttle desperately, but panic had already set in.

The man on the back turned fully in his seat.

Gun up.

Shots rang out.

Y/N veered sharply left—bullet cracking past her ear—then right, claws scraping sparks as she cut across the street. Another shot. She ducked low, muscles bunching, then surged forward with a snarl that ripped from her chest.

Enough.

She lunged.

Her shoulder slammed into the side of the bike with brutal precision.

Metal screamed.

The motorcycle fishtailed violently, balance gone in an instant. Both men were thrown free, bodies rolling across the asphalt in a tangle of limbs and curses.

Y/N didn’t slow.

She was on them before they could even try to stand—one swift snap of her jaws near a throat, a paw crashing down on a chest. A sharp strike. A growl vibrating through bone.

Both men went still.

Unconscious.

Breathing.

Secure.

Y/N turned to the dropped briefcase. She lowered her head, teeth closing around the reinforced handle, lifting it easily despite its weight.

Mission objective secured.

Red mist spiraled into existence beside her.

Wanda landed lightly, eyes already scanning the area before they found Y/N. “That was fast,” she said, relief clear in her voice. “You good?”

Y/N huffed once—short, affirmative—tail giving a single sweep.

Wanda smiled faintly. “Okay. Let’s bring it back to the others.”

Y/N took one step—

Then froze.

Her ears snapped upright.

A sound cut through everything else—tiny, sharp, unmistakable.

Click.

Her blood went cold.

Bomb.

There was no time to think.

Y/N whipped her head and threw the briefcase away from them with all the force in her body. At the same instant, she lunged—

—slamming into Wanda.

They hit the ground hard, Y/N twisting midair so her body took the brunt of it. She curled instinctively, massive frame wrapping around Wanda completely, paws braced, head tucked down, ribs shielding her.

Cover. Protect. Don’t let it touch her.

The explosion tore through the street.

Heat roared over Y/N’s back, the shockwave hammering into her like a wall. Glass shattered. The ground bucked. Sound vanished into a ringing void as debris rained down.

Y/N didn’t move.

Didn’t loosen.

She stayed curled over Wanda, muscles locked, every instinct screaming alive—keep her alive—

Only when the fire faded and the dust settled did she dare lift her head.

Her fur was singed in places. Her ears rang.

But Wanda—

Wanda was beneath her. Breathing. Warm. Alive.

Y/N let out a broken, shaking breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Y/N lowered her head, nose brushing over Wanda’s cheek, her jaw, her hair—quick, frantic checks. Blood. Smoke. Heat. But underneath it all—

Alive.

Wanda’s breath puffed warm against her muzzle.

Relief hit Y/N so hard her legs nearly gave out.

Then—

CRACK.

Something slammed into Y/N’s side with crushing force.

The world exploded into motion.

She was ripped away from Wanda, body flung through the air. She hit the pavement hard, skidding across broken glass and debris, claws scraping uselessly as she tumbled to a stop several meters away.

Pain bloomed sharp and immediate, white-hot through her shoulder.

---

Wanda’s POV

Everything was noise and heat and then—

Darkness pressed in.

Wanda lay stunned beneath a heavy, solid weight, ears ringing so badly the world felt underwater. Dust clung to her lashes, her lungs burning as she sucked in air that tasted like smoke and metal.

Then she realized—

She was being covered.

Protected.

Warm fur shielded her from the worst of the blast, a living wall curled around her body. Wanda’s fingers twitched, instinctively clutching at what was over her, panic spiking—

“Y/N—”

Before the name fully left her mouth—

CRACK.

The weight vanished violently.

Something tore Y/N away from her with brutal force, and Wanda’s scream ripped free as she saw the massive wolf body flung through the air like it weighed nothing at all.

“NO!”

Y/N hit the ground hard, skidding across shattered pavement, her body twisting unnaturally before she finally stopped. Wanda’s heart stopped with her.

Pain punched through Wanda’s chest as she scrambled upright, vision still blurred, head pounding.

“What—?” Her voice broke.

She turned—

And saw him.

Vision stood between her and Y/N, one arm still raised from the strike, expression cold, eyes glowing faintly. Controlled. Calculated.

“You are not safe,” he said flatly, stepping forward, positioning himself in front of Wanda like a shield. “Get back.”

Wanda stared at him, disbelief crashing into horror as the pieces clicked together.

“You—” Her breath caught. “You hit her?”

Vision didn’t look away from the wolf struggling to rise in the distance. “She was unstable. Feral. She had you pinned beneath her.”

“She was protecting me,” Wanda shouted, pushing herself fully to her feet. Her head spun, but anger burned clearer than pain. “She saved my life.”

Vision turned to her then, frown deepening. “Wanda, you don’t understand what she is. Her instincts—”

“Her instincts kept me alive,” Wanda snapped, red energy flickering at her fingertips without her realizing it. “She threw the bomb away. She covered me. She took the blast. And you—”

Her gaze flew back to Y/N.

The wolf was on her feet now—barely—one shoulder hanging wrong, breath coming in harsh pants. Golden eyes weren’t locked on Vision.

They were locked on Wanda.

Worried.

Fearful.

Still trying to protect.

Something inside Wanda shattered.

“Don’t you dare touch her again,” Wanda said, voice trembling with fury as she stepped past Vision, placing herself between him and Y/N now. “If you hurt her—if you ever hurt her again—”

Red light flared brighter, unstable and raw.

Vision froze.

And in that moment, Wanda knew—

This wasn’t about danger.

This was about fear.

And Vision was afraid of the wrong thing.

Y/N forced herself upright.

The motion drew a sharp, broken sound from her chest as her injured shoulder gave way. She staggered, one foreleg refusing to take her weight properly, limp obvious now—pain finally catching up, cutting through adrenaline.

“Y/N!” Wanda cried.

Before she could reach her—

“Over here!” Steve’s voice rang out as the rest of the team poured onto the street, weapons raised, eyes wide as they took in the destruction.

Nat was the first to move.

She ran straight to Y/N, dropping to a knee beside her without hesitation. “Hey—hey, easy,” she said firmly, hands hovering, assessing. “Talk to me. You with us?”

Y/N huffed weakly, golden eyes flicking once toward Wanda before her legs buckled.

That was it.

The shift tore through her, uncontrolled this time—pain-triggered and abrupt. Fur collapsed into skin, massive form shrinking in seconds until Y/N fell forward in her human body, breath hitching sharply as the agony fully hit.

Bruce was already there.

He swore under his breath and shrugged out of his jacket in one smooth motion, immediately draping it over her shoulders and torso, shielding her without comment. “Okay—okay, don’t move,” he said gently, fingers already checking her pulse, her breathing.

His hands moved to her shoulder and he stilled instantly.

“…That’s broken,” Bruce said, voice tight. “Clean break, but bad. We need to get her back now.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, teeth chattering as she fought to stay conscious.

Bruce slid an arm under her back, preparing to lift her. “I’ve got her—”

“No.”

The word snapped through the air, sharp and absolute.

Wanda stepped in front of him, eyes glowing red—not wild, not unstable, but focused. Protective.

Before anyone could protest, red energy unfurled from her hands, weaving itself into something solid and warm—a blanket formed midair, wrapping carefully around Y/N’s body, cocooning her without jostling her injured shoulder.

Y/N let out a shaky breath as the magic settled around her, grounding, gentle.

Wanda lifted her with her power, slow and controlled, cradling her like she weighed nothing at all.

“I’ve got her,” Wanda said, voice trembling but unyielding. “Just clear the way.”

No one argued.

Not Steve.

Not Nat.

Not even Bruce.

They moved fast.

The quinjet ramp dropped, and Wanda carried Y/N straight inside, never letting her touch the ground again. Nat followed close, one hand steadying the blanket, the other already calling in medical prep.

As the ramp closed and the jet lifted off, Wanda sat beside Y/N, one hand gripping the edge of the red blanket, the other hovering near Y/N’s cheek like she was afraid to touch her too hard.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open just once.

They found Wanda.

And even through the pain, she tried to smile.

The quinjet turned toward home, engines roaring.

And this time—

Wanda wasn’t letting go.

---

The quinjet barely finished powering down before they were moving.

Bruce and Wanda rushed Y/N through the halls, med bay doors sliding open at Bruce’s sharp command. Wanda guided Y/N onto the bed with careful precision, lowering her as gently as if even the air might hurt her.

Bruce was already scanning her arm and shoulder.

“…Damn it,” he muttered.

Wanda’s breath caught. “What is it?”

“It’s healing already,” Bruce said, frustration edging his voice. “Fast—and wrong. If I don’t reset it now, it’ll lock like this.”

Y/N stiffened immediately.

Bruce reached for a syringe, drawing anesthesia. The moment Y/N saw the needle, a low, instinctive growl rumbled from her chest. Her eyes went distant—sharp with old fear.

“No,” she said hoarsely.

Wanda stepped closer at once, heart pounding, panic clawing at her ribs—but she forced herself to stay calm. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Y/N needed her steady.

“Hey,” Wanda said softly, taking Y/N’s uninjured hand. Her grip was firm, grounding. “You’re not there anymore. You’re here. With me.”

Y/N’s breathing hitched. “I don’t like injections,” she admitted, voice tight.

“I know,” Wanda said, voice low and unwavering. “But I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes locked on Wanda’s face. After a long moment, she nodded once.

Bruce administered the injection quickly. They waited.

Seconds passed.

Then more.

Bruce cursed under his breath. “It’s barely working. Her healing factor’s burning through it.”

Wanda’s jaw clenched. “So what does that mean?”

Bruce met Y/N’s eyes. “It means I have to do it anyway. Now.”

Y/N went very still.

“…Do it,” she said, teeth gritted. “Before it heals wrong.”

Wanda’s chest felt too tight to breathe, but she didn’t move. She stayed right where she was, hand still holding Y/N’s, eyes never leaving her face.

“Nurses,” Bruce called.

Two nurses rushed in and took position, steady but gentle.

Wanda leaned closer, forehead almost touching Y/N’s temple. “Look at me,” she said quietly. “Just me.”

Bruce moved.

Y/N’s scream tore through the med bay—raw, unrestrained pain. Her body strained against the nurses’ hold, breath coming in broken gasps as the bone was forced back into place.

Wanda’s fingers tightened around Y/N’s hand until her own knuckles went white. Red energy flared briefly at her fingertips, trembling, but she forced it down. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t afford to.

“I’m here,” Wanda said firmly, voice shaking but controlled. “You’re not alone. It’s almost over.”

Bruce worked fast—resetting, aligning, stabilizing.

“Almost—” he muttered.

Another sharp cry from Y/N—and then she sagged back against the bed, shaking, breath uneven.

“Done,” Bruce said.

He immobilized her arm against her torso and immediately injected morphine. “This will help,” he said quietly. “But it’ll wear off fast.”

Y/N lay still now, eyes unfocused, exhaustion overtaking pain. Her voice came out faint, barely a whisper.

“…Didn’t shift.”

Wanda’s throat tightened painfully, but she kept her composure. She brushed Y/N’s hair back carefully, reverently, her fingers lingering like she was afraid to let go.

“…Thank you,” Wanda said quietly. Her voice wavered despite her effort. “For saving me.”

Y/N turned her head just enough to look at her, eyes heavy but clear. “Anytime,” she murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

There was a short pause. Then Y/N cleared her throat weakly.

“Uh… Wanda?”

“Mm?”

“Could you… get me some clothes?”

It took a second for the words to land.

Wanda’s eyes flicked down—just for a heartbeat—taking in the fact that Y/N was still naked, covered only by the red blanket Wanda had conjured in panic.

Her face went instantly warm.

“Oh—! I—yes. Yes. Of course,” Wanda stammered, standing a little too fast. She avoided looking anywhere near Y/N again. “I’ll—I’ll be right back.”

Y/N huffed a faint, amused breath.

As Wanda turned toward the door, Bruce stepped closer to the bed, snapping on gloves. “I’ll take care of the shrapnel while you’re gone,” he said gently. “Try not to move, okay?”

Y/N nodded once, jaw tightening as Bruce carefully began removing the shards embedded in her skin.

Wanda slipped out of the med bay.

The doors slid shut behind her.

And there he was.

Vision stood in the hallway, hands clasped behind his back, expression carefully composed. “Wanda,” he said. “I’m… sorry. I reacted too quickly.”

Wanda stopped walking.

She turned slowly.

“You punched her,” Wanda said, voice low and sharp. Gone was the softness from the med bay. “You punched her while she was protecting me.”

“I didn’t know what she would do,” Vision replied. “She is feral. A bomb had just detonated—”

“She threw herself over me,” Wanda cut in, stepping closer. “She took the blast. She didn’t hesitate. And you hit her.”

Vision’s jaw tightened. “She’s dangerous. She can lose control. I was trying to remove a threat.”

Wanda’s hands curled into fists at her sides, red energy flickering faintly around her fingers.

“She didn’t lose control,” Wanda said, eyes blazing. “She heard the bomb. She saved my life. And now she’s in the med bay with a broken shoulder because of you.”

There was a beat of silence.

“I am trying to protect you,” Vision said quietly.

Wanda laughed once—sharp, humorless. “No. You’re trying to protect your idea of me.”

She stepped past him, brushing his shoulder as she went.

Wanda goes to Y/N’s bedroom, closing the door softly behind her like Y/N might somehow hear it from the med bay.

The room still smelled faintly like pine and metal—like the woods clinging to her even in human form.

Wanda moved carefully, opening the dresser. She pulled out a pair of loose combat pants first, then hesitated before choosing a soft button-up shirt instead of a T-shirt, something easier to get on with an injured shoulder.

Then she opened another drawer.

Boxers.

Her cheeks warmed instantly.

She swallowed, grabbed a pair together with a sport bra anyway, and shut the drawer a little faster than necessary, scolding herself under her breath. Focus, Wanda.

Clothes gathered in her arms, she headed back to the med bay.

---

The doors slid open to the sound of quiet murmurs and soft clinks of medical tools.

Y/N was lying facedown on the bed now, the red blanket loosened enough for Bruce to work. Her back was littered with small cuts and embedded fragments, skin bruised and angry where the blast had thrown her. Bruce worked with practiced care, tweezers steady as he removed shard after shard.

Y/N’s fingers were curled into the sheet, knuckles white. She let out a low, strained breath through clenched teeth every now and then—but she didn’t scream. She didn’t even complain.

Wanda’s chest ached at the sight.

“I’ve got her clothes,” Wanda said softly, stepping closer.

Bruce glanced up. “Good. Almost done here.”

Y/N turned her head just enough to see Wanda, Y/E/C eyes meeting hers. They softened immediately.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, voice rough but warm.

Wanda moved to her side, setting the clothes down within reach. “Hey,” she replied, just as softly. Her hand hovered for a second before resting gently between Y/N’s shoulder blades, careful to avoid the injuries.

Bruce removed the last shard and straightened. “Okay. That’s it for now. Morphine’s still working, but not for long. She needs rest.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, tension finally easing from her body.

Wanda didn’t move her hand.

“I’m here,” she said quietly, more promise than reassurance.

And for the first time since the explosion, Y/N allowed herself to fully relax.

---

By nightfall, Bruce confirmed what he’d half-expected—Y/N’s shoulder had healed completely, bone set clean like the break had never happened. The bruising lingered, faint and yellowing, but she could move again without pain.

Wanda had stayed beside her for hours. Sitting. Watching. Making sure Y/N stayed still longer than she wanted to.

Eventually, Vision returned.

He stood at the foot of the bed, posture rigid. “Thank you,” he said to Y/N, voice measured. “For protecting Wanda.”

Y/N met his gaze evenly. “I would’ve done it again.”

Vision nodded once. He didn’t apologize.

Wanda noticed.

When they stepped into the hallway, the tension followed immediately.

“You don’t get to thank her and pretend the rest didn’t happen,” Wanda said sharply.

“I told you, I was worried,” Vision replied. “You were in danger.”

“She saved me,” Wanda snapped. “And you hurt her.”

Vision stopped walking. He turned, expression softening as he reached for her hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now. “I was afraid of losing you.”

Wanda’s shoulders sagged a little. The anger didn’t disappear—but it dulled.

“I know,” she sighed. “Just… not like that.”

He hugged her, holding on a second longer than usual. Wanda stood there, arms slack at her sides before returning it half-heartedly. She wasn’t in the mood, but she didn’t push him away either.

Later, when it was time to sleep, Vision left her at her door with a kiss to her temple.

The room felt too quiet after.

Wanda lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Waiting.

No scratches.

Minutes passed. Then more.

Her chest tightened.

Finally, Wanda pushed herself up and opened her bedroom door. There, in the dim hallway light, was Y/N in her wolf form, paw lifted delicately as if she was going to scratch her door. Wanda’s chest loosened, tension spilling out with a small, relieved smile.

“Come on in,” she whispered softly. Y/N padded forward without hesitation, the familiar warmth radiating from her massive form as she settled beside the bed.

Wanda climbed onto the mattress, reaching for the remote. The sitcom they’d been watching earlier flickered to life, casting a soft glow across the room. The canned laughter filled the space, comforting and familiar.

As the first few lines of dialogue played out, Wanda leaned down toward Y/N, brushing her fingers gently through the thick fur on her head, rubbing behind her ears. The wolf leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded, tail curling comfortably.

“Thank you,” Wanda murmured, voice low and sincere. “For protecting me… for always being there.”

Y/N made a soft huffing sound, almost like a contented acknowledgment, pressing her head closer for a moment before settling back beside Wanda.

The sitcom continued, laughter mingling with the quiet warmth between them, and Wanda was glad that Y/N was okay.

---

Wanda’s POV

The next morning felt… careful.

Soft light filtered through the curtains, and the first thing Wanda noticed was the weight near the bed. She glanced down and smiled despite herself.

Y/N was still there—curled up on the floor beside the bed in her wolf form, breathing slow and steady, fur rising and falling with each calm breath. She hadn’t left after they fell asleep. Somehow, that settled something deep in Wanda’s chest.

Wanda moved quietly so she wouldn’t wake Y/N and slipped out of the room.

The compound was already stirring when she reached the common area. Vision was waiting for her, hands folded neatly, expression earnest.

“Wanda,” he said gently. “May I speak with you?”

Wanda nodded.

He took a breath. “I’d like to take you on a date tonight. Somewhere outside the compound. I want to make it up to you.”

She looked at him for a long moment.

“The person you should be making it up to is Y/N,” She said calmly. “Not me.”

His brow furrowed. “Wanda—”

“She protected me,” Wanda continued. “She took the blast without hesitation. And you hurt her. That matters to me.”

Vision was quiet for a beat. Then he nodded once. “You’re right. I should speak to her.”

“But,” I added after a moment, “I’ll go on the date.”

Relief softened his features. “Thank you.”

“It doesn’t fix everything,” I said, honest. “This—what happened—it can’t just be ignored.”

“I understand,” he said.

As he talked about dinner plans and times, Wanda’s thoughts drifted back to her room.

To the quiet rise and fall of a wolf’s breathing.

To warm fur beside her bed.

To how safe she’d felt waking up knowing she was there.

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur of debriefs and tense conversations.

They crowded into the briefing room, screens flickering with frozen frames from the mission. The explosion had done more damage than they’d hoped—the intel they were after was partially corrupted, large sections unreadable.

Tony paced in front of the table, arms crossed. “So let me get this straight,” he said, eyes locking on Vision. “We lose half the data, nearly lose a teammate, and somewhere in the middle of all that you punch your teammate?”

Vision remained composed. “It was a misunderstanding.”

That was it.

No apology. No explanation.

Wanda’s jaw tightened. Her irritation simmered, sharp and hot in her chest.

“A misunderstanding doesn’t usually involve a broken shoulder,” Tony muttered, but Fury cut in before it could escalate.

The meeting dragged on. By the time it ended, it was already past lunch.

That’s when Wanda noticed.

Y/N wasn’t there.

She hadn’t been in the debrief. She hadn’t passed through the hallways. No familiar presence at her side, no quiet weight nearby.

Wanda excused herself and went straight to Y/N’s room.

Empty.

The bed untouched. No clothes laid out. No sign she’d been there at all.

Her worry spiked.

Maybe she went out, Wanda told herself, trying to stay calm. She does that sometimes.

Still unsettled, Wanda headed back to her own room.

She opened the door—and stopped short.

Y/N was there.

In her wolf form, curled up exactly where she’d been that morning, tucked in close beside Wanda’s bed like she belonged there. Her fur rose and fell slowly, body warm and still.

Wanda’s breath left her in a rush.

She crossed the room quickly and knelt beside her. “Hey,” she whispered, brushing her fingers through the fur at her neck. “Are you okay?”

Y/N stirred, stretching long and slow, claws flexing against the floor as she yawned.

And then—loud, unfiltered, unmistakable—

I’m hungry.

Wanda blinked.

Then Wanda huffed a small laugh, relief melting into fond exasperation. “Of course you are,” she murmured, her hand still buried in Y/N’s fur. “You burned through half your energy while healing.”

Y/N lifted her head, golden eyes fixing on Wanda—confused.

…How did she—?

Wanda didn’t notice. She was too busy smiling, thumb idly tracing warm fur, comforted simply by the fact that Y/N was here, safe.

Y/N shifted, pushing herself up onto her paws. She hesitated, then her thoughts spilled out again, louder than she meant them to be.

I’ll go shower.

Wanda blinked as Y/N padded past her toward the door, already stretching like nothing had happened. “Okay,” she said automatically, still distracted by relief.

The door closed softly behind the wolf.

Only then did the confusion settle in Y/N’s chest—slow, creeping, unsettling.

Since when can she hear me like that?

Down the hall, Wanda remained kneeling by her bed for a moment longer, unaware of the look Y/N had given her—or the quiet shift that had just taken place between them.

---

The afternoon slipped by faster than Wanda expected.

After Y/N left to shower, Wanda busied herself—straightening her room, skimming through a book without really reading, trying not to think about the way Y/N had looked at her before leaving. Confused. Searching.

She pushed the thought aside.

By the time the sun began to dip, warm light spilling through the windows, it was already time to get ready.

Wanda stood in front of her closet, fingers trailing over familiar fabrics. She chose something simple in the end—a deep red top, soft and fitted, paired with dark pants. Comfortable. Controlled. She pinned her hair back, then let it fall loose again, unsure, before settling somewhere in between.

As she caught her reflection, she paused.

She didn’t look excited.

Not unhappy—just…

Vision knocked lightly a short while later.

“I’m ready,” he said, offering a polite smile.

Wanda grabbed her coat and nodded. “Me too.”

As they walked toward the elevator, her gaze drifted once—just once—down the hallway toward Y/N’s room. The door was closed, quiet, no sound from inside.

She frowned faintly.

Why am I thinking about her so much?

This was a date. With her boyfriend. Vision had planned it, wanted to make things right. He was the one she was supposed to be focusing on.

Wanda forced her attention back to him as they stepped into the elevator.

She listened as Vision spoke—about the restaurant, about how he’d reserved a table, about how he hoped the night would be relaxing. She nodded, responded at the right moments, even smiled when he reached for her hand.

Focus, she told herself. This is what normal is supposed to feel like.

The elevator doors opened. Night air greeted them, cool and crisp, and Wanda took a steadying breath. She leaned into Vision’s side as they walked, letting herself be guided, letting the routine carry her forward.

Still—unwanted, uninvited—images flickered at the edges of her mind.

Golden eyes in the dark.

Three scratches on wood.

Warm fur curled beside her bed.

Wanda pushed them away, tightening her grip on Vision’s hand.

I’m here, she reminded herself. With him.

And she tried—really tried—to be present.

The restaurant Vision chose was quiet and elegant, tucked away from the city noise. Soft lights glowed overhead, reflecting off polished glass and silverware. It was the kind of place designed for lingering—no rush, no chaos, just warmth and intention.

Vision pulled out her chair for her, as he always did. Wanda thanked him, a small smile playing on her lips.

Conversation came easily at first. Vision spoke about the mission debrief, about ideas he’d been turning over in his mind, about wanting things to feel normal again for them. Wanda listened, responded, even laughed once or twice when he made a dry observation that only he could make sound charming.

He was attentive—asking how she felt, refilling her water before she noticed it was empty, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand when he thought she looked distracted.

And for the most part… it was nice.

The food was good. The atmosphere calm. Vision was gentle and romantic, exactly as he’d always been. At one point, he leaned across the table and kissed her knuckles, earning a soft flush from her.

On the walk back, city lights blurred around them. Vision’s arm settled around her shoulders, and Wanda leaned into him. They shared a slow kiss under a streetlamp—unhurried, familiar, comforting.

Everything was right.

And yet—

When they arrived back at the compound, Vision carried her bag as they walked down the hall to her room. He paused at her door, still smiling faintly.

“I had a good evening,” he said.

“Me too,” Wanda replied honestly.

He tilted his head, waiting.

“I think… I’m going to sleep,” Wanda added.

Vision blinked. Just once. “Sleep?”

She nodded. “I’m tired.”

It was the first time she’d said that after a date. Usually, he stayed. Usually, she wanted him to.

Something flickered behind his eyes—confusion, maybe—but he didn’t press. “Of course,” he said gently.

Wanda leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to his lips. Soft. Chaste. Final.

“Goodnight, Vision.”

“Goodnight, Wanda.”

She took her bag, stepped inside, and closed the door behind her.

The room fell quiet.

Wanda leaned back against the door, exhaling slowly. Her hand rose to her chest, where her heartbeat felt just a little too loud.

Only then did she let herself admit it.

She wasn’t tired.

She just couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N.

---

The castle is quiet at this hour, save for the occasional creak of old beams settling above and the low whistle of wind winding through the higher towers. You press the door shut behind you with quiet reverence, as if noise alone might undo what just happened.

The room disappears behind you.

Just like that.

It melts into stone—seamless, cold, and unchanged. The tapestry of the woman and child now hangs flat and unassuming, as though it hadn’t just served as a doorway to something sacred. Something private.

You step back, your fingers brushing the embroidered “K” in the lower corner, still trying to understand how it knew. How it had shown you that. Why it had let you see it.

The room hadn’t just been about werewolves—it had been for them.

A quiet, grief-laced narrative stitched into ancient fabric. A mother’s fear. A child’s curse. A life shaped by pain, seen only in silent images that came alive when you whispered Lumos. No names were mentioned, but you didn’t need any.

You already knew one.

And that’s why you can’t tell anyone. Not even him. Especially not him.

You’re still staring at the tapestry when footsteps echo down the corridor. You freeze—not in fear, but in a sudden, sharp sense of timing that feels too perfect to be coincidence.

He rounds the corner quickly, parchment in one hand, wand in the other. His gait is distracted, his brow furrowed as he murmurs something under his breath. A glowing dot appears on the parchment, then flickers out again.

Remus Lupin.

You take one step to the side, instinctively trying to put some space between him and the now-ordinary-looking tapestry. But it’s too late—he sees you.

“Oh—” he says, stopping short. “Y/N.”

Your heart hitches. He almost never says your name. You didn’t think he even remembered it.

“Hi,” you reply, steadying your voice.

His eyes flick behind you. “What are you doing here?”

You shrug, trying to appear casual. “Could ask you the same.”

He holds up the parchment sheepishly. “I was… mapping. Trying to chart the secret passages near the Bell Tower. Something keeps interfering with the ink.”

“Maybe the castle’s smarter than it lets on.”

He huffs a soft laugh, lowering the map. “I’m starting to believe that.”

There’s a long pause. You know he’s curious— Remus always is —but he doesn’t press. That’s one of the things you like about him. Unlike Sirius, or even James, Remus never tries to pry open a locked box. He waits to see if you’ll open it yourself.

Which is why it hurts that you’re choosing to lie.

“Were you just… leaving a room?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward the tapestry.

You hesitate.

 ‘Say no’, you tell yourself. It’s the safest thing. Just shake your head and walk away.

But you can’t quite bring yourself to lie outright. Not to him.

“I was… just passing through,” you say instead, glancing down the hallway. “Didn’t realize anyone else would be out here.”

He smiles faintly. “That makes two of us.”

There’s a moment when his eyes flick toward the tapestry again. You tense, half-expecting him to recognize something—to feel something. But his gaze falters slightly.

You tense as Remus’s eyes catch on the tapestry again, his head tilting slightly to one side. “That’s odd,” he murmurs, taking a step closer. “I could’ve sworn…”

You step quickly in front of it. “It’s nothing. Just a tapestry.”

He looks at you, then back at it. “That emblem—‘K.’ I’ve seen that before. Maybe in a book.”

“It’s not important,” you say, and your voice is firmer than you intend.

Remus raises an eyebrow. “You’re not usually secretive.”

You say nothing.

He gestures behind you. “There’s something there, isn’t there? A door?”

Your silence answers for you.

You can feel him watching you carefully now. Not with suspicion, but with a quiet kind of attentiveness that makes it harder to lie.

“Y/N,” he says gently, “you’re guarding it. Whatever’s behind that wall… it matters to you.”

You look at the floor, unsure what to say. If you deny it, he won’t believe you. If you let him in, he might never forgive you.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you finally whisper. “Not for you. Not tonight.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“What’s in there?” he asks quietly.

You meet his eyes—soft brown and searching. You hate that you can already see the hurt flickering behind them, not because of anything he’s done, but because he senses you’re trying to protect him from something.

And the worst part is… he’s not wrong.

“It’s not dangerous,” you say. “But it’s… heavy. Emotional. And personal.”

“Personal to who?”

You hesitate. Then you take a breath and step aside. Your fingers press gently against the embroidered “K.”

The wall gives way.

Remus draws in a soft breath as the stones ripple and shift, revealing the entrance.

He doesn’t speak. He just follows you inside.

The room welcomes you both with quiet reverence. The moment you enter, it reshapes itself. The walls dim, warm torchlight blooming softly across the stone. The tapestries glow faintly—threads gleaming with silent, silver stories.

Remus steps forward, his face unreadable.

His gaze travels from panel to panel. The transformation happens almost immediately—his posture shifts, his breath catches, his eyes land on the final image: a child in a cage of thorns, the moon overhead.

He doesn’t speak for a long time.

You can’t bear to look at him at first. You stare at the threadwork, your throat thick.

Finally, he asks, voice low and hoarse, “How did you find this?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say. “The door just appeared. I went inside. I didn’t know what it was until I… until I saw the stories.”

His hands curl slowly at his sides. “You knew.”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me.”

You nod. “Because I didn’t want you to think it was all you were.”

He looks at you, something in his expression raw and fragile. “You think I’d fall apart?”

“I think you’ve had to hold yourself together for a long time,” you whisper. “And I didn’t want to be the reason that slipped.”

The torchlight flickers between you, shadows casting delicate shapes on the walls. For a long moment, he says nothing.

Then, so softly you almost miss it:

“Thank you.”

You glance up. “For what?”

“For showing me,” he says. “For trusting me with it. Even when you didn’t want to.”

He walks to the final tapestry and brushes his fingers lightly against the edge. His voice is steadier now, quieter. “They never show it like this. Not in books. Not in classrooms. It’s always the danger, the beast, the tragedy. Never the child. Never the pain that came before.”

“I know,” you say. “That’s why I didn’t want you to see it alone.”

He turns back to you. His eyes are glassy, but not broken.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt seen like this before,” he says.

You don’t know what to say. So you step closer, and without thinking, you reach out—your fingers brushing his.

It’s not quite a touch. Just the closeness of one. Like asking a question without words.

He doesn’t pull away.

And for the first time in a long while, Remus Lupin doesn’t feel like he’s on the outside of something.