Day 4 of Vision Week: Music

Written for Vision Week, Day 7!

It took a while, for Vision to notice that his fellow Avengers had actually become his friends. It wasn’t that he had ever thought badly of them. It was just that, well, friendship was a new concept for him. A lot of things were new concepts for him. –

“Vision, we need another man for ‘Capture The Flag’” Captain Rogers called to him. “Can we count you in?”

Vision scanned the vast amount of information in his head for the game’s rules.

“Of course, Sir.”

“You don’t have to call me Sir. Steve is fine.” –

“Yo, Vision” Sam greeted him, then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at Steve and Wanda. “These two have never been to the Zoo, so I’m taking them. You wanna come with?”

“I would like that” Vision stood. “I have never been to the Zoo either.”

“What is wrong with you people?” Sam shook his head.

“Well, I was only born about a month ago” Vision pointed out.

“Sokovia didn’t have a Zoo” Wanda shrugged.

“I’ve been.. Just, not this century” said Steve. –

“Vision, get out here, it’s team movie night!” Natasha yelled.

“We have Popcorn!” added Sam.

“I don’t eat” Vision reminded them, as he walked out and took a seat beside Wanda. “But I would be happy to enjoy a film with you all.”

“Okay” Nat held up two DVD cases. “We have a choice between Dude, Where’s My Car? or The Lion King.”

“I haven’t seen The Lion King, but I know it’s supposed to be very good.”

Sam stared at Vision like he’d sprouted an extra head, until Wanda spoke.

“I haven’t seen it.”

“Me neither” said Steve.

Sam turned to Nat, wide-eyed.

“Put The Lion King on, quick. We have to educate these people!” –

Vision hadn’t realised it at the time, but the way his fellow Avengers remembered him, remembered to include him, was their way of extending the hand of friendship.

Because Vision did not notice this, he did not know that he had friends. Not until something else made him ask about it more directly.

One afternoon, Vision was reading, when Wanda flopped beside him on the couch.

“Hey, Vizh. What’re you reading?”

Vision didn’t reply right away, only because it took him a few moments to realise that she was talking to him.

“Harry Potter.”

“Huh. So it is” Wanda peered at the book. “The covers were different in Sokovia. That’s the third one right? You won’t believe the twist..”

“Wanda..”

“Sorry Vizh. Am I annoying you?”

“No. What you called me just now..”

“Vizh?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a nickname. Like what you call a friend.”

“We are friends?” Vision seemed surprised.

“Of course” Wanda nodded. “We’re all friends around here, I suppose.”

“Hmm. I suppose we are.” Vision couldn’t help the small smile that spread over his face.

Summary: Vision wakes up to discover he is not as dead as he should be. 

AO3 link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570853

Written for @visionweek, Day 7 (Death, Friends, Heart)

Death was uncomfortable. An understatement, he presumes, though he can’t seem to come up with a better description at the moment. How he knows this is a bit of a quandary given a sweep of available information suggests such a process is a one time thing, life finite and immutable once taken.  Despite this there are flickering images in his mind, faces coming in and out of focus like an old television in need of aluminum foil ears and a swift smack to the side. From what he can gather through the interference is that he died twice, both uncomfortable yet in different ways, at least he seems to have a niggling inclination that they were different. The first seemed oddly peaceful, his attention solely directed at the tear-stained cheeks of the woman taking his life - her name, her face, her voice, her essence lost somewhere that he cannot locate, but she seemed reluctant to steal his last breath. The second, in contrast, was greedy, violent, the sneer on the face sends a jolt deep into his brain, terror suddenly and unequivocally recognizable.

His eyes open, desperate to confirm there isn’t a hand on his forehead or fingers fracturing his skull with brute force. Air rushes from between his lips as he finds himself laying on a table in an industrially fashioned room, fluorescent lights humming in boredom above his head, causing him to blink.  Four times he tries to keep his eyes open, figure out his surroundings, but it is so bright, the fifth blink elongates as he holds his eyelids just a bit tighter to stop the flow of the overwhelming amount of information to process.

With the environment nullified from perception (minus the softness of the mattress beneath him and the way the air conditioning sends invisible twisters dancing along his bare skin), he seeks to assess his functioning.

First he tests his toes, curling and then uncurling them four times, noting the way the fibers of the blanket tickle his skin, a pleasing sensation. Next he bends his knees, right and then left, alternating them before testing out his coordination to move them as one. The blanket lifts as he raises his knees and he discovers an unpleasant pocket of frigid air, an experience he swiftly reverses by straightening his legs and collapsing the blanket to its resting state. His hands and arms he tests a bit differently, using them to run along his torso, seeking out any sign of damage or concern, their journey slowing down when he reaches a fault line on his chest that seems out of place. Methodically he runs the pad of his finger up and down the scar, noting the smoothness of the new skin as compared to the slightly ridged texture of the rest of his body. A slither descends along his spine, initiating from the same place in his brain as the jolt, an all encompassing feeling shrouding him. It takes .86 seconds to recognize his fear.

Luckily, it seems his amygdala is functioning quite well. Technically his visual cortex is too, as is his spinal cord, neural networks, limbic system, occipital lobes, auditory cortex (or so he assumes the gentle click click echoing in his head is from the machine next to his bed and not a product of a hallucination - though if it is a hallucination it confirms his temporal and parietal lobes are at least communicating, albeit incongruously to reality).  Which leaves his frontal lobe. Given he has been astutely reasoning through his bodily functioning and physical location, his ability to systematically analyze is still in tact. Memories and emotions (besides fear) are a bit less discernible, each reach into his mind  reveals a kaleidoscope of colors and faces, rotating at such a breakneck pace he cannot parse out any details.

“Vision?”

A word with numerous meanings, some more direct concerning the ability to physically see objects, others more abstract, prophetic even. But this is said as if it is a name which is not one of the options in Merriam Webster.

“Vision, are you awake?”

As far as he is aware, he was the only one in this room, thus, thanks to his neurons sending waves across his frontal lobe, he can deduce that he might be this Vision. So he opens his eyes and finds a woman staring at him, her black hair tied into a ponytail and forehead developing deeper creases the longer he remains silent. “Am I Vision?”

The woman nods, a hand coming to cover her mouth as her eyes develop a harrowed sheen, “Do you rem-” a pause, a wave of her hand, a turn of her head, a sharp intake of breath, and the deflation of her body are all things he takes to indicate a negative emotional reaction to his question. She resets herself, haltingly lowering to sit onto the wheeled stool next to his bed, the squeaking of the plastic on the floor grating as she moves closer. “I’m Helen Cho.”

“It is nice to meet you.”

Lines branch from her eyes as she flashes him a smile, it is one he perceives as disingenuous. He is not sure if that is concerning given it has no impact on his own perceptions or functioning currently. “How are you doing?”

Her question is slow, professionally calm though he can sense a small vibration at the end of the last word, a break from the cool and collected persona she has on display for him. The answer is one he was attempting to ascertain before she came in, so he decides to finish his assessment before answering, believing truth needs to be based on an adequate amount of quantifiable data. All other parts of his body confirmed to be working appropriately, he runs a diagnostic of his heart and finds its lively beat falls in the exceptional range of health. “My heart is functioning well.”

“Good.” A flutter on his wrist draws his eyes down. “I’m sorry.” Immediately she removes her hand from his arm and he is unconcerned with her action, more curious about the dull gray of his flesh blending in with the vibranium imbedded in his arms. “Vision?”

He lifts his arm, eyes squinting as he catalogues the observation, uncertain why he feels a hollowness in his chest, a flare of despair in his overactive amygdala that screams run. “I-,” a vertiginous array of images surface in his mind, convoluted, harrowing, and indistinguishable, but there is a feeling of loss, of longing, that there should be something…more, yet it fades, falling away in granules no larger than sand that dissipate into non-existence once they are spread too far. It leaves him feeling slightly perturbed. “I feel…odd.”

A tear carves a lazy path down her cheek, Helen wiping it away as her lips fight between a stern line and a slight smile. “Your frontal lobe sustained incredible damage. We tried to fix it as best we could but we don’t know what will be affected or how permanent it may be.”

The feel of tearing in his forehead is strictly psychosomatic, yet it is just real enough for him to bring his fingers to his head, feel the indent in his skin. “I may never remember what happened?”

“Possibly, though we are going to do everything we can to help you.” Each word is weighed down more than the one before, as if the continuation of the thought adds another sandbag to her body, until she can barely breathe enough to say the rest. It is alarming, the way she wilts, yet he cannot figure out why nor if he is supposed to respond in a certain way. Based on the offer of help he believes some sort of gratitude is acceptable.

“Thank you.”  Vision considers what she has shared, and all the things that fell through the cracks in her words, the little truths that aren’t being uttered, all reference to the life he has seemingly forgotten left strategically out of reach. There is only so much he can do to resolve whatever issues are occurring. But it all seems infinitesimal to him, given the peculiarity of his situation. Life is supposed to be finite, death the last stop before oblivion occurs. His body seems to have forgotten that fact, yet his mind did not, a mostly empty canvas on which he can paint the rest of his new existence. Perhaps this is as it should be, when one cheats death. “My heart is beating.”

”Impresively well.”

“And my brain is operating appropriately.”

She nods, “For the most part, yes.”

A concession he accepts but does not acknowledge, not certain if memory is necessary for living. “I suppose that is acceptable for now.”

A genuine smile creates more lines on her tired face. “I think after everything, that’s pretty good. I mean,” she gestures at him, hands waving up and down at his torso, “You’re alive!”

home is the place where when you have to go there–

–they have to take you in.

Written for Vision Week, Day 6!

–

Vision marched into the School building with a purpose. Tommy, at just seven, somehow managed to keep pace with his Father’s long stride. Billy trailed meekly behind them.

Vision had promised Wanda that he could handle any issues that arose with their boys while she was away on a girl’s trip with Natasha, and handle them he would. Of course, he had expected an issue involving Tommy’s overly energetic nature and occasionally quick temper.

What Vision had definitely not expected was an issue with one of Billy’s drawings. Particularly, a drawing of his family. –

Vision, at first, did not even realise that he’d had a family until he’d lost them. When Wanda, Sam, and Clint had been taken to the Raft. When Captain Rogers, and later Natasha, had disappeared to parts unknown.

The sudden absence of all of them from his life was like a gaping wound that just wouldn’t heal.

In fact, it hadn’t healed until he saw them, made his apologies, and they all made their peace. No one had held grudges for too long, which was a great relief for Vision.

He and Wanda had even.. well, that was a much longer story.

Much later, after more wars and heartbreak, death and rebirth, loss, and finally, victory- later, after all that was done- came the miracle of his sons. And instantly, Vision understood why so many wanted this. A family of their own.

He, Wanda, Tommy, and Billy formed a happy little unit.

But from outside that little unit, they were surrounded by the Avengers, those who had fought on both sides of the Civil War, long forgotten amongst everything that happened since. They were surrounded by love.

That Vision knew, was a Family. –

So, when a teacher challenged his son’s view of what a family was.. Well, that situation had to be corrected.

Vision knocked on the door of the classroom. The Teacher, a rather stern looking woman known as Mrs Baxter, looked up and jumped slightly, startled. None of the School’s staff were quite used to him. Most preferred to deal with Wanda.

“Mr.. uh..”

“Just Vision, thank you. May I have a moment of your time?”

“Oh.. of course” Mrs. Baxter tried to sound polite, but was obviously not entirely happy.

Still, Vision strode in and sat down opposite her.

“I am told you had a problem with Billy’s Family Portrait.”

“He drew The Avengers.”

“And?” Vision frowned. “His Mother and I are Avengers.”

“He drew all the Avengers. Your son was clearly trying to show off” said Mrs. Baxter.

“I beg to differ” said Vision, his frown deepening. “One, if you really knew Billy, you would know that he is not the attention seeker of the twins. Two..My Wife is an orphan, Mrs. Baxter. And I, coming into this world as I did, have no ‘blood relatives’ except for my boys. Since their birth, they have been in constant contact with the Avengers.”

“I..”

“I am not finished. Their Uncle Clint takes them to his farm during the holidays. Their Aunt Natasha takes them out for Ice-cream most weekends. Hot Chocolate in Winter. Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam join in when they’re available..”

“But..”

“I am still not finished” Vision cut her off, slightly annoyed. “Uncle Tony sends them embarrassingly elaborate presents. They have a roster, to try and ensure at least one of them is always at the boys’ sporting events. They make time for them. They put in the effort. That is what family does. That they happen to be the Avengers and give Billy a bit more 'street cred’ on the Playground does not discount the fact that they are his family.”

“I.. I see your point” Mrs. Baxter was forced to concede.

“Thank you” Vision smiled, standing to leave. “That was all I needed to say.” –

The Boys were waiting for him just outside.

“Everything is fixed now, Billy” Vision smiled. “Mrs. Baxter won’t say anything about your next Family Portrait.”

Billy beamed, running to hug Vision’s legs.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“You’re welcome. Since you boys waited so nicely, how about we get you some ice cream?”

“Yeah!” Tommy jumped. “Two scoops?”

Written for Vision Week, Day 5!

–

Vision was evolving.

He had been evolving from the moment of his birth.

Defying expectations, becoming more than anyone ever thought he would be.

In particular, his emotions were evolving, his sense of himself. What he cared for. His own special set of morals and values. These were things that came to someone gradually.

Vision discovered regret after his brief scuffle with Thor.

He discovered annoyance at Wanda Maximoff’s early inability to properly see him.

Grief, too, was something that Wanda had helped him discover. He had felt it through the Mind Stone while rescuing her from the crumbling Sokovia. –

When Sam Wilson moved into the Avenger’s compound, Vision soon began to develop a sense of humour.

He had thought it quite funny when a trap of Sam’s hurled a pie into Captain Roger’s face.

When the same trap inadvertently went off on Natasha, Vision learned fear. He’d hid in a closet with Wanda while Nat hunted Sam and Captain Rogers tried to stop her. That incident, forced into such close quarters with someone, had helped Vision develop a sense of his own personal space, and a few other things he could not define at the time. –

As painful as it was, the Avenger’s Civil War had aided greatly in Vision’s evolution.

He had discovered his strong protective instincts when Wanda’s safety was threatened.

He discovered betrayal when Wanda turned her powers on him, even though, on some level, he understood why she had done what she did. And while Vision may have felt betrayed, he wasn’t angry with her. He had never been angry, not yet.

That came later, after the war. When he saw Wanda Maximoff in the raft. Saw what was happening to her.

Then, anger burned like a raging fire in Vision’s chest, and he felt a new form of grief, on his own terms. Grief, and guilt, for his role in what had happened, and what was still happening now.

Vision had developed his own ideas of what was right and wrong, and this felt so wrong. So very wrong. Things needed to be put right.

And so, Vision was driven to his first act of rebellion: Sneaking The Raft’s security codes to Captain Rogers.

A short while after the escape, when Vision received a message that Wanda wanted to see him.

He had been confused- another new emotion. Why would she want to see him, after what he had helped cause?

But when he saw her, Wanda was not angry. Instead, she thanked him, and hugged him, and smiled the most wonderful little smile. Vision felt a strange, tingly feeling around his synthetic heart.

In time, he discovered that this feeling was love. Once Vision had discovered love, it was like being born all over again. A brand new person bursting to life.

Vision was no longer evolving.

Written for Vision Week, Day 4!

–

Vision liked music.

The pleasant patterns of the repeating notes. The feelings it evoked. When you knew a singer was giving it their all, pouring their soul into a song.

Vision liked music.

At least.. he liked most music, most of the time.

Vision discovered the kind he didn’t like the first time he experienced that most horrible affliction of having an annoying song stuck in your head. –

It started at a party Tony held a few weeks after Ultron’s defeat.

All the current Avengers were attending.

Music blared, snacks passed around, drinks were flowing.

Vision floated about, politely greeting anyone who spoke to him, but not feeling entirely comfortable with the crowds. To many of the non-avenging guests, Vision was still very much a novelty. He thought about slinking off into a corner like he had seen Miss Maximoff do earlier, and was searching for the right moment to do so, when the most distressing stream of sounds to ever assault his new ears began.

Some party goers whooped, rushing onto the dance floor. The rest only groaned. Natasha complained that the song would be stuck in her head for days.

Vision fled, trying to escape the noise. He knew he couldn’t escape it completely, but if he got far enough from the speakers, it might be a little better. He ran as far from the song and the crowd as he could, into a darkened corner.

Wanda Maximoff was sitting there with a stolen bowl of chips. She offered it to him.

“You can have some if you don’t drag me back to the party.”

“I don’t eat” Vision told her, somewhat regretfully. “But I won’t drag you back to the party. In fact..” He sat beside her, “May I share your hiding place?”

Wanda shrugged.

“Sure.” –

Vision couldn’t get rid of it. He now knew exactly what Natasha meant when she spoke of getting a song stuck in your head.

He heard it when he was trying to read.

He heard it when he was taking his usually relaxing Morning flight around the compound.

He heard it when he carried a rather large parcel to Miss Maximoff’s room.

He heard it during training, and the distraction it caused him lead to Vision taking a direct kick to the face.

The song was everywhere, and it was driving Vision insane. Not literally, of course. He had heard the expression from his teammates.

Vision had to get the song out of his head, but he had now idea how.

It was then that he heard another, very different type of music, filtering through the compound.

From what he knew about music, it sounded like it was coming from a guitar.

Whatever it was, wherever it had come from, it was beautiful.

So, Vision stopped. He listened.

And eventually, he forgot all about Gangnam Style. –

It was sometime later that Vision connected the parcel he had helped Wanda carry to the guitar she now kept in her room, and Wanda to the music he had heard that day.

Written for Vision Week, Day 3!

–

Nature was a fascinating thing.

For all the vast knowledge he had been born with, through Jarvis, Ultron, and the Mind Stone, Vision was not born knowing everything.

The many wonders of nature, of animals and ecosystems, what it was like to feel sunlight on your face, or raindrops on your skin, the were not things that could simply be known. They had to be experienced, and Vision was keen to experience them.

He had to say, he was making good progress.

Vision had stood in the Sun, just drinking it in.

He had walked on the grass with bare feet.

He had flown high, examining all the different types of clouds.

He had listened to happy birds singing.

He had jumped in puddles after a day of rain- That had been Wanda’s idea, on a particularly cheeky day for her.

But Vision knew that, really, his experiences so far had only scratched the surface. –

Late one afternoon, as Vision was flying back from what had been a routine recon mission, an ominous storm blew in.

Rain pelted down, thunder boomed, and streaks of lightning cracked the sky.

It shouldn’t have been too much trouble, he wasn’t too far from the compound.

But then, unseen through the rain, Vision, failing to phase in time to miss it, collided with a duck, one of a flock that seemed to have chosen exactly the wrong time to fly home. Vision made a grab for the poor stunned bird, and in a moment that qualified for very bad timing, a bolt of lightning struck him.

While Vision was too advanced for this to cause major damage, the surge from the bolt disrupted his systems for a few terrifying seconds in which he plunged towards Earth with his new feathered friend.

He recovered just in time to pluck the duck from its free fall. The bird was still slightly stunned, but otherwise unhurt. Vision’s eyes searched the pouring rain, but the other ducks were already out of sight.

Thankfully, Vision knew where they were probably going. There was a small lake not too far away. Vision had been there, and maybe even fed this very duck. He tucked the bird safely under his arm, and took off in the direction of that lake.

Home would have to wait. –

By the time they reached the lake, the storm had devolved into semi-heavy rain.

Vision set the duck, no longer stunned and starting to struggle, down by the water’s edge. It stretched it’s wings, quacked as if in thanks, then fluttered out onto the lake. A few other ducks paddled out to meet it.

Vision watched with a small smile.

Forget-me-not

Vision Week Day Three, Nature, Fear

Day Two of Vision Week, humanity

What’s more human that getting a song stuck in your head and not realizing you’re humming it?

Vision Week -  Wednesday (Nov 7th):  Nature, Fear

CHARACTER BIO:  Vision

Written for Vision Week, day 1:  Discovery, Reflection

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16553381

Everything happened too quickly. A flash of light, a beating heart, a mind finally awake. He felt suffocated, naked and restless inside the box he was in. His mind worked so fast that in less than a second he understood what he should do. The box was broken desperately; Seeking freedom, seeking space, seeking air, seeking something he could not understand, no matter how strong he tried. 

So free, he was able to find out where he was. It was an enormous laboratory, with several machines and devices he could not identify. Smoke and sparks poured out from under him, where the box was destroyed. Around him were people, all staring at him. He did not understand what was happening at that moment, but the silence and the glances were as suffocating as the box. He sought out this feeling, but just found something red. He was surprised to notice that this red moved so close to him. It’s your hands. Something in his head told him. He did not know how or why, but those red and big hands belonged to him. This is wrong. He could not stop repeating in his mind. It does not belong to me. IT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. More choked than before, he searched for a way out. Until he saw him. 

He looked at the blonde in front of him and remembered the pain he felt. He remembered the light that touched every part of his face that touched his eyes and mind. For some reason, some part of his consciousness said that this person brought the suffocating light to him. So he attacked. He did not know what he was doing, he did not know how he got off the ground and went to the middle of the room. This suffocation must stop. He could only pound the man in front of him in despair, desperate to understand who he was and what was happening. But the man knew who he was and what was happening, so in a flash, he was thrown away. And he flew out of control, feeling as desperate as before. He would crash into a transparent wall … until he stopped. 

Someone was staring at him through the transparent wall. Someone beaming. All he wanted was to keep looking at this person, at these blue eyes and this yellow jewel. Everything was peaceful now. And then, like a baby learning to smile, he understood. He’s me and I’m him. It was a reflection in a window. He was Ultron, he was Jarvis. He came to help the Avengers defeat Ultron, to save mankind. Humans. Beings so full of light. Which for thousands of years have evolved. They have learned to love and raise families, they learned the power of technology and use it to their advantage. Not everyone. But that did not matter, because many were good. He will protect humans at any cost, live by their side until the end. Following their customs and rules. Staring at the reflection, he noticed his nakedness. Still surprised by his new body, he decided to cover it to suit his protégés better. With one last look in the reflection of his new eyes and the jewel that gleamed strongly in his forehead, he decided to face the humans in the laboratory. 

He knew who they all were. Tony Stark, the crazy genius and philanthropist. Steve Rogers, the soldier of another age. Clint Barton, the best archer in the world. Bruce Banner, the mad scientist who mistakenly became a Hulk. Pietro Maximoff, the man as fast as the sound. Wanda Maximoff. Glancing at her, he remembered. The woman who visited his mind before everything, before the box. She was a peace before the suffocation. Putting his feet on the ground to finally talk to everyone, he started with the form that made the most sense: