Chapter Text
There wasn’t anywhere left to run, nowhere left to hide, and Peter was tired.
Manhattan was in shambles, a red haze cast over the sky as dark clouds accumulated, flashes of lightning bashing down onto the ground. The city was destroyed, turned into a desolate wasteland, each shining building now only a carcass to its former glory as demons and monsters ran through, destroying and killing any and all in their paths. It made Peter sick.
It had been two years since Doctor Strange erased Peter’s existence from everyone’s memories, two years of him struggling to continue his life, to try and forget about all the friends and family he left behind because of his own careless mistakes. It was a trying time for Peter, a time where he tried to better himself, tried to keep going for Mr. Stark’s sake as that’s what he knew he would have wanted Peter to do.
Peter just never thought that this was where it would lead to.
Another demon spotted him from where he crouched in an alley, screeching as it charged towards him, all warped and twisted, gnarled at every limb. It had no eyes, only hollow sockets and a gaping mouth that bore sharp, spindle teeth, a black goo dripping down its mouth.
“Shit…”
Peter ran.
The demon chased after as Peter swung through the rubbled streets, its screeching echoing and bursting through the debris as it followed him. This was the hundredth something demon Peter had the pleasure of taking on that day, and he was getting annoyed. These things were a struggle to kill, the majority of their defeat coming about from being crushed by falling debris, impalement, or the severing of its head. Peter hated all of it, he’d never really liked such bloody, gory, violence, but if he was to survive this demonic wasteland he had to get over it.
Peter circled around a corner, the demon bursting through the weak building with ease, its horn spearing through anything in its path, locked onto his scent.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!!!!”
Peter didn’t know who was left, didn’t know who else had been taken or swarmed or worse, eaten—he was all on his own. The New and Young Avengers had been called in to deal with the problem, had united despite their differences to take on the demonic army: Captain America, Doctor Strange, Captain Marvel, Thor, Hulk and She-Hulk, Hawkeye, America Chavez, Yelena Belova, the Winter Soldier, Ms. Marvel, and Ant-Man and the Wasp. But each one, one by one, had been defeated—had been killed—by the demons. The last Peter had seen, America and Yelena were leading off a small swarm, Thor was battling to the gate with Captain Marvel, and Doctor Strange was taking on a large demonic Titan-esque creature. Where the others had disappeared to, Peter didn’t know, and he honestly didn’t want to find out. It was terrifying, somehow spookier then the army Thanos had brought to Earth years ago.
Peter spun around another corner, shooting out a string of webs to trip the demon. Only, his timing was slightly off, so as the demon came forward, it stretched its body far enough to snatch its jaws around Peter’s shoulder, digging its fangs through his suit until he felt his muscles pinch.
Peter cried out in pain, tumbling to the ground as the demon latched itself onto his arm, trying to rip his shoulder out of its socket.
“Get off! Get off! Get off!” Peter beat furiously at the demon’s head, the burn of its saliva feeling like sludge against his blood. The demon wouldn’t relent, only driving its fangs further into his flesh as he squirmed around on the ground.
Peter beat at it vigorously, wrestling the thing until he choked it, its mouth relenting open long enough for Peter to wrestle it back onto the ground. It thrashed, its talons clawing up onto his arm as Peter tried to press down on its limbs just like Yelena had taught him, but the thing wouldn’t relent.
The demon squirmed, getting ready to open its mouth to unleash a call to its brethren, when right as its vocals started to hum, an arrow shot through its head, impaling it through the eye and to the ground.
Peter gasped and jumped back just in time so that only some of its guts splattered onto his clothed legs and not his face, his mask long since lost. Peter was gasping, teetering back so that he was almost lying on the ground as he cocked his head to see his savior—or, saviors, really.
Just across from where Peter had found himself nestled against a bodega stood Clint, and behind him resting against the wall, Yelena. Clint slid his bow back against his side and moved to help Yelena stand, the Widow leaning her weight onto the archer as they hobbled across the road, Peter now seeing a dark spot appearing against Yelena’s hip. They looked beat going on the amount of dirt, sweat, blood, and other such fluids completely covering their tactical gear and hair.
“I thought I taught you better than that,” Yelena scolded as they neared, and Clint offered him a hand.
“That thing was trying to rip out my arm. I wasn’t exactly focused on my form.”
Yelena rolled her eyes. “Every opportunity is a time for practice. If you don’t practice, you’ll end up old and feeble like him,” she said, jerking her thumb at Clint.
“Hey! Who’s the old and feeble one here? Did I get stabbed in the side? Or am I still walking around all fine and dandy with only a couple pinched muscles?”
“I mean it in good faith. Where’s your sense of humor?”
“It left for vacation the moment that first demon-bat tackled me off a roof.”
Yelena made to snark back, but a screech echoed through the area. The trio froze, waiting, turning their attention up to the red cyclone swirling over the old Avengers Tower. New York really was the unluckiest city in the world. Why was the East Coast such a villain hotspot?
“Come on,” Clint nudged at Peter’s shoulder, immediately seeing Peter’s flinch of pain as lightning shot up his arm. “Sorry. But come on, I’ll fix you up inside.” Peter nodded meekly and followed him and Yelena in.
The bodega was a mess: the lights flickered in and out, some hanging out from the ceiling, shelves were thrown about in the front with snacks scattered about while the back of the store appeared to be intact, if not slightly ransacked. Peter sighed, settling down against a wall, farthest from the windows to look out and nestled perfectly behind the counter. Clint helped Yelena hobble over, the assassin reaching for Peter to help her down while the archer wandered off for presumably medical aid and hopefully water.
“So, you got stabbed in the side?” Peter slightly smirked. Yelena gave him a death glare.
“Don’t even start with me, Parker.” Peter shook his head, pressing firm against his shoulder, Yelena to her side, as they sat in comfortable silence.
Peter could hear Clint shuffling around and cursing from where he’d gone looking, exasperated by the lack of restraint people had for shoplifting despite most people having been kidnapped by the demon creatures. It was almost a miracle there weren’t any bodies littered around the bodega, the only signs of some struggle being the slight spots of blood staining the walls and ceiling. Peter tried to count how many smears he could find.
“Alright, here we go,” Clint wandered back, ducking behind the counter to crouch in front of the pair. He handed them over some small bottled waters with dried blood smeared across, the pair gladly taking the refreshments. Clint then held up an assortment of snacks and before Peter could decide, Yelena had already snatched the Takis.
“Now,” Clint held up the first aid kit with a grin on his face, “who wants to go first?”
“Him,” Yelena nodded his head at Peter as she snacked. “I can stitch myself when I’m done. He’s squirmy and will start lying about the pain.”
“No I won’t!” Yelena just hummed. She wasn't wrong.
“Right, kid. Roll the sleeve down.” Clint settled onto the ground, wedging himself between Peter and Yelena, the assassin not pleased with having to move herself, as he got a look at Peter’s shoulder.
“What sleeve?” Peter snarked, but bit back a groan as he rolled down the remaining fabric as it stuck to his skin.
Clint hissed through his teeth, eyeing Peter's sweaty and pale state, then pulled off his belt, holding it up to Peter’s lips. Peter raised a brow, but Clint just sighed and said, “Trust me. Now bite down.”
Peter complied, taking the grimy leather in his mouth and grimacing at the slight bite of foreign iron embedded in it, but decided to ignore it.
“Deep breath in, and deep breath out now, Pete,” Clint guided. He grabbed some cloth and rubbing alcohol, dousing the fabric in it and placed a ton of bandages by his side. Peter settled his breathing, though he couldn’t help the slight tremor that ran through him as he braced for the sting. Of course, nothing could hurt as much as a demon’s bite, but the sting of antiseptic was its own special type of pain.
Peter hissed and violently hit his head on the back of the wall, a small dent forming as he bit down on the belt. He could almost feel his teeth through the thickness of the strap. Tears welled to his eyes as Clint tried to shush and soothe him, replacing the sting of the antiseptic with a cool wet washcloth and began wiping away the last of the blood.
“You did great,” Clint smiled as he helped ease the belt from Peter’s mouth, the leather warped beyond reason. “Looks like you’re already starting to heal which is good. Still gonna need a couple stitches though.”
Peter was almost afraid to look, but he turned his head anyway. He nearly threw up at the site of his torn shoulder as it looked like his arm was going to fall off and out of the socket with the right jostle. Peter swore he could see bone. “Do what you gotta do.”
None of them had any desire to go back out there, not anytime soon at the least, which was probably why Clint took his time with sewing Peter up and Yelena with her long snack break, starting on a second bag of chips (this time Doritos).
“What? I didn’t have breakfast this morning.” She sniffed one of the chips, grimacing, but bit into it anyways. “I didn’t have time with the whole Wicked of the Witch of the West shindig, you know?”
Clint sighed, collapsing back against the wall and snacking on his own water and chips. “Please, don’t call her that.”
“Why not? Is she not a witch? Did she not send her horde of demonic-flying monkeys down on us?”
“Yelena…”
“No, don’t ‘Yelena’ me, Barton.” She crossed her legs with a huff. “Don’t beat around the bush. Wanda is a witch. Which is a sentence I never thought I’d ever say.”
“Which part?” Peter asked. “That Wanda’s a witch or admitting that witches exist?”
“The second one. I know gods exist, but I feel like witches were a stretch.”
“Loki was a witch.”
“He doesn’t count.”
“Would you two just… please—!” Clint stood, shuffling to pace around. Yelena frowned.
“I get it, okay? I get it, she’s a scary, nasty witch. Her humanity is gone, she’s no longer the same girl she was when she first joined.” Clint banged his head against the wall and grunted. “But I don’t need to hear you dragging Wanda through the mud like that.”
Yelena slumped, pouting as she went back to her chips. Peter forgot sometimes that Clint had known Wanda the longest, had been the one to recruit her to the team in the first place. The destruction of Sokovia was still remembered to this day, and Peter could vaguely recall one time Mr. Stark talking about how Clint would fly Wanda back to her home to grieve with the rest of her people. It was nice—kind, even—how Clint saw Wanda as a sister of sorts. It was less nice that he now had to fight against someone he once cared for.
“Sorry,” Peter said.
Clint sighed and took a seat back down on the ground across from the pair. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. Whatever.”
It was times like these that Peter wished he’d been on the team longer, that he hadn’t erased himself from the universe. Maybe then he’d be able to know what Clint was thinking, would know what to say and help him. Then again, the only person who really seemed to get through to the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was Yelena, and that was most likely because of her ties to Natasha.
Peter sighed, thumping his head back against the wall and took another sip of water. “So what now?”
“Yes, what now indeed.”
Peter screeched, Clint knocked an arrow into his bow, and Yelena looked as if she’d just had a mini heart attack, quickly reaching for her gun and hissing at the pull to her side.
“Did you not stitch your side?”
“No, I was hungry. Very sorry,” she bit back at Clint.
The voice cleared his throat again and the group focused back on the attention of one Doctor Stephen Strange standing before them, ragged and tired, with America Chavez tucked under his arm, the girl looking battle worn, her eyes glazed over as she shakily held onto Strange’s waist like a lifeline.
“Oh thank God,” Clint relaxed, letting his bow drop. “You’re not dead.”
Strange grimaced. “Barely. Those demons are no joke, and there’s only so many I can take on before even my magic reaches its limits. Which, for the record, I didn’t think was possible.”
“It shouldn’t be,” America muttered. Strange helped lower her to the ground, the girl almost unwilling to let go of his hand until Peter wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and she snuggled into his side.
“Yes, I agree. But the Scarlet Witch’s power exceeds that of the Sorcerer Supreme. And, if you hadn’t already guessed, I’ve only recently come into that title.” Strange choked back a slight sob, stiffening in his stance as America let a tear fall down her cheek. Peter gulped and gently began to run his hand up and down America’s arm in what he hoped to be a soothing manner.
“But back to your original question,” Strange quickly composed himself as he sank to the ground and America shuffled from Peter’s side back over to Strange who took her into his arms without fuss. “What do we do now?”
“Is there anything we can do?” Yelena asked.
“Not on our own we can’t.” They all frowned as America began to weep. Strange sighed. “The others are down. Officially. I saw Thor and Danvers get chopped down myself by Wanda’s hand.” He shuddered, a distant looking befalling him. “It was the most inhuman thing I’ve ever seen her do.”
Peter couldn't even imagine.
It was only mere hours ago that the Avengers had thought Wanda dead for the last two years. Of course, Peter had known the truth, albeit he hadn't thought at the time it had been a secret that she was still alive.
Ever since she tried to kidnap America to take her power and go to another universe, Wanda had been unhinged. Strange had called it luck that Wanda’s sympathy had won in the end and she’d let him, Wong, and America go and had closed the Darkhold in every universe, then destroyed Mount Wundagore and, presumably, herself along with it. But apparently that had all been a front.
Peter had started off his day by visiting his aunt’s grave, a ritual he tried to endure once a month. It was one of the few coping mechanisms he’d developed while trying to deal with his pain, and one he'd since adopted upon returning to the team and the city. The world still didn’t remember him, Strange unwilling to undo the spell in fear of repercussions after Peter had been found by Sam during an underground sting operation in Queens and brought him back to the new Avengers Compound—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t form new memories. It had been surprisingly easy to convince everyone that they had known him, helpful that Strange had taken partial blame for the dilemma, and he had been adopted by the Avengers quickly. Pepper had been the biggest help, hearing the stories Peter told of Tony and believing without a doubt that Peter had been an important part of her late husband’s life and legacy. Peter had blushed furiously at that.
Though, Peter presumed, those fluffy memories were thrown out the window upon the incident and premise to the situation at hand. Barely even thinking of it made Peter's guilt unfurl, twisting in his gut as he tried to ignore the nausea and the pain that he'd caused with his actions, simply thankful for the second (third?) chance he'd been given and for America's forgiveness.
No, no, he scolded himself. It was not the time to dwell on the past.
It should’ve been a normal morning. Like he did on the first of every month, Peter would walk through Queens, this morning taking in the coming autumn weather. He’d stroll through his old neighborhood, reminiscing about his old life, until he eventually came to the cemetery. Peter would wander through the rows of people, eyes downcast as he meticulously counted his steps until he reached the grave of May Parker. Peter always brought flowers, this time marigolds, and sat them down under her name before beginning to talk to her. About his life, about his day, about his fears, it didn't matter so long as he simply talked to her as if she was still standing by his side.
Only, when Peter moved to place the flowers on the ground, a harsh wind swept through followed by the rumble of thunder. Peter felt his spidey-sense tingle and spun around to see a dark red cloud forming above the former Avengers Tower, spinning out of control. It was only moments later when the monsters fell down to torment them all, and he was off to be a hero once more.
Peter shuddered.
“So then there’s no hope,” Yelena concluded. Peter couldn’t help but silently agree. Wanda had been powerful before, but this? The darkness that had befallen her now was unmatched. It was twisted and warped, as if all of the worst parts of her soul were laid bare before the world.
Peter had yet to see her, hadn’t gotten close enough to the Tower. She was poised at the top in the center of the storm, a single black shadow as she watched the carnage befall the city.
Peter, he’d heard her whisper in his head. Come back to me, Peter.
Peter had shook his head and turned around, swinging off into the distance until he hoped that he was far enough away that she couldn’t reach. He never wanted to hear her voice in his head ever again...
“Not necessarily.” Peter blinked, shocked, as Strange gave a wary look to them all.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “You just said that not even the Sorcerer Supreme—who you are—could defeat her.”
Strange huffed. “I’m aware. I know what I said. But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
Peter and Yelena narrowed their eyes as Clint moved back between the pair to work on Yelena who was fairly displeased, but one look from the archer had her relenting and she began to undo her gear to free her injured side.
“Go on,” Clint insisted as he began to clean Yelena’s stab wound.
For once, Strange did not have the energy to look annoyed by the blatant disrespect. He simply hugged America closer to his body, gently rubbing at her sides and brushing his shaking hands through her hair. “Wanda doesn’t appear to be wanting to create a new hex. Currently, I have no idea what her plan is, only that she appears to be using demons to ravage the Earth. The chaos has already started to crawl over the ocean as we speak.” Peter rubbed his eyes, a headache coming in. Just perfect. “Her powers are growing beyond the point of our known assumptions of her on our end, which means that she’s found a teacher.”
“Could she not be a puppet?” Yelena asked and then hissed, swatting at Clint as he began to stitch her up. Strange actually looked fed up with the antics and waved his hands, golden-orange markings traveling over Yelena’s side and Peter’s shoulder, instantly stitching their skin back together. Yelena stared in shock, patting her side fervently as Peter gasped in sweet, sweet relief.
“Hey!” Clint gawked, but Strange just shrugged.
“Fast healing spell. You’re welcome.” Clint frowned, but made to make himself comfortable once more and reached for a packet of cashews on the ground by his feet. “Can I get back to what I was saying now?”
“Only if you get to the point.”
Strange rolled his eyes, but Peter still snickered under his breath. “No, Yelena, she’s not being puppeted. Wanda’s power is too great to be manipulated and controlled, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be influenced. Hence, the demon portal to a Hell dimension. Probably Chthon’s doing.”
“Cuh-what?” Peter furrowed his brows.
“Chthon. He was the creator of the Darkhold, the demon that originally prophesied the rise of the Scarlet Witch. He is the only master Wanda would ever let near her power, so I have no reason not to believe that when she destroyed Wundagore, Chthon stole her away for his own purposes.” Strange sighed and shook his head, rubbing at his eyes. “I still can’t believe that this is my life at times.”
“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around right now,” Peter grit.
“I’m sorry, but can we please speed this up?” Yelena cut in. “For once I’m going to agree with Clint. There’s too much blame being passed around for my taste. ‘I should’ve done this’ ‘I should’ve done that’. Ugh. You are all very annoying with these feelings.”
Peter gave a tight smile. He could always rely on Yelena to be the ice queen. She had a heart deep down in her, but her battle face always pushed it to the bottom to make room for the crafted and masked Widow underneath.
“Like I said,” Strange obliged, “we may not be able to defeat her ourselves, but that doesn’t mean she’s invincible. The only person strong enough to defeat Wanda is Wanda herself.”
Peter frowned in thought, trying to go over the possibilities of what Strange could possibly mean—
“No,” Strange cut through the fog, giving a pointed look at Peter. “I know what you’re thinking, and no. We will not be bringing another Scarlet Witch from another dimension to ours. I have no desire to cause an incursion. But what I can do is trap Wanda in a prison of her own making.”
Now that did sound promising to Peter, but then again his brain also thought a sandwich of just condiments and cheese would taste really good right now... He may have a concussion.
“If we time it right, I should be able to create a pocket dimension to keep her. Wanda will no doubetdly try to lash out, which, to an extent, is what we’d want to have happen. The formation of the spell will latch onto Wanda’s energy signature and draw her in, keeping her contained within a prison of her own magic.”
“And magic can’t simply die,” Peter realized. Strange nodded.
“Exactly. But we only have one chance for this to work.”
“What, why?” Clint asked, Yelena forming a similar question on her face.
Strange gulped, a slight flicker of uncertainty—of fear—spreading across his face as he tried to form the words, but it was America who spoke.
“Because I have to be the one who forms the dimension.” They all looked to her, Strange releasing his grip on her just enough for her to sit up. Clint passed her some water and a few granola bars, the girl smiling in thanks and began to nibble.
“You can’t just create another dimension,” she explained as she chewed. “A dimension has to pre-exist, it can’t be formed at random. In doing so you’d risk the balance of every active dimension and reality. There’s an infinite possibility of worlds, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t an order about them. So, in order to put Wanda into her own dimension, I have to create it from scratch as an extension of our own. Like Stephen said,” she looked to him fondly, “it’ll be a little pocket dimension, a bubble that’s attached to our own that only I’d have the key to. But, in order for that to happen—that amount of sheer power…” she sighed, rubbing at her nose as Strange brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “For me to use that kind of power, a power I’m not even sure I can wield, it would- it would mean that…”
“It could cost you your life…” Everyone’s eyes flickered to Yelena, a sadness drawn about her.
“Mer?” Peter questioned. This could not be what Yelena meant, this could not be what his friend was trying to say. America was the most optimistic of them all, the one who wanted to try every possibility before violence and death. And now she was suggesting that... She was trying to say that—
His friend gave him a sad, pleading look. “Is she right? Could this kill you?”
America steadied her breath. “Yes.”
Clint swore.
“Then no, we are not going to do that.” Peter reached out, ignoring the ache in his limbs to grab at America’s hand. “There is no way you are going to sacrifice yourself for this. There- there has to be another way! Right? There’s always another way.”
“Not this time,” Strange said with a saddened look. “I’ve run through all the variables, all the possibilities, and I cannot think of a single way that any of this could survive what’s to come.”
“Do we even know what that is?” Peter tried. “I mean it’s like you said. Wanda hasn’t created any new hexes. We don’t even know what her goal is!”
“And are you willing to risk that possibility based on how she’s already destroyed the East Coast?” Strange scolded. “This isn’t the time for ‘maybe’s’, Parker. This is the time for action. We are running out of time.”
Time. It was always about time. There was always a limit, always a clock. Nothing could be definite, it would all have to come crashing down eventually.
“Peter,” America whispered to him. Peter flicked his eyes back to her, his friend, the person who had been by his side ever since he reintegrated with the world. She was his rock, and he was her’s. There wasn’t much the pair hadn’t been through in the last year or so, nothing that they hadn’t stuck by each other for. She was a sister to him during a time when he thought he had know one left.
“Peter,” America pressed, “it’s gonna be okay.”
“No, it’s not, Mer. How can any of this be okay?”
America took a shuddering breath, a few straggling tears falling down her cheeks as she grasped her trembling hand in his and squeezed. “I just do. Because we’re the Avengers. We are all that’s left to defend humanity from a crazy witch,” she half chuckled to herself and the absurdity of it all. “We don’t give up. We never have, and we never will.” She looked back at Strange and took his hand in her other. “I know what the risks are, I know what we face, and I’ve made my peace with it. I am willing to do what it takes to save everyone.”
“But—”
“No,” she shook her head. “Peter, this is our last chance. I need you to stand by me in this decision. It’s mine to make, not yours.”
Peter grit his teeth and chewed at his cheeks. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like any of it. He didn’t like how he always inevitably was placed into this position, there at the end of the day, the hero always had to make a great sacrifice for the greater good. It was the one thing Peter hadn’t truly believed to be accurate when he first became a hero, but time had been unkind to him and a beast of proving him wrong.
“She’s right,” Yelena pipped up. “I don’t like it either. But if there’s a chance of stopping Wanda, then I think we should try.” She nodded to America, offering a small smile. “Besides, we’ve got nothing left to lose. We’ll die if we don’t try or if we do try. And I don’t know about everyone else, but this would be a pretty cool way to die.” Clint rolled his eyes.
“So, are we in agreement then?” Strange asked.
One by one, everyone nodded, each looking more wary than the last, until it was only Peter left. There was no choice in the matter for him.
“Alright,” he relented. “Let’s save the world again.”
🝮
Peter hated this plan, he hated it with every last fiber of his body, but it was the plan that they had agreed upon, the only one they thought they might have a chance of winning with. Still, Peter was allowed to hate it.
Wanda had yet to move from the eye of the storm, yet despite all her power she still surrounded herself with a horde of demons. A mercy, Strange had called it. America had gulped while everyone else had frowned. Yelena and Clint were to serve as the distraction, attacking the horde before promptly exiting the vicinity. Strange knew that Wanda wanted them dead and would sacrifice her body guards if it meant the last force against her schemes were ended. They had to give Strange enough time to cast the spell and America to create the pocket dimension. It was risky and tricky, Strange wasn’t even sure if they’d be able to do it, so he needed Peter to make sure they had as much time as possible before Wanda could catch on. Which was why Peter was to serve as the distraction.
“I know it isn’t ideal,” Strange had admitted, “but you’re the only person she’ll let close enough to her. She’s got a soft spot for you, kid.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Peter hung his head. “I just wish that…” he sighed.
“I know, kid. I know.”
Now, Peter sat crouched on the roof across from the Tower, squatting behind the roof entrance as he watched and waited. The red cloud was darker now, thicker, as it swarmed like a cyclone around the top of the tower, black and gold lightning thundering through it as it grew and spread and a new wave of demons were expelled from within. And, at the center of it all, stood Wanda surrounded by her demon bodyguards. The years had not been kind to her. Peter couldn’t see much from his hiding spot, but he could still make out the shape of someone he once blindly cared for, who he thought once cared for him, mulling about.
“Is everyone in position?” Clint asked through the coms. Peter peered over the edge to spy on where Yelena and the archer were hiding in position on the building across the landing pad. He didn’t know where Strange and America were exactly, only that they would show themselves when the moment was right.
“Yes,” Peter answered. “Good luck, to everyone. And thank you. It’s been an honor fighting by your sides.”
“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Clint responded. He smiled down, Yelena turning to face him with a smile and a salute.
“Let’s get this show on the road, people,” Yelena teased. “We don’t have all day, you know?”
Peter nodded to himself steadying his breathing and began to count down from sixty seconds. He watched as another wave of demons crawled through the cyclone, Wanda enacting her spell to help them through, her attention away from where Yelena and Clint now approached. They used their gear to hit the side of the building and run up the sides until they reached the landing pad.
Clint hauled himself up first, then gave Yelena his hand to help her up as they carefully maneuvered their way to the center right as the titan-esque demon’s moved about. Clint knocked an arrow into his bow, said “Ready” and then took his shot.
The arrow whizzed through the air until it hit one of the demons and a sonic pulse ricocheted through the sky. The demons fell to the ground, emitting roaring screeches as they tried to reorient themselves, and the portal began to dim, the opening shrinking as demons tried to crawl through only to have their limbs cut off.
Peter gagged.
Wanda moved towards the ledge as Clint and Yelena began to take cautious steps back. Magic was rippling off her like waves as she seethed down at the pair of assassins. “Get them,” Peter heard her order. The demons roared and ran to fulfill their mistress’ orders.
Peter saw Clint and Yelena turn and sprint, Yelena shouting at Clint to run faster as they let loose their grappling gear and sped off across the roofs, the demons not far on their heels.
Peter waited and watched. Of the eight originally circling Wanda, now only two remained. Two Peter could deal with, but hopefully that wouldn’t end up being necessary.
With the coast mostly cleared, Peter took a final steadying breath and came out of his hiding spot. He shot a web out and swung out, crossing the distance with practiced ease, before landing where Yelena and Clint had only been moments ago.
Peter felt his entire body tremble as he called out for the witch’s attention.
“Wanda?” His voice echoed through the red sky. He heard a hiss, then the two remaining demons ran forward, jumping from the ledge and landing right before Peter, rattling the ground. Peter stumbled back, eyes widening as he began to shrink back as the demons, large bodies of what he could only describe as scorched flesh attached to a mutated animalistic head, approached.
Peter braced himself, readying himself for their attack as they bared their teeth at him, licking their lips, and bent down into a strike position.
“Wait.” The demons froze, relaxing as they turned back to where Wanda now stood looking down at them.
Peter’s breath hitched as he took her in. She was dressed like a battle-worn empress, all red and black leather and sharp edges, and her signature headband-crown framing her face as her red hair whipped through the air. But it was her eyes that had Peter gasping. They were sunken in, a tinge of black surrounding them, almost similar to the black that now encased from her fingertips all the way to her wrists, crawling up her skin. She was beautiful, but there was a deadliness, an impassivity, that now coated her. Peter knew he had to tread lightly.
Slowly, Peter stood as Wanda waved the demons back up to the eye of the cyclone as she gracefully floated down, landing without a sound before Peter.
“Peter,” her voice was gentle, warm and welcoming, as she smiled at him. It made Peter nauseous. “Have you finally come back to your senses? Have you finally come to join me?”
“No,” Peter shook his head. “I just wanted to talk.”
Wanda frowned. “I don’t think there’s much to discuss. At least nothing of importance.”
“I think the end of the world is kind of important…”
She smiled, tight yet warm. “Who said anything about the end of the world?”
Another rumble of thunder rippled through the air, startling Peter as the cyclone began to grow.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” She grinned at him. “Chaos in its purest form; as it should be.”
“It’s definitely something,” he muttered.
Wanda tsked and looped her arm through Peter’s. He tried to shuffle away, but she merely yanked him back, settling a glare upon him that had Peter complying.
“I must say, Peter, I am quite disappointed in you.”
Peter gulped, raising a brow as Wanda led him to the edge of the landing pad to look over the dying city. “Why? Because I don’t agree with your ideology?”
Wanda gave a muttered laugh. “No, of course not. I’ve always known how independent you are, if not in need of some guidance now and again. No, I’m disappointed in you because despite how brilliant you are, you still gave up what you wanted more than anything.” Her fingers lifted to turn Peter’s face towards her, caressing his cheek as a mother would as Peter looked at her with a trembling lip. “You gave up your family, Peter. You gave them up because you wanted more.”
Peter choked on his breath, trying to break free, but Wanda held strong, her nails digging into his skin.
“I didn’t want more, I wanted it to be real, and that was something that you couldn’t give me despite your… your delusional beliefs.”
Wanda growled. She tore her arm away from Peter, the hero stumbling back from the force.
“There’s nothing delusional about me, Peter. You more than anyone else should know just how real my power is.”
Peter gulped, his limbs shaking as he stared Wanda in the eye. Where once he’d come to her, alone and scared, he’d found warmth and recognition, a shoulder to cry on and arms to hold him. It was peaceful, it was kind, she had been there when no one else could be. But, then again, hadn’t it been Wanda who had lured Peter into the falsehood of security? Who had planted the idea of happiness to begin with? Wasn’t that the reason for how they ended up in this situation? Peter could only assume so, could only fortify his mind as he stared back into the dark emptiness of her eyes.
“No,” he shook his head. “No I don’t, Wanda. All I know is the hope given, the dream I never wanted to wake up from, and then the pain of remembering that it wasn’t real. That it could never be real.”
“Why do you think I’m doing all of this then?” Peter cocked his head. She smiled. “You didn’t think that I wouldn’t fulfill my promise, did you? I am a witch of my word after all.”
“Y- You can’t… can’t do that, Wanda!”
She chuckled, her smile turning twisted. “Oh, but I can. Look around you,” she gestured to the sky, another few demons squirming their way through the cyclone’s eye now that Wanda was not actively spelling it open. “I am making it real! For something new to flourish, the old must first be burnt away. I’m giving us a blank slate to build our reality on.”
Another roll of thunder echoed across the sky, startling Peter. The cloud continued to grow and thrum through the sky, lightning raining down as more demons ran rampant, destroying everything in their path.
“Wanda,” he pleaded, “this isn’t the way to happiness. We could be happy just as we were before. There’s no reason to continue all this pain and suffering. You need to let go of the past. You need to move on… It’s what Vision would’ve wanted for you to do.”
She hissed. “You know nothing of what Vision would’ve wanted.”
“Don’t I? Do you really think his dream was to see the world ravaged? To see humanity destroyed? Wanda, he was created to be the body for Ultron and then turned into the Earth’s salvation instead of its ruin!”
“Stop it!”
Peter was shoved backwards, sliding until his head was dangling over the edge, rubble peppering off and falling. Wanda crowded forward, towering over him, but Peter held his ground.
“Chthon has corrupted you! With or out without the Darkhold, he’s turned you twisted and vile! What happened to the mother in you, Wanda?”
“I said enough!”
She shot forward, her magic pinning Peter to the ground before he had time to dodge. She wrapped her hand around his throat, nails digging into the soft skin, and raised him up. His legs flailed, trying to scrape against the ground as she shook him, his hands reaching up to claw at his throat in hopes of relief.
“You have been a thorn in my side for far too long now, Peter,” she spat. “So I think it’s time we changed that, huh? What do you think?” Peter gulped and gasped. Her other hand lifted to form a red ball of light in her palm. “Last time I gave you exactly what you had wanted. A world where you were never forgotten, where Mysterio hadn’t revealed your identity. A world where your friends still knew you and your dear aunt was still alive. A perfect world, it would seem,” she gave him a crazed smile as Peter felt his lip tremble, his hands uselessly scrabbling at her wrist as he couldn’t breath. “But, clearly, that wasn’t good enough for you.” She raised her palm to his head, tendrils reaching out to the side of his temple as she bent her head to whisper in his ear. “I think we can do better this time.”
“Not today you won’t.”
Peter couldn’t help the grin on his face as Strange’s magic lashed out, a golden orange tendril latching around Wanda’s wrist and wrenching her back from Peter. He fell to the ground gasping and rubbing at his neck, feeling where the pinpricks of her nails had drawn blood.
“You,” she sneered. “I thought the hordes of the undead souls I sent your way had finished you off for good.”
Strange gave a tight smile. “I’m afraid that, once more, you have underestimated my power, Wanda.”
Wanda seethed, settling her gaze upon the Sorcerer Supreme. “Or maybe I just haven’t been hitting hard enough.”
Strange’s eyes turned from confident to fearful as Wanda called upon a powerful wave of magic that knocked the sorcerer back, his cloak catching him at the last moment as he lashed out with his own spell, tendrils of ropes racing out to wrap around Wanda and hold her, but she didn’t even seemed phased. Instead, Wanda merely smiled, and then melted through the rope into a pile of smoke.
Peter’s breath hitched, scampering backwards until his hands hit the edge, as the dark shadow where Wanda once stood suddenly whistled through the air, reforming and dissipating, as it attacked Strange over and over. There was nothing Peter could do but watch. He only knew how to deal with physical threats, not threats of magic and smoke.
Strange countered each and every attack Wanda threw his way, deflecting and attacking, but always missing. Wanda edged closer, her attacks beating Strange down in quick succession until he couldn’t even track her movement anymore, and she had him falling to the ground with a cry of pain.
“Now this,” she whispered over him as she reformed into her full self, “this should feel familiar to you. Always one to talk, but never one to match in strength.” She pressed a foot down onto Strange’s chest when he tried to rise, knocking him back so his head made an audible Smack against the concrete and Peter winced. “You think you know what’s best, think that you’re the guardian of reality, of what’s right. But you know nothing, Stephen Strange, for you have always been a selfish man. And you always will be.” She conjured another ball of light, this one greater than what she had threatened Peter with.
“There is good news though,” she smiled. “There’s a special place for people like you to go to, and I think it’s high time that I finally send you there.”
“I can’t wait,” Strange grinned. “But I’ll be taking you there with me. Now!”
Wanda’s head snapped up as America busted through a star portal and Strange grabbed at Wanda’s ankle to keep her in place, the witch temporarily off balance as the situation quickly settled in. America came screeching through with a battle cry, hitting Wanda square in the face. She fell back, giving Strange enough time to slide back up to his feet as he began to form the spell.
“No!” Wanda tried to scramble back to her feet, but Peter couldn’t let that happen and dove forward, tackling her back to the ground as she screamed.
Strange began to chant in a tongue Peter wasn’t even sure was of this world. With one hand a tendril of magic shot out to where Wanda’s hand was splayed still trying to form a counter attack and latched on, and with the other his magic flowed out and to America who began to form a portal, her eyes scrunched closed and brow already sweating.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Wanda wailed over and over. She continued to struggle against Peter’s grip, but he held down firm, bear hugging her. Strange said that she couldn’t form magic, that Peter couldn’t let her cast a spell, so that was exactly what he was going to do as he crushed her body and pinned down her limbs.
“I’m sorry.” A few stray tears fell down his face. “It’s for your own good, Wanda!”
Wanda snarled. “You know nothing!” And with that, the hand trapped beneath her body was freed and she reverse head butted Peter. The shock was immediate, and Peter could already feel blood falling from his nose. Hope it’s at least a clean break, his mind thought as he tumbled back.
Wanda scrambled up, knocking Peter back once more for good measure, his head hitting the ground with extra force that he could feel his brain rattling for a good few seconds.
Peter could only watch in horror as Wanda reached out, a spell at her fingertips, her magic lashing towards Strange and America. Peter cried out, stumbling forward as his mind still hadn’t straightened it out from the force of Wanda’s assault. Strange saw it one second too late, a spell of his own sent out in crashing succession as he battled to help America form her portal. The spells collided, gold and red bursting into a fusion of yellow that spat like fire and burst across the battlefield.
They all stumbled back, Wanda rolling to her side as America screeched, the magic wrapping and burning around her. Peter watched on as his friend’s eyes burned bright, her power warping as the nearly formed portal began to concave in on itself, turning into a tumultuous cloud of colors folding in on itself without end. America fell to the floor, her face frozen forever in fear, and Peter heard the moment her heart stopped.
“No,” he gasped. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be the end of them. Strange was trying to hold onto the magic, even as he lay in shambles on the ground, to try and make something of the mess Wanda had corrupted.
Wanda…
From the corner of his eye, Peter saw the witch on the ground collecting her bearings, gasping as she stood once more, her bones cracking as her magic healed her with ease. She was too powerful for them to stop, too crafty to out maneuver. There was no way that they could win this and save everyone in the process. Peter had no idea where Yelena and Clint had ended up, but knowing their depleted states and the size of force Wanda had sent their way, it probably wasn’t good. Peter bit his lip, a choked sob freeing itself as a few tears ran down his face.
No, he decided as Wanda stood and began to pull her magic once more, her eyes centered on Strange and America. This was not how it would end, not if Peter could help it. He would not let his friend’s sacrifice be in vain. After all, he had to try—and he wasn’t known for giving up.
“Wanda,” Peter gasped as he stood on shaking legs. He was worn to the core, his body failing him as he pleaded with the witch one last time. “Don’t do this. Hasn’t there been enough loss? This can’t be the only way.”
Wanda smiled, twisted and cruel, something hollow and unsteady, a crack in her frame as her mind shattered before them all. “I don’t think you quite understand, Peter,” she cooed. “This isn't the only way… This is the last way.”
With a flick of her wrist, America rose into the air, her lifeless body thrumming as Wanda siphoned her power. America glowed blue, her body convulsing as it wept power, its icy color turning blood red as Wanda sucked her dry like a vampire.
“No!” Peter cried, and with his last ounce of energy burst forward just as Doctor Strange’s magic burned across the skyline, and he crashed into the Scarlet Witch, the pair falling through the rainbow window of America’s portal and into the unknown.