Chapter Text
The three of them play Señor Scratchy Carla Stan for a while, though their laughter gives them away as much as the actual call-and-response part of the game. America and Nick both claim victory, though in reality, Wanda actually has the best performance. They head back to the RV as the sun starts to go down, towels wrapped around themselves.
America sees Agatha’s silhouette through one of the RV windows, up and about after her nap, which means she feels no need to enter quietly. "Oh my god," she says as she bursts through the door. "What are you making? It smells so good, and I'm freakin' starving."
“Hot dogs, chicken salad, watermelon, and churros.”
“Churros?” Her lip juts out into a touched pout, and she places a hand on her chest. “You must really love me.”
Agatha glances over her shoulder with a playful roll of her eyes. “You know I do.”
She grins. “Do you want help?”
“Sure, if that’s how you’d like to spend your birthday eve,” Agatha teases.
America shrugs. “I like cooking. Dishes, on the other hand — that’s gonna be Nick’s job.”
“Well, come on, then — wash your hands and get over here.”
“Pushy, pushy,” she says, though she complies, scrubbing the lake grime off her hands before starting to coat the churros.
“Did you guys have fun?”
“Mm, kinda. The second half was fun. The first half, Mom and I got reeeal deep about some stuff. Which wasn’t fun, but it was good. Like, emotionally and for our relationship and stuff.”
“Oh?” Agatha glances over. “Do you mind me asking about what?”
“I mentioned some stuff I’ve already told you about — some of the…not-so-great universes I was in and not-so-great people I met. She told me about some not-so-great people in her life, too, which I had no idea included Tony Stark.”
“Oh, I’d kill that son of a bitch.”
“That’s exactly what Nick said. Well, technically, he called him a ‘motherfucker’ instead, but the homicidal urge was the same.”
“Like mother, like son,” Agatha muses with undeniable pride.
“I wouldn’t mind murdering him either, by the way, but since Nick already had that base covered, I took a different supportive approach. One that I’m sort of surprised didn’t wake you up.”
“Maybe it did.”
America’s eyes widen as she looks at her. “Did it actually?”
“No.” Agatha chuckles. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“Oh, good.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Mom would’ve killed me if that was the case, no matter how therapeutic the screaming was.”
“She’s dramatic,” Agatha accuses, giving America a conspiratorial nudge. “I’m fine.”
“She is dramatic,” America agrees. “But this time is more understandable than most. I’m glad you got to rest, though. Are you feeling refreshed?”
“A bit, though this late into it, I think a near-constant state of tiredness is inevitable.”
“I can’t even imagine. No offense, but the thought of growing another human in your body is lowkey disturbing.” America shudders. “Although not as disturbing as something I found out about you today.”
“Oh?” Agatha raises a brow. “Do tell.”
“That you were pretend-married to a dude?”
Agatha grimaces. “Necessary for the scheme but a waste of my talents nonetheless.”
“Yeah, that‘s unhinged,” America agrees. “And I know that whole period of time was pretty unhinged, but that’s crossing a line."
“Men? Men are crossing a line?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Got it. Just checking.”
America tilts her head at Agatha beginning to chop celery. "What's that for?"
“Chicken salad. Much to your mother’s dismay, I’m using my own recipe.”
“The one that’s not literally drowning in mayo, you mean? The one that’s not an absolute abomination?”
“That’s the one. I also put apples in it, which she hates.”
“Well, I like the apples,” America assures her as Wanda walks out of the bathroom, hair damp from her shower. “It gives it sweetness. And crunch. And I think it’s really ironic that Ms. ‘Apple a Day’ complains about them.”
“I do, too.” Agatha turns her head to look at her. “Hear that?”
Wanda rolls her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
“You’re not allowed to say that to me because it’s my birthday,” America informs her. “And you’re not allowed to say that to Mama because she’s insanely pregnant with your child.”
“I’m plenty allowed.”
America raises her chin defiantly. “On what grounds?” she challenges.
“Because I’m your mom,” she easily reasons. “And her wife.”
America purses her lips, considering this. “I guess I’ll permit it,” she relents as the RV door opens. “But still, you should try to keep the sass directed at Nick for the next few days.”
“Whoa, what?” Nick asks as he steps inside, wiping sweat from his brow. “What the hell did I do?”
America shrugs. “Exist.” She wrinkles her nose. “And stink.”
“It’s not like you smell fresh as a daisy either at the moment.” He flicks her. “And if you must know, I was doing that heavy labor thing you like to demand of me and gathering some wood so we could make a campfire to sit around.”
“Thank you, Nick — that’s very sweet,” Agatha says. “But both of you, go rinse off. There’s starting to be a…stench.”
“It’s not the lake — it’s Nick’s perspiration,” America quips, though she heads toward the back of the RV to use the shower in Wanda and Agatha’s bathroom.
“Actually, it’s the stench of defeat,” Nick corrects, grabbing some fresh clothes from his suitcase before going to wash up in their own. “And you’re reeking of it, considering you lost Señor Scratchy Carla Stan bad."
“Nuh-uh!”
Nick exits the bathroom around 10 minutes later, smiling to himself at the sight of Wanda leaning against his mother as they finish cooking side-by-side. “Food almost ready? Should I set the table? AKA lay the lawn chairs out around the fire?”
Agatha peers at him over her shoulder. “That’d be great.”
“You mind if I supervise Mer while she magically lights the logs?” He wiggles his fingers. “I know she loves to do that. I also know it requires bigger flames than the ones she’s usually authorized to make, but considering she is turning 17…”
Agatha and Wanda have a short conversation with their eyes. “Just don’t say we allowed it,” Agatha decides.
“Even better. She also loves thinking she’s sneaky enough to get away with things she’s not supposed to be doing.”
Wanda rolls her eyes. “We know that for sure.”
“What do you know?” America asks, only catching the tail end of the conversation as she walks out to join them, Carla trailing at her ankles.
“That you’ll love your birthday surprise,” Agatha easily lies.
“Oh.” She smiles. “Sick.”
“Come outside,” Nick beckons. “I need your help with something.”
“Vague and ominous, but okay,” America agrees, passing him to open the door. Nick gives his mom a wink before following her out.
“What’d you need help with?” America asks as Nick starts unfolding the chairs.
“Light that for me?” he casually requests, nodding to the pile of logs.
"You got a match or something?"
Nick scoffs. "Who needs matches when you have magic ?"
America’s eyes widen, darting back toward the RV.
He glances up at her hesitation. “Well, do it fast,” he encourages. “Before they come out here with the food.”
“Okay, okay,” she says, taking a deep breath to focus herself before doing the spell to ignite the wood, making a perfect campfire.
“Nice,” Nick compliments.
“Thanks.” She grins, a little breathless from exhilaration. She’d never gotten to use that much of that kind of magic at once before.
Wanda joins them a few minutes later, a large bowl of cut watermelon in her hand. “I see you got the fire going.”
“Looks good, right?” America says as she starts sorting the pieces of their tent. She shoots Nick a covert look, though she doesn’t elaborate on how the flames actually came to be.
“Sure does,” he absentmindedly agrees, scratching his head as he attempts to read the complicated set-up instructions. It’s like they’re in another language. It’d be better if they were in another language, considering America spoke Spanish, Wanda knew Sokovian, and Agatha was fluent in…well, pretty much everything.
Wanda looks over his shoulder. “Need some help?”
“No, no.” He waves her off. A beat. “Okay, yes,” he admits.
“All right.” Wanda laughs, taking the manual. She skims the instructions before looking down at the parts. “I think I got this.” With a couple of flicks of her hand, the pieces start to self-assemble.
“Again, pretty sure that’s cheating,” Nick says.
“You weren’t bitching and moaning when she used it to help put the nursery furniture together,” America points out.
“Touché,” Nick relents. “Thank you,” he tells Wanda.
“No problem.” She waves him off. “The instructions are confusing.”
“You don’t have to lie to make him feel better,” America teases.
Nick scoffs. “Excuse me, but I didn’t see you helping. You don’t get to critique.”
“I’m magically exhausted!” she defends.
Wanda raises a brow. “Oh? Why’s that?”
She freezes, realizing she’s almost slipped up about making the fire. “Uh…no reason.” The RV door swings open, Agatha coming out with the tray of hot dogs. America darts to it — and away from this conversation. “Mama! Let me help you with that.”
“Oh.” Agatha blinks, though she lets America take the dish off her hands. “All right.”
America sets the tray down on the little fold-up table. “Wow, great save,” Nick whispers as he grabs a plate. “Very convincing. Not suspicious at all.”
She scowls. “Oh, shut up and take a wiener. We all know how much you looove them.”
"Now who’s being gross?”
“Children, eat your food,” Agatha scolds as Wanda disappears inside to grab the churros.
“Yeah, child." America sticks her tongue out at Nick.
"You are the only child here.” He takes a large bite of his hot dog as he goes to sit on his lawn chair. “Technically, legally speaking,” he adds, his mouth full.
“For all of one more year! Almost exactly!”
“And even after that, you’ll always be their baaaby.” Nick reaches over to pinch her cheek the second she sits in her own seat.
She throws a chip at him. Carla snatches it up the second it hits the ground. “So will you!”
“You’re both my babies,” Agatha confirms.
“See?” She gives him a smug smile.
“The best parts of my life,” Agatha continues.
With some effort, America conjures up a little magic power. Now look what you did, she says in Nick’s head — a new skill she hadn’t yet found an opportunity to utilize outside of Agatha’s basement. You got her pregnancy hormones all riled up.
Nicks jumps, sending the remaining contents of his plate (two bites of hot dog, three cubes of watermelon, and a dozen chips) flying. Carla practically goes feral. “What the fuck?” He puts a hand to his chest, feeling his heart race. “Since when did you learn to do that?”
“Do what?” she asks, hiding a smirk behind a bite of chicken salad.
“What did she do, Nicky?” Agatha asks, deciding to play along.
“That freaky ‘talking in your brain’ thing.” He shudders.
“My sweet, innocent girl? She wouldn’t.”
Never, America agrees, audible only in Nick’s head. He jumps again, though not as violently this time, and there's no food to spill. “Okay, now not only is she doing it, but she’s gaslighting me about it.”
“What’s going on?” Wanda asks, walking out with the churros in hand.
“She—” Nick begins to accuse before sighing. He clearly did not want to try to explain this again. “Oh, never mind. There’s no way to prove it.” A beat as he gets up to get more food. “Unless there is,” he curiously considers. “Can you guys, like…tap into things that are being said telepathically around you? Like tuning into a magic radio station?”
“Yes,” Wanda says. “Though it tends to be a bit fuzzy.”
Agatha makes a so-so motion with her hand. “It’s very fuzzy for me.”
America’s eyes widen. “Uhh, okay — that’s sort of an insane thing to leave out of the lesson plan,” she tells Agatha. Saying less-than-PG things across the room to Kamala around them could have been catastrophic.
“Well, it’s not something I wanted to introduce immediately," Agatha explains. "It’s rather advanced. Your mother’s connection to the Mind Stone likely clears the airways and allows her to amp up the volume, so to speak.”
“That makes sense, I guess. Mind-talking is magic high school-level — intercepting mind-talking is more magic PhD.”
“Connection to the Mind Stone?” Nick asks, furrowing his brows as he sits down with his second plate.
“Yeah.” Wanda sighs. “You know the Infinity Stones?”
“Of course.” He nods. “Everybody knows the Infinity Stones.” He picks at a piece of watermelon with his fork. “They made half my friends disappear overnight.” That likely hadn’t helped things regarding his addiction — the trauma of that.
“Well, after Stark killed my family, Pietro and I…we agreed to be test subjects for HYDRA. The Mind Stone did something or…activated something in me? I don’t know exactly. The process was a bit fuzzy, too, but either way, it definitely…affected me.”
“Oh, shit. I didn’t…I didn’t realize.” He purses his lips apologetically. “What kind of sick group uses human test subjects?”
Wanda looks down at her plate, the same dark, bitter look that had crossed her face when talking about Tony Stark returning. “Them.”
Nick frowns. “I’m really sorry they took advantage of you like that,” he says softly.
She shrugs. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Agatha practically growls. “As I've told you many times before, it’s not even close to fine.”
“Do we need to scream again?” America asks. “Because we can scream again.” She starts sucking in a deep breath to prepare.
“Please, no,” Nick pleads.
“There’s not much I can do about it now,” Wanda says, resigned.
"Killing spree," Agatha suggests under her breath.
“I think there is,” Nick gently argues. “But I also think you’re already doing everything you can.”
“Yeah, I mean, you’re going to therapy,” America agrees. “And you’re going on missions to take down other bad guys — keep stuff like it from happening to other people.”
“I suppose,” Wanda replies, noncommittal. “It doesn’t erase what happened, though. Or make me sleep any better.”
“I always slept better when I was with you,” America says, voice soft and vulnerable. Bringing up a painful subject to hopefully make things less painful for her mother. “Remember? When Evanora was corrupting my mind, giving me the nightmares? It was always easier when I wasn’t alone, and you’re not. You’re never alone. You have us.”
Wanda gives her a small smile. “I appreciate that.”
“And we appreciate you,” America says, pushing herself from her folding chair to give her a hug.
Wanda gladly accepts it, wrapping her arms around America tightly.
Their tender moment is interrupted by the sound of Carla vomiting, almost certainly from eating far too much people food. America grimaces. “I’ll clean it up,” she assures everyone, pulling away from Wanda and going to grab some paper towels.
Agatha sighs. “She ate a whole hot dog,” she chastises. “This is what happens.”
“It was a quarter of a hot dog at most!”
“She still shouldn’t have had that much.”
“On the bright side, she technically doesn’t anymore,” America mumbles, crinkling her nose as she starts scooping up the puke.
“America…” she warns.
“I just let her party a little too hard tonight — that’s all,” America defends, tossing the soiled paper towels into the trash and rubbing hand sanitizer on her palms before going over to crouch next to Carla, who’s now predictably curled up by Agatha’s feet — she always sucked up to her when she knew she was in trouble. America gently rubs her furry head, and her eyes flutter closed, worn out from all the excitement. “The fact she won’t be awake to help me ring in 17 is punishment enough.” America sighs.
“She might get a second wind,” Wanda points out.
“Nah, once she starts snoring like that, she’s out for the night. But that’s okay.” America stands again. “What about you guys? Think you’ll make it ’til midnight?”
“I will,” Wanda promises. “But your mother is constantly sleepy these days,” she quips. Agatha promptly flips her off.
“To be fair, she does have a parasite inside her sucking up all her energy.”
“You mean a baby?" Nick asks.
America shrugs. “Same difference.”
“A human being is not a parasite,” Agatha corrects with a laugh.
“When they’re in the womb, they basically are.”
“That would be commensalism — not parasitism.”
America wrinkles her brows. “I thought that had to do with the economy. Like when people buy a bunch of stuff.”
“That's consumerism, Mer,” Nick says.
“Ohh.” She nods. “That makes more sense.”
“Also, pregnancy is symbiotic in a way that commensalism isn’t,” Agatha explains. “That’s the closest approximation.”
“Ew, you’re making my brain hurt. This was supposed to be a break from school.”
“You started the conversation,” Agatha justifies.
“And now I’m finishing it. I want to eat churros and stargaze,” she announces, going to the table to stuff a churro in her mouth. She holds it between her teeth as she lays out a blanket to lie down on. “It’s almost dark enough. The sun will set completely in…” She looks down at the watch Strange got her for her 15th birthday. “…36 minutes. At 8:24. I looked it up.”
“Well, it sounds like we have 36 minutes to talk about symbiosis then,” Agatha teases.
America groans, covering her face with her arms.