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Chapter Text

The compound squatted in the middle of the forest like a parasite that had burrowed too deep. Corrugated steel, high fences, and towers with floodlights carved into the dark. At first glance it could have passed for a military installation, hidden away in the Russian wilderness.

But Natasha knew better.

She’d been raised inside walls just like these. And there was only one kind of occupant in a place like this.

“Girls,” she murmured, low enough that only Wanda could hear through the comm. “That’s who they take. That’s who they train.”

From the ridge where they lay concealed, Wanda followed her gaze downward. The floodlights caught the metallic glint of rifles and body armor. The guards below moved in rigid patterns, boots striking pavement in the same mechanical rhythm Natasha had heard a thousand times before.

“They’re all men,” Wanda said, her Sokovian lilt tinged with disgust. “Handlers. Not Widows.”

“Not yet,” Natasha replied, her voice flat. She adjusted her scope, watching one of the guards stop to light a cigarette before resuming his patrol. “They recruit the girls first. The men break them down. Discipline them. By the time they’re old enough to fight, they don’t need male guards anymore.”

Wanda shivered, even with the chill night air. She’d heard pieces of Natasha’s story, but hearing it set against the backdrop of a real compound, with real children trapped inside, it settled in her bones like frost.

“You’re sure?” Wanda asked.

Natasha’s lips thinned. “I can smell it.”

The wind carried it faintly: antiseptic, sweat, and something colder. A memory more than a scent. Natasha could almost hear the muffled cries in the night, the whispered Russian commands drilling obedience until there was nothing left.

Her hand flexed around the rifle, but she forced herself to lower it. A sniper shot would be clean, but not quiet enough. They needed silence.

Wanda’s eyes glowed faintly red as she scanned the yard with her power, her awareness threading through the air like a net. “Patrols of two. They circle every three minutes. If we take them together…”

“We can clear the yard,” Natasha finished, already calculating the rhythm. Her instincts clicked into place with unnerving ease, as if she’d never left the program at all.

Wanda turned to look at her. “You’ve done this before.”

Natasha’s green eyes were cold. “I was trained to be them before I was trained to kill them.”

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the sweep of the floodlights. Wanda’s chest tightened, not from fear of the mission, but from the ache of knowing what Natasha had survived.

Natasha snapped her rifle shut and slung it across her back. “Come on. We move on the south side. Fewer eyes.”

They slipped down the slope, their boots silent against damp earth. The forest ended in a sheer cut of dirt and concrete, floodlights sweeping back and forth across the razor wire fence. Wanda felt her magic itch beneath her skin, ready to lash out, but she kept it tamped down. Natasha had warned her already, the Red Room trained its handlers to notice anything unusual. If the guards saw a red glow, if they heard a hum in the air, they would sound the alarm before Wanda and Natasha got anywhere close to the captives.

At the fence, Natasha crouched, cutters in hand. She glanced at Wanda. “Three minutes between passes. When I cut, we move.”

The wires snapped under the tool’s pressure with barely a sound. Wanda steadied the loose strands with a whisper of magic so they wouldn’t rattle together. Natasha slipped through first, rolling to her feet on the other side, pistol already in her grip.

Wanda followed.

The yard smelled of oil and cigarettes, the hum of a generator masking the softer sounds of boots striking pavement. Natasha pressed her back to the wall of the first building, signaling for Wanda to freeze.

Two guards turned the corner, rifles slung, speaking in Russian too low to make out. Natasha tilted her head. Their route would bring them within arm’s reach in less than ten seconds.

She mouthed a single word: now.

Wanda raised a hand, crimson energy flickering like embers. She reached into the minds of the two men and tugged. Their steps faltered, eyes hazing for half a second, just long enough for Natasha to surge forward.

The first guard didn’t even see her coming. Natasha’s arm locked around his throat, her other hand clamping over his mouth as she dragged him into shadow. His partner stumbled, trying to shout, but Wanda flicked her wrist and the words died in his throat, swallowed by scarlet haze.

Natasha dropped the first man like a sack of bricks and struck the second in the temple with the butt of her pistol. He crumpled, silent.

Wanda let out the breath she’d been holding. “That was close.”

Natasha was already dragging the bodies into the shadows, her face impassive. “Every step will be close. Stay sharp.”

Wanda’s jaw clenched, but she nodded. Natasha wasn’t being harsh, she was being honest.

They moved again, hugging the shadows of the building as another pair of guards strode past. Natasha didn’t even look at them. She already knew their pattern. She had once been part of it.

And she knew exactly how to tear it down.

The first two guards were only the beginning.

By the time Natasha and Wanda reached the side entrance of the main building, three more lay unconscious in the shadows behind them, their radios disabled and weapons stripped. Natasha’s movements were sharp and silent, all efficiency. Wanda’s magic filled the gaps, muffling sounds, clouding minds, turning what should have been gunfire and shouts into nothing but silence swallowed by night.

At the door, Natasha crouched low, her fingers ghosting over the keypad. A six-digit code flashed across its surface. Her lips curved in a humorless smile.

“They never change,” she whispered. “Same models they used in Kiev.”

“You can open it?” Wanda asked softly, eyes scanning the yard.

Natasha pulled a blade from her boot and wedged it into the seam. With a twist and a spark, the panel popped loose, wires exposed. She worked quickly, fingers steady, lips moving soundlessly as she counted in Russian under her breath. A final spark jumped, and the light on the keypad turned green.

The door clicked.

Natasha pushed it open just enough to slip through. “Stay low.”

The corridor smelled of bleach and metal. Overhead, fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the linoleum floor. The sound of it, the hum, the emptiness, the echo of their own footsteps, made Natasha’s stomach twist. She had walked halls like these before, wearing the same boots, carrying the same weapons.

But tonight, she was here to burn it down.

They moved deeper, clearing each corner with military precision. Wanda kept her magic close to her skin, ready to flare, but held it tight. Natasha had warned her: once the alarms went off, the whole place would lock down. For now, silence was their only weapon.

It didn’t last.

A guard rounded the corner ahead, eyes widening at the sight of them. His rifle lifted, but Wanda flicked her hand before he could shout. Scarlet energy wrapped his throat, choking the sound, and Natasha surged forward like a blade unsheathed. Her pistol cracked once, the silencer muffling the shot. The man crumpled.

But the damage was done. His radio flared with static. Voices barked in Russian. The alarm began to wail.

Natasha swore under her breath. “So much for quiet.”

“Then we don’t hold back,” Wanda said, her eyes blazing crimson.

The corridor erupted into chaos.

Guards poured from side rooms, rifles raised, shouting commands. Wanda swept her arms wide and scarlet force rippled down the hallway, slamming the first wave of men into the walls. Guns clattered to the floor, bones snapped against steel. Natasha dove through the opening, striking low and fast, two shots precise and fatal before she dropped into a roll and drove her elbow into another man’s jaw.

The Red Room had trained her to move like this, ruthless, surgical. Every strike calculated to kill or incapacitate. And tonight, she let that training loose against the men who thought they could rebuild the nightmare she’d barely survived.

Wanda covered her back, hex bolts streaking crimson light through the sterile hall, tearing rifles apart before they could fire. A guard raised his weapon and found himself staring into a glowing sphere of red that detonated like a grenade.

The alarm screamed louder.

Natasha kicked a door open and froze.

Inside, lined in rows, was a training hall.

Girls.

Not children, not anymore. Teenagers, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Their hair was cropped short, their bodies lean and strong. They stood at attention in black uniforms, lined up in formation despite the chaos echoing from the hall. Their faces were blank, eyes glazed with the discipline Natasha knew too well.

A handler barked in Russian from the front of the room. “Stay where you are! Do not move!”

The girls obeyed. Not one flinched. Not one broke rank.

Wanda’s chest tightened. “Natasha-”

Natasha stepped inside, her pistol trained on the handler. He reached for a weapon, and fell before he touched it, Natasha’s bullet precise and merciless. The shot rang in the chamber, echoing against steel walls.

The girls didn’t flinch.

Natasha lowered her weapon, her heart hammering. “They’re already broken,” she whispered.

Wanda moved past her, voice gentle but firm. “No. They’re waiting for someone to tell them it’s over.” She raised her hand, scarlet light spilling across the room like a sunrise. “It’s over. You are free. Leave this place.”

For the first time, a flicker of movement passed across the girls’ faces. One blinked. Another shifted her weight. And then the dam cracked, shoulders trembling, eyes darting toward the door.

Natasha barked in Russian, the command voice drilled into her bones but now turned against her masters. “Run!”

The word detonated in the silence.

The first girl bolted. The rest followed, pouring out of the room in a wave of black uniforms and bare feet slapping the linoleum. Their breaths came fast, ragged, as if they hadn’t breathed freely in years.

Wanda guided them with flicks of scarlet magic, directing them down the safest corridors. Natasha covered their retreat, every shot precise, every strike efficient.

But even as the last girl vanished down the hall, Natasha felt the weight in her chest grow heavier.

These weren’t the only ones. There would be more, deeper inside. Younger.

And the Red Room never wasted resources.

The halls reeked of cordite and smoke. Alarms shrieked from every speaker, a constant reminder that subtlety was gone.

Natasha reloaded as she and Wanda pressed forward, boots sliding over slick floors streaked with blood and debris. The freed girls had vanished into the night, guided out by a path Wanda carved through locked doors and sealed exits. That small victory burned bright, but Natasha knew better than to let herself believe the fight was over.

The Red Room always had layers.

“They’ll send the best they’ve got now,” she muttered, glancing down another corridor. “Anyone still loyal enough to die for this place.”

“They’ll regret it,” Wanda said, her eyes glowing faintly red as her fingers twitched, magic humming at her skin.

Natasha didn’t argue. She knew Wanda was right. But the knot in her stomach tightened all the same.

At the next intersection, they found them.

Six guards in reinforced armor, rifles raised, waiting for them to appear. Natasha barely ducked as the hallway lit with muzzle flashes. Bullets sparked off walls and tore chunks from the floor. Wanda swept her arms wide and a hex shield shimmered to life, scarlet energy absorbing the hail of fire. The air vibrated with the force of it, the shield bending but holding.

Natasha crouched low, eyes narrowing. “Drop it for two seconds.”

Wanda glanced at her. “Two seconds?”

“That’s all I need.”

Wanda exhaled and let the shield collapse.

The world became noise and chaos. Bullets shredded the air, hot brass scattering across the floor. Natasha surged forward like lightning, weaving between the bursts of fire. She slid across the slick tiles, firing upward, two shots precise through the weak seams in armor. Two guards dropped before the others adjusted.

Scarlet energy exploded behind her. Wanda’s magic slammed into the group, bending rifles into useless knots of metal, hurling men into the walls with bone-shattering force. One tried to crawl away, but Natasha was already there, disarming and silencing him in the same motion.

The hall went quiet except for the hum of the alarm.

Natasha wiped a streak of blood from her cheek, her breath sharp in her chest. “They’re adapting. That was a choke point.”

“Which means we’re close,” Wanda said, scanning ahead.

Close to the heart. Close to whoever was running this nightmare.

They pushed deeper, passing room after room, dormitories, sterile training spaces, even a medical ward that reeked of antiseptic and old blood. Natasha’s jaw clenched tighter with every step. Each doorway was a mirror to her past, a reflection of what she had survived.

Wanda noticed. She always noticed. “Talk to me,” she said softly.

Natasha shook her head. “Later.”

But later might never come if they didn’t finish this.

At the end of the corridor, a reinforced steel door loomed, larger than the others, flanked by biometric scanners. Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it. The control hub.”

Before Wanda could respond, the door hissed open.

A man stepped out, tall, broad, his black uniform crisp, a silver insignia glittering on his collar. His eyes were cold, sharp with the authority of someone who believed in this place with his entire soul. Behind him, more guards filled the chamber.

“Well, well,” he said, his Russian smooth. “The traitor returns. And she brings a witch.”

Wanda’s lip curled, power sparking at her fingertips.

Natasha didn’t waste words. She moved.

The fight was brutal, tighter than the earlier skirmishes. Natasha faced the commander head-on, his combat training evident in every block and strike. He knew her style, of course he did, he had likely trained others to mimic it. But Natasha fought with something more: fury sharpened into precision, years of rage distilled into every blow.

Wanda tore through the guards in the background, her magic a storm contained only by her control. Guns twisted midair, men slammed against walls, shouts drowned under the shriek of warped metal.

Natasha ducked a swing, drove her knee into the man’s ribs, then twisted his arm until it snapped with a sickening crack. He roared, lashing out with a knife. The blade grazed her arm, but Natasha didn’t flinch. She disarmed him in one swift motion and drove the weapon into his chest.

His eyes widened, disbelief flashing for a moment before they dulled. Natasha yanked the blade free and let him crumple.

Silence followed, broken only by Wanda’s ragged breaths as the last guard hit the floor.

“It’s done,” Wanda said, chest heaving.

Natasha scanned the room, the control hub, lined with monitors and files, red lights flashing across consoles. “Not yet.” She fired into the main system, sparks exploding as screens shattered. Wanda added a blast of magic, frying the rest into smoking wreckage.

Now, it was done.

Natasha turned, ready to suggest they regroup, and froze.

Wanda’s expression had changed. Her eyes weren’t on the wreckage, but on something unseen, her brow furrowed, lips parting in confusion.

“What is it?” Natasha asked sharply.

Wanda lifted a hand to her temple, as if steadying herself. “Do you feel that?”

Natasha frowned. “Feel what?”

“A mind,” Wanda whispered. “Small. Fragile. Terrified.” Her voice trembled, unsteady in a way Natasha rarely heard. “It’s not like the others. It’s younger.”

Natasha’s blood ran cold.

Wanda’s eyes met hers, glowing faintly with power and something else, fear. “A child.”

For a heartbeat, Natasha couldn’t breathe. A child. Here. She wanted to deny it, to insist the Red Room didn’t take them that young anymore. But she knew better.

“Where?” she demanded.

Wanda turned slowly, head tilted as if following a sound only she could hear. She stepped past the bodies, past the smoking consoles, toward a smaller door tucked in the corner of the hub. Her hand hovered just above the handle, red light sparking faintly around her fingers.

“She’s in here,” Wanda whispered.

Natasha’s chest tightened so hard it hurt.

The alarms blared. The air smelled of smoke and blood. And behind that steel door, a child waited in silence.

The compound still burned. Smoke bled through the vents, a siren howled in the distance, and somewhere down the corridor a man was groaning where Natasha had left him. Wanda’s scarlet magic still fizzed around her fingertips as the last lock whined open and fell to the ground.

She hesitated only a second. The fear thrumming through the walls wasn’t coming from the teenagers they’d freed. This was sharper. Smaller. Like a heartbeat trying to fold in on itself. Wanda pushed the door inward.

It wasn’t a room. It was a closet.

The air inside was stale, heavy with dust and bleach. A single bare bulb hummed above, casting long shadows across stacked crates. And in the darkest corner, knees tucked to chest, was you.

Tiny.

Four years old, maybe. A child.

Your clothes hung too large on your thin frame, an old gray sweatshirt with sleeves rolled past your hands, pants cinched at the waist with twine. Your face was streaked with dirt, cheeks hollow, lips trembling. Wide eyes glowed in the dim light as they locked on the intruders at the door.

Wanda’s throat closed. Bozhe moy.

Natasha didn’t move. She had stormed through fire and blood only minutes ago, but now she stood rigid in the doorway, every muscle locked.

Wanda dropped to her knees slowly, magic fading from her hands. “Hi,” she whispered, her voice gentler than silk. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

You pressed yourself tighter into the corner, making yourself impossibly small. No cry. No scream. Just silence, the kind of silence children learn when the wrong sound brings pain.

Natasha’s heart twisted.

Wanda extended her hand, palm up, not closing the distance yet. “You don’t have to be afraid. I promise, no one here will hurt you.”

Your gaze darted between her hand and her face. The faintest sound broke from your throat, more breath than word, as if your voice had been buried too long.

Wanda leaned closer, her Sokovian accent soft, rhythmic. “You’re safe. I will not let them touch you again.”

Something inside you cracked, a whimper, the first sign of sound. You reached forward, hesitant, trembling so hard it was almost painful to watch. Then your tiny fingers brushed hers.

And the dam broke.

You surged into Wanda’s arms with desperate force, clinging to her neck, burying your face against her chest. Wanda gasped at the weight, so small, so fragile, but cradled you instantly, wrapping her arms tight, rocking instinctively.

“Shhh, malen’kaya,” she murmured in Sokovian, lips pressed to your hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Natasha swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry, her chest tight. She couldn’t breathe for a moment, watching Wanda hold you as if you’d been made for her arms. The sight should have been comforting, the child safe, Wanda’s warmth like sunlight, but it ripped open something inside Natasha she had buried deep.

She saw herself. Years ago. Small, cornered, alone. No one had come for her.

Not until it was too late.

Her jaw clenched. She stepped closer, but the shift in her weight made you jolt. You peeked up from Wanda’s chest, eyes wide again, lips quivering.

“Hey,” Natasha said softly. Her voice cracked on the single syllable. She tried again, gentler. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

But you pressed your face back into Wanda’s neck, clinging tighter.

A flicker of pain crossed Natasha’s expression before she smoothed it away. She couldn’t blame you. Wanda was sunlight, warmth, everything gentle. Natasha was steel, shadow, blood still dripping from her knuckles.

Still, Wanda glanced back at her, eyes bright but heavy. “Nat, she’s terrified.”

“I know,” Natasha said. Her own voice was thick.

The sirens wailed again, distant now. The facility was crumbling. They didn’t have time. But Natasha couldn’t tear her gaze from the tiny hand fisted in Wanda’s jacket, the way you shook against her.

She crouched, lowering herself to your level, even though you refused to look at her. “I promise you,” she whispered, steady but raw, “no one here will ever hurt you again. Not while we’re breathing.”

You didn’t answer. Your tiny frame shivered, but your grip on Wanda loosened just enough that Wanda could shift you slightly, allowing Natasha’s hand to brush your arm. Her touch was light, tentative, as if she feared she’d break you.

For an instant, you froze. Then, a shudder, a breath. You didn’t flinch away.

Wanda smiled faintly, relief softening her face. She kissed the top of your head. “See, malen’kaya? You’re safe.”

Natasha’s chest clenched at the sound. She met Wanda’s eyes, and something unspoken passed between them.

The alarms screamed louder. Boots thundered somewhere above. They didn’t have long.

Natasha stood and reached for her comm. “Extraction point, now,” she snapped, voice regaining its edge. “We’ve got one more to bring out.”

Wanda rose carefully, your small form curled against her like you’d been there forever. You clung tighter, little fingers tangled in her hair, face still hidden but breath steadier now.

Natasha led the way down the hall, guns at the ready, though her eyes kept flicking back, not to the shadows, not to the fleeing enemy, but to you.

You were the ghost of everything she had lost. But maybe, just maybe, this time she and Wanda could save what was left.

Chapter Text

The fire burned low now, but the smell of smoke clung to everything. The once-sterile walls of the Red Room facility were blackened and crumbling, sparks still spitting from shattered control panels. Outside, floodlights cut through the night as SHIELD transports rolled in, engines growling. Agents poured out in neat formation, weapons drawn, scanning the area for stragglers.

Natasha stood just inside the ruined doorway, her gun still drawn, though the fight was long over. Her chest rose and fell sharply, adrenaline cooling into something heavier. She had fought through dozens of missions, but this one was different. It wasn’t the bodies in the halls or the echoes of her own childhood staring back at her through glassy-eyed trainees. It was what she carried inside her mind now, one image she couldn’t shake.

A small child, four years old, curled in a dark closet.

She turned her head slightly. Just a few steps away, Wanda sat on a broken bench, her coat wrapped around the girl like a cocoon. You were pressed against her chest, tiny fists clutching fabric in a death grip. Wanda whispered in a voice so soft it barely rose above the crackle of burning debris. Whatever words she spoke weren’t meant for anyone else.

Natasha forced herself to look away.

A SHIELD agent approached, rifle slung across his back, tablet in hand. “Romanoff. Maximoff.” His tone was brisk, official. “Command wants a report. Survivors?”

Natasha nodded toward the cluster of older girls waiting under a floodlight outside, wrapped in emergency blankets. Their faces were pale, hollow, but their eyes no longer held that same glassy obedience. “Eighteen, maybe twenty. All of them legal adults.”

The agent scribbled something on his screen. “And that one?” He tilted his chin toward Wanda and the bundle in her arms.

Wanda looked up sharply. Her eyes glowed faintly red, warning. “She’s not a number.”

The agent blinked, clearly taken aback, then looked to Natasha for backup. Natasha exhaled slowly through her nose. “Four. Too young to have been here at all.”

The agent’s brows furrowed. “Orders are clear. Survivors go into custody until debrief and placement. That includes her.”

Wanda’s arms tightened around you. “She’s not going anywhere.”

The words carried weight, low, fierce, dangerous. Scarlet light shimmered faintly along her hands where they rested on your back. You stirred at the tone, letting out a tiny whimper before burrowing deeper into Wanda’s chest.

The agent shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I don’t make the calls. You know protocol. All survivors are evidence until proven otherwise. If Hydra had their hands in this-”

“She’s not evidence.” Wanda’s voice cut like glass. “She’s a child.”

The agent hesitated, but then tapped his comm. “Director Fury, we’ve got a situation.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. The last thing she wanted was a scene here. But it was coming anyway.

Moments later, a black SUV rolled through the rubble, its tires crunching over broken stone. The rear door opened, and Fury himself stepped out, trench coat swaying, his single eye already narrowed on the two women.

“Romanoff. Maximoff.” His gravelly voice carried authority without effort. “Clean job. Facility’s done. But we need to talk about the package.”

He didn’t even say “child.” Natasha’s gut twisted.

Wanda rose slowly to her feet, you still clinging to her. “She’s not a package. She stays with us.”

Fury arched a brow. “That’s not how this works. She’s Red Room property. That means she’s SHIELD property until we know where she came from.”

“She came from hell,” Wanda snapped. “That’s all you need to know.”

You whimpered again, and Wanda bent her head immediately, whispering soothing words in Sokovian. Your breathing hitched but slowly eased, tiny hands refusing to let go.

Fury turned to Natasha, his eye sharp. “Romanoff. Talk sense into her. You know how dangerous this could be. We don’t know if the kid’s been conditioned, implanted, enhanced. For all we know, she’s a sleeper weapon waiting to go off.”

The words struck home harder than Fury probably intended. Natasha had been that weapon once. She knew better than anyone what the Red Room could do to a child.

Her gaze slid to Wanda. The younger woman’s eyes burned with raw fire, her whole body curled protectively around the small bundle in her arms. Wanda wasn’t thinking about protocols or risks. She was thinking about the trembling heartbeat pressed to her chest.

Natasha’s throat felt tight.

“Nat,” Fury pressed. “I need your call.”

She didn’t answer. Not right away. Her training screamed at her to follow orders, to trust the system. But her instincts, deeper, older, told her the system was what had put the girl here in the first place.

Silence stretched. The only sound was the alarm still wailing faintly from a half-destroyed speaker.

Finally, Natasha holstered her gun and said quietly, “Let us get her to the transport. We’ll figure it out on the way.”

Fury’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw worked slightly. He gave a curt nod. “Fine. But this isn’t finished. She comes in with us when we hit HQ. That’s not negotiable.”

He turned on his heel and strode back to his SUV.

The agents dispersed, resuming cleanup, their eyes flicking uneasily toward Wanda.

Wanda’s shoulders dropped fractionally, though her grip on the child never loosened. She glanced at Natasha, her expression both relieved and angry. “You didn’t back me up.”

Natasha looked away, scanning the ruined hall as if it still held threats. “I bought us time.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. “Time won’t be enough.”

You shifted again, pressing your face into Wanda’s neck. Natasha caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and something inside her chest twisted painfully. She told herself it was just the smoke, just the mission fatigue.

But she knew better.

The night air was colder once they stepped outside, sharp and biting after the smoke-choked heat of the burning facility. The distant hum of helicopters carried over the treetops, searchlights sweeping across the compound. Floodlights bathed the survivors in sterile white, casting long shadows that made the ground look like a battlefield frozen in time.

Natasha moved first, climbing down the concrete steps. She adjusted the strap of her rifle across her back, though her eyes kept sweeping the perimeter. Habit. Or maybe distraction.

Wanda followed, arms cradling you tight against her chest. The coat she had wrapped around your little body looked far too big, swallowing your small frame. Only a mess of tangled hair peeked out, pressed against Wanda’s collarbone. Every so often, you trembled as though expecting to be pulled away at any second.

Natasha forced her attention forward. Fury’s SUV waited, engine idling, a SHIELD agent already holding the rear door open.

“After you,” the agent said stiffly.

Wanda’s jaw clenched. Her gaze flicked briefly to Natasha, then back to the agent. She adjusted her hold on you and slid carefully into the backseat. You let out a tiny sound of protest until Wanda whispered something in Sokovian, rubbing your small back in slow, steady circles.

Natasha climbed in after them, shutting the door with a solid thud.

The interior smelled faintly of leather and gun oil. Your wide eyes darted around for a moment before hiding again in Wanda’s coat. Natasha forced herself not to stare. She had seen fear like that before, usually in mirrors.

The agent slid into the front passenger seat while another took the wheel. Without waiting for instruction, they pulled away from the compound, tires crunching over gravel until the road smoothed into asphalt.

For a long while, silence reigned. Only the hum of the engine and the faint crackle of radios broke it. Wanda’s hand never stopped its soothing rhythm along the child’s back.

But Natasha could feel the weight pressing down on them. The calm wouldn’t last.

Sure enough, the front agent finally spoke, voice clipped and professional. “Orders are clear. Upon arrival at HQ, the child is to be taken into protective custody.”

Wanda’s head snapped up. “She’s not going into custody.”

The agent didn’t turn around. “It’s not optional. Director Fury was clear.”

“She’s been through enough,” Wanda hissed. “You’ll terrify her. Separate her. Run tests on her like she’s a lab rat-”

“That’s procedure,” the driver interrupted, his tone equally flat. “Red Room assets are classified until vetted. We can’t take chances.”

You shifted at the sharper voices, a tiny whimper escaping before you buried your face deeper against Wanda.

Natasha pressed two fingers against her temple, willing the tension out of her skull. She could feel Wanda’s anger radiating off her like heat. Scarlet light flickered faintly at Wanda’s fingertips, even as they stroked the child’s back.

“Wanda,” Natasha murmured, low enough to be just between them. “Not here.”

“She’s a baby, Nat,” Wanda whispered back, her Sokovian accent thickening with emotion. “And they want to lock her up like she’s dangerous.”

Natasha said nothing. She couldn’t, not when the words hit so close to truths she didn’t want to voice.

The front agent spoke again, tone growing firmer. “Look. We don’t want trouble. But you know as well as I do, this kid could be conditioned. Could have something inside her we don’t see yet. We’ve all seen it before.”

Natasha’s fingers curled into her thigh. He wasn’t wrong. She herself had been that hidden threat once. But looking at the trembling little bundle pressed against Wanda, she couldn’t bring herself to picture this child as anything but what she was: terrified, small, and clinging to the first kindness she’d been shown.

The agent pressed on. “So let’s keep it simple. When we get there, you hand her over. Medical does their job. Psych does theirs. If she checks out clean, she gets foster placement. That’s the system. That’s safe.”

“Safe,” Wanda repeated bitterly. “You think tearing her away from the only people she’s trusted in years, maybe ever, is safe?”

You stirred again, soft sobs starting to shake you shoulders. Wanda pulled you closer, whispering fast and gentle in Sokovian, rocking you slightly despite the jostle of the vehicle. The glowing threads of scarlet light faded as quickly as they had sparked.

Natasha finally spoke, her voice low and even. “She doesn’t belong in a lab.”

The front agent turned slightly, brow raised. “Romanoff, you know better than anyone what the Red Room does. You want to gamble with that?”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “I know better than anyone what happens when you take a child out of one cage and throw her into another.”

The man faltered at that. His mouth opened, closed. He faced forward again without replying.

Silence filled the SUV once more, heavier than before. Wanda leaned her head against the seatback, eyes closed, still murmuring to the child in her arms. Your sobs softened but didn’t vanish entirely.

Natasha stared out the window at the blur of trees whipping past. Her chest felt like stone. Every instinct told her this fight wasn’t over.

They reached the city two hours later. The skyline glowed against the dark, sharp lines of glass and steel reflecting the moon. The SUV cut through traffic effortlessly, SHIELD clearance lights flashing whenever a car dared linger in their lane.

Inside, the tension only deepened. The agents up front kept stealing glances into the rearview mirror, their shoulders tight. Wanda sat rigid, arms like iron around you. Natasha kept her gaze forward, though her fingers drummed against her knee.

Finally, the SUV turned into the underground garage of SHIELD’s headquarters. Security checkpoints whirred to life, scanners sweeping the vehicle as the heavy gates closed behind them.

The driver parked in a secured bay. The front agent twisted in his seat, jaw set. “This is it. Hand her over.”

Wanda’s eyes snapped open, glowing faintly red in the dim. “No.”

The agent’s hand hovered near his holster. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

You whimpered again, burying your face into Wanda’s neck.

Natasha’s pulse spiked. She could feel the fight coiling, ready to snap. Fury might not have been in the SUV, but his authority lingered in the air like smoke. SHIELD would press this until it broke.

Wanda’s voice was steel. “Over my dead body.”

Natasha moved before things could spiral. She put a hand on Wanda’s arm, grounding, then turned her gaze on the agent. “You’ll get your evaluation,” she said evenly. “But she stays with us during it. No separation.”

“That’s not protocol,” the agent shot back.

Natasha leaned forward, her eyes narrowing, her voice dropping to the same cold tone she had once used in interrogation rooms. “Then consider this an exception. Unless you want me to report that you tried to forcibly remove a traumatized four-year-old from field agents mid-transport.”

The man stiffened. Even the driver glanced sideways, uncertain.

“You wouldn’t-”

“Try me,” Natasha said flatly.

For a moment, the SUV was a frozen battlefield of its own. Then the agent eased back in his seat, lips pressed tight. “Fine. For now. But once we’re upstairs, it’s out of our hands.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, relief flooding her features even as her hold remained iron-tight. She pressed her lips to the top of the child’s head, whispering softly again in Sokovian.

Natasha leaned back slowly, but her heart hammered against her ribs. She knew Wanda was right: time wasn’t enough.

And when the elevator doors closed behind them, and SHIELD’s sterile, fluorescent-lit hallways opened ahead, she knew the real battle was only beginning.

The fluorescent lights inside SHIELD’s headquarters hummed faintly, an unyielding, sterile sound that seemed to echo in every hallway. White tiles stretched in uniform rows beneath their boots, polished so clean they reflected the harsh glow above.

Wanda held you tighter the further they walked, her crimson coat wrapped firmly around you like a barrier against the world. Your little fists clung to her blouse, knuckles pale with the effort.

Natasha kept to Wanda’s side, her own expression schooled into the calm mask she had worn countless times before. But inside, tension curled like barbed wire. Every step deeper into the facility felt like a step into a trap.

At the security checkpoint, the first wall rose up. Two agents in black uniforms moved forward. One carried a clipboard, the other a biometric scanner.

“Romanoff. Maximoff.” The taller of the two spoke briskly. “Orders are to take the child for immediate medical evaluation. You can debrief after.”

Wanda froze, her jaw tightening. “No.”

The agent arched a brow. “Not a request.”

“She stays with us.” Wanda’s Sokovian accent cut sharp, threaded with steel.

The shorter agent sighed, motioning with the scanner. “We’ll be gentle. But this isn’t optional.”

Wanda’s fingers sparked red before Natasha caught her wrist, firm but not harsh. She felt the tremor in Wanda’s pulse, the quicksilver fury threatening to boil over.

Natasha stepped forward. “You want an evaluation? Fine. But she doesn’t leave our sight.”

The taller agent’s gaze narrowed. “That’s not protocol.”

Natasha leaned in, her eyes hard as glass. “Protocol changes.”

For a moment, the air held taut. The scanner whirred, impatient. Wanda’s power shimmered faintly in the corner of Natasha’s vision, like heat rising off asphalt.

Then the taller agent exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before stepping aside. “Fine. But the Director will have questions.”

“Let him,” Natasha said coldly.

They continued, but Natasha could feel the stares tracking them from every corridor. A trail of eyes, whispers, suspicion. It was like walking through a minefield, waiting for the inevitable spark.

The spark came faster than she expected.

When they reached the med bay, a doctor in a white coat moved quickly toward them, gloves already pulled on. Behind her, two orderlies pushed a gurney into place.

“Set her down here,” the doctor ordered briskly, motioning to the gurney.

Wanda immediately shifted back, her grip tightening. “No.”

The doctor’s frown deepened. “We need to run scans. Blood tests. Trauma evaluation. If she’s been conditioned-”

“She’s a child,” Wanda snapped. “Not a specimen.”

The orderlies exchanged uncertain looks, but one moved closer, hands out as if to coax the girl away.

That was the moment you broke.

A small, panicked cry ripped from your throat, shrill and desperate. You writhed in Wanda’s arms, kicking against the sight of the strangers reaching for you. Your fingers tangled in her hair, clutching hard as though you feared being torn away.

“Shh, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Wanda whispered quickly, rocking you against her chest. But her magic surged in response to your terror, scarlet threads weaving wildly in the air.

The orderlies stumbled back, eyes wide. Alarms began to beep as the scanners detected the spike of energy.

“Maximoff, control yourself!” the doctor barked.

“Stay away from her!” Wanda’s voice cracked, grief and fury mingling.

Natasha moved without thought. She stepped between Wanda and the others, her stance deadly calm. One hand hovered near her sidearm, the other raised in warning.

“Enough.”

The room froze. Even the alarms seemed quieter against the weight of her tone.

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. “Romanoff, stand down. This is SHIELD jurisdiction.”

“Not anymore,” Natasha said evenly. Her gaze flicked briefly to Wanda and the trembling child in her arms, then back to the doctor. “You want to evaluate her? You do it later. Somewhere safe. On our terms. Not like this.”

“That isn’t your call,” the doctor snapped.

“It is now.” Natasha’s voice cut like a knife. “You lay one hand on her, you answer to me.”

The silence stretched. Then the taller agent from before appeared in the doorway, his jaw tight. “Director’s not going to like this.”

Natasha gave a humorless smile. “He rarely does.”

With that, she turned, guiding Wanda toward the exit. The agents in the hall stiffened, but none moved to block them. Not when Natasha’s eyes burned with the promise of violence.

By the time they reached the parking level, Wanda’s hands were still trembling, though she hadn’t let you go for a second.

Natasha opened the passenger door of her bike’s sidecar, motioning quickly. “In.”

Wanda hesitated. “Nat-”

“They won’t stop coming once Fury signs off,” Natasha said grimly. “We don’t wait around for that order.”

Wanda swallowed hard, then slid carefully into the sidecar with you still clutched against her. Natasha swung onto the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath her.

The garage lights blurred as she tore out into the night, weaving through late traffic with practiced ease. Her heart hammered, but for the first time since the mission began, her path felt clear.

You pressed your face against Wanda’s chest, too exhausted to cry anymore. Wanda murmured to you in soft Sokovian, the words carrying more comfort than any translation ever could.

Natasha kept her focus on the road, but her chest ached at the sound.

They arrived at Natasha and Wanda’s house on the edge of the city just before dawn. A modest brick townhouse tucked into a quiet street, its windows dark, curtains drawn. It looked ordinary, unassuming, exactly why Natasha had chosen it years ago.

She parked the bike in the narrow alley, helping Wanda and you out of the sidecar. You clung to Wanda even as she adjusted her grip, your cheek pressed firmly against her collarbone.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of cedar and dust. Natasha locked the door behind them, bolting it twice before setting the security panel. Only then did she allow herself to exhale.

Wanda sank onto the worn sofa, still rocking you gently. Your tiny body had gone slack at last, sleep overtaking panic. Wanda smoothed a hand over your tangled hair, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching them.

“You made the choice,” Wanda said softly, not looking up. “You chose her.”

Natasha’s throat tightened. She thought of every reason she had to say no. Every shadow of her own past that whispered she wasn’t built for this. But the sight before her, the small child curled against Wanda, safe for the first time in who knew how long, silenced them all.

“I chose right,” Natasha said finally.

For the first time that night, Wanda’s lips curved into a tired, grateful smile.

Natasha looked away quickly, but not before the thought crossed her mind, unbidden and terrifying.

This was only the beginning.

The safehouse was still, almost too still after the chaos of SHIELD’s halls. The hum of the city outside barely reached through the thick curtains, leaving the rooms wrapped in silence.

Wanda sat on the couch, her coat still bundled around the tiny child now asleep in her arms. Your little breaths came slow and uneven, the remnants of fear still clinging to you even in sleep. Every so often, your hand twitched, grasping at Wanda’s blouse like you feared she might vanish if you let go.

Natasha lingered near the door longer than necessary, checking and re-checking every lock, every seal, every window. It was instinct, her way of keeping busy, keeping control, when inside she felt anything but.

When she finally crossed into the living room, she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Wanda didn’t look up right away, her eyes focused entirely on you. She smoothed a hand gently over your tangled hair, whispering something soft in Sokovian that Natasha didn’t catch.

The sound was tender, protective. It struck something deep in Natasha’s chest.

“She trusts you already,” Natasha said quietly.

Wanda’s eyes lifted at last. “She doesn’t trust. She clings. There’s a difference.” Her voice was thick with sorrow. “But yes, with me, she clings.”

Natasha stepped further into the room, sitting gingerly on the edge of the chair opposite the sofa. For a long moment, she studied you in Wanda’s arms, so small it hurt to look.

“You’re not wrong,” Natasha admitted. “But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel safer with you. You’re the first person she’s seen who didn’t want to use her or cage her. That matters.”

Wanda’s lips pressed together, her thumb stroking your cheek absently. “And you?” she asked softly.

Natasha hesitated. She felt your gaze on her even though you were fast asleep, as if the weight of this choice still pressed against her ribs. She exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t sure I could do it.”

Wanda frowned. “Do what?”

“Be what she needs.” Natasha’s gaze dropped to her hands, clasped tightly together. “I’ve never been that for anyone. I’ve never been allowed to be.” She shook her head. “When they said custody, when they said tests, part of me thought they were right. That someone else, someone normal, should take her.”

The words scraped out of her like glass. But Wanda didn’t flinch. She only watched, patient and steady.

Natasha swallowed hard and continued. “And then she cried. And you-” Her voice cracked for a moment, unexpected. “You held her like she was yours. And I remembered what it felt like to cry like that. Alone. With no one who gave a damn whether I screamed or stayed silent.”

Her throat burned. She rubbed at it absently, blinking fast. “So I chose. Not because I think I’m good at this. Not because I think I can be what she deserves. But because I won’t let her go through what I did. Not again. Not ever.”

The silence stretched. Then Wanda leaned forward, her free hand reaching across to Natasha’s knee. Her fingers were warm, grounding.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Wanda said softly. “Neither of us do. We just have to stay. To be here. That’s more than anyone was for her before. That’s already enough.”

Natasha’s eyes lifted to meet Wanda’s. The scarlet glow in them had softened, warm instead of sharp. And for a fleeting second, Natasha let herself believe Wanda might be right.

She leaned back, dragging a hand down her face. “Fury’s going to kill us for this.”

Wanda almost smiled. “He can try.”

Natasha huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re predictable,” Wanda teased gently. Then her expression softened again. “But you did the right thing.”

Natasha didn’t reply. Not with words. Instead, she stood and moved to the couch, settling carefully beside Wanda. You shifted in your sleep at the change, one tiny hand stretching blindly until it brushed Natasha’s sleeve.

The contact was feather-light, but it froze Natasha in place. Slowly, carefully, she let your hand rest there, her arm unmoving. You didn’t stir again, your breath evening out as you nestled back against Wanda’s chest.

Natasha stared at you for a long time, her heart pounding strangely hard. Finally, she whispered, “She’s so small.”

Wanda’s voice was barely above a breath. “She’s ours now.”

Natasha closed her eyes, letting the truth of it settle. She wasn’t ready for the weight of those words. But for the first time in years, she didn’t want to run from it either.

Later, after Wanda carried you into the spare bedroom and tucked you into clean sheets, the two women lingered in the doorway.

The room was dim, lit only by the sliver of city glow seeping through the blinds. You were curled on your side, thumb brushing your lips, the blanket pulled tight around you.

Wanda leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded loosely. Natasha stood rigid, hands in her pockets.

“She looks peaceful,” Wanda murmured.

“Looks can lie,” Natasha said softly.

Wanda turned her head toward her. “Not this time.”

Natasha glanced at her, searching her face. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Believe.”

Wanda’s lips curved faintly. “Because I have to. For her. And for you.”

Natasha looked back into the room, at the tiny figure in the bed. A long silence stretched. Then, almost reluctantly, she said, “We’ll figure it out. Somehow.”

Wanda’s smile softened, a mix of relief and determination. “Together.”

Natasha nodded, the word catching in her throat but finding its way out anyway. “Together.”

That night, Natasha slept on the couch, too restless to settle in her bed. Wanda joined her after a while, curling beside her with a blanket thrown across them both.

Halfway through the night, Natasha woke to the sound of soft footsteps. She sat up instantly, tension prickling, only to find you, tiny and unsteady, standing in the living room doorway.

Your eyes were half-shut, your blanket dragging along the floor behind you. You looked lost, the way children sometimes do when nightmares chase them from sleep.

Wanda stirred at Natasha’s shift and followed her gaze. Without hesitation, she opened her arms. “Come here, draga mea.”

You shuffled forward, clutching the blanket, and climbed clumsily into Wanda’s lap. Natasha moved aside, making room as Wanda pulled you close.

Within moments, you were asleep again, tucked between them on the couch, small and warm and safe.

Natasha lay back down, staring at the ceiling. The weight of you against her side was startling, unfamiliar. But as your tiny hand curled unconsciously against her shirt, she felt something she hadn’t in years.

Not fear.

Not doubt.

Something dangerously close to hope.

Chapter Text

The first rays of morning slipped softly through the curtains, painting the living room in a gentle wash of gold and silver. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunbeams, catching the light like tiny stars. The quiet hum of the city outside was distant, almost abstract, muffled by thick glass and the familiarity of home.

On the couch, Natasha shifted slightly, heavy eyelids parting reluctantly. Her gaze fell immediately to the tiny, curled-up figure pressed against her side. You stirred, a faint murmur escaping lips parted in sleep, and Natasha’s chest tightened. She had fallen asleep with you clinging to her chest, little fists tangled in her shirt, your cheek pressed warm and soft against her arm.

Her first thought, immediate and sharp, was guilt. Had she rolled over in her sleep? Had she hurt you without even realizing it? The idea made her stomach twist. Every instinct she had honed over years of missions and Red Room conditioning screamed that she needed to check, to reassure herself that nothing had gone wrong.

Slowly, Natasha moved, careful not to wake you. Your breathing was shallow but steady, chest rising and falling in rhythm with Wanda’s faint humming from the kitchen. Wanda had been awake for a while, the soft clatter of pans and the muted hiss of the stove reaching them through the quiet living room.

Natasha’s hands hovered, unsure. She leaned slightly, careful to keep her movements minimal. Your small head nudged against her shoulder, and for a moment Natasha froze, imagining all the ways she could have harmed someone so fragile. The Red Room had taught her control, taught her how to suppress fear, taught her to compartmentalize. Yet this, this vulnerable, trusting weight against her chest, made all her training irrelevant.

Her mind flickered to images she hadn’t let herself confront for years: rows of girls, silent and obedient, their bodies and wills molded by fear and violence. And then there was you, asleep and entirely unaware of the horrors you had endured, trusting two women you had known for mere hours in a way she still couldn’t comprehend.

“Don’t, don’t move,” she whispered softly, almost to herself. The words weren’t for you, they were for her own racing thoughts, for the panic clawing at the edges of her chest.

The smell of something sweet and buttery drifted from the kitchen, and her gaze flicked toward it. Wanda was humming low, a melodic tone Natasha couldn’t recognize, moving with grace and familiarity as she flipped something golden on the stove. Natasha’s lips pressed together. Even now, in a house still humming from tension, still settling from chaos, Wanda’s calm presence radiated like a shield.

Natasha shifted again, this time more intentionally. She adjusted her arm beneath you, careful not to disturb the fragile weight. Tiny fingers brushed against her sleeve, and her chest clenched. You were asleep, yet even in sleep, you clung as though her presence was a lifeline. And in a way, it was.

For a long moment, Natasha simply breathed, listening to the quiet, the gentle hum of the city, the distant sizzle of pancakes, Wanda’s soft voice murmuring in a language Natasha didn’t understand. It was almost peaceful, almost normal. And yet, the shadow of fear lingered, the memory of what the Red Room had taken from children like you refusing to loosen its grip.

Natasha’s eyes trailed down your small body. Even in sleep, you were alert in some primal way, your tiny fists curled, your toes twitching, as though bracing for a danger long past. Her fingers itched to smooth the tangled strands of hair plastered to your forehead, to brush away invisible threats. She resisted. Any sudden movement might startle you.

Her mind, always racing, ran through contingencies. What if you woke now and panicked? What if you remembered, in fragments, what had happened in the facility? What if your trust, fragile as it already was, shattered in the blink of an eye?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay still. She couldn’t rush this, couldn’t force the process. She remembered every moment she had spent surviving the Red Room, every second spent hiding her terror behind a mask of obedience. You deserved time. Time to breathe. Time to learn that not everyone who held you close wanted to hurt you.

The quiet from the kitchen shifted, a faint clink of a fork or spatula, and Wanda’s soft voice rose in a tone Natasha had begun to recognize as coaxing. She wasn’t talking to Natasha, and yet the melody of her words settled something in Natasha’s chest. Even in her own panic, she realized she could trust Wanda to handle the small, delicate life curled in her arms.

Her eyes flicked down again at you. Your small chest lifted and fell, slow, even. A faint sigh escaped your lips, and Natasha felt a shiver of relief, small but piercing, like the first raindrop of a storm finally breaking. You were safe for now. Safe, if only for a few moments more.

She leaned slightly, letting her cheek brush against the top of your head, breathing in the faint scent of shampoo, sweat, and something uniquely yours. Her mind, trained to fight, to survive, to plan, now only focused on a single truth: she couldn’t hurt you. Not now. Not ever.

The sofa creaked beneath her as she shifted once more, this time adjusting so that Wanda, still moving quietly in the kitchen, could see that you were safe. She caught a faint smile from Wanda, a simple, understanding gesture that seemed to say everything Natasha couldn’t voice: I’ve got her. We’ve got her. You’re not alone in this.

Natasha’s chest rose and fell, her breathing finally easing slightly. She allowed herself to relax fractionally, though the tension didn’t vanish entirely. Not while you slept. Not while the world outside carried remnants of the Red Room with it.

You stirred, small fingers tangling in her sleeve again, and she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, almost a vow. I won’t let anything hurt you. She whispered it silently, words meant only for herself and you in her arms.

A few moments later, you shifted again, tiny murmurs escaping as you moved closer to Natasha instinctively. She froze for a second, heart hammering, before letting herself exhale. This wasn’t just survival anymore. This was care. This was the delicate, terrifying responsibility of being someone who could actually protect you.

Wanda’s voice, still soft and low, hummed from the kitchen. Natasha’s eyes flicked toward the sound, then back at you. The panic, the fear of harming you, ebbed slightly, replaced by something unfamiliar: determination. She would be careful. She would stay alert. She would learn what it meant to hold a life so fragile in her arms without letting it break.

The sun continued to rise, spilling more light across the living room, illuminating the chaos of blankets and pillows, the gentle curve of your sleeping form. Natasha’s hand moved unconsciously, brushing against the top of your head again, then down your back, settling in a protective rhythm.

For the first time since the Red Room, she allowed herself to hope.

You were alive. You were here. And for the first time, Natasha felt that maybe, just maybe, she could help you be more than just a survivor.

Wanda appeared at the doorway a few minutes later, holding a tray carefully balanced with pancakes, berries, and a small jug of syrup. Her lips curved in a gentle, encouraging smile, eyes flicking between Natasha and you. “Breakfast is ready,” she murmured, her voice soft, warm, grounding.

Natasha’s chest tightened again, not with fear this time, but anticipation. She carefully shifted, making sure not to jostle you, and whispered, almost to herself, “Let’s eat together.”

You stirred slightly at the sound, tiny eyelids fluttering. You murmured something incoherent, a soft, sleepy sound, before snuggling closer into Wanda’s warmth. Natasha’s heart ached with something she couldn’t name, some combination of love, guilt, and hope.

For now, though, the world was quiet. Safe. And for the first time since the fire, Natasha allowed herself to believe that the chaos of the Red Room, the trauma, and the fear could maybe, just maybe, be left behind, if only for this morning, on the couch, with the two of them.

Wanda woke you, crouched in front of you with a small tray balanced carefully in her hands. On it were three warm pancakes stacked unevenly, a few bright berries scattered across the top, and a small cup of milk. You blinked slowly, your eyes narrowing at the strange sight.

“What's that?” you murmured, voice small.

“Pancakes,” Wanda said gently, smiling down at you. “Do you want to try one?”

You poked the top pancake with a finger, then pulled your hand back. It felt soft, warm, different from the hard bread or bland porridge you remembered. “Soft,” you said, curiosity mixing with caution.

“Yes,” Natasha said, voice quiet but encouraging. “Try a little piece. It’s safe.”

You hesitated, picking up the tiniest corner of the pancake. It wobbled in your grip, and you tilted it toward your mouth. The moment it touched your tongue, your eyes widened. “Sweet,” you said, surprise clear in your tone.

“Good, isn’t it?” Wanda asked, smiling warmly.

“Mmm good,” you said, nibbling another tiny piece. Your small hands were careful, almost reverent, as though holding something fragile.

Natasha reached over and brushed a stray curl from your forehead. “Breakfast in the Red Room was never like this,” she said softly. “Usually stale bread. Porridge that didn’t taste like anything. Sometimes fruit but only if you were very quiet, very obedient.”

You looked down at the berries, poking at one with your finger. It rolled slightly before you pinched it up and popped it in your mouth. “Sweet!” you exclaimed, eyes lighting up.

“Yes,” Wanda said. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” you whispered again, a tiny smile spreading across your face. “Yummy.”

Wanda carefully cut another small piece of pancake for you. “Take your time,” she said. “Eat as much as you want.”

You did, slowly, savoring each bite. After a few moments, you sat back slightly, resting your hands on your tiny belly. “Full belly,” you said proudly.

“Yes,” Natasha said, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Full belly. Good.”

You reached for the small cup of milk, hesitating just a moment before taking a cautious sip. “It's cold, good!” you said, giggling softly.

Natasha’s hand brushed against yours as she reached for the tray. “You’re safe,” she said quietly. “You can eat as much as you want. Nobody will take it away from you.”

You repeated her words, as if practicing: “Safe, good, yummy.”

“That’s right,” Wanda said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Always safe. Always good.”

You ate another small piece, eyes darting between the pancakes and the women watching you. “More?” you asked, tilting your head toward the stack.

“Yes,” Wanda said, offering the next piece with a gentle smile. “You can have more. There’s plenty.”

Natasha watched you carefully, noting the way your small hands moved so deliberately, the tiny pauses as though each bite were a discovery. She felt a small, unfamiliar swell in her chest. You were learning that food could be warm, sweet, and safe. That it could be something to enjoy, not endure.

After a few more bites, your eyelids began to droop, heavy with sleep. “Sleep more,” you murmured, your little voice barely audible.

“Yes,” Natasha whispered, brushing a hand over your back. “Sleep more, little one.”

You curled against Wanda again, tiny body softening as exhaustion finally caught up. Wanda held you close, rocking gently, murmuring in soft Sokovian words that wrapped around you like a protective blanket.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. She let herself watch you, heart still tight with cautious relief. You had tasted something new, something warm, and had come away smiling. It was a small victory, but after everything, it felt monumental.

“First time, happy,” you whispered in the last moments before sleep overtook you, tiny hands clutching Wanda’s blouse.

Natasha’s chest ached at the sight. You were safe, finally allowed a little joy, and she knew, deep in her bones, that she and Wanda would guard that fiercely.

Wanda’s eyes softened as she looked down at you. “See? She likes it,” she murmured to Natasha. “Little victories.”

Natasha gave a small, tight smile. “She deserves every single one,” she said quietly, her gaze lingering on your tiny, sleeping form.

The morning sunlight stretched across the living room, and for once, the quiet felt good, safe, warm, and promising.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The bathwater steamed faintly, the surface shimmering as Wanda swirled her hand through it, testing the temperature. She had always been precise with her powers, with her cooking, with her magic, now that same care guided something as simple as drawing a bath. Not too hot, not too cold. Just warm enough to ease tension out of tiny muscles.

You stood beside her, small fists curled at your sides, eyes fixed on the tub like it was something foreign.

“Bath,” Wanda explained gently, crouching so her eyes were level with yours. “Warm water. It feels nice.”

“Bath?” you repeated softly, the word uncertain on your tongue.

“Yes, malen’kaya.” Wanda smiled. “We’ll wash your hair, your hands, and make you all clean. Then new clothes.”

At that, your head tilted. “New clothes?”

Wanda reached for the folded bundle waiting on the counter, a pair of soft leggings and a little lavender shirt with tiny stars scattered across the fabric. She smoothed her palm over the material. “Morgan left these. They’re her old clothes, but they will fit you. They are soft. Comfortable.”

You stared at the shirt, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Pretty.”

Wanda’s heart softened. “Yes. Very pretty. Just for you.”

Natasha had slipped into the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed loosely. Her sharp eyes flicked between you and the tub, watchful but not unkind. “She looks nervous,” Natasha said quietly.

“I know,” Wanda murmured. She reached for your hand, her fingers brushing lightly over your knuckles. “It’s okay to be nervous. But I promise, it will feel good. And I’ll be right here the whole time.”

You shuffled closer, your small toes brushing against the tile. The steam curled upward, brushing your cheeks. You wrinkled your nose, unsure.

Natasha crouched then, her green eyes steady on yours. “When I was small, they didn’t give us warm water,” she admitted softly. “Cold. Always cold. But this, this is better. Kinder.”

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Cold bad.”

“Yes,” Natasha said, her lips twitching faintly. “Cold was bad. But Wanda makes things better.”

That seemed to be enough. You took a tiny step closer to the tub, still clutching Wanda’s hand.

“Would you like to try?” Wanda asked.

You nodded once, jerky but determined.

Wanda smiled. She helped you out of the too-big sweatshirt and pants, her hands careful, never rushing. She caught Natasha’s eyes over your head for just a second, something unspoken passing between them: how thin you were, how small. Natasha’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing.

Once the last piece of fabric was gone, Wanda lifted you gently under the arms and lowered you into the tub. The moment the warm water touched your skin, your little body tensed, shoulders hunching.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Wanda soothed, her voice soft as a lullaby. “It’s just water. Feel, warm, not cold.”

You paused, then pressed your palm flat against the surface. The water rippled around your hand. You blinked, surprise flickering across your face. “Warm.”

“That’s right,” Wanda said, smiling. She poured a cupful of water over your arm, letting it stream down your skin. “See? Nice.”

You giggled, a quick burst of sound like a hiccup. “Tickle.”

Natasha’s lips curved despite herself. “She likes it.”

“Yes,” Wanda murmured, relief in her tone.

The bath became a series of tiny discoveries. You splashed cautiously at first, then a little more boldly, sending droplets onto Wanda’s sleeves. You pressed your toes against the smooth porcelain and hummed softly, as if the warmth soaked into your bones.

Wanda worked slowly, rubbing gentle circles with the soft cloth over your arms, your back, your hair. She hummed under her breath, an old Sokovian lullaby, one she hadn’t sung in years. It seemed to keep you calm, your tiny frame relaxing into her hands.

But when she smoothed the cloth over your shoulder, her breath caught.

Bruises. Faded yellow and green, mottled across delicate skin. She saw them again on your ribs, faint fingerprints ghosting along your arms. Not fresh, but not old either.

Her chest clenched.

Wanda didn’t stop moving the cloth, didn’t let her hands falter. She forced her voice to remain soft, steady, so you wouldn’t hear the storm gathering behind her ribs. “Does the water feel good, malen’kaya?”

“Yes,” you said, swishing your hand back and forth, fascinated by the tiny waves you made. “Good.”

She smiled, but her eyes burned. “I’m glad.”

From the doorway, Natasha had seen the way Wanda’s shoulders stiffened. Her eyes narrowed. She followed Wanda’s gaze, and when she caught sight of the bruises, something cold and murderous flared behind her eyes. But she didn’t move closer. Not now. Not in front of you.

Instead, she said evenly, “When you’re done, I’ll grab a towel.”

Wanda nodded, her lips pressed thin. She rinsed your hair carefully, cupping her hand to shield your eyes from the water. You tilted your chin back obediently, the trust in that small motion enough to fracture something inside both women.

“All clean,” Wanda murmured after the last rinse, her smile returning. She held out her hands. “Ready to come out?”

You nodded eagerly.

Wrapped in the towel Natasha had grabbed with quick, brisk hands, you looked impossibly small. Wanda rubbed your hair gently, fluffing it dry, while Natasha steadied the fabric around your shoulders.

“Soft,” you murmured, rubbing your cheek against the towel.

Natasha’s lips curved. “Better than the scratchy ones they gave us.”

Wanda shot her a quick look, but Natasha’s voice hadn’t carried bitterness. Only truth.

Once you were dry, Wanda helped you into the lavender shirt and leggings. The shirt’s sleeves were a little long, brushing over your wrists, but you tugged at the hem with wide eyes.

“Stars,” you whispered, touching the tiny prints.

“Yes,” Wanda said, crouching to meet your gaze. “You shine like one.”

“Pretty,” you said again, this time with a small smile curling your lips.

Natasha leaned against the counter, arms still folded, watching. “They suit her,” she said softly.

Wanda’s hand lingered on your shoulder, her smile warm but her eyes clouded. “Yes. They do.”

You twirled once on unsteady feet, the fabric brushing your knees. “New clothes.”

“Yes,” Natasha said, voice low, almost reverent. “New clothes. Yours.”

The bathroom was still warm with steam, but it felt different now, softer, filled with something fragile but real. A small piece of normalcy, stitched together with warm water, a towel, and a lavender shirt covered in stars.

For you, it was just a bath. Just new clothes. But for Wanda and Natasha, it was the beginning of something else entirely: proof that you could be cared for, gently, without fear.

Wanda smoothed a hand over your hair, tucking a curl behind your ear. “You did so well,” she whispered. “My brave girl.”

You leaned into her touch, tiny eyes closing for a moment. “Warm. Pretty. Safe.”

Natasha’s breath caught at the words. She had never said them as a child. She had never believed them. But here you were, wrapped in stars and safety, saying them like they were the most natural truth.

Wanda met Natasha’s gaze over your head. No words passed between them, but the bruises haunted both of their thoughts. Later, when you were playing, when you couldn’t hear, they would talk.

For now, Wanda kissed your temple and whispered, “Yes, malen’kaya. Safe.”

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The living room floor had transformed into something new. Wanda had gone to the closet earlier, pulling out a big canvas bin that rattled faintly when she shifted it. Inside were toys, bits and pieces left behind from the days Morgan had visited, or from the Barton kids when they stayed over.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, staring at the colorful pile with wide eyes.

“Mine?” you whispered, not quite believing.

Wanda knelt beside you, brushing your hair back from your cheek. “Yes. They’re for you to play with. Some belonged to Morgan, some to the Barton children. But they are yours now, malen’kaya, when you are here.”

Natasha had stretched out on the couch nearby, one leg hooked over the arm, her eyes following your every move. Not tense exactly, but alert, the way she always was when something mattered.

You reached into the bin slowly, your fingers brushing against a small plastic figure. You pulled it out, holding it awkwardly. A toy soldier, its paint chipped from years of battles across imaginary fields.

“Tiny man,” you said seriously.

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Yes. That’s a soldier.”

“Like you,” you said, turning your head toward her.

Her chest squeezed at the simple comparison. “Maybe,” she said softly. “But he’s plastic. I think you’re stronger than him.”

You blinked at her, then held the figure out like an offering. “Yours.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, detka. He’s yours now.”

Your mouth opened in a small “oh,” and then you clutched the soldier to your chest like something precious.

Wanda’s heart ached. She reached into the bin and pulled out something else: a soft plush rabbit with floppy ears. She held it out. “This one is very good at cuddles.”

You took it, turning it over in your hands, eyes darting across its worn fur. Slowly, you pressed your cheek against it. “Soft,” you whispered.

Natasha’s throat worked as she looked away, blinking hard.

The afternoon settled into a gentle rhythm. You moved from toy to toy, stacking colorful blocks, lining up mismatched cars, pressing buttons on a toy phone that beeped too loudly. Every new discovery came with little bursts of wonder.

“Block fall!” you announced when your tower toppled.

“Yes,” Wanda laughed. “That’s part of the fun.”

“Fix it,” you declared, starting again with determined little hands.

Natasha leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You like building?”

“Yes.” You placed another block carefully. Then you looked up, eyes wide. “You help?”

For a moment Natasha froze, caught off guard. Help. The word had never been asked of her as a child. Orders, commands, yes. But never help.

She reached for a block. “Of course.”

Side by side, the two of you built a crooked, leaning tower that eventually collapsed in a clatter. You giggled, clutching your rabbit. Natasha chuckled too, a rare, quiet sound that made Wanda’s chest warm.

After a while, Wanda disappeared into the kitchen to make tea. When she came back, Natasha was still on the rug, watching you zoom a toy car across the floor. She looked up, caught Wanda’s eyes, and something passed between them.

Later, Wanda thought. Not now.

She waited until you were deeply occupied, your rabbit tucked safely beside you as you arranged blocks into a careful line. Then she touched Natasha’s arm lightly and nodded toward the kitchen.

Natasha rose silently, following her. Wanda glanced back, your attention hadn’t wavered. Good.

The kitchen was quiet, the hum of the fridge filling the space between them. Wanda set the kettle back on the stove, her hands trembling faintly.

“I saw them,” she whispered.

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “Bruises?”

Wanda nodded, swallowing hard. “On her shoulder. Her ribs. Old, but-” She trailed off, pressing a hand against the counter. “Someone put their hands on her. Hard.”

For a moment Natasha didn’t breathe. She braced her palms against the table, shoulders rigid. When she spoke, her voice was low, dangerous. “I’ll find them.”

“Nat,” Wanda said softly, stepping closer.

“No,” Natasha snapped, though the heat in her voice wasn’t for Wanda. She dragged a hand through her hair, pacing once across the floor. “She’s a child. A baby. And they-” Her voice broke off, sharp with fury she couldn’t finish.

Wanda caught her hand, grounding her. “I know.”

Natasha’s chest heaved. “That facility was supposed to be destroyed when Yelena and I took out Dreykov. We were supposed to-” She bit down on the words, green eyes burning.

“She doesn’t need our rage right now,” Wanda said gently. “She needs us calm. Gentle. We can carry the fury later. But in front of her-”

Natasha closed her eyes, fighting for control. She saw the bruises every time she blinked. Saw them on her own body, years ago. It made her blood boil.

When she opened her eyes, Wanda was still holding her hand. Natasha squeezed it once, hard. “You’re right,” she said hoarsely. “For her. I’ll keep it together.”

Wanda nodded. She smoothed her thumb over Natasha’s knuckles. “We’ll tell her she’s safe, and then we’ll show her. Every day. Until she believes it.”

From the living room came your small voice: “Block fell again!”

Both women froze, then smiled faintly despite themselves.

Natasha exhaled, the rage banked for now. “She’s tougher than she looks.”

“Yes,” Wanda agreed softly. Her gaze shifted back toward the living room, toward you sitting among the toys, stubbornly rebuilding your tower. “But she shouldn’t have to be.”

Natasha’s eyes softened. “Not anymore.”

Together, they stepped back into the living room. You looked up immediately, rabbit in your lap and blocks scattered around you.

“Hi,” you said brightly, as if you’d noticed nothing at all.

Natasha crouched back down beside you, picking up a block. “Ready to try again?”

“Help,” you said simply, holding out a piece.

Wanda’s chest ached. She sat down on your other side, her skirts brushing against the rug. “Then we’ll all build together.”

You smiled, small but real, and handed them each a block. And as the three of you built, crooked towers and winding lines, Wanda and Natasha held their silence about the bruises.

Later, when you were asleep, they would plan on how to find who was left of the red room. Later, Natasha would sharpen her knives and Wanda would whisper promises into the dark.

But for now, in the glow of the living room, there were only blocks, a rabbit, and the sound of your laughter threading through the air.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The toys still lay scattered across the rug, colorful little islands on the floor. Your rabbit was tucked safely under your arm as you curled on the couch, eyelids heavy after so much excitement. Natasha had coaxed you up with a gentle nudge, and now you were half-asleep against a pillow, mumbling soft nonsense as your body finally gave in to exhaustion.

Wanda brushed her hand over your hair once, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. You didn’t stir, just sighed and pressed closer to the plush rabbit.

“She looks peaceful,” Natasha murmured from her place in the armchair.

“Peaceful,” Wanda agreed softly. “But look around, Nat.”

Natasha’s sharp eyes flicked over the living room, blocks abandoned mid-game, the bin of toys open and spilling, a blanket sliding off the couch. “What about it?”

Wanda stood, her hands resting lightly on her hips. “These things aren’t hers. They’re borrowed, hand-me-downs. The rabbit, the blocks, the clothes she’s wearing, they came from Morgan or the Bartons. She deserves more than leftovers.”

Natasha tilted her head, studying Wanda. “She doesn’t seem to mind.”

“That’s not the point.” Wanda’s voice was soft but firm. She gestured toward you, your tiny hands curled protectively around the rabbit’s floppy ear. “She is coming from a place where she had nothing, Nat. Nothing but orders, training, bruises. If she is going to learn what childhood really means, she needs her own things. Clothes that fit her. Toys that are new, chosen for her, not passed down from someone else’s childhood.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, leaning back in the chair. “You’re right,” she admitted after a pause. “But it feels strange.”

“Strange?”

Natasha’s gaze lingered on you, her face shadowed by memory. “When I was her age, the only thing I owned was the cot they shoved me into. Even then, it wasn’t really mine. The idea of spoiling her, it feels like a luxury.”

Wanda walked over, crouching in front of Natasha so their eyes met. “It’s not spoiling, Nat. It’s healing. She deserves to know that things can belong to her. That she is allowed to want. Allowed to have. That’s how she learns she’s safe.”

Natasha’s throat worked, her jaw tight. “Safe.” The word sounded foreign on her tongue.

“Yes,” Wanda whispered. Her hand found Natasha’s, squeezing lightly. “Safe. With us.”

Natasha didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at you again, your small body curled on the couch. Something in her expression softened, as if a crack had opened in the wall she’d kept so long.

Finally she nodded once. “Fine. We’ll get her things.”

Wanda smiled faintly, though her eyes shimmered. “Clothes first. She has almost nothing that fits. And shoes.”

Natasha hummed in agreement. “A coat too. The weather’s turning.”

“And books,” Wanda added quickly. “Something gentle, something we can read to her at night.”

Natasha’s lips quirked. “You’re already planning story time?”

Wanda’s smile turned wry. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t sit through ‘Goodnight Moon’ with her.”

Natasha rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.

Wanda pressed on, her voice growing more certain. “Toys that help her learn, too. Puzzles, blocks, crayons. She’s missed years of safe exploration. If we give her tools, she’ll find her way.”

Natasha nodded slowly, the soldier in her calculating what was needed. “So: clothes, shoes, coat, books, toys.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “Bed?”

Wanda glanced toward the couch, where you shifted slightly in your sleep. “Yes. We'll make the guest room hers. She needs her own space, even if she’s afraid at first. Somewhere she knows is hers.”

Natasha leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “A room.”

“Yes,” Wanda said firmly. “A room. With her name on the door if she wants. With sheets she picks out herself. We can let her help choose colors. Show her, her opinion matters.”

Natasha’s eyes softened at that. “No one ever asked us what we wanted.”

“No,” Wanda whispered. “But we can ask her.”

For a long moment, they were both quiet, listening to the sound of your soft breathing. The kettle clicked faintly in the kitchen, forgotten.

Finally Natasha said, “We’ll need to tell Stark.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. “Tell him?”

“He’ll notice,” Natasha said dryly. “If he finds out we didn't tell him he'll throw a tantrum. If we tell him, he’ll probably try to send a truck of toys straight here.”

Wanda laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re not wrong. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Morgan has more than enough. Pepper has good taste. If Stark wants to contribute, why not let him?”

Natasha sighed. “Because he’ll spoil her rotten. And then Barton’s kids will come over and riot because she has more toys than they do.”

“Then let him,” Wanda said simply. “Better too much love than too little.”

Natasha didn’t argue. She just stared at you, quiet and thoughtful. “She deserves it,” she said at last, her voice low. “After what they did to her, she deserves everything.”

Wanda’s hand brushed her arm again, grounding her. “Yes,” she murmured. “She does.”

The two of them stood there for a moment, the weight of the decision settling over them. Not just toys or clothes. Not just a bed or books. But a choice. A commitment.

They weren’t just saving you from the Red Room. They were giving you a new life.

Natasha rose, her movement quiet and sure. She walked over to the couch, crouching beside you. You stirred, blinking blearily.

“Nat?” you whispered, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m here,” Natasha murmured. She smoothed the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

You blinked once more, then whispered, “Safe?”

Natasha’s chest ached. She glanced at Wanda, who stood nearby, her expression soft. Then Natasha leaned closer and whispered, “Yes. Safe.”

Your tiny hand reached out, brushing Natasha’s wrist before falling back against the rabbit. Within moments, you were asleep again.

Natasha stayed crouched there for a long while, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. Finally she whispered, more to herself than anyone, “We’ll get you everything. Everything they stole from us. You won’t want for anything.”

Wanda’s eyes burned, but she smiled. “Tomorrow,” she said gently. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

And for the first time in years, Natasha believed tomorrow might actually bring something better.

Chapter Text

You wake up in the guest room, blinking at the pale morning light spilling through the blinds. The blanket smells faintly like lavender, Wanda must have washed it yesterday, and your bunny is tucked against your chest, soft ears pressed under your chin. For a moment you don’t move. The room is still strange, not quite yours, but not as scary as it had been the first night.

Wanda’s gentle knock comes before the door creaks open.
“Good morning, darling,” she says, her voice warm. She crouches by the bed, brushing back your hair. “Did you sleep well?”

You nod slowly, clutching Bunny tighter. “Where’s Nat’cha?”

“She ran out early,” Wanda explains, helping you sit up. “She wanted to pick something up before we go. But she’ll be back soon.”

“Go where?”

Wanda smiles, tucking the blanket around you for one last squeeze before pulling it back. “Shopping. For you. Clothes, toys, books, whatever we think you’ll need.”

Your mouth drops open. “All mine?”

“All yours,” Wanda says. She lifts you from the bed and kisses your temple. “You’ll see.”

By the time you’ve eaten toast and juice at the kitchen table, Natasha returns, balancing a box under one arm and her coffee in the other hand. She sets the box down with a grunt.

“Got it.” She flips the lid open, revealing a brand-new booster seat. “Can’t drive you around without one.”

You tilt your head. “That for me?”

Natasha smirks and ruffles your hair. “Of course it is. Only the best for my printsessa.”

The car ride isn’t scary like you’d thought. Sitting in the booster makes the seatbelt fit right, and you can actually see out the window. You press your forehead to the glass, whispering about the trees and cars zipping by.

When the car finally slows, your eyes go wide. The store is enormous, with glass doors that slide open and shut on their own. People carry bags, kids chatter and tug at their parents, music hums faintly.

You shrink back in your seat. “Big,” you murmur.

Natasha catches Wanda’s eye, then leans over. “Don’t worry. You’ll ride in the cart. Nice and safe.”

Inside, Natasha lifts you into the big cart seat. You grip the handle in front of you, Bunny nestled in your lap, your legs swinging. From up high, the store doesn’t look quite as scary.

Wanda leads them toward the children’s section first. Bright racks of shirts, dresses, and tiny jackets line the aisle. You watch them pass, unsure if you’re allowed to touch.

Natasha crouches beside the cart, her green eyes soft. “You can point to what you like. That’s why we’re here.”

Wanda pulls a pink sweater with hearts. “What about this?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Too pink.”

Natasha chuckles and shows you a navy hoodie with a zipper. “Better?”

You run your hand along the sleeve. “Soft.”

“Good choice,” Natasha says, dropping it in the cart.

Soon the pile grows: leggings with flowers, socks with silly animals, sneakers with little stars. Wanda sneaks in a sparkly skirt you admired for too long, while Natasha makes sure there are sturdy jeans.

Every time something lands in the cart, you look at Bunny like you need its approval. Bunny, of course, never disagrees.

The toy aisle makes your mouth fall open. Shelves reach taller than Natasha, filled with dolls, puzzles, trucks, building sets. You squeeze Bunny to your chest. “So many.”

Wanda kneels at your side. “Not all of them. But you can pick some.”

You hesitate, then reach for a small puzzle box with farm animals. “This one.”

Natasha nods approvingly. “Good for your brain.” She adds wooden blocks too.

Wanda tucks a set of storybooks into the cart. “For bedtime.”

You stroke Bunny’s ear, overwhelmed but safe in the cart.

Furniture is trickier. Wanda coos over lamps shaped like stars, rugs with rainbows, and tiny beds with canopy frames. Natasha insists on a strong mattress, a solid dresser.

They bicker lightly while you watch. Finally, you tug Wanda’s sleeve and point to a small night-light shaped like a moon. “That one.”

Wanda’s face softens immediately. She kisses your cheek. “Of course, darling.”

Natasha just smirks. “See? She takes after you.”

By the time the shopping is finished, the cart is overflowing. Bags of clothes, toys, books, and the flat-packed box of a bed frame fill the trunk.

You sit in the cart while Wanda and Natasha load everything, hugging Bunny to your chest. Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Mine?”

Wanda presses a kiss to your hair. “All yours.”

Natasha locks the trunk and glances at you over the roof of the car. Her voice is firmer, but the look in her eyes makes you feel warm. “No one’s ever taking it from you.”

That promise settles over you like a blanket, heavy and safe. You hug Bunny tighter and, by the time the car starts, your eyes are already drifting shut.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The car ride from the store is quiet. You clutch Bunny in your lap, your eyes drifting between the passing trees and the new toys stacked in the back. Wanda hums softly to herself, while Natasha keeps one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near you, as if to remind you she’s there.

When the gates of the Avengers Compound rise, your jaw drops. Towering walls of glass and steel shine in the morning sun, and beyond them, the courtyard stretches wide, dotted with strange vehicles, a few kids’ scooters, and even a small play area.

“Wow,” you whisper, your fingers gripping Bunny’s ears.

Wanda smiles, leaning down so your cheek brushes hers. “This is where some of my friends live. You’ll meet them soon.”

Natasha parks the car, cutting the engine. She looks over at you with a small, reassuring smile. “Ready?”

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. Your legs swing as you hop out of the car, Bunny still clutched tightly to your chest. Natasha takes your hand for a moment, guiding you up the steps.

Inside, the hum of the compound feels both overwhelming and safe. People are scattered in the main hall, a mix of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Natasha clears her throat and taps her comm. “Everyone’s here?”

Moments later, the chatter dies down. The assembled Avengers turn toward the small group entering the room: Tony leans against a railing with Pepper at his side, Steve stands tall and watchful, Bruce adjusts his glasses nervously, Thor stares curiously at the car outside, Clint smirks, Laura and the Barton kids are clustered together, whispering excitedly. Morgan waves at you, and Peter hides behind a pillar, peeking out shyly. Sam and Bucky stand nearby, both relaxed but alert. Pietro shifts his weight impatiently, and Yelena and Kate lean casually against the wall, eyebrows raised.

Natasha’s voice carries easily. “Everyone, thank you for coming. Wanda and I have an announcement.”

Wanda steps forward, holding your hand gently. You peek out from behind her, clutching Bunny as if it might help you disappear from all the staring eyes.

“This,” Wanda says softly, crouching slightly so you can see over the edge of her coat, “is someone very special.”

All eyes turn to you. Your heart thumps. You hide Bunny’s face in your chest.

“She’s joining our family,” Natasha continues, her tone quiet but firm. “She’s safe now, and she’s ours to care for.”

The room goes still for a heartbeat. Then the murmurs begin.

Tony kneels slightly, holding out his hand with a grin. “Hey there, kiddo. I’m Tony. Welcome.”

You peek around Wanda’s arm, staring at him. “Hi”

Pepper leans down, her expression soft. “We’re glad you’re here.”

Steve tips his head. “We’ll look out for you.”

Bruce crouches low, giving you a tentative smile. “Hi. Want to see the lab later?”

You shake your head quickly, hugging Bunny closer. “No, not yet.”

Morgan squeals and runs up, practically bouncing. “You’re gonna play with me!”

You blink, then nod slowly. “Okay”

Lila, Cooper, and Nathaniel run up behind her, offering toys and tiny waves. Pietro zips past, pretending to be a blur, making you giggle quietly. Wanda squeezes your hand, and Natasha smiles faintly, relieved to see you reacting positively.

Clint gives a soft whistle. “She’s got spunk.”

Yelena and Kate exchange a glance, then approach carefully. “Hi,” Kate says. “We won’t scare you.”

You peek out again, nodding once, still clutching Bunny. Wanda whispers something in Sokovian, which you mumble back quietly, smiling.

Natasha clears her throat, turning everyone’s attention back. “We’ll give her space to get used to things. She’ll meet everyone gradually.”

Wanda crouches beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “She’s had a hard start,” she says gently, “so patience is important.”

You hug Bunny tight again, but this time, your eyes linger on the smiling faces of the kids. The courtyard outside, the toys, the laughter, it all feels new, but not scary.

Thor kneels down, his giant hands careful not to move too fast. “You are welcome here. You shall find joy with us.”

You blink, then smile faintly. “Thank you.”

Tony chuckles, ruffling your hair. “Good manners already. I like this one.”

Steve nods approvingly. “She’s learning fast.”

Natasha watches from a distance, her hand brushing against Wanda’s. She feels relief wash over her. Seeing you smile, even faintly, is worth all the tension of the last few weeks.

“Let’s show her around,” Wanda says. She lifts your hand gently, and the two of you start walking, Natasha close behind. “There’s a lot to see.”

The kids follow eagerly, chattering and showing you toys, the play area, and even the small library. Morgan climbs onto a scooter, while Cooper demonstrates how to stack blocks. You watch carefully, Bunny still hugged to your chest, then finally ask, “Can I play too?”

“Of course,” Wanda says, smiling warmly. She hands you a soft puzzle, the shapes familiar and safe.

Natasha crouches beside you. “Go on, it’s okay.”

You place the first block, then another, and before long, you’re laughing quietly as the others cheer you on.

Wanda whispers to Natasha as you concentrate on the puzzle. “She’s happy,” she says softly.

Natasha glances down at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. She really is.”

For the first time since the Red Room, you feel the weight of safety settling around you. People who had once seemed intimidating now look friendly, welcoming, and genuinely curious about you.

As the morning stretches on, Wanda and Natasha exchange subtle looks across the room. They know this is just the beginning, but seeing you laugh, seeing you engage, makes all the battles, all the fear, feel worth it.

By the time the first introductions wind down, you’re sitting on the floor in the middle of the kids, Bunny tucked beside you, working on a puzzle, giggling quietly as the world opens up one tiny, bright piece at a time.

Natasha leans down to Wanda, whispering, “She belongs here.”

Wanda’s hand brushes Natasha’s, and she nods. “She does.”

The compound feels less enormous now, the Avengers less like giants and more like people, friends, even family. And you, small and cautious at first, are finally beginning to realize: maybe this is home.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the compound’s tall windows, warm and golden across the play area. You sat cross-legged on the floor, Bunny tucked under one arm, a stack of colorful blocks in front of you. The chatter of kids filled the space like music, and you blinked at all the new faces, unsure at first.

Wanda crouched beside you, guiding your tiny hands to fit a puzzle piece. “There you go. See? Perfect.”

“Done!” you exclaimed proudly, your small grin lighting up your face. You pressed the last piece into place, eyes wide as a tower of blocks wobbled dangerously beside you.

Natasha watched from a short distance, arms folded, her gaze softening at the sight of you laughing and interacting. The sound was strange and beautiful after so many years of silence and fear.

Morgan barreled past, holding a toy car. “Race!” she shouted. You blinked, then pushed Bunny along the floor like it was the car. “Vroom vroom!” you squeaked.

Lila and Cooper cheered, while Nathaniel clumsily built another tower, only to have it topple. You giggled, delighted by the chaos, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Meanwhile, Wanda and Natasha stood a little apart from the kids, addressing the gathered Avengers. “We wanted to introduce her to everyone,” Wanda said softly, “and explain why she’s joining us.”

Natasha stepped forward. “She came from the Red Room. But she’s safe now, and she’s with us. She’ll stay with us from here on out.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “The Red Room, a horrible place. We’ll all help her however we can.”

Thor frowned thoughtfully. “Yes. A dark place, it seems. But she is safe now, yes?”

“She is,” Wanda confirmed. “And she has us. That’s what matters.”

You hugged Bunny tighter, unsure about all the adults, but happy to stay near Wanda. Bruce crouched down, smiling gently. “Hi there, do you like dinosaurs?”

You nodded eagerly. “Roar!” Your tiny growl made the kids giggle, and even Peter, hiding behind a pillar, smiled faintly.

Wanda leaned closer to Natasha. “Everyone’s taking it well.”

Natasha’s eyes followed your hands stacking blocks with Morgan. “Yeah. She’s curious, happy even.”

Pietro zipped in, skidding to a halt beside you. “I heard! I get to be an uncle? I can teach you all the fast things! And maybe how to outrun Natasha.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Fast?”

“Yes, very fast!” Pietro exclaimed, holding his arms out like wings. You giggled and held Bunny to your chest, shy but intrigued. “Run?”

“Not yet, little one,” Wanda said, laughing softly. “Let’s start with puzzles first.”

Yelena stepped forward, a grin splitting her face. “And I get to be your aunt! Auntie Yelena! I’ll show you all the tricks Natasha wouldn’t let me.”

You tilted your head, thinking carefully. “Tricks?”

“Yes! Safe tricks,” Yelena said, crouching down to your level. “Like hiding and sneaking, but only when it’s safe.”

Natasha glanced at Wanda. “They’re excited,” she whispered.

“They care,” Wanda murmured back. “Already.”

Meanwhile, the kids continued to play. Morgan rolled the toy car toward you, Cooper built little towers for you to knock down, and Nathaniel cheered every time you got a piece in the puzzle.

You laughed, small and musical, your tiny hands trying to mimic Yelena’s stacking moves. Pietro zipped past again, pretending to chase your towers. “Vroom! Go!” you squealed, delighted.

Natasha allowed herself a fraction of relief. The tension in her chest eased as she watched you laugh and explore, a child finally free from the fear that had clung to you in the Red Room.

Tony leaned down, pressing a small toy into your hands. “For you,” he said.

You blinked, then hugged it tight. “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice small but clear.

Wanda crouched beside you, whispering, “See? Everyone wants to be your friend.”

You looked up, eyes shining. “Friend?”

“Yes,” Wanda said. “Lots of friends.”

Pietro crouched beside you, letting Bunny ride on his shoulder. You giggled, holding Bunny out. “Bunny ride!”

“Exactly!” Pietro said, winking at Wanda. “Uncle Pietro’s got you.”

Yelena, meanwhile, showed you safe tricks with stacking cups. You clapped and squealed with each tower, tiny hands trying to copy her movements.

Wanda stayed close, always brushing against you when you wavered. Natasha lingered near the edge, alert and protective but letting you explore.

By mid-afternoon, the room was full of laughter. Pietro zipped around, declaring, “Uncle Pietro approves!” Yelena waved dramatically, “And Auntie Yelena too!”

You held Bunny and squeaked, “Bunny likes them too!”

Wanda exchanged a look with Natasha, soft and triumphant. “They’re going to be good for her,” she said.

“She’s already enjoying it,” Natasha replied quietly. “And she belongs here.”

For the first time in a long time, the world felt warmer, safer, and full of laughter, not a place to fear, but a place to grow, to explore, and to belong.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

By late afternoon, the playroom at the Avengers compound looked like a small storm had passed through. Toy blocks were scattered across the floor, dolls slumped against pillows, and paper drawings were taped haphazardly to the walls. You sat in the middle of it all, Bunny tucked under your arm, eyelids drooping, cheeks flushed from excitement. Morgan zipped past on her little scooter, her laughter echoing against the walls. Cooper collapsed a tower of blocks with a triumphant laugh, and Nathaniel squealed over a puzzle piece he’d finally fit. But your energy was gone. You blinked slowly, yawns escaping in tiny bursts.

Wanda crouched beside you, hand brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead. “Looks like someone’s ready for a nap,” she said softly, voice gentle, coaxing.

You blinked up at her, voice quiet and slow. “Sleep, wanna sleep.”

Natasha, standing near the exit, gave a small nod. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let’s get you home before you crash completely.”

You clutched Bunny tighter, nuzzling the soft fabric against your cheek. Your tiny legs moved lazily as if testing the strength to stand, but the yawns won. Wanda smiled, slipping one arm under your small body and lifting you into her lap. “Ready for the ride, draga mea?” she whispered, the words soft and melodic.

You made a tiny, sleepy nod, your head already lolling against Wanda’s shoulder. Bunny rested against your chest, one paw peeking out from between your fingers. Your little arms wrapped loosely around her, trusting, warm.

Natasha walked beside them, scanning the bustling compound as if expecting chaos at any moment. “You did well today,” she murmured to Wanda, voice low. “Everyone seemed happy to see you, and you played so nicely.”

You responded with a tiny squeak, half a giggle, half a sleepy noise, then nestled closer to Wanda. She chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair. “Shh just rest,” she whispered, adjusting the small blanket she’d draped over you.

Your eyelids drooped further, eyelashes brushing your flushed cheeks. Tiny hands clutched Bunny with relaxed determination, as if she were the only thing keeping the world steady. Wanda’s fingers brushed the soft fabric of your hair, soothing you without words.

Natasha couldn’t help but watch from the side, lips twitching in a rare, quiet smile. “Playtime was a lot for her,” she murmured under her breath. The words carried no judgment, only admiration for the little resilience you had shown.

You shifted slightly, face nuzzling closer to Wanda’s chest, small fingers brushing against her coat. Wanda’s hands moved in slow, gentle circles over your back, humming a soft Sokovian tune. The vibrations of the song mixed with the hum of the bustling compound and made your breathing even more relaxed.

Eventually, the signal came to leave. “Okay, draga mea, time to go home,” Wanda said softly. She rose, lifting you carefully, one hand supporting your tiny back, the other holding Bunny securely. Your small legs barely swung as she carried you through the hallways.

The walk to the car was quiet, the chaos of the compound fading behind you. The muffled sounds of the other children and adults playing seemed distant, softened by your drowsy cocoon. Natasha kept close, scanning for obstacles but letting Wanda guide the pace.

Once at the SUV, Wanda lowered you gently into the passenger seat, settling Bunny beside you. You curled against her chest, eyes half-shut, tiny arms still wrapped around her. The hum of the engine and the subtle vibration of the car against the tires soothed you further. Wanda’s thumb stroked your back in slow circles, keeping you comfortable and calm.

Natasha slid into the seat behind the wheel, keeping her eyes on the road but stealing glances in the rearview mirror. “She looks peaceful,” she murmured, voice low. “Like she’s finally breathing easy.”

Wanda smiled softly, pressing her cheek against the top of your head. “She is. She’s safe now,” she said quietly. Her tone was a mixture of relief and something deeper, protective, almost maternal, as if she had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

You stirred slightly but didn’t wake fully. Tiny fingers twitched against Wanda’s coat as if testing whether the safety would last. Wanda’s other hand tightened slightly around you, reassuring and warm.

The drive was calm, a rare quiet in a day full of noise and new faces. The city lights passed like gentle stars through the window, the glow catching on the contours of your small face. Wanda hummed softly, a lullaby in Sokovian, and you shifted just enough to press closer into her warmth.

Natasha stole another glance, the weight in her chest heavy with both relief and something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. This little person, rescued from the Red Room, could finally feel safety, warmth, and care. And for the first time, Natasha felt like she had helped make that possible.

When they arrived at the townhouse, Wanda carried you inside carefully. The door closed behind them with a soft thud, and Natasha quickly double-checked the locks, security panels, and windows. Only then did she allow herself to exhale.

The guest bedroom awaited, quiet and dim, a blank slate yet full of potential. Wanda lowered you onto the soft bed, tucking the blanket around your tiny body. Bunny stayed tucked under your chin, a small but comforting presence. You shifted once, curling up a little more, then settled quickly, your breathing even and calm.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, studying you in the soft light. “She’s completely out,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda’s hand lingered on your back a moment longer, smoothing hair from your forehead. “She’s safe here,” she said, equally quiet. “We’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Natasha nodded, chest tight with unspoken emotions. “We’ll do everything we can,” she said softly. “She deserves that.”

For a few moments, the room was silent except for the soft rise and fall of your chest. Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, both carrying the weight of the day and the knowledge that the hard part, giving you a real, safe life, was just beginning.

Finally, Wanda whispered, “Tomorrow, we start making this place hers. It’ll be a home soon, not just a guest room.”

Natasha nodded, a quiet determination settling in. “She deserves that. Everything she missed, she’ll get it now.”

The two women lingered by the doorway a little longer, hands brushing slightly as they shared the unspoken promise: this little one would never be alone again. And in the guest room, tiny and serene, you slept on, safe, warm, and finally free from the shadows of the Red Room.

The guest room was quiet, dimly lit only by the sliver of city light slipping through the blinds. The bedspread was soft under you, the blanket tucked snugly around your small frame. Bunny rested against your chest, one tiny paw peeking out between your fingers. Wanda had sat with you for a few moments, humming softly, letting you settle fully before standing to check the room once more.

Natasha lingered near the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching silently. Her eyes softened as she took in your relaxed posture, the way your little chest rose and fell evenly in sleep. The chaos of the Red Room, the uncertainty of the past days, all seemed to melt away in this one small, peaceful moment.

Wanda crouched beside the bed, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “You’re safe here,” she murmured softly, almost to herself. “No one can hurt you here.”

Your eyelids fluttered open slightly, the faint glimmer of sleep still in your eyes. You let out a tiny yawn, stretching your arms just enough to nuzzle closer to Wanda’s chest. “Wanda,” you mumbled, voice sleepy and soft, but clear.

“Yes, draga mea?” Wanda leaned closer, her hand brushing gently against your cheek.

“I'm happy” you whispered, voice muffled against the blanket. You shifted slightly, still half-curled under the warmth. “Here, happy.”

Wanda froze for a heartbeat, the words striking her like sunlight through a storm cloud. She blinked rapidly, unsure whether she had imagined it, then let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “You’re happy?” she asked, voice gentle but trembling slightly.

“Mmhm,” you murmured, eyelids drooping again. “Safe, Wanda.”

Natasha felt something twist in her chest at your words. She stepped closer, leaning slightly against the doorframe, eyes soft but alert. “She’s saying she’s happy,” Natasha said quietly, more to Wanda than to you. “And that she feels safe with you.”

Wanda smiled, a mix of astonishment, relief, and something tender flickering in her eyes. She pressed her forehead gently against yours, whispering, “You’re safe. You’re home. We’ll always keep you safe.”

You nestled closer into her warmth, tiny hands clutching her coat as if it were a lifeline. “Wanna stay here,” you mumbled, your voice almost a sleepy whisper.

“Yes, you can stay,” Wanda replied softly, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “Forever if you want.”

Natasha’s gaze softened even more, watching the two of you. The little rise and fall of your chest, the relaxed curl of your small body, the trust shining from your sleepy eyes, it was all too much. She swallowed, voice catching slightly. “You deserve this,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Everything, everything good, finally.”

You stirred again, tiny face nuzzling Wanda’s chest. “Love you, happy,” you whispered, still half-asleep, words slipping out with the honesty only a child could offer.

Wanda’s chest tightened at the words, a warmth spreading through her entire body. She had rescued you from danger, from fear, from the Red Room, but hearing you voice it, even sleepily, made it real in a way she hadn’t fully felt before. “I love you too,” she murmured softly, her voice barely audible, as if saying it louder might shatter the fragile peace of the room.

Natasha stayed quiet, letting the moment exist between the three of them. She felt a rare, cautious hope stir in her chest, knowing that this little girl, so small, so fragile, had finally found people who would protect her without hesitation.

Your breathing evened completely, the last traces of worry and fear melting away as sleep fully reclaimed you. Wanda stayed beside you, brushing a gentle hand over your hair, while Natasha quietly left the doorway, letting them have this first, perfect night together.

Outside the guest room, the world continued with its noise and responsibilities, but inside, in the dim glow of the city, a small child slept peacefully for the first time in what felt like forever. Safe. Loved. Home.

Wanda pressed one final kiss to your forehead, whispering softly, “We’ll take care of you, always.”

Natasha glanced back one last time, chest tight with emotions she didn’t bother to name, then closed the door quietly. For now, the fight was over. You were safe. You were happy. And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The bad dream started with shouting.

It was loud, mean shouting in words you couldn’t always understand, but you knew the sound. The voices were angry, and they wanted you to move faster, stand straighter, stop crying. Lights flickered overhead, bright and buzzing, and the floor was cold on your bare feet.

In the dream, you tried to keep up, but your legs felt heavy, like someone had tied bricks to your ankles. You stumbled. Someone yelled again, and hands shoved you down.

“Too weak.”

The words made your chest hurt.

You woke up with a squeak, heart racing so fast it hurt. For a second you thought you were still there, back on the cold floor under the buzzing lights. But the room around you wasn’t the Red Room.

It was the guest room.

Your bed was soft. The blanket was warm and heavy on your little body. The air didn’t smell like bleach, it smelled like laundry soap and something faintly sweet from Wanda’s earlier baking.

You blinked in the moonlight, trying to calm your breathing. The dream wasn’t real. You weren’t there anymore.

But your face was wet, and your throat felt tight, and your hands shook as you hugged Bunny against you. His fur was soft under your chin, one floppy ear tickling your cheek.

The rules whispered in your head anyway:

No crying. No noise. Weak girls lose their things.

Your chest squeezed tighter. You wanted to hold Bunny forever, but your dream-brain told you he should be taken away. You weren’t supposed to need him.

“Don’t cry,” you whispered to yourself, voice wobbly. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.”

But the harder you tried, the more your eyes burned. A sob escaped, tiny but sharp. You slapped your hand over your mouth, terrified the sound might carry.

What if Wanda and Natasha heard? What if they got mad? What if they thought you weren’t strong enough and didn’t want you anymore?

Your little legs pushed you upright fast. The blanket slipped off your shoulders and trailed behind you as you padded into the hallway.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. You clutched the blanket in your fists and tiptoed down the hall, your heart hammering at every creak of the floor.

Their bedroom door was mostly shut, but a sliver of warm lamp light glowed under it. You hesitated, then pushed it open a crack.

Inside, Wanda and Natasha were in bed together. Wanda was curled on her side, hair all soft and messy across the pillow. Natasha was behind her, one arm over her waist, her face buried against Wanda’s shoulder. They looked warm. Safe. Like nothing bad could ever touch them.

You stood there for a long time, staring.

Part of you wanted to climb into their bed and hide between them. You could almost feel how soft and warm it would be. You could almost imagine Bunny in your arms, Natasha’s hand rubbing your back, Wanda humming something gentle until you weren’t scared anymore.

But the rules shouted louder in your head.

Don’t wake anyone. Don’t need anyone. Don’t cry.

You stepped back, careful not to let the door creak, and padded back to your own room.

The bed waited, but it looked too big and too empty now. Bunny lay on the pillow where you’d left him, one ear flopped across the blanket like he was reaching for you.

Your throat hurt. You wanted him so much. But you didn’t deserve him. Not after crying.

So you left him there.

Instead, you walked to the closet and opened the door.

It was darker inside, the air heavier. You remembered this kind of dark. In the Red Room, this was where they put you when you made noise. When you showed weakness. When you cried.

You weren’t supposed to like it, but a tiny part of you did. The closet felt smaller than the bed. Safer, in a way. You knew what to expect here.

You crawled inside with your blanket and shut the door until only a little line of moonlight peeked through the crack.

Your heart was still beating too fast. You curled up on the floor, pulling the blanket tight around your body.

“No crying,” you whispered again, rocking a little. “No crying. No crying.”

But the tears came anyway, hot and sticky, soaking into the blanket until it was damp under your cheek. You pressed your forehead against your knees, trying not to make a sound.

Eventually, your body gave up. Your eyes burned from crying, your chest ached from holding everything in, and your head felt heavy.

You sniffled one last time and drifted into sleep, curled tight in the closet with nothing but your blanket.

Bunny stayed on the bed, waiting where you’d left him.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The sun had just started to rise when Wanda padded quietly down the hallway.

She carried two mugs of tea, still steaming, the smell of chamomile filling the air. Natasha was in the kitchen, stretching out her shoulders after an early run, and Wanda had promised she’d check on you before breakfast.

The door to your room was still closed, the little night-light glowing faintly under the crack. Wanda smiled softly, already picturing you curled up with Bunny, hair messy, cheeks pink from sleep.

She nudged the door open with her hip.

The smile dropped.

The bed was empty.

The blankets were thrown back, tangled in a heap. Bunny lay on his side near the pillow, one floppy ear bent the wrong way.

But you weren’t there.

Wanda’s heart slammed against her ribs. The mugs rattled in her hands, she barely managed to set them down on the dresser before rushing forward. She yanked the blankets back like maybe you were hidden underneath them, like maybe you’d slipped all the way down to the foot of the bed.

Nothing.

“Natasha!” Her voice cracked, sharp with panic.

She heard footsteps immediately, quick and heavy down the hall. Natasha appeared in the doorway, hair damp from her shower, a towel looped around her neck.

“What is it?”

“She’s gone, she’s not here!” Wanda’s hands shook as she swept them over the mattress again, like she needed to prove it. “She’s not in bed.”

Natasha’s face went pale, but her training snapped into place. She scanned the room fast—window shut, no forced entry. No sound of anyone else in the house.

“She can’t have gone far,” Natasha said firmly, though her voice was tight.

Wanda pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to breathe through the surge of fear. The memory of finding you in the Red Room, small and terrified, clawed at her chest. What if someone had come? What if they’d taken you back?

Then-

A sound.

Soft. Almost too soft.

Wanda froze. It was coming from the closet.

Her heart twisted as she stepped forward, listening carefully. A faint, steady rhythm.

Snoring.

She dropped to her knees and opened the door slowly.

There you were.

Curled into a tiny ball on the floor, blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders, cheeks streaked with dried tears. Your face looked so tired, so small.

Wanda’s chest ached. “Oh, malenkaya"

You stirred at the sound of her voice, blinking sleepily, confusion clouding your eyes.

“Wanda?” you mumbled, voice scratchy.

“Yes, sweetheart.” She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Natasha was behind her now, crouching low to see. The sight hit her like a punch, tears she didn’t let fall burned behind her eyes. She knew exactly what this was. She’d been in closets like that. Slept on cold floors when the dark felt safer than a bed.

Her hands curled into fists against her knees.

But Wanda stayed soft. She held her arms open. “Come here, dorogaya. You don’t have to hide.”

You hesitated, eyes flicking between them. For a moment, Wanda thought you might shrink back into the dark. But then your little body shifted forward, sliding into her lap.

Wanda gathered you close, tucking your head under her chin. You were warm and trembling, like you’d only just stopped crying. She rocked you gently, murmuring in Sokovian, words soft and low.

Natasha watched, guilt churning in her stomach. She wanted to reach for you, to promise she’d never let anyone hurt you again. But she stayed back, afraid she’d scare you more.

“Why the closet, moya lyubimaya?” Wanda whispered.

Your voice was so quiet she almost missed it. “I cried. Bad girls go in the closet.”

Wanda’s throat closed. She pressed a kiss into your messy hair, holding you tighter. “No, detka. Not here. Never here.”

Natasha finally moved closer, her voice rough but steady. “You can cry, printsessa. You’re allowed.”

You peeked at her over Wanda’s shoulder, eyes wide and wet.

Natasha’s chest broke open at the sight. She forced a small, soft smile, even though it felt like her heart was shattering.

Wanda swayed with you in her arms, whispering promises you were too sleepy to understand. That you would never be punished for being scared. That closets were for hiding shoes, not little girls. That you were safe, loved, and wanted.

You yawned into her neck, your tiny arms clutching her shirt.

Wanda rocked you until your breathing evened again, her own tears falling silently into your hair.

Behind her, Natasha sat on the floor, elbows on her knees, staring at Bunny still lying abandoned on the bed.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The morning sunlight spilled across the living room, warm and soft. Wanda sat on the rug with you, flipping gently through picture books while you hugged Bunny close to your chest. Your tiny hands gripped the plush ears, seeking comfort from the soft fur as the room slowly came to life around you.

Natasha crouched near the pile of boxes, screwdriver in hand, determined to assemble the new furniture before lunch. She was muttering under her breath from the very first panel, her brows furrowed in frustration.

“Eti chertovy bolty, oni opyat' ne podkhodyat??!” (These damn bolts, they don’t fit again?)

She yanked at a screw, muttering more harshly. “Chort voz'mi. Nichego ne mozhet sdelat' kak sleduyet. Absolyutno bespoleznyy!” (Fucking hell. Can't do anything right. Absolutely useless!)

The words struck you like ice.

Those exact tones, those sharp syllables, they weren’t just angry words. They were the same ones that always preceded punishment back in the Red Room. Cold. Dangerous. Direct. You froze, tiny fists clutching Bunny so tightly her ears bent under your grip.

Wanda glanced up immediately, noticing the change in your posture. Your small body stiffened, eyes wide and fearful. “Printsessa?” she whispered softly, reaching out a hand.

You weren’t listening. Your heart thumped so hard it hurt. She’s mad at me, she’s going to hurt me. That’s what the Red Room had taught you every time someone yelled like that.

You bolted before Wanda could touch you, small feet pattering against the hardwood as you fled down the hallway.

Natasha barely looked up. “Wait, printsessa, ” Her voice softened, but it didn’t reach you in time.

You slid open the linen closet and crawled inside, curling up in the shadows like you used to when you were punished. Darkness wrapped around you like an old friend. Your small body trembled. Bunny had slipped from your grasp during the rush, lying forgotten in the hallway.

Natasha, hearing the thump of your escape, froze. Her chest tightened. She muttered under her breath again, frustration tumbling from her lips in Russian.

“Kakaya tupost', chertovski uzhasno.!” (What a dumb thing, fucking awful)

You flinched. That was it. That exact phrase, the one she was saying about the stupid furniture, sounded to you like she was yelling at you. At your small, weak, scared self. You buried your face deeper in your knees.

Wanda knelt by the closet door, voice soft, warm, and insistent. “Printsessa, it’s okay. You’re safe. Come out.”

No response.

“Natasha didn’t mean it,” Wanda continued, careful, slow, soothing. “She was frustrated with the screws, not you.”

Your small voice trembled from the darkness. “But bad words, hurt me.”

Wanda’s chest twisted painfully. She leaned closer, keeping her voice gentle, whispering each syllable like a balm. “I know, I know it feels like that. But it isn’t. She is not them. She will never hurt you. Not ever.”

Your tiny body shook, caught between fear and the comfort of Wanda’s calm, patient presence. After long, tense moments, you slowly loosened the tight coil of your arms and let Wanda slip hers around you. Your body relaxed just a little, small hiccups replacing the sobs.

Behind you, Natasha’s fists were clenched. Each muffled cry was a reminder of how carefully she had to navigate this. Her words, meant for furniture, had terrified you. She cursed under her breath again, softer now, almost just to herself:

“Kakoy grebanyy besporyadok” (What a fucking mess.)

Wanda’s gentle gaze flicked at Natasha, a silent reminder that the child’s fear wasn’t her fault. Natasha exhaled shakily, chest heavy, guilt and frustration tangling together.

You rested your cheek against Wanda’s shoulder, small hands clutching her shirt. Your breathing slowly evened. Wanda stroked your hair, whispering softly. “See, little one, you’re safe. She’s not them. Not ever.”

Natasha leaned against the wall nearby, watching, chest tight. The guilt lingered, sharp and bitter, but hope flickered too, hope that little by little, you’d learn that loud, angry words weren’t always threats. That even when someone cursed, it wasn’t always because you were bad.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

By mid-afternoon, the sun slanted through the living room windows, casting long golden streaks across the floor. Wanda sat on the carpet, carefully arranging a small pile of colorful blocks and stuffed animals. She hummed quietly, a soft, steady tune that seemed to fill the room with calm. You peeked from behind the doorframe of the guest room, clutching Bunny tightly, your tiny frame tense. Natasha was in the corner, quietly unpacking some of the new furniture pieces, her movements deliberate and careful.

Wanda noticed your eyes on her immediately. “Hey, want to come play?” she called softly, her voice gentle, patient.

You didn’t respond at first, frozen in place. The shadows of the Red Room still clung to your memory, teaching you to be wary, to retreat at any sudden movement. But Wanda didn’t rush you. She simply waved one hand at the toys, her posture relaxed and inviting.

You took a small, hesitant step forward. Then another. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you remembered the safe warmth of Wanda’s arms and slowly, almost painfully, you crawled closer. You perched near the blocks, holding Bunny to your chest like a shield.

Wanda smiled, sliding a small block toward you. “Here, you can try this one.”

You lifted it cautiously, your small fingers barely gripping the edge. Slowly, you added it to the growing tower, careful not to knock anything down. Wanda clapped softly. “Good job. Look at that!”

Natasha, still standing in the background, moved quietly to the other side of the room. She stayed out of your immediate space, giving you time to feel safe. You glanced at her once, eyes wide, then returned your attention to Wanda, who hummed and whispered praise.

After about twenty minutes of tentative play, Wanda leaned back and gestured toward the kitchen. “Are you hungry? We can have lunch.”

You tilted your head, hesitant. You weren’t sure if leaving the comfort of the blocks was a good idea. But Wanda’s smile was warm, patient, and you trusted her. Slowly, you followed her hand with your eyes, then picked up Bunny and trailed behind her.

In the kitchen, Wanda pulled out a small plate, setting a few bite-sized sandwiches, fruit, and a cup of juice in front of you. The smell of fresh bread and sweet fruit was unlike anything you remembered. You sniffed cautiously, holding Bunny tight, before picking up a small piece of apple. Wanda sat across from you, watching you with encouraging eyes.

Natasha moved to a corner near the counter, tidying a few things but keeping her presence unobtrusive. You glanced at her for a second, wondering if she’d say something, but she just nodded slightly, letting you eat without interference.

As you nibbled at your lunch, Wanda leaned closer. “You’re doing really well. I’m proud of you.”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I like it.”

Wanda’s eyes softened. “I’m glad.” She took a sip of her own tea, still keeping her tone calm and gentle, never rushing you.

After a few bites, you put Bunny down for just a second, picking up a small sandwich. Wanda smiled softly. “There you go see? Not so scary.”

You ate slowly, savoring each bite, feeling more secure with Wanda on one side and Natasha respectfully keeping her distance on the other. You started to glance around the room, noticing other toys that hadn’t been played with yet, and even considered picking one up.

Natasha watched silently, feeling a strange mix of pride and anxiety. She wanted to reach for you, to assure you it was safe, but she also knew that forcing contact now would undo everything Wanda had patiently built. She stayed still, letting you make the decisions, letting you feel in control.

By the time your plate was nearly empty, you had begun to relax just a little. Your small hands were less tense, your movements slower, and you even let Wanda brush a stray hair from your face. It was progress, tentative, careful, but progress nonetheless.

After lunch, Wanda suggested building a new tower with the remaining blocks. You hesitated at first, but then Bunny clutched in your lap, you crawled back toward the living room. Natasha moved quietly to the edge of the room, helping to pick up stray toys but staying out of the way.

You stacked the blocks slowly, building cautiously, occasionally glancing at Natasha, testing her presence. Each time she gave a small, neutral nod, your confidence grew a little. Wanda cheered quietly, praising every piece added, every careful placement.

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in this tentative rhythm: you played, you observed, and you gradually explored the house with Wanda’s gentle guidance. Natasha remained in the background, present but non-threatening, letting you dictate the pace.

By the end of the day, small victories marked your progress: you had eaten lunch, interacted with toys, and even glanced at Natasha without immediately retreating. You curled up with Bunny and a stuffed animal in the living room, watching Wanda clean up with a sense of comfort, the room feeling a little safer than before. Natasha observed silently, promising herself that each day, each step, she would earn your trust.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

Evening had settled over the house, the soft glow of lamps casting warm pools of light across the living room. The toys were tucked away, the small mess of the day cleaned, and the quiet hum of the heater filled the space. Wanda had already run a warm bath in the guest bathroom, bubbles floating gently, the scent of lavender lingering in the air. You sat on the edge of the couch, Bunny tucked under your arm, watching Wanda move around, preparing everything carefully.

Natasha lingered near the doorway, arms crossed, keeping a careful distance. She wanted to help, wanted to be part of the bedtime routine, but you had been hesitant around her earlier, wary and watchful, and she didn’t want to push. Not yet.

Wanda looked over her shoulder with a warm smile. “Come on, draga mea. Time for your bath.”

You hesitated for only a moment before allowing her to take your hand. Clutching Bunny with the other, you followed her to the bathroom. The warm water felt comforting, and Wanda’s gentle hands guided you, washing carefully, making sure every small finger and toe was clean. She hummed softly, a gentle melody that made your eyes flutter in relaxation.

Natasha stayed in the corner, watching quietly. Seeing you so small, so trusting with Wanda, twisted something inside her. She wanted to reach out, to hold you herself, but she stayed back, letting Wanda guide this first quiet moment of the evening.

When bath time was over, Wanda wrapped you in a soft towel and dried you thoroughly. She helped you into pajamas, the fabric soft against your skin. Then, cradling you in her arms, she carried you to the guest bedroom.

The room wasn’t fully yours yet, but Wanda had made it cozy, a small blanket, a pillow just your size, and Bunny tucked in beside you. She sat on the edge of the bed, placing you gently on your side.

“All done,” she said softly, smoothing a lock of hair from your forehead. “Time to rest.”

You yawned, snuggling into the blanket. After a pause, your small voice broke the quiet. “I love you.”

Wanda’s eyes softened, shimmering with warmth. She leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you. Always, always.”

You smiled faintly, your tiny hand reaching out to touch her cheek before curling back around Bunny. Wanda stayed close for a moment longer, brushing your hair back and whispering soft words until your eyelids finally fell closed.

Once she was sure you were asleep, Wanda rose and glanced toward the living room where Natasha still lingered, quietly observing. Natasha’s chest tightened at the sight of you so peaceful, so small. She felt a rush of inadequacy, what if she could never be enough for you?

Wanda approached her and laid a hand over Natasha’s. “She’s just tired. She’s safe, and she’s loved. That’s what matters.”

Natasha shook her head, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m not, I’m not enough. I really scared her Wanda.”

Wanda’s fingers squeezed gently. “You are. She’s only four, she’s been through things no child should ever face. She’s bound to have moments of fear, moments of doubt. That’s not a reflection of you. You don’t have to be perfect.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes. “I just, I want to be what she needs. I want to be enough for her.”

“You already are,” Wanda said softly, her voice steady. “Being here, loving her, protecting her, that’s more than anyone else has ever done. That’s enough.”

Natasha’s chest eased slightly, the tension in her shoulders loosening. For the first time in hours, maybe days, she allowed herself to believe it.

The house was quiet now, the faint hum of the heater mixing with the distant sounds of the city outside. And in the guest room, you slept, Bunny clutched to your chest, small and safe.

For the first time that night, Natasha let herself hope, maybe she could be what you needed, maybe she could be enough, and maybe, just maybe, they could all heal together.

Chapter Text

The first thing you felt when you stirred awake was warmth. The blanket was soft, heavier than the one in the guest room, and smelled faintly of detergent, cedarwood, and something warm you couldn’t name but felt safe with. A faint beam of sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting the bedroom in pale gold.

You blinked your eyes open, confusion stirring in your chest. This wasn’t your bed. This wasn’t the little guest room Wanda had tucked you into last night. You sat very still, heart hammering, afraid you’d done something wrong, until you realized you weren’t alone.

An arm was draped loosely over you, steady and protective. Natasha. She was curled close, her breathing slow and even, strands of her red hair falling against the pillow. The weight of her arm anchored you in place, and for the first time since you’d come to live here, you didn’t feel the urge to pull away.

You turned your head slightly, eyes wide. Last night was hazy in your memory, another nightmare, shadows of the Red Room pressing too heavy on your chest. You remembered running, padding down the hallway in your pajamas, tiny hands clutching Bunny, searching for Wanda and Natasha. You’d found them asleep together, the quiet rise and fall of their breathing soothing in the dark. You hadn’t wanted to wake them, so you’d crawled in carefully, trembling and small.

And now you were here, safe, in their bed.

Natasha shifted slightly in her sleep, her arm tightening instinctively around you. Your breath caught. Her touch wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t punishing. It wasn’t like the handlers back in the Red Room. It was soft, protective, even in her sleep, she was keeping you close.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes. Wanda had said Natasha wouldn’t hurt you. That she only wanted to protect you. You hadn’t been sure if you could believe it before, but lying here, feeling Natasha’s heartbeat against your back, you wondered if maybe Wanda had been right all along.

The bedroom door creaked quietly, and Wanda stepped in, holding a steaming mug of tea. She smiled softly when she saw you awake, her eyes immediately gentle. “Good morning, sweetheart,” she whispered.

You sat up a little, careful not to disturb Natasha’s arm, though she barely stirred. You rubbed your eyes with your small fists, voice quiet. “Hi.”

Wanda set her mug down on the nightstand and came closer, kneeling beside the bed. “Did you have another nightmare last night?”

You nodded slowly, clutching Bunny close. “But, I came here.”

Wanda brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, her smile tender. “I’m glad you did. You’re always welcome here, you know that? You don’t have to be afraid to wake us.”

You glanced at Natasha, who was still asleep, her arm warm and steady around you. Your voice was small, almost uncertain. “She, she didn’t get mad.”

Wanda’s eyes softened further, and she placed her hand lightly over yours. “No, sweet one. She would never be mad at you for needing comfort. Natasha loves you very much.”

The words made your chest ache, a mix of something fragile and new. Love. That wasn’t a word used in the Red Room. It wasn’t something you’d ever been allowed to feel. But lying here, with Natasha holding you even in her sleep, and Wanda’s gentle eyes watching you, maybe it was something you could believe in. You loved them and they loved you. 

You rested your cheek back against the pillow, letting Natasha’s arm keep you safe. For the first time after a nightmare, you didn’t feel like you had to hide in the closet or give up Bunny for crying. For the first time, you felt safe where you were.

And slowly, tentatively, you let yourself believe what Wanda had said, Natasha didn’t want to hurt you.

The morning slipped into something soft and ordinary. Wanda had coaxed you out of bed with a plate of toast and fruit, setting you in front of the TV. Cartoons flickered in bright colors across the screen, the sound of silly voices and laughter filling the living room. You sat cross-legged on the rug, Bunny tucked close at your side, your wide eyes fixed on the unfamiliar world of bouncing animals and goofy songs.

Natasha had finally woken up and joined you, still a little rumpled from sleep. She settled on the couch with a mug of coffee, watching you out of the corner of her eye. You didn’t shrink away this time. You kept your focus on the cartoon, though you occasionally peeked at her, measuring the calm in her expression. Every time you looked, she gave a small, quiet smile, never pushing, never moving closer than you wanted.

Meanwhile, Wanda had been moving in and out of the guest room all morning, carrying boxes, tools, and colorful bags. You caught glimpses of her as she passed, sometimes with a bundle of blankets in her arms, sometimes with bright sheets or a lamp. She hummed while she worked, the sound drifting down the hallway, mixing with the cartoon laughter.

After a while, Natasha stretched and set her coffee down. “Think she’s ready?” she called softly toward the hallway.

“Ready,” Wanda’s voice floated back, tinged with excitement.

Natasha looked toward you. “Come on, malyshka,” she said gently, standing and holding out a hand. You tilted your head, unsure. Natasha didn’t insist. She just waited, her hand open, patient.

Slowly, Bunny clutched against your chest, you stood and reached for her fingers. They were warm, strong but careful, guiding you down the hall.

At the end of the hallway, Wanda was waiting by the guest room door, a playful spark in her eyes. “Close your eyes,” she told you.

You blinked, hugging Bunny tighter. “Why?”

“Because we have a surprise,” Wanda explained with a smile. “No peeking until I say.”

Your small hands flew up to cover your eyes. “Okay.”

Natasha squeezed your hand gently. “Good girl.”

Wanda opened the door with a little flourish. “Alright, come in.”

You shuffled forward between them, heart beating faster with curiosity. The air smelled faintly of new fabric and clean wood.

“Okay,” Wanda said softly, brushing your hands down from your face. “You can look.”

Your eyes blinked open, and the breath caught in your chest.

The room wasn’t just the guest room anymore. It was yours.

The bed had been lowered, a soft toddler frame instead of the towering mattress from before. The sheets were colorful, soft blues and greens, patterned with little stars. A small dresser stood against the wall, painted white, with a lamp shaped like a moon perched on top. Near the window, a cozy chair sat ready for story time, a blanket draped over the arm.

And toys. There was a neat basket of stuffed animals near the bed, and another basket of blocks and puzzles. A tiny shelf held a few picture books, their covers bright and inviting.

But what drew your eye most was the wall above the bed. Wanda had hung fairy lights in a gentle curve, glowing softly even in the daylight. They twinkled like little stars, casting the room in a magic glow.

You gasped, small fingers tightening around Bunny. “It’s mine?” you asked, voice hushed.

“Yes, sweet one,” Wanda said, her voice warm with pride. “All yours.”

Natasha crouched down so she was eye level with you. “We wanted you to have your own space. Somewhere safe. Somewhere just for you.”

You looked around again, wide-eyed. No harsh walls. No cold metal bedframe. No dark closet door waiting for punishment. Just softness, warmth, and color.

Wanda nudged you gently. “Go ahead. Try it out.”

You stepped forward, Bunny tucked in one arm, and climbed onto the little bed. The mattress gave under your weight, soft and springy. You sat there, glancing at Wanda and Natasha like you were waiting to be told it was a trick. But all they did was smile at you, patient and kind.

You bounced once, the bed squeaking softly. Then again. A small giggle escaped your lips, surprising even you.

Wanda’s eyes softened, joy flickering across her face. “There’s that smile,” she whispered.

Natasha leaned an elbow on the dresser, watching you carefully. “Looks like it passes the test.”

You hugged Bunny tightly and whispered, “It’s nice.”

“It’s yours,” Natasha corrected softly.

You crawled across the bed, testing every corner, your small hands running over the starry sheets. You touched the fairy lights on the wall, eyes wide at their glow, then scrambled down to peek into the baskets of toys. There was a soft bear, a few blocks, even some crayons and paper waiting for you.

Wanda knelt beside you. “Do you like it?”

You turned and nodded, your smile shy but bright. “I love it.”

The words slipped out before you even realized you’d said them. Wanda’s hand rose to her mouth, eyes glistening with emotion. Natasha looked away for a second, her jaw tight, fighting her own wave of feeling.

You picked up a small stuffed bear from the basket, holding it alongside Bunny. You looked between them, then back at Wanda and Natasha. “They can be friends,” you announced seriously.

Wanda laughed softly, wiping her eyes. “Yes, they can.”

Natasha crouched closer, her voice careful. “And you can be their boss, malen'kaya zvezda. You tell them what games to play, where to sleep. They’ll listen to you.”

You blinked at her, then nodded solemnly, as if the idea made perfect sense. You placed Bunny and the new bear side by side on the bed, arranging them like they were already best friends.

The three of you stayed there for a while, letting you explore every corner. You opened the dresser drawers, finding tiny shirts and pants folded neatly. You pulled a book from the shelf, holding it up proudly, though you couldn’t yet read the words. Wanda promised she would read it to you before bed.

When at last you plopped back onto the mattress, arms full of Bunny and the bear, your smile was bright and tired. The room already felt lived in, safe, yours.

Natasha leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, watching you carefully. She still worried, still doubted herself, but seeing you relaxed in this space eased something in her chest.

Wanda reached for Natasha’s hand, squeezing it gently. “She loves it,” she whispered.

Natasha nodded, her voice low. “Good. She deserves it.”

In your brand-new room, you curled up with your stuffed animals, and for the first time in a long time, the word “home” didn’t feel so impossible.

The day had settled into a rhythm you didn’t quite recognize but secretly loved. The new room still felt like a dream, all soft sheets and fairy lights, but Wanda and Natasha didn’t let you spend the whole day tucked away there.

Instead, you padded back into the living room when Wanda called for lunch. The table was set with sandwiches, cut fruit, and a little bowl of chips at your spot. You climbed into your chair, Bunny nestled in your lap, while Wanda poured juice into a small cup just for you.

Natasha sat at the table too, hair pulled back, sleeves rolled to her elbows. She’d been quiet, but her eyes followed you in a way that didn’t make you nervous anymore. Not as much, at least. Every time your gaze flicked toward her, she didn’t look frustrated. She just looked, there.

Wanda set a plate in front of you and brushed a gentle hand over your hair. “Eat as much as you want, sweet one. No rush.”

You nodded, picking up your sandwich carefully.

For a few minutes, it was simple. The clink of plates, the soft hum of Wanda’s voice asking Natasha about the dresser, Natasha muttering about the nightmare screws that refused to cooperate, your own chewing filling the space.

Safe.

Until a sharp knock rattled through the house.

You froze, sandwich halfway to your mouth. The sound echoed in your chest like a warning.

Natasha’s head snapped toward the door, her expression instantly sharp, the kind of look that made your stomach twist. Wanda’s hand found your shoulder, grounding you even as she moved to stand.

The knock came again, firmer this time.

“Stay here,” Natasha said, voice low, and got up from the table.

You watched her stride across the living room, every muscle in her body coiled tight. Wanda followed just behind, calm on the surface but with something tense in the way she held herself.

When the door opened, the air in the room shifted.

Two strangers stood there, though from the way Wanda’s shoulders squared and Natasha’s jaw clenched, they weren’t strangers at all.

Nick Fury filled the doorway, tall and commanding, the black patch over his eye only making him more severe. Beside him stood Maria Hill, her posture rigid, gaze sharp. Both wore plain clothes but carried the same weight as the word authority.

“Romanoff. Maximoff,” Fury greeted, his voice deep, steady, too loud. “We need to talk.”

Your little hands clutched Bunny tighter.

“This isn’t a good time,” Natasha said flatly, blocking the doorway with her body.

Maria’s eyes flicked past her, scanning the room until they landed on you. She softened, but not enough to erase the tension in her voice. “That’s her.”

You shrank down in your chair, pressing your cheek against Bunny’s fur.

“What do you want?” Wanda asked, her voice clipped.

Fury’s answer was simple, but it sent cold down your spine. “We’ve come to get the kid.”

The words rang like a bell, drowning out the sound of cartoons still faintly playing in the background.

Your chest tightened, breath hitching as the meaning sank in. Get the kid. That was you.

Natasha’s stance hardened, shoulders squaring. “No.”

“It’s not up to you,” Fury replied. “She was found in Red Room custody. That makes her SHIELD’s responsibility until we decide what to do with her.”

“She’s a child,” Wanda snapped, stepping forward. Her accent curled thick around the word. “She doesn’t belong to anyone. And she’s not going anywhere.”

Your little heart pounded so loudly you swore they could hear it. The room felt too big, too full of grown-up voices, too sharp. You slid from your chair without a sound, hiding beneath the table, clutching Bunny so tight your fingers hurt.

From your hiding place, you could see their shoes, the solid black boots of Fury, the polished heels of Hill, Wanda’s socks, Natasha’s bare feet braced against the floor like she was ready for a fight.

Maria spoke again, quieter this time, but no less firm. “We’re not here to take her away forever. We just need to-”

“No,” Natasha cut in, her voice like ice. “You’re not taking her. She’s finally safe, and I won’t let you rip her out of that.”

The silence after that was thick, the kind that made your stomach twist.

Fury sighed, heavy and tired. “You don’t get it. We have protocols-”

“You don’t get it,” Wanda bit back, her voice rising. “She is not a weapon, not an experiment, not another file in your system. She’s a little girl. She’s eating lunch. She’s holding her stuffed animal. And you think you can just, what?, drag her away because of paperwork?”

The word drag made your chest squeeze. Your mind flashed back to rough hands pulling, dragging you down long hallways, voices shouting orders in a language that meant punishment.

Tears blurred your vision.

You bit your lip hard, muffling the tiny whimper that wanted to escape. But when Natasha’s voice rose again, sharp and angry, the words cut straight through you:

“She’s not dangerous. She’s not a threat. She’s just a kid.”

And for a second, for a terrible, shattering second, you thought maybe they didn’t believe that. Maybe they saw you the way the Red Room had: small, broken, dangerous, wrong.

Your tears slipped free, rolling hot down your cheeks. You pressed your face into Bunny’s fur, whispering so softly no one could hear.

Don’t take me. I’ll be good. I promise.

From under the table, the world sounded sharper, every word like a strike against your chest. You hugged Bunny so tight it almost hurt, trying to hide the way your shoulders shook.

“They’re not taking her,” Natasha said again, voice hard as stone.

“She’s not your responsibility,” Fury replied, his tone as steady as ever, like it was all just business. “You can’t just keep her like she’s-”

“Like she’s what?” Wanda’s voice cracked with fury. “Like she’s our child? Because she is. She may not be blood, but she is ours.”

Your small body trembled, tears blurring your vision. The words swirled in your head, can't keep her, not your responsibility, taking her.

That had to mean you’d done something wrong.

That’s what always happened before, when the trainers at the Red Room raised their voices, when they argued in corners, it always ended with someone being dragged away. Someone being punished. And if you’d been crying in your sleep again, if you’d hidden in the closet, if you’d slowed them down even a little, then it had to be your fault.

You pressed Bunny against your chest and whispered to him, so soft you thought no one could hear. “I sorry, Bunny. I was bad. I be good now. Promise.”

But the words didn’t make the fear stop.

Natasha’s voice rose, sharper than before. “She’s not some file on your desk. She’s not a case number. She’s a little girl who’s been through hell, and she deserves a chance at a real life.”

“And you think hiding her away here is the answer?” Fury shot back.

“I think protecting her from people who want to use her is the answer,” Natasha snarled.

The clash of their voices made your chest ache. Your little hands shook around Bunny’s worn ear. The sound of footsteps shifting closer made your whole body flinch.

That was it. They were coming for you.

Before you could think, a sob ripped out of your throat, loud and broken.

The room went still.

“Honey?” Wanda’s voice softened instantly, all the anger bleeding away. “Where are you, dorogaya?”

You curled tighter into yourself under the table, hiding your face against Bunny, but the sobs came faster now. “Don’t take me,” you hiccuped. “I be good, I promise, I be good! Don’t make me go, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Your own voice sounded too loud in your ears, echoing like the punishments back in the Red Room.

Chairs scraped back. There was movement, fast, frantic, and then gentle hands reached beneath the tablecloth.

“There you are,” Wanda whispered, sliding onto the floor with you. She gathered you into her lap without waiting, holding you against her chest as you shook. Her arms wrapped around you like a shield. “Oh, sweet girl, no, no, no. You’re not in trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But you couldn’t stop crying. “They said,” You hiccupped. “They said you gonna take me ‘cause I’m bad.”

Natasha dropped to the floor across from you, her eyes wide, stricken. “No,” she said quickly, fiercely, like the word itself could erase the fear. “No, kotenok. You’re not bad. You’re not going anywhere. Not ever.”

You wanted to believe her. You wanted it so badly. But Fury’s voice still echoed in your head, come to get the kid, not your responsibility.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, clutching Bunny between you and Wanda. “I won’t cry no more. I do good. Please don’t make me leave.”

Wanda rocked you gently, her cheek pressed to your hair. Her voice trembled now, but it was warm, steady. “Oh, moya lyubov’, you don’t have to be good to stay. You don’t have to earn it. You are ours. You are loved. And no one is taking you away.”

Her words wrapped around you like a blanket, but the sobs still wouldn’t stop. Not until Natasha leaned forward, her voice softer than you’d ever heard.

“I get angry sometimes, printsessa,” she said, almost whispering. “I yell. I curse. But never at you. Never because of you. You are not bad. You are the best thing in my life. And I will fight anyone who tries to take you from us.”

You blinked at her through tears, Bunny squished to your chest, your little voice barely a whisper. “Promise?”

Natasha’s eyes glistened, but her voice was steady. “Promise. On my life.”

The room was so quiet you could hear your hiccups, the rustle of Wanda’s shirt as she rocked you. Then Maria Hill spoke, her voice gentler now than it had been at the door.

“My God,” she murmured. “She really is just a child.”

Fury didn’t argue this time. For once, he didn’t say anything at all.

Your chest heaved, hiccups catching between every word as you clung to Wanda’s shirt. Her heartbeat thudded against your ear, steady and grounding, but it wasn’t enough to stop the panic flooding through you.

“I’ll be good,” you cried again, voice raw. “I do chores, I don’t cry, I eat all my food, just please don’t make me go! I sorry for bein’ bad!”

Natasha’s face crumpled, like your words were knives straight to her chest. She reached for you, but you hid your face tighter against Wanda, afraid that if you looked up she’d change her mind. Afraid she’d agree with Fury and Maria that you weren’t worth keeping.

“You are not bad,” Wanda whispered fiercely, rocking you in her lap. “Never, dorogaya. You’re perfect exactly as you are.”

But you kept pleading, desperate and breathless. “I’ll sleep in closet again, I don’t need Bunny, I don’t need toys, I don’t need nuthin’. Just don’t send me back, please, please, I can be good!”

The room went silent around you except for your cries. You didn’t see Fury’s expression soften, or the way Maria’s hand lowered from her hip. You only felt the wet patch spreading on Wanda’s shirt where your tears soaked through.

Natasha finally spoke, her voice sharp but shaking. “Look at her. Look at her. This is what they did. The Red Room didn’t just train soldiers, they broke children. They made them believe love is something they have to earn.”

Her voice cracked. She reached forward again, gently brushing the back of her fingers over your hair even though you still wouldn’t meet her eyes. “She thinks crying makes her bad. She thinks she has to give up her stuffed animal just to be allowed to stay.”

Wanda’s arms tightened around you. “And you think you can just take her away? She wouldn’t survive it. She needs healing. She needs safety. She needs us.”

Maria finally stepped forward, her voice quiet, as though she was afraid of scaring you further. “We knew what the Red Room did. We’ve seen the reports, the survivors. But hearing it,” She shook her head, her eyes fixed on you trembling in Wanda’s arms. “Seeing this, it’s different.”

Fury exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. His voice was lower now, less sharp, but heavy. “We thought we were protecting the world by keeping tabs on kids like her. Making sure they weren’t dangerous.” His eye lingered on you for a long moment. “But she’s not dangerous. She’s terrified.”

You sniffled, peeking out just enough to whisper, “So I stay?”

Wanda pressed a kiss to your hair. “You stay, malyshka. Always.”

Natasha’s hand finally brushed against your small fingers, her touch so careful you almost didn’t feel it. “No one is taking you from us. Not now, not ever.”

Maria swallowed, glancing at Fury before meeting Wanda’s gaze. “We’re sorry. We came here ready to follow protocol, not realizing what that would do to her.” She crouched a little, softening her voice to where it almost sounded like Laura Barton when she talked to her kids. “She doesn’t need more strangers deciding her future. She needs her family.”

Fury gave a short, firm nod. “We were wrong.”

The words felt strange coming from him, but they landed like a balm in the room.

You blinked up at them, confusion still swimming in your little face. “No take me?”

Wanda shook her head quickly, cupping your cheek in her warm hand. “No, printsessa. They’re not taking you.”

Natasha leaned closer, her eyes fierce but wet. “The only place you’re going is back to bed tonight, in your new room, with Bunny and as many toys as you want. That’s it.”

The sob that left your throat this time wasn’t sharp. It was shaky, almost relieved. You burrowed into Wanda’s chest, Bunny squished between you, your tiny voice muffled but clear. “Love you.”

Natasha’s hand froze against your cheek. It was the first time you said the words to her. Wanda’s arms tightened.

“Oh, moy angel,” Wanda whispered, kissing the crown of your head. “We love you too. So much.”

For a long time, no one moved. The tension that had filled the room drained out, replaced by something heavier but gentler, remorse, understanding, a promise unspoken.

Finally, Maria stood straight, her voice firm but not cold. “We’ll make this right. You won’t have to look over your shoulder anymore. She belongs with you.”

Fury gave one last glance at you clinging to Wanda, then at Natasha still crouched protectively nearby. “We’ll handle the paperwork. But she stays.”

Natasha let out a breath she’d been holding for hours, shoulders sagging. Wanda kissed your temple again, rocking you gently until your hiccups slowed.

And for the first time since the knock on the door, the house felt safe again.

The house was quieter now, but the quiet wasn’t peaceful the way it had been before lunch. It was heavy, like a storm that had passed and left the air thick behind it. You still clung to Wanda, your little fists curled in her shirt, Bunny tucked between you.

Natasha hadn’t moved far, kneeling in front of you like she was afraid you’d disappear if she looked away. Every time your eyes flicked up, hers softened, but she didn’t push. She just stayed, waiting.

Fury finally broke the silence. “We’ll leave you to it,” he said, his tone less sharp than before. “But we’ll get the ball rolling.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Ball rolling?”

Maria stepped forward, her voice gentler than his. “Custody. Legal guardianship. We’ll file the paperwork through SHIELD’s channels and the state. It’s not instant, but it’s the right way to make sure no one else tries to step in.”

Wanda’s arms tightened around you. “How long?” she asked, suspicion threading through her voice.

Maria glanced at Fury, then back to Wanda. “It depends. A few months, maybe longer. We’ll try to rush it, but bureaucracy doesn’t move fast, even for us.”

You didn’t understand all the words, bureaucracy, guardianship, but you understood enough. They were saying it might take a long time before you really got to stay. Your chest squeezed again, and you pressed your face harder against Wanda’s collarbone.

Natasha caught the movement instantly. “That’s not good enough.”

Maria’s jaw tightened. “It’s the best we can do without raising flags. If we push too hard, people start asking questions. The Red Room might have allies we don’t know about. We need to be careful.”

Fury added, “But understand this, no one is pulling her out of this house while the process is underway. Not SHIELD, not the government, no one. She’s staying here.”

Natasha’s shoulders eased a fraction, though her jaw still worked like she was biting back a dozen arguments. “She’s not going to live with uncertainty hanging over her head.”

“She won’t,” Maria said softly. Her eyes landed on you, her voice quieter now. “We’ll make it clear, this is her home. And you two are her parents, whether the paperwork says so yet or not.”

Something in Wanda’s expression broke then, her chin dipping as she pressed another kiss to your hair. “You hear that, malyshka? This is your home. Nobody is taking you.”

You peeked out at Natasha, who gave you the smallest smile, careful, like she didn’t want to scare you. “We’ll make it official, printsessa. Just takes time.”

You chewed your lip, your tiny voice piping up from the safety of Wanda’s arms. “But I can stay here now?”

Natasha leaned in until her forehead almost touched yours. “Yes. You can stay. Every night. Every morning. You’re ours.”

Your shoulders finally relaxed, a long shaky breath leaving you as you clutched Bunny tighter.

Fury cleared his throat, glancing at Maria before heading for the door. “We’ll be in touch when we have updates. Romanoff. Maximoff.” His tone softened just enough to sound almost human. “Take care of her.”

Maria lingered a moment longer, crouching a little so her eyes were level with you. She didn’t get too close, but her voice was soft. “You’re safe now, kiddo. We’re sorry it took us this long to see it.”

Then she straightened and followed Fury out, the door clicking shut behind them.

The house fell quiet again, but this time it was different. Safe. Solid. Yours.

Natasha let out a long breath and finally sat back on the floor, her head tipping toward the ceiling like she’d just run a marathon. Wanda rubbed soothing circles over your back, humming softly in a language you didn’t know but wanted to.

You tucked your face into her neck, eyes drooping as exhaustion tugged at you. Bunny’s ear tickled your cheek, Natasha’s quiet sigh filled the room, and for the first time all day, you believed it.

You were staying.

Chapter Text

“Daddy, pleeeease.”

Morgan had been on this campaign for days. It started small, tugging on Tony’s sleeve while he was fixing a coffee, or sidling up at bedtime to whisper about you. But now it was a full-blown, five-year-old assault. She followed him into his lab, begged in the car, even sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor chanting, “Playdate, playdate, playdate,” until Pepper had to step in.

“Morgan,” Pepper said gently one morning, sipping her coffee, “you need to let Daddy think.”

But Morgan wasn’t buying it. “He’s had days to think! I just want to see my friend again.” Her little foot stomped against the tile. “She’s my best friend.”

Tony groaned, dropping his forehead dramatically onto the counter. “Kid, I’ve gone toe-to-toe with gods, aliens, and Hulk on a bad day. None of them were this relentless.”

Pepper raised her brows at him over the rim of her mug. “Maybe because they weren’t five.”

Which was how Tony ended up texting Natasha. 

Tony: Stark child is driving me insane. Playdate?

Natasha: Driving you insane or just asking nicely?
Tony: It’s a fine line

Natasha: Tomorrow. After lunch.

And that was that.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You woke up the next morning with sunlight spilling across your pillow and your bunny tucked under your chin. At first you blinked in confusion, your room, with the little bookshelf Wanda had filled and the soft rug by the bed. Your room, not a guest room. You let the thought sit there a moment, warm and heavy, before slipping out from the blankets.

Down the hall, Wanda was already humming at the stove, flipping something in a pan. Natasha leaned against the counter, dark hair still a little messy from sleep, sipping coffee. Both of them looked up when they heard your soft footsteps.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Wanda said warmly, turning down the heat so she could crouch and press a kiss to your temple. “Hungry?”

You nodded, rubbing at your eyes, and Natasha slid her mug aside so she could pull out your chair. She always did that now, little things, like making sure you didn’t have to climb, or carrying things she thought were too heavy. You didn’t quite know what to do with it, but it made something in your chest feel tight and new.

Once your plate was in front of you, Wanda reached to smooth down your hair and said, “We’ve got a special day today. Do you remember Morgan?”

Your fork froze halfway to your mouth. You remembered. Morgan with her crayons, her big laugh, the way she never seemed to mind if you didn’t talk much. Morgan who’d called you her friend.

Wanda smiled. “She’s coming over after lunch. She really wanted to see you.”

Your stomach fluttered, half excited, half nervous. What if Morgan didn’t actually want to play this time? What if she thought you were boring?

Natasha must’ve seen it written across your face because she leaned in, voice steady. “She wouldn’t be coming if she didn’t want to, malyshka. She asked to see you. Trust me.”

You ducked your head, nibbling your toast. Maybe she was right.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The morning stretched out like forever. Wanda helped you brush your hair and let you pick between the blue shirt with stars or the soft yellow one. Natasha dragged the toy bins into the living room, setting out blocks, dolls, and crayons so you and Morgan would have choices.

“Looks like a tornado came through,” Natasha muttered as she dropped an armful of stuffed animals on the rug.

You giggled, and she flicked your nose gently.

Wanda called from the kitchen, “That’s what childhood looks like, detka.”

It made you giggle harder.

By the time lunch was finished and the plates were cleared, you were practically bouncing in your seat. Every sound outside made you sit up straighter, bunny hugged tight against your chest. Wanda smoothed a hand down your back each time, murmuring, “She’ll be here soon. No need to worry.”

Still, your heart thumped like a drum.

Then came the knock. Sharp, loud, echoing through the house. You jumped so hard you almost dropped your bunny.

Natasha was at the door before you could think.

“Playdate central,” Tony announced, sweeping the door open like he was presenting royalty. And behind him-

“HI!” Morgan shouted, running in, then she saw you and her whole face lit up. “Friend!”

She barreled straight toward you, pigtails bouncing, arms wide. You froze for a second, clutching your bunny tight, but then she slammed into you with a hug so fierce you stumbled back a step.

Your bunny squished between you, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

Morgan didn’t just sit down with the toys, she exploded into the pile like a whirlwind. Blocks clattered, dolls tumbled, and stuffed animals flopped across the rug as she dug until she found exactly what she wanted: two baby dolls, faded from years of love from the Barton kids.

“Here,” she said breathlessly, shoving one into your hands. “This one can be yours.”

You blinked at it, the doll sagging in your lap. She had yarn hair sticking up in uneven tufts and a faded pink dress that looked like it had been washed a hundred times.

Morgan already had hers tucked under her chin, rocking it back and forth with a humming noise. “Shh, shh, it’s okay Rosie. Mommy’s here.”

You frowned at the word but didn’t say anything. Instead, you watched how carefully she wrapped her doll in a blanket and patted its back like it was real.

Morgan looked up. “What’s yours called?”

You shrugged.

“Babies need names,” Morgan insisted, scooting closer. “It’s, like, the rules.”

You studied the doll again. The soft yarn hair reminded you of Bunny’s floppy ears. “Bunny,” you decided.

Morgan squealed, throwing herself onto her back dramatically. “That’s so silly! A baby named Bunny?”

You hugged the doll tight, half afraid you’d chosen wrong. “I like it.”

Morgan rolled back up, hair sticking out of her pigtails. She was grinning. “Then it’s perfect. Babies don’t care if names are silly. They just need love.”

Your shoulders relaxed. Bunny the Doll stayed safely in your arms.

Across the room, Wanda’s lips curved into a smile as she watched you. She leaned over to Natasha and whispered, “She’s opening up more today.”

Natasha nodded faintly but didn’t look away from you, as though she was memorizing every move you made.

Morgan didn’t stop there. She lined up blocks to make a little square crib, then tucked Rosie inside. “Naptime!” she declared. She laid her doll flat and sang a garbled lullaby, half nursery rhyme and half made-up words.

You copied, placing Bunny beside Rosie. The block crib wobbled, one side leaning. Natasha quietly reached over and steadied it with her hand, adjusting a block. You flinched at the sudden movement, but when she only smiled and tapped Bunny’s blanket into place, you felt a little braver.

“Naptime’s over!” Morgan announced two seconds later. She scooped Rosie up and bounced to her feet. “Now it’s walkies!”

You stared at her. “Babies don’t walk.”

Morgan rolled her eyes like you’d missed something obvious. “Not real walkies. Pretend walkies.” She cradled Rosie against her shoulder and started marching in a circle.

You got to your feet slowly and followed, holding Bunny in both hands.

Wanda covered her mouth, trying not to laugh as you two paraded around the room like a pair of very serious parents. “They’re adorable,” she murmured.

Natasha leaned back against the couch, arms crossed. “Tiny tornadoes.” But her eyes were soft.

“Feeding time!” Morgan shouted next. She plopped onto the rug, pulling out a tiny plastic spoon from the toy bin. She pretended to scoop invisible food from an imaginary bowl and pressed it to Rosie’s mouth. “Open wide! Nom-nom-nom.”

You giggled before you could stop yourself.

Morgan shoved the spoon toward you. “Your turn!”

You held it awkwardly, then pressed it to Bunny’s painted lips. “All gone,” you whispered.

Morgan clapped so hard the spoon went flying. “Perfect! You’re a good mommy already.”

You tilted your head, frowning. “What’s a mommy?”

Morgan froze, her hands still mid-clap. “You don’t know?”

You shook your head.

She gasped like it was the biggest shock in the world. “A mommy is,” She hugged Rosie tighter, thinking. “,A mommy is a lady who takes care of you. She makes food and hugs you and makes sure you’re not scared. Mommies always make things better.”

You followed her gaze as she pointed toward Wanda, who was folding a dish towel in the kitchen doorway. Wanda noticed you looking and gave a little wave, her smile soft and warm.

“Like Wanda?” you asked carefully.

“Yeah!” Morgan said proudly. “She’s totally a mommy.”

Your eyes shifted to Natasha. She was crouched, picking up blocks one by one, quiet and focused.

A thought sat heavy in your chest. If Wanda was mommy, then what was Natasha?

You looked down at Bunny the Doll, stroking the yarn hair with your thumb. The game wasn’t as fun anymore.

You hugged Bunny the Doll close while Morgan tucked Rosie into the block castle she’d built. The thought buzzing in your head wouldn’t leave you alone.

“If Wanda’s mommy,” you said slowly, “then what’s Natasha?”

Morgan tilted her head. “She’s not mommy.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t have two mommies.” Morgan plopped Rosie into the middle of the castle and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “That’s too confusing.”

You frowned, your grip on Bunny tightening.

“She can’t be daddy either. Daddies are boys.” Morgan nodded like that settled it. “And Natasha’s not a boy.”

You blinked at her. “So what is she?”

Morgan scrunched her face, clearly stumped. “I dunno. I have a mommy and a daddy. Mommy takes care of me and gives me hugs, and Daddy builds stuff and makes pancakes sometimes. But Natasha’s not a daddy, so,” She trailed off, shrugging. “I don’t know what she can be.”

You hugged Bunny closer, the soft fabric pressed to your cheek. Just not knowing made your chest feel wobbly.

Morgan noticed you frown and added quickly, “It’s okay! I’ll just ask my mommy later. She knows everything.”

Your eyes widened. “She does?”

“Yep.” Morgan grinned proudly. “And then I can use her phone to call you and tell you what Natasha is. Easy-peasy.”

Something in your chest eased a little at that, though the question still sat heavy in your head. You nodded slowly, whispering, “Okay.”

“Now,” Morgan declared, scooping up Rosie and holding her high like a superhero, “our babies are flying to the moon!”

And just like that, the subject was dropped, at least for Morgan. But you couldn’t stop glancing at Natasha every now and then, wondering what she was supposed to be if she wasn’t Mommy, wasn’t Daddy, just Natasha.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

By the time Pepper arrived to collect Morgan, the two of you had played through an entire universe of games: dolls flying to the moon, castles under siege, and even a pretend picnic on the carpet using blocks for sandwiches. You hugged Morgan tight at the door when Pepper held out her hand.

“Bye, friend!” Morgan shouted, as if she needed the whole apartment to hear.

“Bye,” you whispered, watching her skip off with her mommy. You lingered at the door until it clicked shut, your chest a little achy and hollow.

Natasha crouched down beside you. “You okay, malyshka?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure you were. There was still that question Morgan hadn’t answered sitting heavy in your chest: what was Natasha, if not Mommy or Daddy?

Before you could sink too deep into it, Wanda clapped her hands together. “Dinner time. Who’s hungry?”

“I am,” you admitted, stomach growling.

“Hot dogs tonight,” Wanda said with a grin. “And broccoli, because I’m not raising someone who thinks green food is evil.”

Natasha snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

You padded after them to the kitchen, Bunny clutched under one arm. Wanda let you help with the hot dogs, standing you on a stool while she showed you how to poke them with a fork so they wouldn’t explode in the pan. Natasha set the table, sliding you a smile when she caught you sneaking glances her way.

When everything was ready, you sat sandwiched between them at the table. The smell of hot dogs and buttered broccoli made your mouth water.

“Do you want ketchup?” Wanda asked, already reaching for the bottle.

“Yes, please, Mommy,” you said.

The word slipped out before you even realized it. It just came, the same way it did when Morgan talked about her own mommy. The lady who hugged you, fed you, kept you safe. Of course Wanda was Mommy.

Wanda froze, ketchup bottle in mid-air. Natasha stiffened beside you.

You blinked, suddenly nervous. “What?”

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Wanda set the bottle down slowly, her eyes shining. “Sweetheart,” she said softly, “could you, could you say that again?”

Your cheeks warmed. You ducked your head. “Mommy?”

Wanda’s breath hitched, and then she pulled you into her arms so fast your fork clattered to the plate. “Oh, dorogaya, you have no idea how much that means to me.” Her voice trembled against your hair.

You smiled, because Mommy was happy. But when you peeked sideways at Natasha, she wasn’t smiling. Her jaw was tight, her eyes fixed on her plate.

You frowned. “Natasha?”

She looked at you, and she tried, she really did, to soften her face. But you saw something flicker there, something sad and heavy. “Eat your dinner, kotyonok,” she murmured, and returned to eating her food.

You obeyed, but the air around you felt different now. Wanda was glowing, hugging you every few minutes as if she couldn’t believe it was real. And Natasha, Natasha felt far away, even though her arm brushed yours.

When dinner was over, Wanda offered ice cream for dessert, but you shook your head. You were too tired, too full of questions. They tucked you into your new bed, Wanda kissed your forehead, Natasha tucked Bunny under your arm. You whispered goodnight, and the words felt uneven in your mouth.

“Goodnight, Mommy. Goodnight, Natasha.”

Wanda kissed you again, her eyes misty. Natasha only smiled tightly before switching off the light.

As you drifted toward sleep, you thought about Morgan’s words. Only one can be Mommy. And you wondered, heart squeezing, if Natasha didn’t want to be anything at all.

You hugged Bunny tight under the covers, your small hands kneading his soft fur as if squeezing out answers. “Bunny,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath, “what do I do? I said Mommy to Wanda, but Natasha, she didn’t smile like she usually does.”

You pressed your forehead to his soft, worn head, imagining him nodding slowly, silently listening. “Do you think she’s mad at me?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly. “Or- or doesn’t love me?” The shadows of the room seemed to lean closer, quiet and heavy around you.

You thought back to all the times Wanda had scooped you up, held you when nightmares chased you from sleep, and whispered in her gentle voice until your tears slowed. Then you remembered Natasha, curled up beside you on the couch, her arm protecting you even when you hadn’t realized it. Her touch was quieter, less obvious, but it was always there.

You hugged Bunny closer, his worn fur brushing against your cheek. “Maybe, maybe she just doesn’t know I love her yet,” you whispered, voice muffled in his fur. “I don’t know, maybe she doesn’t get it yet. But I want her to.”

You squeezed him harder, imagining his stitched smile encouraging you. “Hmm, maybe I just have to be patient,” you murmured, your tiny body curling around him. “I’ll be good, Bunny. I’ll show her I can be nice, maybe then she’ll, maybe she’ll like me too.”

Your eyelids grew heavy, the little worries of the day softening in the quiet darkness. Bunny felt warm and comforting in your arms, a little anchor in a confusing world. You gave him one last hug, whispering, “I love you, Bunny. Thanks for helping me think.”

And as your breathing evened out, the small stitch-faced rabbit held all the courage you could muster, letting you drift toward sleep, safe and understood, for just a little while.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

Natasha sank onto the edge of the bed in their bedroom, rubbing her temples. The house was quiet, the only sound coming from the faint hum of the city beyond the windows and the gentle ticking of the clock. Wanda sat beside her, blanket draped over her knees, watching her silently, sensing the storm of thoughts swirling inside her partner.

“I can’t stop thinking about today,” Natasha muttered, voice low, almost swallowed by the shadows of the room. “She, she called you Mommy.” She clenched her fists, staring at the bedspread as if it might give her the answer. “And she didn’t call me anything. Does that mean she doesn’t like me? Doesn’t love me?”

Wanda reached over, resting a warm, grounding hand on Natasha’s arm. “Nat, she’s four. She doesn’t fully understand words yet. She knows you’re safe. She knows you care. That’s what matters right now.”

Natasha shook her head, the frustration pressing down like weights. “But she used the word ‘Mommy’ for you and not me. How am I supposed to, I don’t know, fit into her world when she’s already picked her word for me?”

Wanda leaned closer, her voice soft but firm. “It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. She’s just figuring out how to describe her feelings. She’s learning words, trust, and what family even means. You’re part of that learning. Both of us are.”

Natasha let out a heavy sigh, running a hand down her face. She thought of all the fear and confusion a child like you must have carried before they rescued you, the harshness of the Red Room, the isolation. And now, here you were, safe in their home, learning what love and care could feel like. She wanted to be an anchor for you, but the weight of inadequacy gnawed at her.

“I feel like I’m failing her,” Natasha admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t there when she needed someone, and now, I don’t even know if she wants me to be here.”

Wanda’s fingers found hers, squeezing gently. “Nat, she’s just a little kid. A scared, tiny kid who’s never had normal before. She’s not rejecting you. She’s learning, and so are we. That’s the truth. You being here, loving her, protecting her, that’s everything she needs from you right now.”

Natasha exhaled, letting some of the tension drain, though doubt still lingered. “Together?” she murmured, almost testing the word.

Wanda smiled, nudging her gently. “Together. Always.”

For a long while, they sat like that, side by side, letting the quiet of the house fill the space. Natasha thought of all the little ways she could be there for you: helping with bedtime, making breakfast, holding your tiny hand through new experiences. She realized she didn’t need to be perfect, didn’t need all the right words or actions. She just needed to be present.

“You think, she’ll ever call me Mommy?” Natasha asked, a trace of vulnerability threading her voice.

Wanda chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Natasha’s face. “Maybe. Maybe not. And that’s okay. She knows you love her, and that’s more important than any word. Words can come later. Feelings, they come first.”

Natasha nodded, staring at the ceiling for a moment before leaning back against Wanda. She let herself relax a little, letting the warmth of Wanda’s presence anchor her. The night outside stretched on quietly, and for the first time since you had come into their lives, she felt a sliver of hope, that in this strange, new world, they would all find their place together.

They stayed there for a while longer, watching the faint glow of the streetlights through the curtains, knowing that tomorrow would bring challenges, questions, and small victories. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, stretching warm and soft across your bedroom. You stirred slowly, Bunny tucked under your arm, and blinked sleepily at the familiar shapes of your room. Your small chest rose and fell, calm now, not tight with fear like it had been in the Red Room.

“Good morning, darling,” Wanda’s gentle voice called from the doorway. She was holding a small bag of hairbrushes and a few tiny clothes she had picked out for you. “Did you sleep well?”

You yawned, hugging Bunny tighter. “Yes, Mommy.”

Wanda smiled warmly and stepped in, kneeling beside your bed. “Come on, let’s get you ready for the day. We have a lot to do.”

You climbed out of bed, still a little wobbly on your small feet, and handed Bunny to Wanda for a moment. She brushed her hands over your soft hair and helped you into the bathroom. “First, teeth,” she said, handing you a tiny toothbrush and a small cup of water. You scrubbed carefully, following her gentle instructions. Your teeth felt fresh and clean, something that had seemed like a luxury in the past.

After brushing, Wanda styled your hair into little braids, her fingers deft and patient. “Perfect,” she said when she finished, smoothing a stray curl back into place. “You look so pretty, sweetie.” You looked in the mirror and saw yourself reflected, small, safe, and loved.

Next came getting dressed. Wanda laid out a soft outfit for you: a little dress with tiny flowers and comfortable socks. You slipped into it carefully, letting her guide you with small hands where you needed help. Finally ready, Wanda held your hand and led you into the kitchen.

The warm scent of breakfast greeted you immediately. On the table sat a plate of golden French toast, a small bowl of fresh berries, and a little glass of juice. Natasha was sitting quietly at the table, her arms resting on the back of a chair, watching you with a calm, protective gaze.

“Breakfast is ready, sweetheart,” Wanda said, setting your plate in front of you. “Go ahead and try it.”

You hesitated, eyeing the French toast carefully. You remembered the pancakes they had given you before, soft and sweet, and this looked similar but different. “What’s this?” you asked softly.

“It’s French toast,” Wanda explained. “It’s a little sweet, warm, and soft. You can try a bite, and I think you’ll like it.”

You carefully picked up a small piece, tested it, and then chewed slowly. The taste made your eyes widen in surprise. “Mmm good,” you murmured, tasting it again.

Natasha smiled faintly, her gaze softening. “Looks like someone likes it,” she said quietly.

“I like it,” you admitted, taking another careful bite, your thumb brushing Bunny’s ear for reassurance. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Wanda’s face lit up, her warmth radiating in every movement as she reached over and smoothed your hair. “You’re welcome, darling. I’m so glad you like it.”

You finished the French toast slowly, savoring each bite. It wasn’t strict, cold, or measured like the meals in the Red Room. Here, food was safe. Food was comforting. Food was love on a plate, shared with people who cared about you.

When the plate was cleared, Wanda reached down and hugged you close. “You’re so brave, sweetie. Every day you’re braver than you think.”

You smiled faintly, hugging Bunny tightly, and whispered, “I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too,” Wanda said, her voice full of warmth and pride.

Natasha watched quietly, a small ache in her chest. She wasn’t sure if you fully understood everything, but seeing you eat and enjoy something new, calling Wanda “Mommy,” made her feel a mix of relief and longing. Relief that you were safe, longing because she wanted to be a safe presence for you too, even if you didn’t fully call her anything yet.

The morning stretched on in calm, golden sunlight. You played with Bunny, asked Wanda little questions about the French toast, and even peeked at Natasha once or twice with a shy smile. The world felt lighter here, safer, and warmer, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

For the first time in your short life, mornings felt like they could be something to look forward to.

The morning sunlight spilled across the living room, highlighting the new furniture and toys that Wanda and Natasha had set up for you. Your eyes darted from shelf to shelf, tiny hands reaching for the soft blocks and stuffed animals neatly arranged for you. Bunny was tucked under your arm, the familiar comfort in the new space.

“Do you like your room?” Natasha asked quietly, sitting cross-legged on the rug across from you.

You nodded eagerly, eyes wide. “Yes! The colors are soft!” Your small fingers tapped the edge of a brightly painted table.

“I’m glad,” Natasha said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s all for you.”

Wanda appeared at the doorway, her coat draped over her arm, a professional air about her. “Darling, I have to head out for a meeting with Director Fury about your adoption,” she explained softly, kneeling to hug you. “But Natasha is here, and she’ll stay with you.”

“Okay, Mommy,” you murmured, snuggling into Wanda’s side. “Be safe.”

“I will, sweetie,” Wanda whispered, brushing a soft curl from your forehead. “We’ll see you soon, and I promise to bring something special back for you.”

You waved as Wanda left, her footsteps fading down the hall, leaving the house quiet except for the soft hum of the morning.

Natasha shifted, curling up on the rug near you. “Looks like it’s just us for now,” she said, her voice calm but tinged with something warmer, protective, tender.

You crawled toward her slowly, Bunny pressed under your chin. “Nat will stay?” you asked softly.

“Of course,” Natasha replied, her hand brushing gently over your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The two of you spent the morning exploring your room together. You picked up toys and blocks, building small towers while Natasha guided your little hands. She laughed softly when a tower fell, picking up a piece of the block and handing it to you. “See? Sometimes things fall, but we can always try again.”

“Like me?” you asked quietly, looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Exactly like you,” Natasha said, smiling softly. “Brave, strong, and always trying, even when things are hard.”

You snuggled closer, clutching Bunny, and whispered, “I like it here a lot.”

Natasha’s chest tightened slightly. It wasn’t often she heard those words from anyone, let alone you. “I’m glad,” she murmured. “You deserve this, all of this. No one’s going to hurt you here. Not ever.”

For a while, the two of you sat together on the rug, playing quietly. You experimented with the blocks, making small towers and knocking them down again, giggling when Natasha did the same. The rhythm of the morning felt easy, warm, and safe, completely different from the regimented fear of the Red Room.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Natasha suggested a small snack. You helped pour tiny cups of juice and carefully picked out crackers, laughing when Natasha accidentally spilled a crumb or two. “It’s okay,” Natasha said, sweeping them up. “We’ll clean it together.”

You nodded solemnly, handing her a cracker like you were helping too. “Together,” you echoed, a small smile forming.

The morning passed slowly, filled with soft laughter and gentle guidance. You began asking Natasha little questions about everything: “Why does the sun shine?” “Can Bunny stay with me forever?” “Why are the blocks different colors?” And Natasha answered each one carefully, her voice calm and patient.

At one point, you climbed into Natasha’s lap, resting your head against her chest, Bunny pressed tightly to your side. Natasha held you carefully, stroking your hair, feeling a small but powerful shift in herself, something between relief and longing. She realized how much she wanted to be someone you could trust completely.

When the clock ticked closer to noon, Natasha suggested a small indoor picnic with sandwiches and juice. You giggled and helped arrange the food on a small mat, and even helped her “cut” the tiny pieces for your plates. Every laugh, every small gesture, felt like building a bridge, one that promised safety and care.

By the time the afternoon sunlight began to fade, Natasha had cleaned up the small mess, and you sat together, quiet for a moment, Bunny pressed under your arm. “Nat, thank you,” you whispered softly.

For a long moment, Natasha simply held you, feeling the weight of the day, the relief that you were here, safe. “Always, kiddo. Always,” she said finally, her voice steady and sure.

Even with Wanda away and the house quiet, the day felt full, safe, warm, and bright. The foundation of trust between you and Natasha had strengthened in just a few hours, the first hints of real family beginning to take root.

The morning sunlight poured through the curtains, warm and golden, brushing over the tidy room that had been transformed just for you. You sat cross-legged on the floor, Bunny clutched tight to your chest, blocks scattered around in an uneven rainbow of color. Natasha sat nearby, legs crossed, helping you balance a particularly wobbly tower. The sound of laughter and clinking blocks filled the room, but something tugged at your thoughts.

“Natasha, I have question,” you said, voice soft but insistent. Your thumb absently stroked Bunny’s floppy ear.

“Of course, kiddo,” Natasha replied, her tone gentle, patient. “What’s your question?”

You frowned, twisting a block between your tiny fingers. “Morgan, she has a mommy and a daddy. She said only Wanda can be mommy, so if I want you to be mommy that- that’s confusing.”

Natasha felt her chest tighten. She scooted a little closer, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I see, yeah, that could be confusing if we both were called ‘mommy,’” she said, keeping her voice calm. “But, we can figure out something special, just for us.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Something special?”

“Yeah,” Natasha said, her smile softening. “Something that makes sense for you and me. A name that feels like family, but isn’t confusing. Do you want to hear it?”

You nodded quickly, eyes wide and focused. “Yes.”

“I can be Mama,” Natasha suggested, testing the word gently. “Just for you. That way you can still call Wanda Mommy, and it won’t be confusing.”

You blinked, processing the idea. “Mama?” you repeated slowly, testing it on your tongue like it was a new, magical word. Your small fingers tightened around Bunny. “I like that.”

Natasha’s chest warmed, and she let out a quiet laugh, relieved. “I like that too, kiddo. Perfect. That’s my name.”

You hesitated a moment, then crawled closer, pressing against Natasha’s side. “Mama help me with the tower?” you asked, your voice shy but eager.

“Of course,” Natasha said, wrapping an arm around you as you returned to stacking blocks. “We’re a team, Mama and you. Just us.”

As you carefully placed another block on top of the teetering tower, you looked up at Natasha. “Mama, will you stay with me?”

“Always,” Natasha said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For the next little while, you both built towers, knocked them down, and laughed at the crashes, the sound bouncing off the walls like sunlight. Occasionally, you repeated the word “Mama,” saying it in a shy whisper or a proud proclamation, and Natasha’s heart swelled each time.

She watched you lean against her, Bunny tucked under your arm, and realized that even in this small, simple moment, something had shifted. You understood family in a way that was both innocent and profound: love didn’t need to follow rules, it just needed names that fit, care that was real, and trust that was earned.

By the time your tower finally toppled over in a chaotic heap, you leaned back against Natasha, sighing contentedly. “Mama, we’re family,” you said quietly, your small hand brushing against hers.

“Yes, kiddo,” Natasha said, holding your hand tight. “We’re family. Just us.”

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha felt like maybe, finally, she was doing something right.

The evening was quiet, the kind of calm that wrapped around the house like a soft blanket. The kitchen smelled warm and comforting, roasted carrots, bubbling mac and cheese, and the unmistakable golden scent of freshly cooked chicken nuggets. You sat on the floor near the table, Bunny tucked under your arm, watching Natasha and Wanda move around, helping set everything up.

The front door clicked, and your head shot up. Wanda stepped inside, shoulders slightly tense, lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes flicked toward Natasha, then quickly to you. Natasha paused mid-motion, a hand frozen over the serving tray.

“Wanda?” Natasha asked softly, tilting her head. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda didn’t answer. She mouthed a single word silently: later. Then she nodded subtly toward you, keeping her gaze on Natasha. It was almost invisible, but Natasha caught it immediately. Wanda wanted to handle whatever was wrong without worrying you.

You, unaware of the exchange, bounced slightly in excitement. “Eat now?”

“Yes, soon,” Wanda said softly, her tired smile reaching her eyes.

Natasha resumed her task, helping you into your chair while Wanda carried the plates to the table. Chicken nuggets were piled just right, mac and cheese glistening with butter, and carrots lined neatly on the side. You clapped your hands in delight.

“Yum!” you exclaimed. “I eat!”

Dinner began with the soft clatter of utensils and happy chatter. You took a chicken nugget first, chewing carefully, then dipped a carrot in a little bit of mac and cheese sauce, marveling at the combination. “Tasty!” you declared, eyes wide.

Wanda’s tension remained subtle, a tight jaw now and then, but her voice was gentle as she guided you through passing the dishes and taking bites. Natasha noticed the way Wanda’s gaze lingered on you when she thought you weren’t looking, small gestures of protectiveness that spoke volumes.

Between bites, you talked about the blocks you’d stacked earlier in the living room, proudly explaining your “tallest tower ever.” Both women laughed warmly, letting you feel safe and included, even as Wanda’s silent worry remained just beneath the surface.

After a few minutes, Wanda leaned slightly toward Natasha, whispering just loud enough for her to hear: “Later.” Natasha nodded, understanding immediately. Whatever Wanda had to say or do, it could wait. For now, dinner was about you, comfort, and home.

The three of you continued eating. You dipped chicken nuggets in mac and cheese, occasionally nudging a carrot onto your fork with a giggle. The warmth, laughter, and simple rhythm of a shared meal wrapped around the house, a temporary shield against the bigger worries waiting outside the kitchen walls.

After dinner, Wanda gently guided you toward the bathroom. Your little feet pattered against the tile, Bunny tucked under your arm, as Natasha followed behind carrying a warm towel and some pajamas. The soft hum of the house felt calm, almost protective, a quiet bubble of safety surrounding the three of you.

“Okay, sweetie,” Wanda said softly, kneeling to meet your eyes. “Time for a bath. We’re going to get you all clean and cozy for bed.”

You nodded, holding Bunny a little tighter. “Clean, okay,” you murmured, your tiny voice still full of the trust you had built with Wanda and Natasha.

Wanda ran the water, checking the temperature with her hand before helping you climb in. The warmth enveloped you instantly, relaxing your small frame. Natasha crouched nearby, making sure the towel and pajamas were ready. “We’ve got you,” she said, her voice low and steady, full of reassurance.

You splashed gently, giggling as Wanda held a cup of water for rinsing. Natasha pointed out little bubbles forming as you poured water over your arms. “Look! Little clouds,” she said, making you laugh even more.

Wanda scrubbed your hair carefully, her hands gentle and steady. “All clean,” she said finally, rinsing out the last of the soap. You shivered slightly as Wanda helped you out of the tub, wrapping you in the warm towel while Natasha handed over your pajamas.

Soon you were dressed in soft, cozy clothes. Wanda braided your hair loosely so it wouldn’t tangle overnight, the simple, nurturing act making you feel safe. Natasha smiled softly, brushing a stray strand from your face.

With you bundled and ready, the three of you moved to the bedroom. Wanda picked you up, and you held Bunny close as Natasha followed behind. The room was softly lit, cozy and warm, with your little bed made up with fresh sheets and your favorite stuffed animals arranged neatly.

Wanda set you down gently, smoothing the blanket over you. Natasha sat beside the bed, tucking in the sides carefully, her presence calm and grounding. Wanda opened the storybook, her voice soft and melodic as she began to read, bringing the characters to life in a gentle rhythm.

You listened, eyes wide and dreamy, occasionally snuggling closer to Bunny. Natasha rested a hand lightly on your shoulder, the quiet strength in her touch comforting. Wanda’s voice carried the story while Natasha’s calm presence made you feel protected, safe, and loved.

As the story ended, Wanda leaned close, brushing a kiss across your forehead. “Goodnight, my little one,” she whispered.

You blinked sleepily, your small voice muffled by the blanket. “Good night mommy,” you murmured, then turned your gaze toward Natasha. “and mama.”

Both women froze for a heartbeat, hearts catching at the simple, perfect words. Wanda smiled softly, eyes shimmering. “That’s right, my love,” she whispered, squeezing your hand gently.

Natasha’s chest tightened, and she let out a small, almost breathless laugh, bending down to brush your hair back. “Mama,” she echoed softly, as if tasting the word for the first time. She pressed a kiss to your forehead too, careful not to jostle you.

You snuggled deeper under the blankets, Bunny tucked safely by your side, your little body finally still and relaxed. The three of you lingered for a moment, letting the quiet settle, the weight of the day slowly fading into peace.

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgement passing between them, this tiny, fragile heart had found home with both of them. And for the first time in a long while, the house felt complete.

“Sleep well, little one,” Wanda whispered again, closing the book gently. Natasha adjusted the blanket one last time, both of them standing to leave the room.

“Night, mommy, night, mama,” you murmured again, already drifting toward sleep, the warmth of their love carrying you into dreams unbroken by fear.

Outside the door, Wanda and Natasha shared a quiet, contented smile, knowing that tonight, at least, the three of you were exactly where you belonged.

The house was quiet, the soft glow of the living room lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Outside, the city hummed faintly, but inside, everything felt suspended in stillness. Wanda sat on the sofa, hands twisting in her lap, her gaze fixed on a point far beyond the walls. Natasha, sensing the weight pressing on her friend, lowered herself beside her, alert and silent.

“She’s asleep,” Wanda began, voice low, almost as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile calm. “Nick told me he found her birth family.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed, tension knitting her features. “Who’s?”

“Y/N’s birth parents,” Wanda said, swallowing hard. “The Red Room, they tricked her mother into giving her up at birth. And her father, they killed him.” Her hands clenched together, fingernails pressing into her palms. “It’s, it’s a lot, Nat. I didn’t even know how to tell you. Her mother regrets it and has wondered where she ended up. She wants to see her”

Natasha’s eyes darkened, sharp and focused. “Her mother wants to meet her?”

“Yes,” Wanda whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “After everything, she wants to see Y/N. To meet her.” She looked down at her hands, twisting the hem of her sleeve. “I don’t even know if she understands, or if we should even let this happen soon. She’s so small.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “She’s four, Wanda. Four. The Red Room’s already taken so much from her, this could overwhelm her. But hiding the truth forever isn’t the answer either.” She shifted closer, brushing her hand against Wanda’s, grounding them both. “We do it on her terms. Only when she’s ready. No one else’s timeline matters.”

Wanda nodded, eyes glistening despite her attempts to stay strong. “I know. But we can’t pretend it doesn’t exist either. She’ll have questions, questions we can’t ignore. And someday, she’ll want answers about who she really is. We have to be ready for that.”

Natasha’s gaze softened, the hardened edge of her worry giving way to determination. “We protect her first. Always. Her safety, her comfort, her choices. That’s what matters most.”

Wanda exhaled, a shiver running through her. “She’s ours now. Y/N is safe, loved, and we’ll make sure it stays that way.”

Natasha nodded, resolute. “Exactly. One step at a time. Tonight, she sleeps. Tomorrow, we will figure out the rest.”

Wanda leaned her head against Natasha’s shoulder, letting herself take a shaky breath. The Red Room had tried to control your life from the very beginning, stripping away everything that should have been hers, family, choice, safety. But now, she was here, in this room, surrounded by people who truly cared for her, who would fight for her no matter what.

“She’s going to need us,” Wanda murmured. “More than ever.”

“She already has us,” Natasha replied quietly. “And we’ll never leave her. Not now, not ever.”

The two women sat in silence for a while, letting the weight of the truth settle. Outside, the city carried on, unaware of the quiet victory inside the living room. They had you, and for the first time in her young life, she had a chance at a real family, one who would fight for her happiness, protect her from the shadows of her past, and love her for exactly who she was.

Wanda pressed her hand to Natasha’s, eyes shining with quiet gratitude. “We’ll do everything we can,” she said softly.

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but her eyes softened as she answered, “Everything.”

And in that moment, the room held a fragile peace, a promise whispered into the quiet that whatever came next, they would face it together, for  you and for the family they were building around you.

Chapter Text

You wake up to the sound of quiet voices in the hallway and the faint clinking of coffee mugs. The sunlight sneaks through the curtains, painting soft gold across your blanket. When you roll over, your hair a sleepy mess and your stuffy still tucked under your chin, the house already feels different. Grown-up quiet.

The kind of quiet that means Mommy and Mama are talking about something important.

You push the blanket off and sit up, rubbing your eyes. The smell of breakfast drifts down the hall. You hop down from your bed and pad across the floor, the wood cool under your bare feet.

When you reach the kitchen, Wanda turns around first. Her hair is down, a soft wave of auburn, and her sweater hangs loose on her shoulders. She smiles the second she sees you, soft and a little tired, but she still opens her arms like always.

“There’s my sleepy girl,” she murmurs, crouching to scoop you up. You cling to her neck, burying your face against the familiar scent of her perfume and laundry soap. “Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning, Mommy,” you mumble into her shoulder.

Behind her, Natasha glances up from the table. She’s already dressed in her black jeans and jacket, hair tied back neatly. Her mug sits beside a small pile of paperwork that looks serious, the kind of papers that only ever come out when they whisper to each other after you’ve gone to bed.

“Morning, malyshka,” she says softly. Her voice is gentle but a little distracted, and when she reaches over to brush your hair from your face, her fingers linger a little longer than usual.

You tilt your head, studying both of them. Something feels off. Not bad, just quiet. Thoughtful.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask.

Wanda’s expression melts into quick reassurance. “No, no, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She kisses your forehead, smiling through it. “Mommy and Mama just have to go to work for a little bit today, okay? But you’re going to have such a fun day.”

Your nose scrunches. “Work? On a weekend?”

Natasha gives a faint smile, coming over to crouch next to Wanda. “Sometimes grown-ups have to, kotyonok. Just for a little while. But Auntie Yelena and Kate are coming over to spend the day with you. How does that sound?”

At the mention of Yelena, your eyes brighten. “Auntie Lena’s coming?!”

“Yes,” Wanda says, laughing quietly when you wiggle excitedly in her arms. “And Kate too. You like Kate, don’t you?”

“She’s funny,” you say instantly, which makes Natasha smirk faintly over her coffee cup.

“That she is,” Wanda agrees. “They’re going to take you somewhere fun. But before that, how about we get you ready for the day, hm?”

You nod, sliding down from her arms. Wanda takes your hand, and the two of you head to your room while Natasha watches with a faint, almost wistful smile.

In your room, Wanda helps you brush your teeth, humming a quiet Sokovian lullaby under her breath while you stand on your stool and make silly faces in the mirror. She ties your hair up neatly, the gentle tug of the brush rhythmic and soothing.

“What do you want to wear today, malen'kaya?” she asks softly, opening your dresser drawer.

You tap your chin in exaggerated thought before pointing at your favorite overalls with the tiny embroidered stars. “Those! And the yellow shirt!”

“Good choice.”

She dresses you carefully, buttoning the straps and smoothing your collar before lifting you into her arms for one last twirl. “Perfect,” she whispers, kissing your cheek. “My sunshine.”

When you go back to the kitchen, Natasha is setting two plates in front of you, french toast cut into hearts, syrup in a little dipping cup, and strawberries on the side.

You gasp, delighted. “You made hearts!”

Natasha smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Of course. I had some help,” she adds, nodding at Wanda.

You dig in happily, the room filled with the soft clink of forks and the low hum of the coffee maker. Wanda and Natasha exchange quiet glances over their mugs, those little, wordless conversations that say more than words could.

You don’t notice, too busy making your strawberries swim in syrup.

After breakfast, Wanda kneels beside your chair and wipes your sticky hands gently with a warm cloth. “Alright, little one, Yelena and Kate will be here soon. Why don’t you pick out a toy to take with you, hm?”

You nod, hopping down and running off to your room to grab Bunny. As soon as you’re gone, Natasha lets out a slow breath, her jaw tightening just a little.

“She’s so excited,” Wanda murmurs, watching you disappear around the corner.

Natasha’s lips press together. “Makes it harder not to tell her the truth.”

“I know,” Wanda says softly. “But we can’t, not until we know what this woman wants. I don’t want to confuse her or scare her.”

Natasha reaches out, curling her fingers around Wanda’s hand. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Wanda leans against her shoulder for a brief moment, then forces a small smile as the sound of your footsteps approaches again.

You come running back with Bunny and a backpack too big for your shoulders. “Ready!” you announce proudly.

Natasha chuckles. “You sure are, solnyshko.”

The doorbell rings.

Your face lights up. “Auntie Lena!”

Wanda laughs softly as you bolt for the front door. “Wait, wait, sweetheart, let Mommy or Mama open it first.”

You bounce on your toes while Natasha unlocks the door. Yelena stands there with her usual grin, dressed in a hoodie and sneakers, Kate behind her holding a tote bag that says Best Aunt Ever in glitter.

“There’s my favorite kid!” Yelena cheers, scooping you up dramatically. “Are you ready for the best day ever?”

You giggle and nod. “Uh-huh!”

Kate steps inside, smiling warmly at Wanda and Natasha. “We promise we’ll take good care of her.”

Natasha gives a skeptical look as she hands over a folded list of notes. “Make sure she naps. Not too much sugar. Don’t let her watch too many cartoons. If she misses us, just call.”

Yelena mock-gasps. “Do you think I am irresponsible?”

“Yes,” Natasha and Wanda say together.

Kate snorts, trying not to laugh. “I’ll keep an eye on her, promise.”

Wanda kneels to fix your jacket and smooth your hair one last time. “Be good for Auntie Lena and Kate, alright, dorogaya? We’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, Mommy,” you say sweetly, before turning to Natasha and wrapping your little arms around her. “Bye, Mama.”

Natasha hugs you close, eyes soft but distant. “Be safe, kotyonok. Have fun.”

You nod seriously, not noticing the way her voice falters just slightly on the word fun.

When Yelena carries you out to the car, Natasha watches as she buckles you into your car seat, the one she carefully moved from their car just minutes ago. Wanda stands beside her, her hand brushing Natasha’s as the two of them wave while you wave back from the window, grinning like the world is perfect.

The car pulls away.

The smile slowly fades from Wanda’s lips.

Natasha exhales through her nose, her jaw tightening. “You ready?” she asks quietly.

Wanda glances toward the driveway, where the sound of laughter is already fading. “As I’ll ever be.”

She threads her fingers through Natasha’s, and together, they turn toward the car waiting to take them to S.H.I.E.L.D., to the meeting neither of them are ready for.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The drive isn’t long, but you keep up a steady chatter from your car seat in the back, Bunny perched proudly in your lap. Yelena has one hand on the wheel and one elbow propped against the window, humming along to the pop song on the radio. Kate sits beside her, trying very hard not to laugh each time Yelena shouts the wrong lyrics.

“You don’t even know the words,” Kate teases, taking a sip from her travel mug.

“I know the vibes,” Yelena answers, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm. “And the vibes are immaculate.”

From the back seat, you giggle. “Imma-what?”

“Immaculate,” Kate explains, glancing over her shoulder to smile at you. “It means really, really good.”

“Oh.” You nod seriously. “Then the vibes are immaculate.”

Kate bursts out laughing. “See? She says it better than you do.”

“Of course she does,” Yelena says, smirking. “She is my niece.”

The car slows in front of a small café tucked between a flower shop and a bookstore. It’s one of those cozy places with fairy lights in the windows and chalkboard signs with doodled hearts around the menu.

Yelena parks, hops out, and comes around to unbuckle you. “Alright, malenkaya, you and Bunny are getting some cocoa. I’m getting a coffee. Kate can have her fancy hipster coffee.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “I’m literally ordering the same thing as you.”

“Ah, but I say it with confidence,” Yelena replies, lifting you out of your seat and setting you on the sidewalk. She takes your hand dramatically, like you’re heading on an adventure. “Come, small one. Let’s conquer the café.”

Inside, it smells like vanilla and roasted beans and cinnamon. The air is warm, and there’s soft music playing, something jazzy that makes you sway a little while you stand in line between Yelena and Kate.

You press Bunny’s face against your cheek while scanning the pastry case. “Can we get a muffin too?”

“Of course we can,” Yelena says instantly.

Kate raises an eyebrow. “She just had breakfast.”

“She’s growing,” Yelena argues, already crouching down to point out the choices. “Which one, solnyshko?”

You press your face to the glass, thinking very hard before declaring, “The blueberry one. It has sparkles.”

Kate leans over. “That’s sugar, not sparkles.”

“Sparkles,” you insist.

Yelena grins triumphantly. “Sparkles it is.”

You all sit near the window, the light making little rainbows through the glass. The barista brings over their coffees and your tiny mug of cocoa with whipped cream piled high like a cloud. Yelena carefully sets it in front of you.

“There,” she says proudly. “For the bravest kid I know.”

You beam at her. “Thank you, Auntie Lena.” You lift the cup with both hands, sipping carefully, and end up with a whipped-cream mustache.

Kate bursts out laughing. “You look like Santa.”

Yelena gasps in mock horror. “No! Santa retired early and was reborn as a tiny princess!”

You giggle so hard that cocoa nearly spills, but Yelena slides a napkin under your cup in time. “There. Disaster averted.”

Bunny sits next to your plate, one paw resting on the muffin.

“You should give Bunny a bite,” Yelena suggests solemnly. “Very rude to eat in front of friends.”

You gasp. “Bunny doesn’t have a mouth!”

Kate leans in. “I think that’s Auntie Lena’s way of trying to get another piece of muffin.”

Yelena feigns offense. “Kate Bishop, are you calling me manipulative?”

“I’m calling you predictable.”

They exchange playful glares while you try to decide whether Bunny would want muffin if he could eat it. After a long moment of consideration, you tear off the tiniest crumb and set it in front of Bunny anyway.

“Just in case,” you whisper.

Yelena looks touched. “She’s so considerate.”

Kate smiles warmly. “Yeah. She really is.”

After a few minutes, Kate pulls out her phone to check the time. “We’ve got the whole day. What do you think, munchkin, after this, maybe the park?”

You shake your head quickly. “Can we go somewhere fun?”

Kate tilts her head. “The park is fun.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Auntie Lena said it was gonna be the best day ever.”

Yelena leans back, smirking. “She has a point.”

Kate sighs. “Define ‘best.’”

“Somewhere with games. Lights. Pizza.”

Kate narrows her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not about to-”

“Chuck E. Cheese!” Yelena declares, slamming her hand on the table triumphantly. A few people look over; Kate hides her face in her hands.

You gasp so loud the barista glances over again. You don’t know what it is but Auntie Yelena is excited so you’re excited. “Really?”

Yelena grins. “The one and only. A sacred rite of childhood.”

Kate mutters, “A sacred headache, more like,” but when you bounce in your seat, clapping your hands, she can’t say no.

“Alright,” Kate sighs. “But we’re bringing hand sanitizer. And not too much sugar.”

“Of course,” Yelena says innocently, already signaling the waiter for the check.

Kate gives her a suspicious look. “That sounded suspiciously confident.”

Yelena just smirks. “You worry too much, ptichka. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Outside, you skip along the sidewalk between them, Bunny tucked under your arm. Yelena swings your hand back and forth dramatically, and every few steps she lifts you just enough that your sneakers leave the ground and you squeal in delight.

“You’re gonna make her fly,” Kate says, laughing as she tries to balance two coffees and the leftover muffin bag.

“She is light like a cloud,” Yelena replies. “A little superhero.”

You puff your chest. “Like Mama and Mommy!”

Kate’s smile softens. “Yeah, just like Mama and Mommy.”

Yelena nods. “Exactly like Mama and Mommy. Brave and strong. And maybe a little bit mischievous.”

You giggle, pretending to flex your tiny arms. “Rawr.”

Both women laugh so hard that passersby turn to look.

Back in the car, Yelena buckles you in again and hands Bunny back before sliding into the driver’s seat. “Alright, team,” she announces, adjusting her sunglasses dramatically. “Operation Best Day Ever is a go.”

Kate groans. “God help me.”

As the car pulls away, you rest your head against Bunny’s soft fur and sip the last of your cocoa from the travel cup Yelena asked the barista to pour it into. The whipped cream’s melted now, leaving only warm chocolate and the faint taste of cinnamon.

Your eyelids droop for a second, then Yelena shouts, “Next stop, Chuck E. Cheese!” and you jolt awake, giggling.

You can’t see it from your seat, but when Kate glances at Yelena, there’s something soft in her eyes.

“You’re good with her,” Kate says quietly.

Yelena shrugs, one corner of her mouth tugging upward. “She’s easy to love.”

Kate hums, looking out the window at the blur of trees. “Yeah. She really is.”

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The drive to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters feels heavier than usual.
The air between Wanda and Natasha is quiet, not tense exactly, but full of words neither of them wants to say aloud yet.

Natasha drives. Wanda’s hand rests loosely on her thigh, thumb tracing circles that she probably doesn’t even realize she’s making. The rhythmic motion grounds them both. Every now and then, Wanda glances out the window, not really looking at the passing scenery, just staring through it, mind elsewhere.

In the back seat, your car seat is empty, and somehow, that makes the silence feel even louder.

“She doesn’t know,” Natasha says quietly, breaking the stillness.

Wanda nods. “No. We said we were working today. I didn’t want to worry her.”

Natasha hums in agreement, eyes on the road. “I hate lying to her.”

“I know.” Wanda sighs, leaning her head against the window. “But she’s four. She wouldn’t understand why we’re doing this yet. And she shouldn’t have to.”

Natasha’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. “I still don’t know if we understand it.”

“She deserves the truth,” Wanda says softly. “Even if it hurts.”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away. She reaches over, taking Wanda’s hand and holding it for the rest of the drive.

They’re met at the entrance by Maria Hill, her expression unreadable but her voice gentle when she greets them.

“Thank you both for coming,” she says. “Fury’s waiting in conference room three. She’s already here.”

“She is?” Natasha echoes.

Maria nods, gesturing for them to follow. “She came here an hour early, she’s anxious.”

The words land with the weight of a thunderclap, this was real and happening.

Wanda feels her heart twist, an odd combination of gratitude and fear. Gratitude that the woman exists, that she survived long enough to be found. Fear that this meeting might somehow undo everything they’ve built.

Natasha notices the flicker in Wanda’s expression. She squeezes her hand again, a quiet promise: I’ve got you.

The door opens, and the room feels smaller than it should. Fury stands near the end of the table. Seated across from him is a woman, maybe in her early twenties now, brown hair in a messy braid, eyes shadowed by sleeplessness and guilt. She looks up when they enter, and Wanda stops short.

Because she recognizes those eyes.
Not from memory, but because she sees you in them.

“Wanda, Natasha,” Fury greets, stepping aside. “This is Lila.”

The woman stands quickly, uncertain whether to smile or cry. “Hi,” she says softly. Her voice trembles like she’s not used to saying words that matter. “You must be, You’re the ones who have her.”

Wanda swallows the lump in her throat and nods. “Yes. We’re her guardians. We’ve been taking care of her since the extraction.”

Lila’s eyes shimmer with tears. “You saved her.”

Natasha shakes her head. “We just got her out. You’re the one who-” She hesitates. “You brought her into the world. That’s something we can never do.”

Lila looks down at her hands. “I wish I’d done more than that.”

They sit. For a while, no one speaks. Fury excuses himself quietly, leaving Maria near the door for protocol’s sake, but even she stands far enough away to give them a semblance of privacy.

Lila fidgets with the hem of her sleeve. “I was sixteen,” she begins, her voice small. “My parents didn’t know. We were in a bad place, we didn’t have money, and when I found out I was pregnant, I panicked. The Red Room found me before I found them, I think. They had recruiters everywhere back then. They told me, they told me they could help. That the baby would be cared for, trained, protected. They said she’d have a purpose.”

Wanda’s stomach turns. The phrasing is too familiar, purpose. That word always meant control in the Red Room.

Natasha’s voice is quiet but cutting. “They lied.”

Lila nods, tears spilling over. “They did. I didn’t know what they really did until it was too late. By the time I tried to find her, the trail was gone. They erased me from every record. I didn’t even know if she was alive.”

She wipes her cheeks, shaking her head. “And then S.H.I.E.L.D. came to my door last week. They said they found my daughter. That she’s safe. That she has you. And that since the Red Room illegally took my daughter, I could get her back. I’m not taking her, I promise. I needed to know this was real.”

Wanda’s throat tightens at the word. “She’s safe,” she whispers. “She’s happy. She has nightmares sometimes, the kind that make her crawl into our bed, but she’s healing. She laughs. She has a stuffed bunny she won’t go anywhere without.”

Lila lets out a quiet, broken laugh. “She likes bunnies? I-” She pauses, smiling weakly through her tears. “When I was little, I had one too.”

Natasha and Wanda exchange a look, one full of silent ache.

Wanda leans forward slightly, her tone soft but steady. “She’s a wonderful little girl. Sweet. Curious. So gentle. You should know that.”

“I didn’t deserve to,” Lila says. “Not after what I did.”

“You were a child,” Natasha says, her voice unexpectedly gentle. “And they exploited that. You didn’t give her away because you didn’t care. You gave her away because they made you think it was her only chance.”

Lila shakes her head, burying her face in her hands. “That doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Natasha admits. “But it makes it human.”

For a while, the only sound in the room is the quiet hum of the ventilation. Then Lila looks up again. Her eyes are red but clear.

“I don’t want to take her from you,” she says, voice breaking. “I don’t think I deserve to. I just wanted to know she’s really alive and in a good place. Just to know she’s okay. That she’s loved.”

“She is,” Wanda says instantly. “More than you can imagine.”

Lila smiles faintly. “Then I can live with that.”

Maria, standing quietly in the corner, finally speaks. “There’s something else,” she says gently. “Lila’s agreed to sign whatever’s needed to expedite custody. With her cooperation, the adoption process could move much faster.”

Natasha blinks. “You’d do that?”

“I want her to have the life I couldn’t give her,” Lila says simply. “With people who know what the Red Room took. Who can help her build something new.”

There’s a pause, a deep, heavy pause, then Wanda reaches out across the table. “Would you, would you like to see a picture?”

Lila hesitates, then nods quickly. “Please.”

Wanda unlocks her phone, swiping to her photo gallery. It doesn’t take long to find one, a picture from last weekend, you standing between them in the backyard, grass stains on your knees, Bunny dangling from one arm. You’re grinning, eyes bright, sunlight in your hair.

Lila covers her mouth. “She’s beautiful,” she whispers. “She looks so-” She laughs softly. “She looks happy.”

“She is,” Natasha says quietly. “Because she’s loved.”

Lila looks up at them both. “Thank you. For giving her that.”

The rest of the meeting passes in quiet conversation, details about how S.H.I.E.L.D. will process the paperwork, what happens next. But beneath all the bureaucratic talk, there’s a strange peace that settles in the room.

When it’s time to leave, Lila stands, hands twisting nervously. “Would you tell her that I love her? That I’m sorry?”

Wanda’s eyes glisten. “We will.”

Natasha hesitates, then offers her hand. “You gave her life,” she says. “We’ll make sure she lives it.”

Lila takes the handshake like it’s sacred. “That’s all I could ever ask.”

As they walk down the hall afterward, Wanda feels the weight of what just happened sink in. She stops in the middle of the corridor, leaning against the wall, trying to steady her breath.

Natasha turns immediately. “Hey.”

Wanda shakes her head. “She looked so much like her. Like our girl. I-” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t expect that.”

Natasha pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly until Wanda can breathe again. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s not coming for her,” Natasha murmurs. “She just wanted to see that she’s safe. That’s all.”

“I know,” Wanda whispers. “But it still hurts.”

Natasha presses a kiss to her hair. “I know.”

Back in the car, Wanda stares out the window again, but this time the silence feels different. Not heavy, just still. Settled.

“She did the right thing,” Natasha says finally, starting the engine.

“So did we,” Wanda replies softly.

Natasha nods, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror, where, hours from now, your car seat will be occupied again, little legs swinging, Bunny tucked under one arm.

“Let’s go home,” she says quietly. “Our girl’s probably missing us.”

Wanda smiles faintly. “And probably hyped up on sugar.”

Natasha groans. “You think Yelena gave her sugar?”

Wanda sighs. “I know she did.”

They both laugh, the first real laugh since morning, and the sound feels like sunlight after rain.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The moment Yelena’s car turns into the parking lot, your little face lights up. There are flashing lights, music you can already hear through the glass doors, and a big mouse on the sign smiling down at you.

“Is that a mouse?” you ask, pressing your face against the window.

“Not just any mouse,” Yelena says proudly as she parks. “That is Chuck E. Cheese, the ruler of all children. You are about to enter his kingdom.”

Kate laughs, unbuckling her seat belt. “You’re so dramatic.”

Yelena ignores her, hopping out of the car and jogging around to unbuckle you from your car seat. “Are you ready, malen’kaya?”

You nod, clutching Bunny under one arm. “Ready!”

Kate shakes her head with an amused sigh. “She’s ready, all right. Let’s hope we survive this.”

Inside, it’s chaos. The air smells like pizza and sugar, kids are running everywhere, and lights flash from every direction. There are sounds of laughter, music, and the occasional clatter of game tokens hitting the floor.

You stand still for a second, eyes wide, completely mesmerized.

Yelena crouches beside you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Kate gives her a look. “Beautiful is one word for it.”

“Chaos is art,” Yelena replies, taking your hand. “Come, little one. Today, you are Chuck E.’s guest of honor.”

You giggle as Yelena marches you toward the arcade machines, while Kate follows, muttering under her breath about needing another coffee.

First stop: the game cards. Yelena insists on loading way too many credits on yours.

“She doesn’t need that many!” Kate protests.

Yelena waves her off. “It is an investment in happiness. Also, I want to play.”

You grin up at both of them, already bouncing in excitement. “Can I play that one?” you ask, pointing at a game with flashing lights and spinning wheels.

“Of course!” Yelena says, crouching to swipe your card for you. “Hit the big red button when I say go.”

You watch the spinning lights, your tongue poking out in concentration.

“Go!”

You slap the button. The wheel slows and slows and lands on a jackpot. Tickets start spewing out like a waterfall.

Your eyes go huge. “I did it!”

Yelena cheers so loudly half the room turns to look. “She did it! My little champion!”

Kate laughs, hands on her hips. “You just made that poor kid next to you drop his pizza.”

“Worth it!” Yelena declares, scooping you up and spinning you once before setting you down again.

You play nearly every game, basketball toss, whack-a-mole, even the dancing machine (where Yelena dramatically challenges Kate and loses). Each time you win a handful of tickets, Yelena whoops and cheers like you just saved the world.

By the time you’re halfway through your game card, you’re flushed, giggling, and slightly sweaty from running between machines.

Kate glances at her watch. “Hey, munchkin, wanna take a snack break?”

You perk up. “Snack?”

Yelena grins. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this part.”

At the counter, Yelena buys everything.

You end up with a tall cup of bright red soda (“fruit punch,” Yelena insists), a big swirl of cotton candy, a rainbow lollipop the size of your hand, and a small cup of ice cream “for balance.”

Kate gives her a look. “Yelena. Do you want her to break the sound barrier later?”

Yelena shrugs. “She is a child. She is supposed to be sugar-powered.”

You’re too busy staring at the candy to notice. The cotton candy looks like a pink cloud. You pull off a piece and pop it in your mouth. It melts instantly, leaving your tongue sticky and sweet.

“It disappeared!” you gasp, eyes wide.

Yelena grins. “Magic, see? Auntie Yelena only brings you to the most magical places.”

You take another bite and then a big sip of soda. The bubbles tickle your nose and make you giggle. “It’s spicy!”

Kate snorts into her napkin. “That’s the carbonation, sweetheart.”

Yelena raises an eyebrow. “Carbonation? No, no. That’s the magic fizz.”

You repeat it like it’s the most important secret in the world. “Magic fizz.”

After a few more bites of ice cream and a handful of giggles, you’re officially on a sugar rush.

You run between games, laughing and dragging Bunny with you, your lollipop clutched in one sticky hand.

“Look, Auntie Lena!” you squeal, climbing into a tiny helicopter ride. “I’m flying!”

“Fly high, little one!” Yelena calls, cheering dramatically. “Do not forget me when you reach the sky!”

Kate pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re encouraging chaos.”

“Chaos is joy,” Yelena replies proudly.

You hop from the helicopter to a spinning ride to the ball toss, and each time you earn more tickets, Yelena reacts like you’ve just conquered an empire.

When you try skee-ball, you somehow manage to throw the ball standing backwards, and it bounces off the divider. Yelena catches it midair, laughing so hard she nearly drops her soda.

Kate sighs, amused. “This is going great.”

“It’s called style,” Yelena says, handing you another ball. “Try again, champion.”

You do, and this time, it goes right in. You cheer so loud that the little boy next to you joins in.

After another hour, your ticket pile is almost taller than Bunny.

“Okay,” Kate says, “I think we’ve officially won the day. How about we trade those in for a prize before you bounce through the ceiling?”

You gasp. “Prizes?”

“Yes, prizes,” Yelena says with mock seriousness. “Only the bravest and most sugar-fueled warriors may claim them.”

At the counter, you peer through the glass with wide eyes. There are sparkly bracelets, tiny toys, stickers, and squishy animals.

You point to a glittery pink ball and a tiny plush unicorn. “Those!”

Yelena nods approvingly. “Excellent choices. Regal. Like you.”

Kate grins. “And very bouncy. Like her too.”

The cashier hands you your prizes, and you hold them up proudly before hugging Bunny and saying, “Bunny, meet Uni!”

Kate’s heart melts on the spot. “Oh my god, you’re too cute.”

Yelena’s grin softens a little too. “Yeah, she really is.”

By the time you get back to the table, you’re starting to crash. The sugar high fades, replaced by sleepy blinking and a big yawn.

Kate wipes your hands with a napkin. “Hey, sweetheart. You doing okay?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. “Tired.”

Yelena gently tucks Bunny under your arm. “You had fun, da?”

You nod, your voice small and happy. “Best day ever.”

Yelena’s smile softens, something almost tender slipping through the playfulness. “Good. That’s what we wanted.”

The car ride home is quiet except for the hum of the engine. You’re asleep before they’ve even left the parking lot, your head lolling to the side, Bunny squished against your chest.

Kate glances in the rearview mirror, smiling faintly. “She’s out cold.”

Yelena looks back at you, her voice dropping to a whisper. “She’s such a good kid.”

“Yeah,” Kate says softly. “You can tell Wanda and Nat have done something right.”

“They’ve given her what we didn’t get,” Yelena says after a pause. “A chance to be little. To just be happy.”

Kate reaches across and squeezes her hand. “And today, you gave her that too.”

Yelena smiles, eyes still on you. “Then today was good.”

When you get home, the sunlight spills through the windows, warm and golden. Yelena carries you inside carefully, whispering “shhh” when Bunny slips a little from your grasp. Kate opens the door quietly and helps set your shoes aside.

You stir a little, mumbling sleepily, “Home?”

“Da, malen’kaya,” Yelena whispers. “You’re home.”

Kate tucks a blanket around you on the couch and smooths your hair. “Rest up, sweetheart. Mommy and Mama will be home soon.”

You mumble something that sounds like “best day,” your thumb finding its way to your lips.

Yelena smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “The best day,” she agrees softly.

Kate gives her a small smile, one that says she’s impressed, even if she’ll never admit it out loud. “You know, for someone who doesn’t follow instructions, you’re not bad at this.”

Yelena smirks. “Of course. I’m the best aunt. Just maybe don’t tell Natasha about the four types of sugar.”

Kate raises a brow. “You mean five, counting the soda?”

Yelena winces. “Right. Definitely don’t tell Natasha.”

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You wake up to someone gently poking your cheek.

“Little one,” Yelena whispers, her voice soft and sing-songy. “Hey, sunshine, nap time’s over.”

You groan and burrow deeper under the blanket. Bunny and Uni are squished safely under your arm. You don’t want to move.

“Think she’s pretending to be asleep,” Kate says from the kitchen.

“I would also pretend,” Yelena answers, sitting on the edge of the couch. “But your mamas will be home soon, and they will know if I let you sleep all day.”

You peek one eye open. Yelena’s blonde hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she’s holding Bunny up like he’s flying. “Bunny’s awake!” she says dramatically.

You giggle. “Nooo, Bunny’s sleepy.”

“Then we wake him together,” Yelena declares. She tickles your side until you squeal and sit up, clutching Bunny to your chest.

Kate shakes her head, laughing. “You’re supposed to gently wake her up.”

“This is gentle,” Yelena argues, completely unbothered. “See? She’s smiling.”

Kate rolls her eyes but comes over to fix your rumpled hair. “Hey, kiddo. Did you have a good nap?”

You nod, rubbing your eyes. “Dreamed about pizza.”

Yelena gasps. “Because you are the pizza queen! Maybe we'll get you a snack, da?”

“Snack,” you echo, nodding eagerly.

In the kitchen, Kate helps you climb into a chair at the table. Yelena opens the fridge, muttering to herself. “Okay, small human, let’s see, grapes, yogurt, carrots, boring. Where is the fun food?”

“Bunny likes grapes,” you say, holding Bunny up so he can “look.”

“Good choice,” Kate says, already rinsing a small bunch and putting them in a bowl for you. “No more candy today, okay? Your mamas would kill us.”

Yelena dramatically clutches her chest. “You wound me! I would never give her sugar again,” she stops when Kate gives her a pointed look, “,today.”

You giggle, popping a grape into your mouth.

Yelena crouches beside the cabinet, trying to find napkins. The drawer sticks halfway. She tugs harder. Nothing. “Why is this drawer like this? It hates me.”

Kate smirks. “Maybe don’t break their house.”

Yelena gives the handle another firm pull. It doesn’t move. “Seriously?” she mutters. “I can’t do fucking anything right-”

You freeze mid-bite. The bad word sounds funny, round in your mouth.

Kate immediately straightens. “Yelena!”

“What?” Yelena looks over her shoulder, confused.

“You just said-”

But it’s too late. You grin and proudly repeat, “Fucking!”

Kate covers her mouth to hide a laugh. “Oh no.”

Yelena’s eyes go wide. “No, no, no, malyshka, that’s, uh, not a good word, okay? Only grown-ups say that when they are very mad at drawers.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Drawer’s bad?”

Kate sighs. “No, sweetie. Auntie Yelena just used a naughty word.”

Yelena nods quickly. “Yes, very naughty. You can’t say that.”

You nod solemnly. “Okay.”
A beat passes.
Then you grin. “Fucking naughty!”

Kate snorts and turns away so you won’t see her laughing.

Yelena groans and drags a hand over her face. “Shit.”

Your eyes light up. “Shit!”

“NO-” Yelena waves her hands frantically. “No more repeating Auntie! I am a disaster!”

You giggle uncontrollably now, clutching Bunny to your chest. “Auntie Yelena disaster!”

Kate is laughing so hard she has to lean on the counter. “Oh my god, you’ve corrupted her in one afternoon.”

“Not corrupted,” Yelena insists. “Educated! Vocabulary is important.”

The front door opens before Yelena can dig herself out of the hole.

You hear Wanda’s soft voice first. “We’re home!”
Then Natasha’s lower tone. “No one burned the house down.”

Kate straightens immediately, trying to wipe the laughter off her face. Yelena freezes like a kid caught stealing cookies.

You perk up, sliding off your chair and running to the hallway. “Mommy! Mama!”

Wanda crouches down to catch you, her eyes lighting up. “Hi, baby!” She kisses your cheek, and Natasha ruffles your hair gently. “You have a good day with Auntie Yelena and Kate?”

You nod eagerly. “Yes! We played! Ate sweets! And-” you beam proudly, “I learned new words!”

Natasha blinks. “New words?”

Yelena makes a strangled noise. “Oh, boy.”

You hold up a finger for dramatic effect. “Fucking! And shit!”

The room goes still.

Wanda’s smile freezes. Natasha’s hand slowly lowers from her hair. They both turn, slowly, perfectly in sync, to Yelena.

Kate mutters under her breath, “You’re dead.”

Natasha crosses her arms. “Really, Yelena?”

Yelena throws her hands up. “It was the drawer! It attacked me! The words escaped! You know how drawers are!”

Wanda sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You told her, what, those words?”

“I told her not to say them!” Yelena protests. “She is too smart! She remembers everything!”

You look between them, confused. “It’s naughty?”

Natasha crouches to your level, her expression softening. “Yeah, sweetheart. Those are grown-up words. Not for you, okay?”

You nod seriously. “Okay, Mama.”

Behind you, Yelena whispers to Kate, “Do you think I am fired?”

Kate smirks. “From babysitting? Probably.”

Wanda shoots them both a look but can’t quite hide her amused smile. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Natasha scoops you up, pressing a kiss to your temple. “C’mon, let’s wash up before dinner.”

You giggle and lean against her shoulder. “Mama, Auntie Yelena said shit.”

Natasha sighs, muttering, “Of course she did.”

Wanda shakes her head, finally letting herself laugh as she closes the door. “Next time,” she says dryly, “we’re hiring a babysitter.”

Yelena gasps. “Rude! I am a fun babysitter!”

“You’re the cussing babysitter,” Kate teases, already laughing again.

That night, when you’re tucked into bed and Bunny is back under your arm, you giggle softly into his fur.
“Fucking,” you whisper, just once. Bunny, wisely, says nothing.

Chapter Text

You’ve been talking about Auntie Yelena nonstop for three days.

Every meal, every car ride, every bedtime story, there’s always a “Yelena said” or “Auntie Yelena did.” You’ve told Bunny all about how Auntie Yelena helped you win tickets so you could get Uni at Chuck E. Cheese, how she can do five whole flips (an exaggeration, Natasha insists), and how she makes even boring snacks fun by calling them “training fuel.”

At first, Wanda thinks it’s sweet. “She made an impression,” she says with a smile, stirring sugar into her tea. “Yelena’s good with kids.”

Natasha just groans. “She’s not good with kids, she’s chaos in a tracksuit.”

“She’s fun,” you counter proudly, swinging your legs under the kitchen chair. “Auntie ‘Lena’s the coolest ever.”

Wanda hides a laugh behind her mug. “You hear that, detka? You’ve been dethroned.”

Natasha glares at her half-heartedly. “Unbelievable. My own kid, taken in by her.” She points her spoon dramatically. “You’re giving her an even bigger ego, you know that?”

You blink innocently. “What’s ego?”

“Something your aunt has too much of,” Natasha mutters, and Wanda swats her shoulder.

“Nat, don’t be jealous,” Wanda teases. “It’s cute. She adores your sister.”

“She’s supposed to adore me!” Natasha insists, gesturing at herself. “I stay up with her when she has nightmares. I do different voices for story time!”

You giggle. “You’re my mama, Mama. Auntie ‘Lena’s cool.”

Natasha groans again, dramatically dropping her head onto the table. “Wanda, she’s killing me.”

Wanda runs her fingers through Natasha’s hair affectionately. “She’s four. She’s supposed to have a hero.”

“I am a hero,” Natasha mumbles into the table.

“Mm-hmm,” Wanda says sweetly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Then you can share the spotlight for a bit, yes?”

You lean over, tugging at Natasha’s sleeve. “Mama?”

She lifts her head, pretending to sulk. “What, malysh?”

You grin. “Auntie ‘Lena says you’re grumpy ‘cause you love me too much and you’re jealous.”

Wanda loses it, tea almost spilling as she laughs. Natasha narrows her eyes. “She said what?”

You nod solemnly, hugging Bunny. “She said it’s okay. She’s grumpy too sometimes.”

“Of course she did,” Natasha mutters, sitting back with a defeated sigh. “I swear, that woman’s mission in life is to drive me insane.”

Wanda, still smiling, leans over to kiss her temple. “At least she’s doing it with love.”

Natasha groans again, but her lips twitch. “If she teaches her one more bad word, I’m defecting to another family.”

You giggle and reach up, tugging her hand toward you. “Nooo, Mama. You stay here.”

Natasha melts instantly. “Okay, okay,” she murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “I will stay.”

Wanda grins knowingly. “See? You’re still the favorite.”

“Barely,” Natasha grumbles, but she’s smiling now, one arm wrapped protectively around you as you chatter on about all the “cool” things Auntie Yelena can do.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

It starts with Tony saying, “Let’s make this a family thing.”

Which, coming from Tony, means chaos.

The plan is simple: Halloween costume shopping for the kids. But by the time everyone piles into cars, the “kids” apparently includes you, Morgan, and Tony himself, who insists on needing “something snazzy” to embarrass Pepper.

So the lineup looks like this:
Wanda and Natasha holding your hands, Tony and Pepper behind them with Morgan skipping along, Clint and Laura wrangling their three kids, and everyone already talking over each other before they even reach the store doors.

“Okay,” Wanda says gently, giving your hand a squeeze as you approach the big costume shop. “Remember, detka, this is just to look first. No running off, alright?”

You nod seriously. “No run. Promise.”

Natasha smirks down at you. “That’s my girl. Let’s keep it that way.”

The door opens and you’re hit with a wall of color and noise. Costumes hang from every corner, witches, princesses, superheroes, monsters, even a giant inflatable dinosaur bobbing near the ceiling.

Your eyes go wide. “Wow,”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” Clint mutters, already being tugged toward the kids’ section by Lila.

Morgan grabs your hand. “Come on! Let’s find the princess stuff!”

You let her pull you forward, Bunny tucked safely under your arm, while Wanda and Natasha follow close behind.

As you pass rows of plastic pumpkins and rubber masks, you point at a vampire cape. “What’s Halloween?”

Wanda smiles softly. “It’s a holiday, sweetheart. You dress up and get candy from your neighbors.”

“Candy?” you echo, instantly interested.

Natasha chuckles. “Lots of candy. It’s basically a sugar competition.”

You blink up at her. “We win?”

Wanda laughs. “If anyone could, it would be you, malyshka.”

“Yay!” you cheer, hopping once before spotting something glittery. “Oh! Mommy look! Princess!”

Wanda hums approvingly as you pick up a sparkly purple dress. “That’s Rapunzel. You liked Tangled, remember?”

You nod eagerly, holding the dress up to your chest. It shimmers under the lights. “Pretty.”

Natasha kneels beside you. “You’d make a great Rapunzel, detka.”

Before you can answer, there’s a loud, unmistakable whoosh of air and a familiar voice behind you.

“Rapunzel? Really?”

You turn, and shriek with delight. “Uncle Pietro!”

Pietro grins, silver hair ruffled and sunglasses perched crookedly on his head. “I heard there was a shopping spree and couldn’t resist. Also, free candy samples in aisle four.”

Natasha groans. “Of course you’re here.”

“Family bonding,” Pietro says innocently. “You’re welcome.”

You giggle, hugging his leg. “Uncle Pietro, look! I can be Rapunzel!”

“Hmm,” Pietro tilts his head, pretending to think. “Rapunzel’s nice, but don’t you want something cooler? Maybe a superhero? Someone fast, strong, handsome,”

Natasha narrows her eyes. “Don’t you dare.”

Pietro smirks. “What? I’m just saying, she could be Quicksilver. Very fashionable. Silver hair, lightning on the chest, incredibly good taste-”

Wanda crosses her arms. “If you finish that sentence, I will hex your shoelaces together.”

He grins wider. “Worth it.”

You giggle, glancing between them. “Uncle Pietro’s silly.”

“Yes, he is,” Natasha says flatly. “Extremely.”

But the moment’s playful, easy, the kind of family bickering that feels warm instead of sharp.

You wander a few more aisles, eyes darting between sparkly princess dresses and superhero suits. Morgan points out a glittery tiara, and Clint’s kids are already arguing about who gets to be what.

It’s loud and bright and full of laughter, and you’re right in the middle of it, tugging at Wanda’s hand when you see something new.

“Mommy! Look!”

You’re pointing toward a wall of Avengers costumes, Iron Man, Captain America, Black Widow, even Yelena’s recognizable white tactical suit.

“Oh no,” Natasha mutters, already sensing disaster.

You run over, eyes sparkling, and press your hands to the clear plastic bag holding the Yelena costume. “I want this one!”

Wanda blinks. “You do?”

You nod hard, grinning from ear to ear. “I wanna be Auntie ‘Lena!”

Wanda bursts out laughing before she can stop herself. “Oh, sweetie,”

Natasha’s face is priceless, a mix of horror, disbelief, and sibling betrayal. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“See?” Pietro pipes up. “She does have good taste.”

Natasha points at him. “You’re not helping.”

Wanda wipes a tear of laughter from her eye, crouching beside you. “Are you sure you don’t want to be Mommy or Mama, baby?”

You shake your head. “No! Auntie ‘Lena saves people. And she’s funny.”

Natasha groans softly, dragging a hand down her face. “I save people too.”

Wanda pats her arm gently. “Not funny, though.”

You clutch the costume to your chest proudly. “I’ll be Auntie ‘Lena!”

Pietro gives Natasha a teasing grin. “Looks like the competition’s getting fierce.”

Natasha just sighs. “She’s never babysitting again.”

~/~/~/~/~/~/

Lunch ends up at a big family-style diner just down the street from the costume shop, one of those places with red-and-white booths, kids’ menus that double as coloring pages, and the constant clatter of plates and chatter.

You sit wedged between Wanda and Natasha, your new Yelena costume bag resting proudly beside you. Natasha keeps glaring at it like it personally betrayed her.

Across the table, Morgan is already coloring in a picture of a bat, humming happily. Clint’s kids are arguing about who gets to sit next to which parent. Tony is ordering half the menu “for research.” The usual chaos.

Wanda leans her elbow on the table, chin in her hand, amused. “You’re still pouting,” she teases softly, nudging Natasha’s knee.

“I’m not pouting,” Natasha mutters, stabbing a fry with unnecessary force. “I just think our daughter has questionable taste in heroes.”

Wanda hides a smile. “Questionable because she picked your sister?”

“Exactly.”

You swing your feet under the table, sipping your lemonade through a straw. “Auntie Yelena’s funny,” you announce. “She gave me candy and said bad words.”

Natasha groans quietly. “Exactly my point.”

Pietro, sitting diagonally across, laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his soda. “Oh, this is fantastic.”

Pepper gives him a look. “Don’t encourage her.”

“I’m just saying,” Pietro says, wiping his mouth, “mini-Yelena is the best idea ever. We’ll get matching costumes."

Wanda tilts her head at you. “Are you sure you don’t want to be someone else, detka? Maybe one of the princesses? Or even Mama, she’s very brave, you know.”

You look thoughtful for a long moment, swinging your straw around the cup. “Mama’s brave,” you agree. Then you grin. “But Auntie Yelena’s silly and brave.”

Natasha presses her lips together. “I can be silly.”

Tony snorts. “Sure, Romanoff. I’ll believe that when you show up to a mission in a clown suit.”

Natasha points her fry at him like a weapon. “Keep talking, Stark.”

Wanda giggles, reaching over to wipe a smudge of ketchup from your chin. “If she wants to be Yelena, she can be Yelena. It’s just a costume.”

Natasha sighs, slumping slightly in her seat. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

You tug gently on her sleeve. “Mama?”

She looks down immediately, her expression softening. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Can I have nuggets please?”

Her mouth twitches. “Yeah, detka. Nuggets coming right up.”

The server arrives with plates, nuggets for you and Nathaniel, grilled cheese for Morgan and Lila ,a hot dog for Cooper, sandwiches for the adults, and the conversation shifts to pumpkin carving plans. Still, Natasha keeps glancing at the costume bag like it’s mocking her.

When Wanda catches her eye, she smiles knowingly. “You know this isn’t about you, right?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s just, come on. I trained her better than this.”

Wanda laughs, brushing her hand against Natasha’s under the table. “You trained her to love Yelena, apparently.”

“Mission failed,” Natasha mutters, but there’s a smile creeping through.

You’re too busy dunking a nugget into ketchup to notice the soft moment. “Mommy, Mama, look! Bunny’s eating too!” you say, holding your stuffed rabbit’s face near your plate.

Tony snaps a picture immediately. “Perfect. It has Nat scowling in the background.”

“Delete that,” Natasha warns.

“Not a chance.”

Wanda hides her giggle behind her hand. “I’m framing it.”

Lunch goes on with chatter and laughter filling every corner of the table. You bounce between bites of food and telling everyone about the “giant dancing mouse” you saw at Chuck E. Cheese.

By the time the check comes, Natasha’s frown has softened into reluctant amusement. She watches you carefully pack your costume back into the bag, tucking Bunny on top to “guard it.”

Wanda leans closer and whispers, “Admit it, you think it’s cute.”

Natasha exhales, shoulders relaxing. “Fine. It’s cute.”

Then, after a beat: “But she’s still dressing as me next year.”

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The park is warm with late-afternoon sunlight, the kind that filters through the trees in gold ribbons and makes the whole world smell faintly of leaves and sunscreen. The kids are already halfway across the grass before the adults even finish unloading the cars, Lila chasing Morgan toward the swings, Cooper calling first on the big slide, Nathaniel heading towards the monkey bars, and you holding Bunny in one hand and Uni in the other as you toddle after them.

Natasha watches you go with her arms crossed, half-smiling, half-sulking. “Look at that,” she mutters. “Our daughter, the tiny Yelena.”

Wanda snorts softly, looping her fingers through Natasha’s. “Still not over it?”

“I’ve had betrayal before, but this one stings.”
Her tone is mock-serious, but her eyes are following you with something far softer than annoyance.

Clint drops down onto the picnic bench beside them, balancing a soda on his knee. “You know, Tash, she only picked Yelena because she thinks she’s cool. Which is basically your fault.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You let Yelena babysit her,” Clint says. “You made her a fan.”

Wanda laughs, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Exactly. You inspired her, lyubov’.”

Natasha squints at her. “Are you two teaming up on me?”

“Always,” Wanda says sweetly.

On the playground, you and Morgan are trying to convince Pietro to be the “monster”. He groans dramatically, then starts lumbering toward you with his arms out. “Raaawr! The Fastest Monster in the World!”

The kids scream in delight, scattering across the woodchips. Pietro slows his speed just enough so that you can outrun him, your giggles echoing all the way to the slides.

Laura appears with water and a basket of snacks, sitting down next to Wanda. “They’re going to sleep well tonight,” she says, smiling at the tangle of little feet and laughter.

Wanda takes a sip of her drink, nodding. “It’s good for her,” she says quietly. “All the running. The noise. She’s not so shy anymore.”

Laura’s smile softens. “You two have done wonders for her. She’s so much more confident now.”

Natasha glances up, startled by the sincerity in her voice. “We’re just trying not to mess up.”

“You’re doing great,” Clint says, bumping her shoulder. “She adores you both. It shows.”

Wanda reaches over to squeeze Natasha’s hand under the table, and Natasha lets herself smile, really smile, as she watches you squeal when Pietro pretends to get “defeated” by Uni the Stuffed Unicorn.

“Look at her,” Wanda murmurs. “She’s like a normal child now.”

“She’s tough,” Natasha says softly. “Tough like,” She catches herself, then smirks. “Tough like Yelena.”

Wanda gives her a mock-stern look. “You mean tough like Mama.”

“Of course,” Natasha says, bumping her shoulder. “Tough like Mama.”

Laura and Clint exchange a glance and a grin. “See?” Clint says. “You’re learning.”

The sun dips lower, painting the sky in soft peach and pink. The laughter quiets as the kids collapse onto the grass, lying in a heap of tangled arms and tired smiles. You curl up with Bunny and Uni tucked under your chin, your eyes fluttering shut for just a second before Wanda scoops you into her arms.

Natasha tucks a blanket around you in the back seat of the car when it’s time to go. She runs her fingers gently through your hair, whispering almost to herself, “Next year, maybe she’ll pick the Natasha costume.”

Wanda leans against her shoulder. “Maybe. But even if she doesn’t”

Natasha finishes for her, her voice soft. “she’s still ours.”

Wanda smiles. “Exactly.”

The car hums with quiet conversation as the city rolls by outside, Pietro’s car in the lane beside them, the kids in the back all asleep in their respective car, and the grown-ups sharing that kind of peaceful silence that only comes after a long, good day.

And in your lap, Bunny and Uni rest side by side, still wearing their tiny paper crowns from lunch, one pink, one green, both watching over you like the heroes you always believed them to be.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You wake slowly, the soft light of the moon slipping through your curtains and painting the walls in moonlight. Bunny is tucked under your chin, Uni curled in the crook of your arm, and for a moment you just lie there, still caught halfway between dreaming and awake.

There’s a quiet knock, then the sound of the door creaking open.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Natasha’s voice drifts in, gentle as the sunlight.

You blink up at her. Her hair is loose now, falling in soft red waves over her shoulder, and she’s smiling the way she always does when she looks at you, like she can’t help it.

“Hi, Mama,” you murmur, voice scratchy from sleep.

“Hi, malyshka,” she whispers back, sitting beside you and brushing your hair off your forehead. Her touch is cool and careful. “You had a good nap?”

You nod, rubbing your eyes with a little fist. “Was dreamin’.”

“Yeah? What about?”

You think for a second, then grin. “Pizza.”

Natasha laughs quietly. “You and your pizza dreams.” She leans down and kisses your hair. “Well, you better wake up now, because we have somewhere special to go tonight.”

That perks you up. “Special?”

“Very special,” she says mysteriously, tapping the tip of your nose. “We’re going out for dinner, and I have a surprise for Mommy. But you have to look extra fancy, okay?”

“A surprise?” you repeat, sitting up straighter, your braid a messy halo behind you. “What kind of surprise?”

Natasha shakes her head, eyes glinting with amusement. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore.”

You gasp a little, like it’s the biggest secret in the world. “I can keep secrets!”

“I know you can.” She helps you swing your legs over the side of the bed. “Now, c’mon. Let’s get you ready.”

In the bathroom, she helps you brush your teeth, hand over hand so you don’t miss a spot, then lets you stand on your stool to wash your face. Water splashes the mirror, and you giggle when she tries to wipe it clean with too-small squares of tissue.

“Look what you did,” she says playfully.

“You did it!” you giggle back.

“Oh, you blame Mama? That’s bold, malyshka.” She tickles your sides until you shriek and bump into her chest, laughing too hard to breathe.

When you’re both calm again, Natasha combs your hair carefully, parting it in the middle. “Let’s do two braids today,” she says. “That way you look like my little princess.”

“I’m not a princess,” you mumble through a grin.

“No? What are you, then?”

You think for a long moment. “A superhero.”

Natasha chuckles softly. “Of course you are.”

In your room, she opens the closet doors wide and crouches beside you. “Okay,” she says seriously, “we need something fancy. Not too fancy, Mommy might cry if you look too grown-up, but special.”

You point to your favorite dress, the soft yellow one with tiny embroidered flowers. “That one?”

“Perfect choice.” Natasha lifts it from the hanger and helps you into it, buttoning the back with patient fingers. “You look beautiful.”

You twirl, the skirt puffing out a little. “Do I look fancy enough for Mommy’s surprise?”

Natasha kneels to straighten your hem. “You look more than fancy enough. You look like magic.”

You giggle, cheeks pink. “Bunny wants to come too.”

“Of course Bunny can come,” she says. “And Uni too. Wouldn’t be fair to leave her behind.”

You hug both stuffed animals close as Natasha slips on your sparkly shoes, the ones Wanda says make you look like a storybook character. Then she stands, smoothing her own black dress and giving you a proud smile.

“All right, small one. Let’s go make Mommy smile.”

Downstairs, the house feels quiet, that cozy sort of stillness before something exciting happens. Natasha helps you into your jacket, tucking your scarf around your neck even though you tell her you’re not cold.

“You’ll thank me later,” she says with a smirk.

Outside, the air is crisp and smells faintly like leaves. Natasha buckles you into your car seat, tucking Uni under your arm and Bunny beside you. The seatbelt clicks into place, and she gives your nose a little boop before closing the door.

As the car starts rolling, you watch the world pass by through the window, trees turning orange, the last streaks of sunset melting into purple.

“Mama?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Is Mommy gonna like the surprise?”

Natasha glances at you in the mirror, her expression softening. “She’s going to love it,” she says.

You grin, kicking your shoes gently against the seat. “I want Mommy to be happy.”

Natasha’s voice comes out a little thick. “She will be, malyshka. She really will be.”

You nod, satisfied, then lean your head against Uni’s plush mane. The motion of the car makes you sleepy again, but you keep your eyes open, wanting to see everything, the lights, the shadows, the small smile that plays on Natasha’s lips as she drives.

You don’t know what the surprise is, but you can tell it’s important. You can feel it in the way Mama keeps glancing at the little velvet box in her pocket when she thinks you’re not looking. You don’t know what’s inside, but you think whatever it is, it’s full of love.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

When you and Natasha make it to the restaurant, Wanda is waiting out front. Once you’re close enough, you run to her and hug her tight. Natasha gives Wanda a kiss before the three of you head inside.

The restaurant smells like butter and something fancy that you can’t quite name. You hold Wanda’s hand tightly as Natasha opens the big glass door for you both. Inside, everything feels warm and glowing, soft music playing, little candles flickering on every table, and waiters carrying plates that look too pretty to eat.

You whisper, “It’s so sparkly.”

Wanda smiles, leaning down to whisper back, “That’s because it’s a special night.”

Natasha grins, looking back over her shoulder. “A special night,” she repeats.

You nod seriously, hugging Uni in one arm and Bunny in the other. “For Mommy,” you say softly.

“Exactly,” Natasha murmurs, her voice full of something you don’t quite understand yet.

The host leads you to a table near the big windows. The city glows outside, gold lights twinkling like stars against the dark. Natasha pulls out Wanda’s chair first, then helps you into yours. Wanda laughs quietly at her, shaking her head.

“You’re being very formal tonight,” she says.

Natasha shrugs, feigning innocence. “It’s a formal kind of night.”

You giggle, because you can tell they’re both being silly.

Once everyone’s settled, Natasha orders wine for her and Wanda, and you get a glass of fizzy apple juice that bubbles in your mouth. You like the sound it makes, all soft and fizzy like tiny bells.

Dinner feels like a dream. There’s laughter, quiet talking, and warm bread with butter that melts right away. Natasha keeps sneaking you little pieces of her pasta when she thinks Wanda’s not looking. Wanda is looking, but she doesn’t say anything, she just smiles, eyes full of love that seems to wrap around all three of you like a hug.

When the waiter comes to clear the plates, you swing your legs under the table and ask, “Can we have dessert now?”

Wanda chuckles, brushing your braid over your shoulder. “You must have dessert radar, my love.”

“Always,” Natasha says, winking at you. “It’s her superpower.”

You puff out your chest proudly. “I’m a hero like Auntie Yelena!”

Wanda laughs so hard she has to cover her mouth with her napkin. Natasha sighs, dramatically slumping back in her chair.

“Of course you are,” she mutters. “I’ll never live this down.”

When dessert finally comes, the waiter sets three plates on the table, one for you with a small chocolate sundae, one for Wanda, and one for Natasha. But there’s something strange about Wanda’s plate.

You tilt your head, squinting at the drizzle of chocolate on it. It isn’t just swirls or fancy shapes. It’s words.

You look up, confused. “Mommy, what’s that say?”

Wanda freezes for half a second, blinking at the plate. Then she turns toward Natasha, and suddenly, Natasha isn’t in her chair anymore. She’s kneeling beside the table, holding something small and shiny in her hand.

You gasp softly, clutching Uni close.

“Wanda,” Natasha says, her voice steady but soft, like it’s carrying every heartbeat she’s ever had, “you’re my best friend, my home, and the love of my life. You’ve been my partner through everything, and you’ve made this family something I never thought I’d deserve. So,” She smiles nervously, eyes glistening just a little. “Will you marry me?”

The restaurant feels quiet for a heartbeat, the kind of quiet that’s too full to be empty.

Wanda’s hand covers her mouth. Her eyes shine like stars, and for a second, she can’t speak. Then she nods, fast and tearful and laughing all at once.

“Yes,” she whispers, then louder, “Yes!”

You clap your hands, even though you’re not totally sure what’s happening. You just know Mommy’s happy and Mama’s smiling so big it looks like sunshine.

Natasha slips the ring onto Wanda’s finger, and they both laugh through the tears. Then Wanda leans down and kisses her, right there by the table. Everyone in the restaurant starts clapping, and you look around, wide-eyed.

You tug on Wanda’s sleeve. “Mommy?”

She turns to you, cheeks still pink and eyes sparkling. “Yes, sweetheart?”

You point to the ring. “What happened?”

Natasha chuckles softly, ruffling your hair. “It means Mommy and I are getting married.”

You blink. “Married?”

“It means,” Wanda says, reaching over to hold your little hand, “that Mama and I are going to promise to love each other forever. And to love you forever too.”

You think about that for a moment. “So we’re a forever family now?”

Natasha’s eyes soften completely. “Yeah, baby. We’ve always been. But now it’s official.”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt. “Can we have more ice cream to celebrate?”

Natasha laughs. “You drive a hard bargain.”

Wanda shakes her head, wiping her eyes. “She learned that from you.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Natasha says, even though she’s still grinning.

You giggle and lift Uni in the air. “Uni says yes too!”

The waiter brings an extra scoop of ice cream, “for the newly engaged couple,” he says, and even though you don’t know what that means exactly, you decide it must be something very good.

The three of you eat dessert together under the warm restaurant lights, laughing and smiling until the candles burn low. When it’s finally time to leave, Natasha carries you out in her arms while Wanda walks beside her, hand in hand.

You rest your head on Natasha’s shoulder, half asleep, Uni and Bunny squished safely between your arms. You can hear your moms’ voices as they talk quietly.

Wanda says something about how perfect the night was. Natasha says something about how lucky she feels.

And you, drifting toward sleep, whisper just loud enough for both of them to hear:

“I love our forever family.”

Wanda’s voice trembles a little when she answers, “We love you too, sweet girl.”

Natasha kisses the top of your head, her voice soft and steady. “More than anything.”

The car door closes, the city lights fade behind you, and the night wraps around your family like a blanket, warm, gentle, and full of forever.

Chapter Text

You can’t stop bouncing.
Your little Yelena jacket, white, puffy, and just a bit too big, squeaks every time you move, and you keep tugging at the toy utility belt Natasha clipped around your waist. “Do I look like Auntie Yelena now?” you ask, spinning in a slow circle on the living room rug.

Wanda smiles as she finishes zipping up your boots. “You look exactly like Auntie Yelena, malyshka.” Natasha groans from where she’s crouched by the door, pretending to tie her own boots. “She’s gonna be impossible after this. You’ve doomed us, detka.”

Wanda just smirks. “You’re jealous she didn’t want to dress up as you.”

Natasha glances up, mock-offended. “Excuse me, who saved the world again?”

You giggle and tug on her sleeve. “You did, Mama. But Auntie Yelena’s cool!”

“Traitor,” Natasha mutters under her breath, but the corner of her mouth twitches when you throw your arms around her neck.

Outside, the October evening is crisp and full of the smell of wet leaves. The neighborhood has come alive, jack-o’-lanterns glowing on porches, orange lights strung across driveways, the faint echo of kids shrieking and laughing as they run from door to door.

Your little hand fits between Wanda’s and Natasha’s as they walk you down the sidewalk. “Remember, you say trick or treat!” Wanda reminds you.

“And then thank you,” Natasha adds. “We are polite even when free sugar is involved.”

“I know,” you chirp, grinning up at them.

The Barton family is waiting at the corner, all bundled and bright. Lila’s witch hat keeps flopping over her face, and Nathaniel’s dragon tail keeps dragging in the dirt. Cooper, dressed as a giant hot dog, looks like he’s already regretting life.

“Look who’s here!” Laura calls, waving. “Our favorite little Avenger!”

“Yelena!” you shout proudly, holding up your toy baton.

“Oh no,” Clint mutters, feigning dread. “There’s two of them now.”

Yelena herself pops out from behind him, sunglasses on despite the dark, wearing her signature vest and smirk. “There can only be one,” she teases, and you gasp, torn between awe and confusion.

“Which one’s real?” you ask seriously.

Kate, who’s beside her in a purple archer costume, pats your shoulder. “I think you’re both real. Just one of you is shorter.”

You beam. “Me!”

Tony and Pepper arrive next with Morgan, who twirls in her sparkly pink princess dress. “Hi!” she says excitedly. “You look so cool!”

“You look so pretty!” you answer, and the two of you grin at each other like it’s the highest praise imaginable.

Everyone spreads out as the trick-or-treating begins. The Barton kids lead the charge, sprinting from house to house, while Clint trails behind carrying a flashlight like a tired chaperone. Tony keeps stopping to adjust Morgan’s crown. Yelena keeps slipping you extra pieces of candy when Wanda and Natasha aren’t looking.

At every door, you shout your practiced line, “Trick or treat!”, and proudly hold out your pumpkin bucket. People coo at you, saying how adorable you are, and you glow under the attention.

Halfway down the block, Pietro jogs up, late as usual, wearing a lazy “costume” consisting of a hoodie that says I’m fast.

 “Finally,” Wanda says, rolling her eyes. “You promised you’d come earlier.”

“Traffic,” Pietro says, deadpan. “You wouldn’t believe how slow people drive when you’re trying to sprint next to them.”

You giggle and run over, holding up your bucket. “Uncle Pietro, look! Candy!”

He ruffles your hair. “You’re gonna need a dentist after tonight, printseska.”

Natasha smirks. “Good luck convincing her of that.”

The group continues down the street. Kids laugh, parents chat, and Yelena loudly insists that she deserves candy too since she’s technically supervising. Wanda takes endless pictures, of you holding your candy bucket, of Natasha pretending to faint when you call Yelena the “real hero,” of Morgan and Lila holding hands while Cooper pretends to be eaten by Nathaniel’s dragon costume.

Every so often, you tug on Wanda’s sleeve to show her something, a ghost decoration, a cat on a porch, a pumpkin taller than you. She crouches every time, listening like it’s the most important thing in the world.

When you reach the last house, your bucket is nearly overflowing. You and Morgan can barely carry them. Wanda and Natasha exchange a look, the happy, quiet kind they do when they think you’re not watching.

On the walk home, the adults chat and laugh. Tony argues that his arc reactor-themed cupcakes are superior to Laura’s pumpkin cookies. Yelena insists she’s the “best aunt” now. Kate snorts. Clint’s dragon tail joke earns him a playful smack from Laura.

You’re half-asleep by the time Wanda lifts you into her arms, head resting on her shoulder. Natasha takes your candy bucket before it spills everywhere.

“Too much fun?” she murmurs.

You hum, eyelids drooping. “Best night ever.”

When you reach home, Wanda carries you upstairs, gently changing you into your pajamas. You mumble sleepily when she brushes your hair back, whispering, “Mommy, I like Halloween.”

“I’m glad, baby,” she whispers back, kissing your forehead.

Natasha comes in quietly, tucking Bunny under your arm and Uni next to your pillow. “Sleep tight, malyshka,” she says softly.

You smile in your sleep. “Love you, Mama.”

Natasha freezes for a heartbeat, then smiles faintly. “Love you too.”

The night ends in warmth, the faint hum of laughter still echoing downstairs, the smell of caramel and autumn clinging to the air. Wanda and Natasha curl up together on the couch, flipping through the photos on Wanda’s phone.

“Perfect night,” Wanda says softly.

Natasha nods, leaning her head on Wanda’s shoulder. “Yeah. Perfect.”

Neither of them knows that in less than twelve hours, everything will fall apart.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

Morning light spills across your blanket in long golden stripes. The smell of pancakes drifts upstairs, sweet and buttery. Somewhere down the hall, Wanda hums, something soft and low, one of the Sokovian lullabies she always sings when she thinks no one’s listening.

You blink yourself awake and sit up, hair sticking up in every direction. Bunny and Uni are on either side of you, squished under the covers. You rub your eyes and whisper, “Morning,” to both of them before crawling out of bed.

Downstairs, you can hear clattering pans and Natasha muttering in Russian about the smoke alarm. When you pad into the kitchen, she’s fanning the air with a towel while Wanda laughs from behind the counter.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Wanda says, reaching out to smooth your messy hair.

You grin, climbing up into your usual seat at the table. “What happened?”

Natasha sighs dramatically. “Your mother doesn’t believe in measuring heat properly.”

“It’s called instinct,” Wanda counters. “You should try it sometime.”

You giggle, swinging your legs. “Are the pancakes okay?”

Natasha places a plate in front of you, perfectly golden. “Better than okay. Chef Romanoff’s finest.”

“Chef Romanoff?” Wanda snorts. “Please. You burned the first batch.”

Natasha leans down and kisses Wanda’s cheek, murmuring, “And yet, you’ll still eat them.”

The morning feels peaceful, like nothing bad could ever exist beyond the kitchen walls. You eat slowly, savoring every bite, and chatter about your candy haul from last night.

“Yelena said I could have all the chocolate I want today,” you announce proudly.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Did she, now? Well, Aunt Yelena doesn’t live here, so Mama gets veto power.”

Wanda hides a smile behind her mug. “I think one piece after breakfast would be fair.”

You clap your hands in delight. “One piece!”

Natasha sighs in mock defeat. “You’re both ganging up on me.”

You’re halfway through your chocolate bar when a sound cuts through the laughter, a firm, rhythmic knock at the front door.

It’s too early for visitors.

Wanda and Natasha exchange a quick glance. Natasha sets down her coffee. “I’ll get it,” she says quietly.

Wanda watches her go, her brow furrowed slightly. You don’t notice, you’re busy trying to fold your pancake into the shape of a heart, but when Natasha opens the door, the air in the house shifts.

“Good morning,” says a voice. A woman’s. Firm but polite. “Are you Natalia Romanoff?”

Natasha’s tone sharpens, professional without meaning to. “Yes. Can I help you?”

“My name is Mrs. Ellen Hart. I’m with Child Protective Services.”

The words float into the kitchen like smoke.

Wanda freezes.

You look up, confused. “Mommy?”

Wanda forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s okay, moya lyubov. Eat your breakfast.” She stands slowly, smoothing her shirt before walking toward the entryway.

You twist in your chair to watch. The woman standing at the door looks out of place, gray coat, clipboard, hair tied back too tightly. She has the kind of eyes that never blink long enough to soften.

“May I come in?” the woman asks.

Natasha hesitates. Then, because refusing would look worse, she steps aside. “Of course.”

Wanda appears beside her, voice steady but guarded. “What is this about?”

The woman steps into the living room, flipping through the papers on her clipboard. “We received a report alleging possible neglect and emotional endangerment. As part of our protocol, I need to conduct a wellness check and ask a few questions.”

You don’t understand the words, neglect, endangerment, but you can tell by the way Wanda’s shoulders stiffen that they’re bad.

Natasha’s voice lowers, edged with disbelief. “A report from who?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose that.”

Wanda folds her arms. “Then you can tell us what exactly this person said.”

The woman adjusts her glasses. “The report described irregular sleeping patterns, frequent nightmares, and references to fear in the child’s drawings amongst other things.”

For a moment, no one speaks.

Then Natasha laughs, sharp, humorless. “Nightmares? She’s four. Every child has nightmares.”

The woman doesn’t smile. “You mentioned she’s four. Children at that age often express distress through drawings, Ms. Romanoff. Would you mind showing me her most recent ones?”

Wanda steps forward, her voice soft but cutting. “She draws unicorns and bunnies. And her Aunt Yelena. Does that sound like distress to you?”

Mrs. Hart simply writes something on her form. The scratch of her pen is loud.

Natasha’s patience frays. “You barge into our home with vague accusations and refuse to say who called? You’ll forgive me if I don’t start handing you art projects.”

“It’s standard procedure,” the woman replies. “I’m required to document living conditions and interactions.”

“Living conditions,” Wanda repeats, incredulous. “You mean the house we’ve renovated ourselves? The one with security cameras and fire alarms and a stocked pantry?”

You slide off your chair, padding toward the doorway. “Mommy?”

Wanda turns instantly, her expression softening. “Hey, sweetie. Why don’t you go play in your room for a bit, okay? Mama and I have to talk to the lady.”

You hesitate, but when she smiles, you nod. “Okay.”

Natasha bends to kiss your forehead. “Take Bunny and Uni with you.”

You run upstairs, still hearing the low murmur of voices below.

Downstairs, the air thickens.

Mrs. Hart walks through the living room, taking notes on everything, photos on the wall, toys in a basket, the blanket folded neatly on the couch. Wanda follows her closely, the calm in her voice thinning with every sentence.

“We both work from home,” Wanda says. “One of us is always here. She’s never been left alone, never gone hungry, never hurt. This is absurd.”

“I understand how it feels,” the woman says evenly, “but our goal is to ensure the child’s safety. You’ll both have the opportunity to speak at your hearing.”

“What hearing?” Natasha demands.

“The investigation requires a temporary evaluation period. There will be a court date set to determine custody status.”

Wanda’s face goes pale. “Custody status?”

“It’s only temporary.”

Natasha steps closer. “You have no grounds to take her.”

“I haven’t said I will,” Mrs. Hart replies. “But protocol mandates that I report my observations to the court. If necessary, protective custody can be issued until the investigation concludes.”

Wanda’s eyes flash red for half a heartbeat before she forces herself to breathe. “This is ridiculous. Who filed it?”

Mrs. Hart keeps her gaze steady. “As I said, that information is confidential.”

“Confidential,” Natasha repeats bitterly. “Convenient.”

The woman glances up from her clipboard. “We’ll need to schedule a formal interview with each of you. I’ll leave contact information and court instructions.”

Natasha folds her arms. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

Mrs. Hart meets her gaze. “No one said anything about taking her today.”

The implication hangs heavy in the air.

Upstairs, you’re in your room, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your stuffed animals. You make Bunny and Uni dance in circles, whispering a story under your breath.

“and then the unicorn saved the bunny,” you say softly. “Because that’s what heroes do.”

Downstairs, voices rise, muffled, but sharp. You pause, ears straining.

You can’t make out the words, only the tone, Wanda’s voice shaking, Natasha’s cutting like glass. You clutch Bunny tighter.

When the voices finally fade, you creep toward the door, peeking out from the top of the stairs. Mrs. Hart is standing near the couch, flipping through her folder. Natasha looks furious, Wanda looks pale.

“this is standard protocol,” Mrs. Hart says again.

“Protocol,” Natasha repeats, voice barely controlled. “You think you can tear a family apart because of protocol?”

Wanda places a hand on her arm. “Tasha, please.”

The social worker closes her folder. “You’ll be notified of the hearing date within forty-eight hours.”

She hands Wanda a card and moves toward the door. “In the meantime, refrain from leaving town. Cooperation reflects favorably in court.”

Natasha takes a step forward, and Wanda grips her wrist, holding her back.

Mrs. Hart glances at them one last time. “Good day.”

When the door closes, the silence is deafening.

Natasha exhales, pacing the room. “This doesn’t make sense. Someone set this up.”

Wanda sinks onto the couch, the papers trembling in her hand. “A report like this doesn’t appear out of nowhere.”

Natasha stops pacing. “The Red Room.”

The name hangs between them like a curse.

Wanda looks up sharply. “You think they-”

“Who else?” Natasha snaps. “We’ve been too happy. Too visible.”

Her fists clench. “If they think they can take her-”

Wanda’s voice trembles. “We’ll fight it. We’ll prove it’s false.”

Natasha sits beside her, taking her hand. “We will.”

You watch from the stairs, not understanding most of it, but your chest feels tight. You can tell when your family’s afraid, even when they try to hide it.

When Wanda finally notices you, she stands quickly, forcing a smile. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You come down a few steps, clutching Bunny. “Are you mad?”

Her eyes soften. “No, moya lyubov. Just tired.”

Natasha kneels in front of you. “Everything’s okay, detka. We just had to talk to a lady about boring adult things.”

You frown. “She made Mommy sad.”

Natasha’s voice breaks for the smallest second. “She won’t do that again.”

Wanda crouches beside them both, pulling you close. “We’ll fix this, I promise.”

You nod slowly, trusting her because you always do.

Natasha looks over your head, her gaze hardening toward the front door. “They picked the wrong family to mess with.”

The rest of the day is uneasy. Wanda keeps checking her phone, waiting for a call that doesn’t come. Natasha sits by the window, tapping her fingers against her knee. Every so often, she gets up to check the locks, even though she’s already checked them three times.

You try to play, but the air feels heavy. Even your stuffed animals are quiet.

That night, Wanda tucks you in carefully, smoothing the blanket twice instead of once. Natasha hovers in the doorway, eyes shadowed.

“Mommy?” you whisper.

“Yes, baby?”

“Is the lady coming back?”

Wanda hesitates, then brushes your hair back. “No. Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Shh.” She presses a kiss to your forehead. “Sleep now.”

Natasha steps forward, placing Bunny and Uni on either side of you. “We’ll be right downstairs,” she says softly. “Always.”

You nod, curling into your pillow. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” they both whisper together.

Outside, the wind rustles the last of the Halloween leaves. The house feels smaller, tighter, like it’s holding its breath.

And downstairs, long after you’ve fallen asleep, Wanda and Natasha sit at the table surrounded by forms and notes and fear neither of them will admit aloud.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You wake up to the smell of rain.
It’s the kind that taps gently on the window, soft enough to sound like whispers. The sky is gray, and the light in your room looks sleepy. Bunny and Uni are on the floor beside your bed where they fell sometime in the night.

You yawn and climb out of bed, dragging your blanket with you. The house feels quieter than usual. You don’t hear Wanda humming. You don’t hear Natasha moving around in the kitchen.

When you peek down the hallway, the air feels different. Heavy, like a storm waiting to happen.

Then you hear it, the same voice from yesterday.
Mrs. Hart.

You freeze.

Her voice drifts up from the living room. “Ms. Maximoff, Ms. Romanoff, I appreciate your cooperation. I understand this is distressing.”

Distressing. That’s not a word you know, but you know it’s bad.

You tiptoe to the top of the stairs and peek down. Wanda and Natasha are both standing near the couch. They’re still in pajamas, Wanda’s hair tied up messily, Natasha in an old hoodie. They look like they didn’t sleep.

Mrs. Hart stands in the doorway, clipboard tucked under one arm. This time she isn’t alone. A man in a gray suit stands beside her, carrying a folder stamped with something official-looking.

“I received authorization this morning,” Mrs. Hart says, voice quiet but firm. “Given the evidence submitted and pending the investigation, we have to place the child in temporary protective custody.”

Wanda’s breath catches. “You can’t-”

“It’s not a choice,” the man interrupts, tone rehearsed. “This order came directly from the county judge.”

Natasha steps forward, fists clenched at her sides. “You’re making a mistake.”

“I understand how this feels,” Mrs. Hart says again, like she’s said it a hundred times before. “But the process is already in motion.”

You watch them, not understanding most of it. You only catch pieces, custody, temporary, court order.
They sound like the names of monsters.

Then you see Wanda turn her face away. She’s crying silently, one hand pressed to her mouth. Natasha’s breathing is loud, ragged.

You grip the railing. “Mama?”

All three adults look up at once.

Wanda’s tears vanish in an instant, her voice soft but trembling. “Hi, sweet girl. Why don’t you stay upstairs for a bit, okay?”

“No.” You shake your head, stepping down a few stairs. “Why is the lady back?”

Natasha turns toward the workers. “You’re not doing this in front of her.”

The man glances at his watch. “Ma’am, we don’t have a choice. We’re required to remove the child today.”

Remove. That word lands like a stone.

Wanda takes a small step forward, her voice cracking. “Please, she’s only four. She doesn’t understand.”

“That’s precisely why we must proceed quickly,” Mrs. Hart says, though her eyes flicker with discomfort. “The less confusion, the better.”

Natasha’s jaw tightens. “She’s not going anywhere without me.”

“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Hart holds out the paper, an official document with a seal. “Legally, you can’t accompany her.”

Wanda’s hand flies to her heart like she’s been struck. “No- no, this isn’t right. We’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Then the court will clear you,” the man says. “But right now, this is protocol.”

You don’t move at first when Wanda comes toward you. Her eyes are shiny and red, her voice trembling as she kneels. “Sweetheart, listen to Mommy, okay? These people just need to make sure everything’s okay. You’re going to go with them for a little while.”

You shake your head hard. “I don’t want to go! I wanna stay here!”

Natasha’s beside you now, crouched low. “We know, detka. We know. We’re going to fix it, I promise.”

“I’ll be good!” you cry, voice breaking. “I’ll be good, I promise, please don’t make me go!”

Wanda’s shoulders shake. “It’s not about being good, baby.”

But you’re already sobbing, little fists clutching at her sleeve. Natasha looks up at Mrs. Hart, fury in her eyes. “You see this? You see what you’re doing?”

Mrs. Hart’s face stays composed, but her voice falters slightly. “I know this is difficult.”

“Difficult?” Natasha snaps. “You’re tearing a child from her family.”

The man clears his throat. “Ma’am, please. You’re making this harder on everyone.”

Natasha rounds on him, her tone venomous. “Good.”

Wanda’s voice trembles. “Please, can she at least take something with her?”

Mrs. Hart nods. “One small item.”

You scramble toward your room, tears blurring your vision. You grab for Bunny and Uni on your bed, your hands shaking so badly that Uni slips to the floor. You clutch Bunny tightly and rush back downstairs, holding it out like proof you can stay.

But when Mrs. Hart gently crouches to your level, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s too large to take today. We’ll make sure it stays safe here until you come back, okay?”

You stare at her, uncomprehending, as she reaches to take Bunny from your arms.

“No!” you scream, clutching it tighter. “That’s mine!”

Natasha steps forward instantly, voice low but pleading. “Please let her keep it.”

Mrs. Hart hesitates, then glances toward the man. He shakes his head.

Regulations. Rules. Protocol.

Always protocol.

Wanda pries gently at your fingers, whispering through tears. “Sweetheart, I’ll take care of Bunny and Uni, okay? They’ll be waiting for you when you come home.”

You shake your head violently, trying to pull away, but Natasha’s hands catch you before you stumble. “Hey, hey, easy, detka. We’re right here.”

You cling to her like she’s the only thing holding the world still. “Don’t let them take me!”

Wanda’s crying openly now, voice raw. “We’ll see you soon, baby. We’ll see you so soon, I promise.”

“Please-”

“Come on,” Mrs. Hart says softly. “It’s time.”

Natasha presses a shaking kiss to your forehead. “I love you. No matter what, okay? No matter what.”

Wanda’s voice breaks entirely. “We love you more than anything.”

You’re sobbing so hard you can’t breathe. The world blurs as the man gently takes your hand, leading you toward the door. You twist in his grasp, reaching out desperately toward them, toward your home, your family, the only safety you’ve ever known.

Natasha lunges a step forward, but Wanda grabs her arm, holding her back. “Tasha, please. They’ll arrest you.”

The door opens. Cold air rushes in.

You scream for them as you’re guided down the walkway toward the car. “MOMMY! MAMA!”

The rain hits your face like tiny needles.

Through the window, you see them, Wanda on her knees, clutching Bunny and Uni to her chest, Natasha standing frozen behind her, shaking with silent rage.

Mrs. Hart opens the back door of the car and helps you climb in. The seatbelt clicks. The world feels too big, too wrong.

You press your hands against the window as the car starts to move.

“MOMMY!”

Wanda’s still at the door, her lips moving, I love you, I love you, I love you, over and over again until she’s too far to see.

The drive is quiet except for your hiccupping sobs. Mrs. Hart sits in the front seat, staring straight ahead. The windshield wipers squeak in a rhythm that sounds almost like words you can’t quite understand.

You whisper to yourself through tears, “Bunny and Uni are okay. Mommy said so.”

Your voice shakes. “They’re okay.”

You keep saying it until it almost sounds true.

Back at the house, Wanda collapses to the floor, arms wrapped around the stuffed animals, her body trembling with grief. Natasha stands over her for a long moment, face pale and empty.

Then she turns and slams her fist into the wall hard enough to split the plaster.

“She was right there,” she whispers hoarsely. “And we couldn’t do anything.”

Wanda looks up at her, voice shaking. “We’ll get her back.”

Natasha’s hands shake. “We have to. I can’t-”

Wanda pushes herself up, cupping Natasha’s face with both trembling hands. “We will.”

Outside, the rain keeps falling.
Inside, the silence that follows feels heavier than any storm.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The house feels wrong without you.

Your little shoes still sit by the front door, the purple ones with the unicorn laces Wanda found on sale and Natasha swore were “too sparkly to be tactical.”
Your cup of juice is still on the table, half-empty, with tiny fingerprints around the rim.
And upstairs, your blanket is still tangled on your bed, Bunny and Uni sitting like ghosts that can’t understand why you’re gone.

Wanda can’t stop staring at the window, as if expecting a car to pull up and deliver you back. Natasha paces the living room like a storm, phone clutched in one hand, knuckles white.

Neither of them has changed out of their pajamas.

It’s only been an hour.

But it feels like years.

“Fury,” Natasha snaps when the call finally connects. “Tell me you know what’s going on.”

Fury’s voice on the other end is calm, but there’s an edge beneath it. “I got the notice. Hill’s with me. We’re looking into it.”

“Looking into it?” Natasha’s voice rises, sharp and brittle. “They took her. They took our kid.”

“Romanoff-”

“No, don’t do that calm Director thing right now, Fury,” she cuts in, pacing faster. “You know damn well we didn’t do anything wrong. We trained agents can read lies, that CPS worker was shaking when she said it. Someone got to her.”

Wanda’s hands twist together in her lap, her eyes glassy but burning. “Fury please. There’s got to be something you can do.”

There’s a pause on the line. Then Fury sighs, low and heavy. “We pulled the file already. The report didn’t come from a random source.”

Natasha freezes mid-step. “What?”

“It came from an encrypted drop server, same kind the Red Room used back in the old days.”

Wanda’s heart drops. “No.”

Maria’s voice joins in faintly, quieter but steady. “We can’t trace it fully yet. The data was routed through multiple layers. Whoever did this knows the system.”

Natasha’s jaw clenches. “So it’s them. They set us up.”

“Looks that way,” Fury admits. “The photos, the bruises, all real, but context twisted. That mud puddle incident? It’s framed like neglect. The bruise from the playground? Cropped and captioned like abuse.”

Wanda presses a trembling hand to her mouth. She remembers that day, your giggles as you splashed in the puddle, soaked through and covered in dirt, the joy in your little voice when Natasha chased you with a towel.
It had been pure. Happy.
And now it was poison in someone’s file.

Natasha’s voice is low and sharp. “And the audio clip?”

“From your home system,” Maria says. “They hacked your baby monitor feed. Took a recording from one of her nightmares.”

Wanda’s chest tightens so hard she can barely breathe. “She was having a flashback. She was scared-”

“They know that,” Fury cuts in gently. “They know exactly what they’re doing.”

Natasha turns toward Wanda, eyes wild. “We go get her.”

Wanda looks up sharply. “What?”

“We go,” Natasha says again, voice flat with resolve. “We find where they took her. We bring her home.”

“You can’t,” Fury says firmly. “Not yet.”

“The hell I can’t-”

“Romanoff,” Fury snaps, voice booming through the speaker. “Listen to me. If you interfere with a state investigation, even if it’s built on lies, they’ll charge you with obstruction. That means jail time. And then you’ll never get her back.”

Natasha goes still, the weight of that sentence cutting through her anger. Her hand grips the edge of the counter so hard the wood creaks.

Wanda’s voice shakes. “So what do we do, Fury? Sit here while strangers treat her like she’s nothing?”

“No,” he says quietly. “You start building your case.”

Maria speaks again, practical as always. “We’ll help. But you need to be smart about it. Character witnesses. Proof of care. Medical records, photos, anything that contradicts the report. Build a timeline of every day she’s been with you.”

Wanda nods weakly. “We can do that.”

Natasha’s still staring out the window, jaw tight, shoulders trembling. “We raised her. We kept her safe. And they took her.”

Nick’s tone softens. “We’ll get her back, Romanoff. But right now, the system’s not in your hands.”

There’s silence for a long moment. Then Natasha ends the call.

Wanda sinks onto the couch, hands over her face. “They have her, Tasha. She’s only four. She must be terrified.”

Natasha’s voice is quiet, dangerous in its restraint. “They’re not going to break her again.”

Wanda looks up. Her eyes are swollen from crying. “What if they hurt her?”

Natasha’s throat tightens. “They won’t.”
But the way her voice cracks makes the promise sound like a prayer, not certainty.

She kneels down in front of Wanda, resting her hands gently on her knees. “We’ve been through worse. We survived worse. We’ll fight this. Every. Single. Step.”

Wanda nods shakily, tears spilling over again. “She was so scared.”

“I know.” Natasha pulls her close, letting Wanda’s head fall against her shoulder. “I know, printsessa.”

They sit like that for a while, in silence, surrounded by the echoes of you.
The faint smell of your strawberry shampoo on your blanket.
The drawings on the fridge.
The tiny socks still in the laundry basket.

Wanda eventually whispers, “Do you think she’s okay without Bunny and Uni?”

Natasha closes her eyes. “No. They wouldn’t let her take them, the one thing that would’ve brought her comfort.”

Wanda lets out a small, broken sound, half a sob, half a gasp. “She’s alone, Tasha. She’s alone without them.”

Natasha wraps her arms tighter around her, forcing her voice to stay even. “Then we make sure it’s not for long.”

That night, they barely sleep.

Wanda sits by the window, staring out at the streetlight that used to make you giggle when it flickered.
Natasha stays at the table, laptop open, eyes burning as she scrolls through digital records, reports, contact lists, anything that could tell her where you’ve been taken.

She knows the Red Room’s touch when she sees it.
And this, this is their signature. Cold. Strategic. Cruel.

By midnight, she’s compiled everything.
Photos of you smiling. Videos of you coloring. Reports from your pediatrician, your neighbors, even the shop workers who adored you. All proof of care, of love.

When she looks up, Wanda’s fast asleep on the couch, Bunny and Uni clutched to her chest like talismans.

Natasha stands for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest, then quietly pulls a blanket over her shoulders.

She presses her hand against the windowpane and whispers to no one,
“I’ll find you, detka. I swear it.”

Outside, the rain has stopped.
But inside, the storm hasn’t even begun.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

Morning light creeps across the floorboards of the living room like it’s afraid to enter. The house is too quiet again, only the faint hum of the fridge and the ticking of the clock, counting seconds Wanda can’t stand.

You’re not there to fill the silence.
No small laugh. No soft, sleepy voice asking for breakfast.
Just absence, thick and cruel.

Natasha stands at the kitchen counter, phone in hand, jaw locked. The circles under her eyes are dark, the red in her hair messy from running her fingers through it all night.
Wanda sits across from her, the same mug of cold tea untouched since dawn. She’s staring at the list scrawled on a scrap of paper, names, numbers, connections.

They’ve already called Fury and Maria again. Nothing new.
So now, it’s time to call everyone else.

“Start with Tony,” Natasha mutters, pacing. “He’s loud enough to make noise. And legal enough to dig.”

Wanda nods weakly, dialing. The line clicks after two rings.

“Stark.” His voice is clipped, distracted, but softens immediately when he hears Wanda’s. “Wanda? What’s wrong?”

She swallows hard. “They took her, Tony.”

There’s a pause. “Who did?”

“CPS,” she says, voice breaking. “They said we’re under investigation for abuse.”

Tony curses low under his breath. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s worse,” Natasha adds, stepping closer to the phone. “Fury traced it. Red Room fingerprints all over the report.”

That silences even Tony Stark.

“Alright,” he finally says, his tone all business now. “Send me every file you’ve got, the report, the paperwork, anything. Pepper knows the judge who handles those family petitions in the state. We’ll get ahead of it.”

“You’ll help?” Wanda’s voice cracks like she doesn’t dare believe it.

“You’re family,” Tony says simply. “And no one messes with my family. I’ll get Pepper and Happy on it right now.”

Natasha nods once, sharp and grateful. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Tony warns. “We’re gonna make noise. That’s how we win.”

Next is Clint and Laura.

Clint answers on speaker, his voice groggy with sleep. “You do realize it’s seven a.m., right?”

“Clint,” Natasha says, tone tight. “They took her.”

That wakes him up fast. “Wait what?”

“CPS came yesterday,” Wanda explains quickly. “They said there was an anonymous tip. They think we hurt her.”

Laura’s quiet voice cuts in immediately. “That’s insane. We’ve seen you with her. She’s happy. You’re both-”

“We know,” Natasha interrupts. “But they don’t.”

“We’ll testify,” Clint says at once. “Whatever you need. You want me to call in a few favors? I still know people in the legal department.”

“Please,” Wanda whispers. “Anything helps.”

Laura adds softly, “I’ll write a statement. About how you two care for her. How she always comes over smiling. They’ll see the truth.”

“Thanks, Laura,” Wanda says, tears slipping silently down her cheek. “Thank you both.”

Clint’s voice turns grim. “We’ll get her home, Nat. Promise.”

Next is Yelena.

The call barely rings once before her voice snaps through, sharp with panic. “What happened? I just saw the news.”

“The news?” Natasha frowns. “What news?”

“Someone leaked that you and Wanda are under investigation.” Yelena’s breathing is fast, furious. “They used pictures. They made it look real.”

Wanda presses her hand to her heart. “Oh my God-”

“Lena,” Natasha says, low and controlled, “I need you to listen. It’s the Red Room. They’re trying to destroy us through the system. I need you and Kate ready to speak at the hearing.”

“Speak?” Yelena spits. “No. I’m coming there. Right now.”

“Don’t,” Natasha warns sharply. “If they see us trying to interfere, it’ll look worse.”

There’s a long pause, then a sound that’s half growl, half grief. “Fine. But I swear, if they touch her-”

“They won’t,” Natasha says, though her voice wavers. “We won’t let them.”

“Send me the case file,” Yelena says. “Kate’s already calling her mom, Eleanor knows the county lawyers. We’ll dig until we find something.”

Wanda’s voice breaks through, soft. “Tell Kate thank you.”

Yelena huffs, her voice gentling slightly. “You don’t thank family, Wanda. You call, and we show up.”

By midmorning, the living room is filled with open laptops, buzzing phones, and scribbled notes. Every call adds a thread, a line of defense weaving together.

Steve’s steady voice comes through next, warm and certain.
“You’ll have my statement. Sam’s too. You two have been nothing but good to that kid. Anyone who’s met her knows that.”

Wanda sniffles, smiling faintly through her exhaustion. “She adores you, Steve.”

“I adore her too,” he says, and there’s real weight behind it. “We’ll get her home.”

Sam’s voice cuts in, upbeat even in the tension. “Already got some people in social services I can talk to. We’ll find out who pushed this through.”

Natasha nods. “Appreciate it.”

Bucky’s voice follows, rougher, lower. “You tell me who signed the papers. I’ll make them regret it.”

“Bucky-” Wanda starts.

“I’m kidding,” he says, though they all know he isn’t. “But seriously. I’ll write a statement. They’re not taking her without a fight.”

When the last call ends, Wanda slumps back against the couch, her hands shaking from the adrenaline. “They’re all helping.”

Natasha nods, scrolling through the message threads, the shared folders already filling with affidavits, photos, letters. “They should. We’ve all saved the world together, saving our kid shouldn’t be harder.”

Wanda exhales shakily. “I hate this. She’s probably scared. Alone. Thinking we abandoned her.”

“She knows us,” Natasha says quietly. “She knows we’d never stop looking.”

Wanda closes her eyes. “I hope so.”

Natasha leans forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the laptop. “Maria said the court date’ll be fast. Maybe two weeks, maybe less. We’ll need to show everything, every medical checkup, every visit, every day she was safe.”

Wanda’s voice turns small. “She had nightmares a few nights ago. I always sing to her after.”

Natasha reaches for her hand. “We’ll sing to her again.”

They sit together for a long while, quiet but not broken. The phone keeps pinging:
Tony forwarding legal drafts.
Pepper attaching character references.
Yelena sending a copy of the CPS worker’s public record, already finding inconsistencies.
Steve emailing photos of you asleep on his shoulder after training one afternoon.

Proof of a life built on love, not violence.

Later that afternoon, the doorbell rings. For a second, both women freeze, fear flickering between them that CPS might be back.

But it’s Maria. She’s in civilian clothes, folder in hand, expression grim.

“Nick’s still working the digital trail,” she says, setting the folder on the table. “We found something you need to see.”

Inside are printouts of bank transfers, encrypted IDs, routing numbers, all leading back to a shell company registered overseas.
The same company that funded several Red Room operatives years ago.

Wanda’s stomach turns. “So they really paid someone.”

“Yeah,” Maria confirms. “The CPS worker got a deposit three days before she showed up here. Five thousand dollars.”

Natasha’s voice is low. “That’s enough to ruin someone for.”

Maria nods. “Exactly. But the trail’s buried deep. Legally, we can’t expose it yet, not without more evidence.”

“So we just wait?” Wanda whispers.

“No,” Maria says firmly. “You fight on paper. Let us fight in the shadows.”

That night, the house hums with quiet activity.

Natasha’s at the table again, scanning through testimony files. Her hands shake slightly as she clicks through images of you, the ones she’s gathering for court: you painting with Wanda, sitting on her lap at the park, your hair tangled and full of glitter after craft time.

Each photo hurts, but she doesn’t stop. Pain means you mattered. Pain means she’s still fighting.

Wanda’s on the couch, typing an email to the judge’s office, polite, professional, but threaded with desperation. She signs it “Wanda Maximoff-Romanoff,” as if putting both their names might make the message stronger.

After she hits send, she looks up at the photos scattered across the coffee table. “Do you think she misses us?”

Natasha doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly, “Every minute.”

It’s past midnight when the last email goes out.
The house is quiet again, not peaceful, but purposeful.

The world has turned into folders and witness lists and promises. And underneath it all, one unbroken vow.

Wanda reaches for Natasha’s hand. “We’ll win.”

Natasha squeezes back. “We always do.”

Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the trees, a storm brewing.
Inside, two women sit shoulder to shoulder, ready for war.

And miles away, you sleep in an unfamiliar room, clutching the edge of a rough blanket, dreaming of the red hair and green eyes that mean home.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You don’t remember falling asleep in the car.
Only that you cried until your chest hurt and your throat felt scratchy, and that the lady from CPS kept saying, “It’s going to be alright, sweetheart,” even though she didn’t sound sure.

When you open your eyes, the world outside the window looks gray.
It’s not like your house, not bright, not warm. The sky hangs low, clouds heavy, and the road winds between trees that look like they’ve forgotten what sunshine feels like.

You still don’t have Bunny. Or Uni.
You tried to tell the lady, you begged her to turn around, to go back, but she just said, “I’m sorry, honey. We have to keep going.”
So you pressed your face into your hands and whispered to yourself, Mommy and Mama will come for me. They always do.

The car stops in front of a house that doesn’t feel like a home.
It’s big, but not cozy. All the windows have curtains pulled tight, and the paint is peeling like skin after a sunburn. The yard is empty, no flowers, no toys, no laughter.
Your stomach twists.

The lady gets out first, walking around to open your door. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s meet your foster dad.”

Her voice sounds careful, like she’s pretending not to notice that you’re trembling.

You take her hand anyway, because you don’t know what else to do.

The air outside is cold. It smells like rain and metal.

The door opens before you can knock.

A tall man stands there, dressed in dark clothes that don’t match. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. His voice is smooth, too smooth. “You must be our little guest.”

Something about the way he says our makes you want to hide.

The CPS lady clears her throat. “This is the child I told you about. The department will be in touch about regular check-ins.”

The man nods, still smiling. “Of course. I’ll take good care of her.”

You don’t believe him.

You cling tighter to the lady’s hand, whispering, “Can I go home now?”

Her fingers squeeze yours for a second, just a second, and then she gently pries herself free. “Not right now, sweetheart. Just until everything gets sorted out, okay?”

Your heart sinks.
Sorted out sounds like a very long time.

She crouches, brushing your hair from your face. “You be brave, alright? I’ll see you soon.”
Then she stands and walks back to her car, the sound of her shoes crunching on gravel fading until it’s gone.

The man doesn’t move.
He just stands there, looking down at you, like he’s studying something on a shelf.

Finally, he steps aside. “Come in.”

You hesitate. Every part of you screams no, but your feet move anyway. The house smells faintly like smoke and something sharp, maybe cleaning spray, maybe something else. It’s quiet in the wrong kind of way, the kind that makes you hold your breath.

The man closes the door behind you with a heavy click.
The sound makes you flinch.

“You’ll stay here for a while,” he says casually, like he’s talking about the weather. “There are rules. You’ll learn them.”

You nod slowly, not sure what else to do.

He walks past you, his shoes echoing on the floorboards. “You’ll eat when you’re told. Sleep when you’re told. Speak when you’re told. Understand?”

You bite your lip. You don’t understand, not really, but you nod anyway.

He looks at you over his shoulder. The smile is gone now. “Good girl.”

Your chest feels tight. You think of Wanda’s warm hands brushing your hair. Natasha’s quiet laugh when you make a joke. The way they always make you feel safe.

You wish you could be back there. You wish you could tell them you’re sorry for forgetting Bunny and Uni.
You wish you could tell them you’re scared.

The man opens a door down the hallway. It’s small and dark, just like the bad dreams you used to have. He gestures toward it. “You’ll stay in here for now.”

Your feet don’t move.

His voice drops lower. “Inside.”

You do as you’re told, your tiny hands shaking as you step into the room. There’s a thin blanket on the floor and nothing else. The air is cold and smells like dust.

The light flicks off.

The door closes.

You sit down on the floor and curl up tight, your knees pressed to your chest. You try not to cry, you told yourself you wouldn’t, but the tears come anyway, hot and fast.

You whisper into the dark, “Mommy? Mama?”
No one answers.

After a while, you hear footsteps again. The door creaks open just enough for the man’s shadow to stretch across the floor.

He leans against the frame, his tone low and almost amused. “You really thought you could be safe.”

Your heart stops.

The door clicks shut again, and this time, it locks.

You press your face against your knees and whisper the names of your family, like a prayer, like a promise, because even if he doesn’t believe it, you know Wanda and Natasha will never stop looking for you.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The morning came too quickly.
The kind of morning that didn’t feel like morning at all, just an extension of a sleepless night.

The sky outside was a dull gray, clouds heavy with rain, and the light filtering through the kitchen window was pale and cold. Wanda stood at the counter, both hands wrapped around a mug of coffee she hadn’t touched, her eyes fixed on the papers spread across the dining table.

Every inch of the surface was covered, photographs, medical records, statements, timestamps, signed witness affidavits. Each piece of evidence was a small part of the life they’d built with her, the life they were about to prove was real and good and full of love.

Natasha walked in quietly, her expression calm but her movements sharp with tension. Her hair was pulled back, her jacket already on. She’d been awake since before dawn, double-checking their files, calling Maria to confirm times and order of witnesses.

“Maria just texted,” Natasha said. Her voice was steady, but Wanda could hear the strain beneath it. “Fury’s already at the courthouse. He said the judge moved the start time up to nine.”

Wanda’s head snapped up. “Nine? That’s less than an hour.”

“I know.” Natasha grabbed the folder from the counter, flipping it open. “We have everything we need, her pediatric checkups, the evaluation reports, the neighborhood testimonials. Laura even sent over another video of her and the kids playing in the yard.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, rubbing her temples. “It still doesn’t feel like enough. They made the evidence look so real, Nat. Those pictures, that audio,”

Natasha’s eyes flicked to her, fierce and unwavering. “It’s enough.”

She crossed the room, laying a hand gently on Wanda’s shoulder. “We’ve been fighting ghosts our whole lives. This is just another one. We’re going to win because we have the truth, and the truth doesn’t break.”

Wanda looked up at her, eyes glassy with exhaustion. “She’s just a baby,” she whispered. “She shouldn’t have to go through this.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, but her voice softened. “I know. That’s why we’re going to make sure she never has to again.”

She began sorting the folders into piles, organized by category, photographic evidence, documentation, testimony, digital records. Her hands were steady, efficient, almost clinical. But Wanda could see the tremor in her fingers every time she touched a picture of the little girl smiling.

“This one,” Natasha said, sliding a photo to the top of the pile. It was of you sitting at the kitchen table, pancake syrup smeared across your cheeks, hair wild and tangled. “This says more than a thousand words.”

Wanda smiled faintly through her tears. “One of her favorite breakfast.”

“She looked so proud of herself for using the fork,” Natasha said softly, her lips twitching into a small, broken smile.

They both fell silent for a long moment, just staring at the picture.

Wanda finally spoke again, her voice a whisper. “Do you think she’s scared?”

Natasha’s throat tightened. “She’s brave. But yeah. Probably.”

Wanda pressed her fingers to her mouth, holding back a sob. “She always looks for us when she’s scared.”

“I know.” Natasha’s eyes were dark with pain, but there was something unshakable in them, too a promise that no matter what happened today, she would find a way to bring her home.

The clock ticked closer to eight-thirty.

Wanda checked the final folder, making sure the hard copies matched the USB drive with digital duplicates. “Everything’s here. Testimonies from Tony and Pepper, statements from Laura and Clint, Yelena’s affidavit, medical and emotional evaluations. Even the SHIELD daycare observation notes.”

Natasha nodded. “And Maria’s pulling the phone logs. The timestamps on those fake photos don’t match our GPS records from that week. That’ll be the nail in the coffin.”

Wanda’s brow furrowed. “You think the judge will listen?”

Natasha met her eyes. “He’ll have to.”

The quiet between them lingered for a moment, filled only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the rustle of papers.

Finally, Wanda exhaled and stepped closer, sliding her hand into Natasha’s. “We’re going to bring her home.”

Natasha squeezed back, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll never let her go again.”

By the time they left the house, the first drops of rain had started to fall. Wanda locked the door, glancing back for a moment at the empty hallway, the shoes by the door that were still too small, the coat hook that still held a tiny pink jacket.

It felt wrong to leave without her, like walking out half-alive.

Natasha reached out, placing a hand gently on her back. “We’ll come home together next time.”

Wanda swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Let’s go.”

They stepped into the gray morning, folders clutched tight in their hands, the weight of proof, and love, between them.

Today, they would fight for the truth.

And they wouldn’t leave without their daughter.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You sit on the edge of the thin mattress, knees pulled up to your chest, staring at the floor. The air smells like dust and something sharp, the way metal smells when it’s been left out in the rain. Your eyes sting from crying, but you don’t dare wipe them again. Every sound in the house makes you flinch,  the creak of a step, the scrape of a chair, each one heavy with the same thought:

I want my mommies.

You whisper it into your knees, so softly that the words barely exist. “I want my mommies.”

The door opens.

He steps in, the man who calls himself your foster father, the one with the eyes that never smile. His shoes click against the floor as he walks closer, and you shrink a little, pressing yourself tighter into the blanket.

“Stand up,” he says.

You obey. Your legs shake, but you stand.

He folds his hands behind his back and studies you for a moment like you’re some puzzle he’s already solved. “Do you know where we’re going today?”

You shake your head.

“To see the judge,” he says smoothly. “The people who took you from your mommies.” The word drips from his tongue like poison. “They will ask questions. And you must answer them correctly.”

You frown, confusion knitting your eyebrows. “Questions?”

He nods. “About them. About Wanda and Natasha.”

Your heart jumps. “Mommy and Mama?”

The man’s smile tightens. “You must not call them that.”

You blink, your lip trembling. “But they are-”

“Enough.” His voice slices through the air, sharp and sudden. You flinch, the rest of the sentence dying in your throat.

He exhales through his nose, regaining his calm. “When the judge asks if they were kind, you will say no. When he asks if they ever hurt you, you will say yes.”

Your mouth falls open. “That’s not true.”

His eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter.”

You shake your head quickly, words tumbling out. “I don’t want to lie! They’re nice! Mama makes funny faces at breakfast, and Mommy reads me stories and-”

He crouches suddenly, and even though he doesn’t touch you, the nearness of him makes your stomach twist. His voice lowers to a whisper that feels colder than a shout. “If you don’t say those words, something bad will happen to them.”

Your breath catches. “Bad?”

He nods once, slow. “Very bad. The kind of bad you can’t fix. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

You shake your head so hard your hair falls into your face. “No! I don’t want my mommies to get hurt!”

“Then do what I say.”

“But-”

His tone sharpens again. “No arguing.” He straightens, smoothing his jacket. “You will tell the judge they were mean. You will say they made you cry. And then everything will be over.”

You stare up at him, tears blurring your vision. “Will I see them again?”

The man tilts his head, pretending to think. “If you do what I told you, maybe.”

You bite your lip until it hurts. The thought of never seeing them again makes your chest ache. The thought of them getting hurt makes it worse.

“Do you understand?” he asks.

Your voice comes out small. “I have to say they’re mean.”

“Yes.”

“And that they hurt me.”

“Yes.”

The words feel like ash in your mouth.

He watches you a second longer, then nods approvingly. “Good girl.” He turns toward the door, pausing only once. “Remember, if you lie to me, they’ll suffer for it.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click.

You sink back down onto the mattress, burying your face in the thin blanket. The tears come fast and quiet. You whisper to yourself again, like a prayer you’re not sure anyone can hear.

“I don’t wanna lie. I don’t wanna hurt them.”

You rock a little, trying to make the dark room feel smaller, safer. You think about Mommy’s gentle hands brushing your hair, Mama’s voice saying brave girl. You whisper those words over and over.

Brave girl. Brave girl.

Somewhere deep down, you hope they can feel you thinking it, that maybe, somehow, they’ll know you’re still fighting to get back home.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You wake up when the man kicks the bottom of the bed.
“Up,” he says sharply. “We leave in ten minutes.”

Your eyes sting. The room is cold, and the thin blanket barely keeps the chill off your arms. You curl up tighter, hoping if you stay quiet, maybe he’ll forget. But he doesn’t forget. He never forgets.

The sound of his boots moves across the floor. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

You scramble to your feet, the blanket dragging behind you. You slept in your clothes again because he never said you could change. Your socks are mismatched, one heel full of holes, but you don’t complain. You don’t talk much anymore.

He watches you pull your shoes on, arms crossed, tapping his finger against his wrist like he’s waiting for the world to keep up.
“Don’t talk unless someone asks you something,” he says.
You nod.
“Don’t fidget.”
You nod again.
“And don’t cry.”

You nod a third time, biting your lip hard enough to taste salt.

When you follow him outside, the air bites at your face. The car parked by the curb looks the same as yesterday, same gray color, same smell of metal and something sour that sticks in your throat. You climb in, buckle yourself the way Wanda showed you, click, snug, hands in your lap, and whisper a tiny prayer you can’t quite remember all the words to.

The man drives fast. His hands grip the wheel too tight, and every time another car honks, he mutters words you aren’t supposed to say.
“Useless,” he grumbles. “All of them.”
You stare at your shoes.
After a while, you whisper, “Where’re we going?”

He doesn’t look at you. “To fix what your fake mothers ruined.”

You shrink in your seat. “They didn’t ruin anything.”

His head turns sharply, eyes flashing like knives. “Quiet.”
You press your hands over your mouth and whisper an apology.

The rest of the drive is silent, except for the hum of the tires and the sound of your heart thumping in your ears.

When the car stops, you don’t move until he opens your door.
“Out.”

You step onto the sidewalk, the ground slick from last night’s rain. The building in front of you is tall and gray with big doors and windows that look too serious for a place that’s supposed to help people. You stare up, your stomach twisting.

“This is the courthouse,” the man says flatly. “The judge will decide what happens next.”

You tug on his sleeve, your voice tiny. “Will I see my mommies?”

He stops walking and turns to you, eyes narrowing. “You’ll see them when I say you can. And you’ll remember what I told you. Understand?”

You nod quickly, even though your throat feels like it’s closing.

Inside, the air smells like paper and soap. The walls are covered in signs you can’t read, and the people walking past wear clothes that make them look too busy to see you. The man’s hand stays on your shoulder, steering you down the hall like you’re something that might run away.

At the front desk, a woman with round glasses looks up. “Good morning. You must be here for the Maximoff–Romanoff hearing?”

You perk up a little at hearing their names. “That’s my-”

The man cuts you off. “That’s right,” he says smoothly. “The child’s here for temporary placement evaluation.”

The woman nods, her voice polite but distant. “I’ll have Ms. Miller take her to the children’s room until she’s called.” She presses a button on her desk.

You feel his hand tighten on your shoulder. “Remember,” he says softly, but there’s no kindness in it. “If you tell anyone the wrong thing, you’ll never see them again.”

Your chest hurts so much it’s hard to breathe. You nod.

A few seconds later, another woman appears, short brown hair, kind eyes, a blue blazer that rustles when she walks. “Hi there,” she says softly, crouching so she’s not so tall. “You must be the little one everyone’s been talking about. I’m Ms. Miller. How about you come with me for a bit?”

You look up at the man. He nods, the same cold look as before. “Go ahead.”

You follow Ms. Miller down a long hallway. Her shoes click on the floor, and she hums something quiet under her breath, maybe to make you feel better. You clutch your sleeves, trying to be brave.

The room she opens smells faintly of crayons and lemon spray. There’s a rug in the middle, shelves of books, a small table with paper, and a bin of toys. “You can stay here until it’s your turn,” Ms. Miller says kindly. “There’s juice in the mini fridge if you get thirsty.”

You nod, eyes darting around. “Can I draw?”

“Of course.” She smiles. “You can draw whatever you like.”

When she closes the door, the silence feels heavy again. You sit on the rug and grab a piece of paper. You can’t write, but you can draw, just like Wanda taught you when she showed you how to hold a crayon. You draw two tall people with red and orange hair, both smiling, both holding the hand of someone small. You make the small one’s hair messy because Natasha always says your bedhead looks like a bird’s nest.

When you’re done, you stare at the picture for a long time. You don’t know how to spell their names, but you whisper them anyway. “Mommy, Mama,”

A lump builds in your throat. You trace the red crayon over the small hand in the picture again and again, pressing so hard it almost tears the paper. “Please find me,” you whisper.

Outside the little room, footsteps echo down the hall.

Wanda and Natasha walk through the courthouse doors together, shoulders brushing. Both are dressed in black, clean and formal, but their eyes tell a different story, red-rimmed, sleepless, burning.

Natasha carries the folders like weapons; Wanda holds her hands clasped tight to stop them from shaking. Maria Hill meets them in the hallway, her tone low and steady.

“The judge just called the session,” she says. “They’ve already brought the child in. She’s in the waiting room with supervision.”

Wanda’s breath catches. “She’s here?”

Maria nods. “Safe for now.”

Natasha’s voice is controlled but sharp. “That man’s inside?”

“Yes.” Maria’s eyes darken. “And the CPS worker. But we’ve got this. Your case is strong.”

Wanda nods slowly, staring at the closed courtroom doors. “She must be so scared.”

Natasha squeezes her hand, firm and grounding. “She’s stronger than they think. We all are.”

A bailiff calls from inside. “Maximoff–Romanoff hearing, now in session.”

Natasha straightens. Wanda inhales once, steadying her shaking hands. Together, they step through the heavy doors.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The courtroom was cold.

Not the kind of cold that came from air conditioning, but the kind that settled under your skin, sharp, clinical, unfeeling. Wanda sat at the table, hands clasped in her lap, her knuckles white against the polished wood. Natasha sat beside her, her expression unreadable but her muscles coiled, ready to react to every word.

Across from them, the CPS attorney was already speaking, voice practiced and polite.
“The state’s case is built on clear evidence,” she said, handing the judge a stack of papers. “We have photographic proof showing the child living in unsanitary conditions, audio evidence of distress, and multiple behavioral reports suggesting instability within the home.”

Wanda flinched slightly at the word instability. Natasha’s jaw tightened.

The attorney continued, “Our concern is not punitive. It’s protective. We believe this child may be unsafe under the care of Ms. Maximoff and Ms. Romanoff until the full truth of these incidents can be determined.”

The judge nodded slowly. “You may proceed with your evidence.”

The first exhibit was the series of photos, the ones that had nearly broken Wanda when she saw them for the first time. The images appeared on the screen beside the judge’s bench: you, standing in the backyard covered in mud, hair sticking up, cheeks streaked brown.

“Taken October 23rd,” the CPS attorney said. “The child appears unbathed and neglected.”

Natasha’s voice came out cool and steady. “Objection, Your Honor. Context is missing.”

The judge raised an eyebrow. “Proceed.”

Natasha stood, her heels clicking softly on the floor as she approached the monitor. “That was a supervised playdate at our home,” she said, pointing to the timestamp on the photo. “The weather report from that afternoon shows heavy rain. The puddles in the backyard were from a storm the night before.”

Maria Hill, seated behind them, passed forward a printed screenshot from Wanda’s phone, a series of pictures taken that same day, just minutes after the “evidence” photo. In them, you were laughing, wrapped in a towel, Wanda crouched beside you with her hands in your hair as Natasha handed over a mug of cocoa.

Natasha placed the photos on the table. “This is the full set, Your Honor. The ‘neglect’ lasted about ten minutes before she was clean, warm, and in pajamas. The CPS report cut the rest of the moment out.”

The judge studied the images for a long beat, his frown deepening. “Noted. Continue.”

The CPS attorney looked momentarily thrown but recovered quickly. “We also have audio evidence,” she said. “A recording in which the child can be heard crying and begging not to be locked in a closet.”

The recording played, that small, trembling voice filling the courtroom.

“Don’t make me sleep in the closet, I’ll be good, please I’ll be good-”

Wanda’s breath hitched. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her other gripping Natasha’s arm so hard her nails bit through the fabric. Natasha didn’t look away from the speaker, she couldn’t. It was your voice, raw and terrified, echoing through the sterile air. Every instinct in her screamed to go to you, to protect you, to destroy whoever had twisted this sound into a weapon.

When it ended, the silence was unbearable.

The CPS attorney spoke again, voice gentler now as if she believed she was right. “This recording suggests emotional or physical abuse by the caregivers.”

Wanda’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s not what happened,” she whispered, but her voice was too quiet for the record.

Natasha stood again. “That was a PTSD episode,” she said, every syllable clear and cutting. “Our child was taken from the Red Room compound. She’s four years old, already traumatized when we found her. That recording came from one of her first nights home, she woke up screaming and hid in the closet because that’s what she was taught to do when she cried.”

She reached for the next piece of evidence, a printed report signed by two SHIELD trauma specialists. “These are evaluations performed by licensed child psychologists. They confirm that the behavior in that recording is consistent with post-traumatic conditioning, not abuse.”

The judge leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Do you have verification from SHIELD on the dates and authenticity of these reports?”

Maria Hill rose from the bench, stepping forward. “Yes, Your Honor,” she said crisply. “Director Fury and I oversaw this personally. Every file is genuine and has been independently verified.”

The CPS attorney opened her mouth, then closed it again. She knew she couldn’t challenge SHIELD’s chain of custody.

Wanda finally found her voice. “We’ve done everything right,” she said, her accent trembling. “We’ve worked with specialists. We’ve followed every order since the investigation started. She’s a happy, healthy little girl, she’s not afraid of us, she loves us.”

Natasha placed her hand over Wanda’s, steadying her. “You’ll see that in the witness testimonies.”

The judge gave a small nod. “Very well. We’ll hear those next.”

From the opposite table, the Red Room operative watched silently, his expression unreadable. His attorney whispered something to him, but he didn’t respond. His gaze flicked toward the side door, the one leading to the child-supervision room, and his lips twitched into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk.

Natasha caught it.

Her hand tightened around the edge of the table. You’re not winning this time.

The witnesses were called next. Maria submitted the phone logs proving the fake timestamps. The digital forensics team from SHIELD confirmed that the photos’ metadata didn’t match the days they were supposedly taken. Clint Barton’s written statement was read aloud, recounting the playdate when you first started smiling again. Laura’s affidavit described the progress you’d made, your laughter, your attachment, your joy.

Each new voice chipped away at the falsehoods layer by layer until even the CPS attorney stopped looking confident.

Wanda sat straighter, a quiet strength radiating through her exhaustion. She glanced at Natasha, who hadn’t stopped watching every movement, every word. They didn’t smile, not yet, but there was a flicker of hope between them again.

For the first time in days, it felt like the truth might finally be louder than the lies.

The courtroom doors opened again. The bailiff’s voice carried over the soft hum of movement.
“Next witnesses, please: Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.”

Wanda’s heart leapt, not from nerves this time, but from something closer to relief. Natasha exhaled through her nose, her eyes fixed on the door as Tony strode in, his suit pressed sharp as ever, and Pepper close behind him. They looked more like themselves here than they had in weeks, confident, steady, ready to fight the right fight.

Tony gave a nod toward Wanda and Natasha before raising his hand for the oath. “I swear,” he said, his tone brisk but sincere.

When the questioning began, Tony leaned forward in the witness chair, elbows resting on his knees. “I’ve known Romanoff for years. And Maximoff.” His voice softened just slightly. “I’ve seen what the Red Room did to people. I’ve also seen what they’ve done for this kid. I’ve been to their house. The kid’s happy. Smiles more than I’ve ever seen Wanda smile, and that’s saying something.”

A faint ripple of laughter moved through the benches. Natasha’s lips twitched, but she stayed composed.

Tony gestured toward Wanda. “Maximoff’s got the patience of a saint. She’s the kind of person who learns how to braid hair from a YouTube video at two in the morning because her kid wanted to look like Rapunzel for breakfast. That’s not neglect, Your Honor, that’s love.”

The judge made a note. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

Pepper took the stand next, her voice calm but firm, full of that quiet authority that never needed volume to command a room. “Our daughter, Morgan, plays with her,” she said. “They paint, they dress up, they have sleepovers. I’ve seen the way Wanda and Natasha take care of her, gentle, patient, structured. I would trust them with my own child any day.”

The CPS attorney asked, “Did you ever witness any behavior that could be considered harmful toward the child?”

Pepper didn’t hesitate. “Never. Only care, and more protectiveness than I thought possible.”

Wanda swallowed hard, blinking back tears.

Next came Clint Barton and his wife, Laura.

Clint gave a half-smile when he took the stand. “Judge, these two are family. I’ve known Nat longer than I’ve known my own mortgage broker, and that’s saying something. She’s always been a protector. When I met the kid, she wouldn’t talk to anyone, except Wanda and Nat. That’s the first people she smiled at. That’s not fear, that’s trust.”

Laura’s voice was gentler. “We have kids close to her age. She plays with them all the time. She’s sweet, bright, curious. When she falls, Wanda’s there first, and when she’s scared, Natasha’s the one she runs to. That little girl finally found people who made her feel safe.” Laura’s tone softened even further. “You can’t fake that.”

Even the judge seemed moved, his expression flickering toward something that wasn’t quite professional distance anymore.

When Yelena was called next, Natasha felt the corner of her mouth twitch. Her sister walked up with her usual unapologetic swagger, wearing a jacket too casual for court but a confidence that made it work.

“State your name for the record,” the clerk said.

“Yelena Belova,” she answered, then smirked. “Professional aunt.”

There was a brief murmur of amusement before the questioning began.

“You’ve spent time with the child?” the CPS attorney asked.

“Oh yes,” Yelena said. “We had a very fun day together, Chuck E. Cheese, cotton candy, and several new words she was not supposed to repeat. Which she did.” Her grin widened. “She is brilliant, by the way.”

“Ms. Belova,” the attorney said dryly, “in your opinion, do Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff provide adequate care for her?”

Yelena’s expression sobered immediately. “They give her everything the Red Room took from us. Safety. Laughter. A place to sleep without fear. You can’t teach that, it’s real.”

She glanced at Natasha then, eyes softening. “My sister is the kind of person who’ll fight an army with her bare hands to keep a child safe. I know because she did.”

Wanda felt something break loose in her chest, pride, love, gratitude all tangled together.

Kate Bishop followed, nodding respectfully to the judge. “I’ve been around them a lot,” she said, her voice even and steady. “That little girl adores them. She calls them Mommy and Mama. That’s not confusion, it’s connection. And it’s not something you can force.”

When Maria Hill was called, her testimony turned precise and factual. “I’ve seen their home. It’s clean, structured, safe. I’ve reviewed SHIELD’s full record of this case. The Red Room fabricated nearly all the evidence presented by the state. My professional recommendation is immediate reunification.”

The judge leaned forward. “And you’re confident in this conclusion?”

“Yes,” Maria said without hesitation. “SHIELD’s forensics division traced several of the photographs’ digital footprints to Red Room servers. The so-called ‘foster placement’ was also connected to one of their remaining operatives.”

That sent a ripple of noise through the courtroom. Even the CPS attorney looked shaken now.

The judge raised a hand. “Enough.” He flipped through the thick folder before him, then looked up at Wanda and Natasha. “We’ll take a short recess before calling the child. I’ve heard sufficient evidence to question the validity of the original report.”

The gavel tapped once.

Court adjourned temporarily.

Wanda slumped back into her chair, her pulse racing. Natasha exhaled slowly, pressing her hands against her knees to steady herself.

“They believe us,” Wanda whispered.

Natasha turned to her, voice low but certain. “We’re not done yet. But we’re close.”

She looked toward the side door, the one that led to the children’s waiting area, her chest tight. “She’s next.”

You were sitting on the rug in the yellow room again, legs crossed, staring at the same pile of crayons.
The lady with the blue jacket, Ms. Miller, had come back a few times to check on you. Once to bring juice. Once to say it would be “just a little longer.” But that was a while ago.
You didn’t know how long “a little” was.

Your drawing, the one of Mommy and Mama, was crumpled now from how tightly you’d been holding it. The edges were bent, and one corner had a smudge where you’d rubbed your eyes. You didn’t want to mess it up, but sometimes you couldn’t stop crying. You missed them so much that your chest hurt like when you coughed too hard.

The door creaked open again. You flinched, hiding the paper behind your back.

Ms. Miller peeked in. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly. “It’s time. The judge wants to meet you now.”

You stood slowly. Your knees felt wobbly. “Will my mommies be there?”

Her smile wavered just a little. “Yes. They will.”

Your heart jumped so fast it scared you. “Really?”

She nodded. “Really.”

You followed her down a long hallway that smelled like the floor cleaner Wanda used at home, but here it was too strong, like someone forgot what clean was supposed to smell like. The air was too quiet, except for your small footsteps.

When Ms. Miller opened the door, you froze.

The room was bigger than you expected, rows of benches, people sitting everywhere. There was a big desk in the front, where an older man in glasses sat. And then you saw them.

Mommy and Mama.

They were sitting at a long table, side by side. They looked tired, eyes red, shoulders tight, but they were there. Mommy’s hands flew to her mouth, eyes instantly glassy, and Mama stood halfway before the lady next to her put a hand on her arm.

The sound came out of you before you even realized it.

“Mommy!”

It was loud and bright and full of every tear you hadn’t cried yet.

You ran.

You didn’t think about rules or grown-ups or what anyone said you were supposed to do, you just ran. But before you could reach them, someone caught your arm. One of the bailiffs knelt down, his grip gentle but firm. “Sweetheart, you can’t run up there,” he said softly.

You twisted, reaching out with both hands. “Mommy! Mama!”

Wanda was already on her feet now, tears spilling down her cheeks. “It’s okay, detka, we’re here!” she called, her accent thick with emotion.

Natasha’s voice cracked on your name. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. We see you.”

You stopped struggling, just looking at them. For a moment, it felt like the whole room disappeared, only their faces, their voices, the safe warmth in their eyes. You clutched your crumpled drawing tight against your chest.

The judge cleared his throat gently. “It’s alright,” he told the bailiff. “Let the child approach when it’s her turn.”

The bailiff nodded and let go. You stayed close to Ms. Miller, trembling but trying to stand tall like Mama always did.

When the judge called your name, Ms. Miller led you up to a small chair near the front, a witness stand made small, just for kids. It was high enough that your legs didn’t touch the floor. She helped you climb up, then whispered, “You can talk to the nice man now, okay? He just wants to ask you a few questions.”

You nodded, gripping the arms of the chair so hard your fingers turned white. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

The judge smiled gently, kind eyes soft behind his glasses. “Hello there. You can just call me ‘sir,’ okay? No need to be scared.”

You nodded again, voice small. “Okay.”

He leaned slightly forward. “I know this is a big day. But I’d like to ask you a few questions about where you live, and who takes care of you. Can you do that for me?”

You glanced toward your moms’ table. Mommy gave you a small nod, her hands pressed to her heart. Mama smiled, even though her chin trembled.

You took a deep breath, then whispered, “Okay.”

From their seats, Wanda gripped Natasha’s hand so tightly her fingers ached.
“She’s so small,” Wanda whispered.

Natasha didn’t take her eyes off you. “She’s strong,” she said, voice low and raw. “She’s ours.”

Wanda leaned against her shoulder, her tears falling freely now. They’d fought for weeks, clawed through bureaucratic lies and nightmares, and here,  right here, was the reason they never gave up.

Their daughter, sitting on that chair, holding a wrinkled drawing of them.

The judge looked at you again. “Can you tell me your name, sweetheart?”

You said it softly, then fiddled with the edge of your paper. “Can, can I show you something?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

You held up the drawing. “I made it. It’s me and my mommies. Mommy and Mama.”

The courtroom went so still you could hear Wanda sniffle from across the room. The judge’s smile turned sad and kind all at once. “That’s beautiful,” he said. “Thank you for showing me.”

You looked down at your picture, tracing your crayon lines. “They’re my family.”

The judge nodded gently. “I know, sweetheart. We just need to talk a little more to make sure we understand everything, okay?”

You nodded again, trying to be brave. You could feel their eyes on you, your moms, the scary man from the Red Room, everyone. You didn’t know what words they wanted from you yet, but you knew one thing for sure.

You weren’t scared of the truth anymore.

The judge leaned forward slightly, hands folded on the desk. “Thank you for showing me your drawing,” he said kindly. “It’s very special. I just want to talk to you for a few minutes, okay?”

You nodded, the crumpled paper still clutched in your lap. Your feet swung above the floor, the chair too tall for you, but you tried to sit the way Mama taught you, straight back, brave face, big breaths.

“Do you know why we’re here today?” the judge asked.

You looked down. “Because someone said my mommies were bad.”

The man sitting across the room, your foster father, shifted slightly. You could feel his stare even without looking. Your stomach turned cold.

The judge’s voice stayed gentle. “And are they bad?”

Your throat tightened. The man’s warning echoed in your head: Say they’re mean. Or your mommies will get hurt. You’ll never see them again.

Tears burned behind your eyes. “I- I don’t wanna say,” you whispered.

“That’s alright,” the judge said softly. “Take your time.”

You bit your lip, shaking. You looked at Mommy and Mama again. They were watching you with faces full of love and worry. Mommy had both hands pressed together near her mouth like she was praying. Mama looked like she wanted to run to you but was forcing herself to stay still.

Their eyes said everything they couldn’t say out loud.
You’re safe. We believe you. Tell the truth.

You took a deep breath.

“My mommies are nice,” you said in a rush. “They take care of me. They give me pancakes and tuck me in and read me stories and make the monsters go away.”

Wanda’s hand flew to her chest. Natasha blinked hard, her jaw trembling.

The judge nodded slowly. “That sounds very nice. Have they ever hurt you?”

You shook your head fast. “Never! They don’t yell or hit. They just, they hug. And they make me laugh.” You looked down, tracing the crayon lines on your picture. “I love them.”

There was a murmur in the room, low and full of emotion.

The judge smiled faintly. “Thank you, sweetheart. That’s very helpful. I do have to ask something hard, though. You can tell me the truth, I promise no one will be angry. Has anyone asked you to say something that isn’t true?”

You froze. The room felt too big all of a sudden. You looked toward the man, the one who took you from your home, the one who told you what to say. His stare was sharp, warning.

Your hands shook. The paper in your lap crinkled loudly. “He said, I had to say my mommies are mean.”

The courtroom went silent.

You pointed, tiny finger trembling. “He said if I don’t, my mommies will get hurt. He said I’ll never see them again if I tell.”

Wanda made a sound that wasn’t quite a sob and not quite a word. Natasha’s hand caught hers, squeezing tight enough to hurt.

The judge’s expression hardened. “Who told you this?”

“The man,” you whispered. “The one who brought me here. He’s mean. He yells when I cry. He says I have to be quiet. I sleep on the floor. I miss Bunny and Uni.”

Wanda’s tears fell freely now. Natasha’s knuckles turned white where she gripped the table.

The judge leaned forward, voice softer again. “Thank you for being brave and telling me that. You did the right thing. Do you understand that?”

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Can I go home now?”

His eyes softened. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure that happens.”

He turned to the bailiff. “Escort the child back to the supervised room, please.”

You hesitated. “Can I hug my mommies?”

The judge looked at the attorneys, then back at you. “Not just yet. But soon, okay?”

You nodded again, clutching your drawing to your chest. As the bailiff led you toward the door, you looked over your shoulder one last time.

Mommy mouthed, We love you.
Mama mouthed, You did so good, malyshka.

You smiled through your tears. “Love you too,” you whispered.

And then the door closed behind you.

Wanda’s shoulders shook the second you disappeared from sight. Natasha’s hand found hers immediately, grounding her before she fell apart completely.

“She told the truth,” Wanda whispered, voice trembling.

Natasha nodded, tears streaking down her cheeks. “She’s the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

Maria Hill stood behind them, eyes hard. “That statement alone will tear their case apart. The judge will order an investigation into the foster placement immediately.”

Wanda covered her face. “She’s four,” she whispered. “And she still had to protect us.”

Natasha’s voice cracked. “She shouldn’t have to. But she did.”

The judge’s gavel tapped once, calling the courtroom back to order. “We will recess while we review the evidence and statements. The final verdict will be delivered shortly.”

Wanda exhaled shakily. Natasha leaned back in her chair, both hands pressed over her mouth, eyes closed.

For the first time since that horrible morning when they’d lost you, hope didn’t feel like a dream.
It felt real.

The courtroom was silent when you left, so silent that even the clock on the wall seemed afraid to tick.

Wanda sat with her hands clasped tight in her lap, knuckles pale. Natasha hadn’t moved since the door shut behind you. Every muscle in her body was strung like wire, ready to break or strike.

The judge flipped slowly through the folder before him, the pages whispering against one another. He reread, checked signatures, cross-referenced timestamps. The sound of paper had never felt so heavy.

Finally, he set the file aside and removed his glasses, looking out across the room. “Before I deliver my ruling,” he said, “I want to make one thing clear. This court takes allegations of abuse extremely seriously. But what I have seen here today is not abuse.”

Wanda’s breath caught. Natasha’s eyes locked on his face, barely daring to blink.

“What I have seen,” the judge continued, “is a pattern of deliberate falsification and manipulation, orchestrated to tear a family apart.” He looked toward the CPS attorney, then to the Red Room operative sitting stiffly behind her. “And it is deeply disturbing that such evidence was ever accepted as genuine.”

A murmur rippled through the benches. The CPS attorney lowered her gaze; even she looked ashamed.

“The photographic and audio exhibits are proven falsified,” the judge went on. “The child’s own testimony was clear, consistent, and credible. She expressed love and safety in the care of Ms. Maximoff and Ms. Romanoff and described mistreatment during her foster placement. That, combined with corroborating witness statements and independent verification by SHIELD, leaves this court with only one conclusion.”

He paused. The air held still.

“Effective immediately, all allegations against Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff are dismissed. Custody of the minor is restored to them in full.”

Wanda’s hands flew to her mouth as a sob burst out of her. Natasha exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for days. She turned toward Wanda, eyes wet and disbelieving, and Wanda threw her arms around her before either of them could think.

The judge waited a beat for the emotion to settle, then added, his voice softening, “Furthermore, I am ordering an expedited application for adoption to be processed through family court. Given the extraordinary circumstances, this process will receive top priority. You will be contacted within forty-eight hours to finalize the paperwork.”

Wanda’s tears came harder. Natasha closed her eyes, pressing her forehead to Wanda’s. Neither spoke, afraid that words might shatter the fragile relief blooming between them.

The judge’s tone grew firm again. “The individuals responsible for fabricating and distributing false evidence will face separate criminal charges. This includes the CPS agent and any associated personnel.”

At that, two uniformed officers moved toward the Red Room operative. He didn’t resist, but his smirk vanished as the cuffs clicked around his wrists. Fury and Hill watched from the back, both stone-faced.

“Court is adjourned,” the judge said quietly. The gavel struck once, a single sound that felt like thunder and freedom at the same time.

Outside the courtroom, the hallway filled with motion. Reporters tried to approach but were kept at bay by security. Wanda and Natasha stood together in the narrow corridor, both shaking, not from fear now, but from the sudden weight of relief.

Maria Hill stepped forward, offering a rare smile. “Congratulations,” she said. “You’re going to get her back today.”

Natasha blinked. “Today?”

Hill nodded. “The paperwork’s already moving. The child advocate’s retrieving her now.”

Wanda pressed her hands over her heart. “She’s coming home,” she whispered.

Fury gave a curt nod, his voice low. “You two held your ground. Now go be with your kid.”

Natasha exhaled a shaky laugh. “That’s the plan.”

They started down the corridor together, side by side, hands brushing but not letting go.

Every step felt lighter, every breath easier. The fight wasn’t just over. They’d won.

And somewhere beyond those courthouse walls, their daughter was waiting.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

You were back in the yellow room.
The same crayons. The same soft rug. The same paper still waiting for you.
But this time, you weren’t drawing. You sat cross-legged, staring at the wall clock, trying to count the seconds even though you didn’t really know how many made a minute.

You just knew they’d said you had to wait “a little while.”
You hated a little while. It was always too long.

The door opened with a small click.
You didn’t look at first. You were afraid it was the man again, the one who yelled, the one who said bad things about your mommies.

But then you heard her voice.
“Hey, baby.”

Mommy.

You turned so fast you almost tripped over your own feet. Wanda was standing there, eyes shiny and red but smiling so wide it made your chest hurt.
“M-Mommy?”

Before she could answer, Mama was behind her, kneeling down with open arms. “Come here, malyshka.”

You ran.
You didn’t even think, you just ran and crashed into them both. Mommy caught you first, wrapping you up so tight it felt like the whole world disappeared. Mama’s arms came around from the other side, solid and warm and safe.

You started crying before you could stop it. “You came back!”

Wanda pressed kisses into your hair. “Of course we did, sweet girl. We’re never leaving you again.”

Natasha’s voice broke when she said it. “Never.”

You squeezed them both harder, your small hands fisting in their shirts. “The man said I wouldn’t see you again.”

Wanda pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks. “He was wrong,” she whispered. “So wrong.”

Natasha brushed a tear from your face with her thumb. “You did so good, baby. You were so brave.”

You hiccuped through a sob. “I was scared.”

“I know,” Wanda said softly. “But you were so strong. You told the truth. You saved us all.”

The door clicked again, and Maria Hill stepped inside, her expression soft. “You’re clear to go home,” she said. “The paperwork’s done.”

Natasha looked up sharply, almost disbelieving. “Already?”

Maria nodded. “Yep already.”

You blinked. “Home?”

Wanda smiled through her tears. “Home, detka. With us.”

Natasha stood and scooped you up into her arms, holding you against her chest like she’d never let go. “We missed you so much,” she murmured, pressing her face into your hair.

You clung to her neck, whispering, “I missed Bunny and Uni too.”

Wanda laughed through another tear. “They’re waiting for you, baby. Right on your bed.”

Your eyes widened. “They missed me?”

“Every single day,” Natasha said, kissing your temple. “They wouldn’t stop asking where you went.”

That made you giggle a little, your first laugh in days.

Maria cleared her throat softly. “Take her home,” she said, her voice low. “You’ve all earned it.”

Wanda mouthed a thank-you and reached for Natasha’s free hand. Together, they walked out of the courthouse, you nestled safely in Natasha’s arms.

Outside, the sky was pink and gold, the kind of soft light that made the whole world look like a promise.

You rested your head on Mama’s shoulder and whispered, “We can go home now?”

“Yes, moya lyubov,” she said, her voice trembling with love. “We’re going home.”

The drive felt like a dream. You watched the buildings blur by until the familiar street appeared, the one with the mailbox shaped like a cat and the tree that leaned a little to the left.

When they pulled into the driveway, you gasped. “Home!”

Natasha smiled so wide it made her eyes crinkle. “That’s right.”

Wanda opened your door and lifted you out. The moment you crossed the threshold, something inside you melted, the smell of candles, pancakes, and safety all at once.

And there, sitting right on your pillow, were Bunny and Uni.

You squealed, running to grab them both, hugging them so tight they nearly squished flat. “They did miss me!”

Wanda laughed, tears still in her eyes. “Of course they did, sweetheart.”

Natasha crouched next to you, resting her hand lightly on your back. “We all did.”

You turned, clutching both stuffed animals, and wrapped your little arms around her neck. “Love you, Mama.”

Natasha froze for half a second, and then hugged you back even tighter. “Love you too, baby.”

You looked up at Wanda. “Love you, Mommy.”

Wanda smiled, her cheeks wet and glowing in the sunset. “I love you more than anything.”

You grinned so wide your face hurt. “I’m home.”

Wanda kissed the top of your head. “Forever, little one.”

Natasha nodded, her hand finding Wanda’s. “Forever.”

And as the sun slipped below the horizon, for the first time in what felt like forever, the house was whole again, filled with warmth, laughter, and the sound of a family finally safe.

Chapter Text

You had been home for three days, and you still refused to sleep in your own bed.

The soft pink blanket Wanda had laid out, the pile of stuffed animals she’d arranged, all of it sat untouched. Every night ended the same way: with small footsteps padding down the hall, the creak of their bedroom door, and your voice, small and trembling, whispering, “Can I stay?”

Wanda never hesitated.
“Of course, baby. Come here.”

She’d lift the blanket, making room for you between them. You’d crawl in, dragging Bunny and Uni close to your chest, eyes still wide with the kind of fear that sleep couldn’t erase. Wanda’s arm would curl protectively around you, her fingers tracing slow circles on your back until your breathing evened out.

Natasha pretended not to mind.
She told herself it was fine, temporary, that you just needed time. But every night, she watched you cling to Wanda’s side and felt a knot form in her chest.

When morning came, you refused to leave Wanda’s side. If she cooked, you were in the kitchen with her. If she cleaned, you held her leg as she moved from room to room. Even when Wanda tried to shower, you sat outside the bathroom door, Bunny in your lap, humming softly.

Wanda didn’t push. She couldn’t. Every time she looked down at your small hand clutching hers, something in her broke and healed all at once. You had been taken from her arms once; she would not risk it again.

Natasha noticed it too, the way Wanda’s shoulders tensed if she lost sight of you for even a second, the way her voice softened whenever she said your name. It wasn’t just you who couldn’t let go. None of them could.

That afternoon, Wanda found Natasha in the hallway, staring at the small bedroom you still refused to use.
“Still untouched,” Natasha murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “You’d think after everything, she’d want her own space.”

“She doesn’t want space,” Wanda said softly. “She wants safety.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “She has safety. We reinforced everything. Cameras, locks, SHIELD patrols-”

“Nat,” Wanda interrupted gently, “you can’t rebuild trust with security systems.”

The words hit harder than Wanda meant them to. Natasha looked away, her fingers curling into her palm. “I just don’t want her scared again.”

“I know,” Wanda said, stepping closer. “Neither do I.”

Later that night, you were tucked between them again, your hair mussed, Bunny’s ear caught under your chin. Wanda hummed softly, the same Sokovian lullaby she’d sung since the first night you came home. Natasha lay still beside you, her hand brushing against your blanket, just close enough to reassure herself you were there.

For the first time in forever, you didn’t wake from a nightmare.

And still, when dawn came, Wanda whispered before getting up, “Stay asleep, baby. Mama’s right here.”

Natasha heard her voice and sighed quietly.
It wasn’t just you who couldn’t sleep without Wanda close, it was all of them learning how to breathe again.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The house felt too still.
No missions, no alarms, no briefings, only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the low rhythm of Wanda’s voice humming somewhere down the hall.

Natasha moved through the rooms with quiet precision, checking door locks, window seals, the new security monitors she’d installed herself. Each click and whirr of the system brought a flicker of relief that faded just as fast.

Safety wasn’t something she trusted anymore.

From the living room, she heard you giggle, soft, high, the sound both fragile and healing. She paused at the doorway. Wanda was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, red hair falling loose from its braid as she helped you line up colored blocks into a wobbly tower.

“See? It’s taller than you,” Wanda teased.

You grinned, clutching Bunny in one hand. “Not taller than Mama!”

Wanda smiled, glancing toward the doorway. Natasha forced a small one in return before slipping away again.

She couldn’t sit with them. Not yet.

Instead, she buried herself in tasks: checking the alarm logs, syncing backup feeds to her phone, tightening bolts on the back gate. Anything to stay moving. Because if she stopped, she’d have to think. And thinking meant replaying every second you’d been gone.

By afternoon, Wanda found her in the kitchen, crouched under the sink with a screwdriver.
“Are you fixing the plumbing now?”

“Security sensors,” Natasha replied without looking up. “Motion triggers. Just in case.”

Wanda folded her arms. “You’ve said ‘just in case’ five times today.”

Natasha’s hand stilled. “And?”

“And she’s home, Nat.” Wanda knelt beside her. “You don’t have to keep fighting invisible enemies.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, sitting back on her heels. “You didn’t see that house, Wanda. You didn’t see the door. It had four locks on the outside.” Her voice cracked, low and sharp. “I can’t stop seeing it.”

Wanda’s expression softened. “Then we’ll make sure she never has to see one again. But you can’t protect her from memories.”

Natasha closed her eyes. “I can try.”

That night, you refused to sleep unless Wanda was lying next to you. Natasha offered to sit up for a while, but you shook your head and pressed closer to Wanda’s side.

Natasha lingered by the door anyway, watching the two of you. Wanda’s hand rested on your back, rising and falling with each tiny breath.

“Come to bed,” Wanda whispered once you’d drifted off.

“I will,” Natasha said. But she didn’t move.

Hours later, she was still there, silent, alert, her hand on the wall switch of the security panel, as if daring the world to try again.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The house was silent except for the soft tick of the clock on the nightstand and the low hum of the heater kicking on. It was the kind of stillness Wanda used to crave. Now it felt too fragile, like one sharp sound could shatter it.

She woke to the smallest noise. A whimper. A choked breath. The sheets beside her rustled.

“Sweetheart?” she murmured, half-asleep, reaching into the dark.

You were already sitting up, fists tight around Bunny and Uni, shoulders trembling. The moonlight caught the tears streaking down your cheeks.

“Mommy,” you breathed, voice shaking. “He was here.”

Wanda sat up instantly, heart punching her ribs. “Who, baby?”

“The man,” you whispered. “He said he was coming back.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” She gathered you up before you could say more, wrapping you in the blanket, pulling you against her chest. Your tiny fingers gripped her shirt like a lifeline. “He can’t hurt you,” she said firmly, kissing the top of your head. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

But you were trembling so hard she could feel it in her bones. Wanda started to hum, soft, the old Sokovian lullaby her mother once sang, but it wasn’t enough to steady you.

The bedroom door creaked open. Natasha’s shadow filled the doorway, hair a tousled halo in the faint light. “She okay?”

Wanda didn’t look up. “Nightmare.”

Natasha came closer, barefoot, careful. She crouched by the edge of the bed, her voice low. “It’s okay, malen’kaya. Just a dream.”

You peeked at her through wet lashes, chest hitching. “It felt real.”

Natasha’s throat worked around the ache. “I know. But it wasn’t. I promise.”

You hesitated, then whispered, “Don’t let them take me again.”

The words cracked something deep in Natasha’s chest. She reached out slowly, resting her hand over yours. “No one’s taking you. Not ever again.”

Wanda felt you relax by inches, exhaustion pulling at you. She smoothed a hand over your hair. “Shh, sweetheart. Mommy and Mama are both here. We’ve got you.”

Your breathing slowed, then steadied, tiny fingers still tangled in the fabric of her shirt.

Natasha stayed where she was, eyes fixed on your face. In the dim light she could see the shadows beneath your eyes, the small red mark on your cheek where you’d pressed too hard against Bunny’s ear. It hit her all at once, the days you’d spent locked away, the nights she couldn’t reach you. The guilt never stopped bleeding.

Wanda noticed her silence. “Come here,” she said gently.

Natasha hesitated, then climbed onto the bed, sitting on your other side. You shifted, half-awake, instinctively curling toward her warmth.

For a long moment none of them spoke. The only sound was your breathing, soft, even.

“She still wakes up every night,” Natasha whispered finally. “I keep thinking if I’d been faster-”

“Don’t,” Wanda interrupted, shaking her head. “You did everything right.”

Natasha looked down at her hands. “She’s still scared.”

“So are we,” Wanda admitted. Her voice broke a little. “But she’s here. That’s what matters.”

Natasha stared at you for a long time before lying back, her arm draping across both of you. Wanda shifted closer until all three of you were pressed together, warm, tangled, alive.

Minutes passed, slow and heavy, until your breathing turned into the faint rhythm of sleep again.

In the dark, Natasha whispered, almost to herself, “No one touches her again. Ever.”

Wanda’s reply came as barely a breath. “I know.”

And for the first time since you’d come home, Wanda believed it might be true.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

Sunlight spilled gently through the curtains, warm and soft against the tangled sheets.
For the first time in days, there was no nightmare, just your quiet breathing between them, Bunny and Uni squeezed in your arms like treasure.

Wanda lay on her side, watching you sleep. Every so often your hand twitched, your lashes fluttering, but you didn’t cry out this time. She brushed her thumb across your cheek, as if her touch alone could keep the bad dreams away.

At the foot of the bed, Natasha was already awake. Fully dressed, boots half-laced, her hair tied back in a braid that was too neat for morning.

“You’re leaving?” Wanda whispered.

Natasha shook her head. “No missions. Just checking the perimeter.”

“Again?” Wanda’s voice was soft, tired.

“Always.” Natasha straightened, scanning the closed blinds like she expected shadows to move behind them. “She needs normal structure again, Wanda. You both do.”

Wanda pushed herself upright, still careful not to jostle you. “She needs comfort. She’s four. Structure can wait.”

“She’s four and already thinks the world ends if you step out of the room,” Natasha said quietly. “If we keep this up, she’ll never learn she’s safe without you.”

Wanda’s jaw tightened. “She was stolen, Nat. Don’t talk to me about what she’ll learn.”

Natasha exhaled through her nose, trying to stay calm. “I’m not minimizing what she went through. I just don’t want fear to be the only thing she understands.”

“And you think I do?” Wanda’s voice cracked, anger and exhaustion bleeding together. “She needs time. She needs us.”

Natasha’s mouth opened, then closed. The room filled with a heavy, wordless tension.

A small, sleepy voice broke it. “Are you mad?”

Both women turned.

You were sitting up now, hair mussed, Bunny’s ear caught beneath your chin. Your eyes were wide, uncertain.

Wanda’s entire body softened. “No, sweetheart. No one’s mad.” She gathered you into her lap before you could shrink away. “Mama and I were just talking, okay?”

You looked between them. “’Bout me?”

Natasha knelt beside the bed. “Just trying to make sure you feel better, malyshka.”

Your lower lip wobbled. “I can sleep in my room if you want.”

The sentence hit Wanda like a knife. “Oh, baby, no. That’s not what we meant.” She kissed your forehead over and over. “We want you with us. Always. You never have to sleep alone until you want to.”

You blinked hard. “Promise?”

Natasha swallowed the lump in her throat. “Promise.” She scooped you up, tucking you against her chest, breathing in your shampoo just to prove you were real. “I never want you to think we don’t want you. Not ever.”

You nodded slowly, relaxing against her shoulder. “Okay, Mama.”

Wanda brushed your hair back and managed a trembling smile. “See? Everything’s okay.”

Breakfast was slow and quiet. Wanda made scrambled eggs you barely touched, preferring to pick at sliced strawberries while Natasha poured herself coffee that went cold.

Every few minutes you’d look between them, checking, confirming, waiting to see if the argument would come back. Each time you found them smiling, you relaxed a little more.

When you finally laughed, a sticky-sweet giggle at Bunny’s grape-shaped syrup stain, both women smiled for real.

Natasha reached across the table, brushing Wanda’s fingers. “We’ll figure it out.”

Wanda nodded. “Together.”

And for that brief, sun-lit moment, it almost felt true.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The house felt lighter that afternoon.
No arguments, no alarms, just sunlight spilling across the kitchen tile and the faint hum of life returning.

Wanda decided it would be a stay-home day. No errands. No visitors. No plans except to breathe.

You sat on the counter while she mixed cookie dough, little legs swinging, flour dusting your cheeks like freckles. Natasha stood nearby pretending to read the recipe even though Wanda knew she was mostly watching you, making sure you stayed balanced, that no sharp edges or sudden noises came close.

When you reached for the bowl, Wanda smiled. “Gentle, love. Like this.” She guided your hands into the dough, showing you how to press the spoon without flinging batter halfway across the room.

Of course, the batter still ended up on Natasha’s sleeve.

You gasped, wide-eyed. “Mama! You messy!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Wanda. “Me?”

Wanda laughed, leaning against the counter. “Maybe you shouldn’t stand so close to the danger zone.”

Natasha gave a mock sigh but didn’t move, even when you giggled and deliberately flung another tiny splash of flour her way. The sound was worth the mess.

By the time the cookies went into the oven, you were sitting on the floor, frosting packet in hand, more icing on your fingers than the actual treats. Wanda let you sneak one bite before she caught you. “Only one,” she warned, wagging her spoon.

You grinned, mouth full of sugar. “One!”

Later, while Wanda wiped the counters clean, Natasha busied herself installing the final security upgrades, small sensors at each window, new locks on the back door. It should’ve felt clinical, but she worked quietly, humming under her breath so the noise wouldn’t startle you.

Every so often she looked up to see you coloring at the table, Wanda’s arm draped lazily along the back of your chair. You’d drawn three stick figures, one with red hair, one with orange-red hair and one very small between them. Bunny and Uni were sitting side by side on the paper’s edge, colored in the brightest crayons you could find.

When Natasha came over to look, you pointed proudly. “That’s Mommy, that’s you, and that’s me!”

Her throat tightened. “It’s beautiful, malyshka.”

“Bunny helped,” you added seriously.

“Smart bunny.” Natasha ruffled your hair and turned away before you could see her eyes shine.

Dinner was simple, grilled cheese and soup, eaten cross-legged in the living room because Wanda said “tables are overrated.” You laughed when Natasha burned her tongue on soup that was “definitely not too hot,” and Wanda caught your giggle like it was sunlight.

Afterward, the three of you curled up on the couch. A movie flickered on the screen, something animated and bright. You wedged yourself between them, head on Wanda’s shoulder, feet resting in Natasha’s lap.

Halfway through, your eyelids began to droop. Bunny slipped from your fingers, landing on the blanket. Wanda brushed your hair back gently, her palm fitting over the crown of your head.

Natasha reached over, resting her hand atop Wanda’s. For a while they just sat there, the blue-gold glow of the screen washing over all three of you.

“She’s really home,” Natasha whispered.

Wanda nodded. “Finally.”

A pause stretched, soft and full.

“Do you think it’ll ever stop feeling like we’re waiting for someone to take her again?” Natasha asked quietly.

Wanda looked down at you, small, peaceful, breath hitching now and then like the last ghost of a sob. “Maybe not,” she admitted. “But we’ll still be here when it does.”

You stirred, half-asleep. “Love you, Mommy,” you mumbled.

Wanda’s throat closed. She leaned down, kissed your forehead, and whispered the words she’d wanted to say since the moment you first called her that:

“Thanks for choosing me to be your mom.”

Natasha pressed her hand against Wanda’s, her voice barely a breath. “She couldn’t have chosen better.”

The movie played on, low and steady, as the three of you drifted together into the kind of quiet that finally felt safe.

Chapter Text

It had been three weeks since the night Wanda whispered “Thanks for choosing me to be your mom.”
Three weeks since the house had finally gone still again, quiet, safe, and a little too fragile.

Outside, the world was already dressed for Christmas. The neighbors had their lights up, glittering red and gold across the frosted lawns. Inside, the Maximoff-Romanoff home glowed with the soft warmth of string lights and candlelight. The air smelled like cinnamon and pine, and every window reflected a kind of peace they were still learning to trust.

But something had shifted.

You were safe, yes. Home, yes. Loved beyond measure. But the words you once spoke so easily had started to fade again. It began small, whispers instead of sentences, nods instead of answers. And before either of them could trace it, the quiet had settled back into your bones.

When Wanda tried to ask if you wanted cocoa, you only nodded. When Natasha offered to read a book, you climbed into her lap and pointed instead of speaking. No tantrums. No tears. Just silence.

They told themselves it was healing. That quiet could mean comfort. Maybe you were resting after so much noise and fear.

But Natasha noticed other things.

You flinched at the doorbell. You hid behind Wanda’s legs whenever strangers came by. And sometimes, when the house got too quiet, you’d disappear into corners, small, still, staring at nothing with Bunny and Uni clutched so tightly their seams were beginning to fray.

Wanda would find you and sit close, humming under her breath until your body loosened again. Natasha would watch from the doorway, her hands flexing uselessly at her sides.

They didn’t talk about it much. Not at first.

Then Thanksgiving came.

The Barton house was as warm and chaotic as ever. Laughter, food, kids running through the halls, Yelena showing up with a casserole she insisted was “a secret Russian recipe” but tasted suspiciously like store-bought mac and cheese.

It was supposed to be normal, a family day, a chance for you to see that the world wasn’t scary anymore.

You barely left Wanda’s side.

Everyone tried to make it easy. Laura spoke softly, Clint kept his jokes gentle. Morgan offered you a cookie shaped like a turkey, but you only pressed yourself tighter into Wanda’s shoulder.

“Hey there, pumpkin,” Clint said, crouching down. “You remember me?”

You peeked out but didn’t speak. Your little fingers twisted the edge of Wanda’s sleeve.

“She’s just shy,” Wanda said softly.

Natasha smiled politely, but her stomach knotted.

Yelena crouched too, holding out the cookie like a peace offering. “Come on, malen’kaya. It even has sunglasses. You love sunglasses.”

You stared, silent. Then you hid your face again.

Yelena sighed. “Okay. Auntie Yelena will try again later. I am patient. Like a saint.”

That earned a chuckle from Clint, but Wanda didn’t laugh. She just rocked you gently, whispering something in Sokovian too quiet for anyone else to hear.

You stayed that way through dinner, on Wanda’s lap, your cheek pressed against her sweater. You didn’t eat much, just picked at mashed potatoes while the others talked around you. Natasha rubbed your back the entire time, pretending it was fine. Pretending this was adjustment and not regression.

When dessert came, Yelena tried one last time. She knelt by your chair, her blonde hair in a messy braid, her eyes bright. “Okay, we make deal. You talk to me, I'll give you extra pie.”

You looked up at her, lips trembling. “No.”

That single syllable broke Wanda’s heart and lit something sharp in Natasha’s chest.

On the drive home, the car was silent except for the hum of the tires. Wanda hummed a lullaby just to fill the air. Natasha gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, knuckles white.

When they carried you inside, you went straight to their bed without a word. You didn’t even ask for a story. You just curled up between them, Bunny under your chin, and fell asleep like someone trying to stay small enough to survive.

Wanda stroked your hair until her eyes blurred. “She just needs more time,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone.

Natasha didn’t answer. She stared at the ceiling, counting the days since the last time she’d heard you really talk.

The next evening, she found you sitting on your bedroom floor, Uni clutched in one hand, Bunny in the other. The lamp was off. The curtains were drawn.

“Sweetheart?” she said gently.

You looked up, startled. “Mama?”

Natasha crouched beside you. “What are you doing in the dark?”

You shrugged, your voice small. “Didn’t wanna sleep.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause, what if someone takes me again?”

Her breath caught. “No one’s going to take you, malen’kaya.”

You shook your head. “The bad man said that before.”

Natasha’s throat burned. She gathered you into her lap, wrapping her arms tight around you. “He’s gone. He can’t touch you. Not while I’m breathing.”

You didn’t reply, but your tiny hand fisted in her shirt and held on until you finally drifted off.

When she carried you to bed later, she couldn’t stop staring at you, your soft, tear-streaked face, your lashes clumped together. You looked peaceful again. But peace didn’t mean healed.

Wanda stirred beside her as she slid under the covers. “She okay?”

Natasha brushed your hair back. “No,” she whispered.

Wanda’s hand found hers under the blanket, gripping tight. Neither of them spoke again.

By morning, the house was bright again, but the heaviness didn’t leave.
The tree lights blinked, soft music hummed through the kitchen, and pancakes sizzled on the stove. You sat at the counter, legs swinging, smiling faintly at Bunny and Uni as Wanda flipped a pancake shaped like a star.

But Natasha saw it, the glassy look in your eyes, the way you chewed slow, like the world still didn’t taste safe.

Something inside her broke then. Quietly, cleanly.

Because love, she realized, wasn’t fixing it.

And that night, she’d finally tell Wanda what they both already knew: you needed help.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The house was quiet again that night.
Too quiet.

The Christmas tree lights blinked lazily from the corner of the living room, the only sound the faint hum of the heater and the soft tick of the clock above the mantel. You were asleep upstairs, curled between Bunny and Uni, your breathing steady and shallow.

Natasha sat on the couch, elbows on her knees, staring at the baby monitor’s faint static. She could see your outline on the screen, a tiny shape buried beneath the blanket, still, peaceful, and silent. She should’ve felt comfort. Instead, her stomach twisted.

Wanda entered from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. “She finally fell asleep?”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah. Took a while.”

Wanda sighed softly, glancing toward the stairs. “She’s doing better. You saw how she smiled today when the lights came on?”

Natasha looked down, voice quiet. “Yeah. But she hasn’t talked to us the way she normally does all week, Wanda.”

The towel stilled in Wanda’s hands. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

“She’s afraid to,” Natasha countered, lifting her gaze. “She’s scared of everything she can’t control. The quiet, the dark, the people at the grocery store, she freezes every time someone smiles at her. That’s not something that just goes away.”

Wanda frowned, crossing her arms protectively. “She’s been through hell. What did you expect? That she’d start singing carols and dancing around the tree overnight?”

Natasha’s voice stayed calm, but her eyes were sharp. “No. I expected her to heal. And she’s not.”

That made Wanda’s composure crack. “You think I don’t see that?” she snapped. “You think I don’t lie awake every night wondering what else we could do?”

Natasha stood, the motion slow but heavy with frustration. “Then maybe we stop wondering and do something about it.”

“Do what?” Wanda demanded. “We’re doing everything we can, this isn’t magic, Nat.”

“We haven’t started therapy,” Natasha said, her voice low, measured. “You keep saying she’s fine. You keep saying time will fix it. But time didn’t fix me. And it won’t fix her.”

The words hit hard. Wanda’s breath caught; the towel slipped from her hands onto the floor.

Natasha continued softly, eyes shining in the dim light. “She needs help, Wanda. Professional help. Someone who knows how to walk her through the things she can’t say.”

Wanda’s voice trembled. “She’s just a baby. I don’t want her thinking she’s broken.”

Natasha crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. “She’s not broken. But she’s hurting. There’s a difference.”

For a long moment, Wanda didn’t speak. The only sound was the faint creak of the tree lights warming.

Finally, she sank onto the couch, pressing her palms to her eyes. “I just-” her voice broke, “I just wanted her to have peace. After everything, I wanted her to feel safe with us.”

Natasha sat beside her, voice barely above a whisper. “She is safe with us. But she’s still scared. That’s why we have to do this. We can’t love the fear away.”

Wanda turned toward her, tears bright in her eyes. “And what if it doesn’t help? What if she feels like we’re giving her to someone else again?”

“Then we make sure she knows she’s not alone,” Natasha said. “We stay in the room. We hold her hand. We show her she can talk about the bad things and still be ours.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense this time, it was heavy with understanding.

Wanda finally nodded, her voice soft but certain. “Okay. I’ll call tomorrow.”

Natasha exhaled a shaky breath, some of the tightness leaving her chest. “Thank you.”

Wanda looked at her, eyes red, but she managed a small smile. “You’re right. She deserves every chance to get better.”

Natasha reached out, taking her hand. “We’ll do it together.”

From upstairs, the baby monitor crackled softly. You turned in your sleep, whispering something no one could quite make out. Wanda squeezed Natasha’s hand tighter.

“Together,” she echoed.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The office was warm and bright, decorated with shelves of colorful toys and picture books. Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, soft enough that even Natasha relaxed her shoulders a little. You sat on Wanda’s lap in a beanbag chair, Bunny and Uni hugged tight. The hum of an air purifier filled the space between everyone’s breathing.

Dr. Ellen Monroe sat across from them, a small clipboard in her lap. She was maybe in her fifties, silver streaks in her hair and kind eyes that never darted too quickly. She didn’t wear a suit like other professionals, just a sweater, jeans, and patience.

“Thank you both for coming,” she said quietly. “I know how hard it can be to reach out. Why don’t you tell me a little about how things have been since she came home?”

Natasha glanced at Wanda before answering. “She’s safe now. She’s happy sometimes, when it’s just us. But she doesn’t talk much. Not to anyone else. Not even to the family she’s seen before.”

Dr. Monroe nodded. “How does she communicate her needs when she’s upset?”

“She doesn’t,” Wanda said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “She hides. Or freezes. Sometimes she cries if we’re apart too long, even if I’m just in another room.”

“That’s called hyper-vigilance,” the therapist explained gently. “It’s very common in children who’ve experienced prolonged fear. Her brain still believes she has to monitor her environment constantly to stay safe.”

Wanda’s eyes glistened. “But she is safe.”

Dr. Monroe smiled sadly. “You know that. She doesn’t, yet. Safety isn’t just about where she is. It’s about what her nervous system believes.”

Natasha leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “So how do we teach her she’s safe without smothering her?”

“By giving her control in small ways,” Dr. Monroe said. “Ask before touching her. Offer choices even for simple things, red shirt or blue shirt, milk or juice. You’re showing her she has agency now. That she can choose, and no one will punish her for it.”

Wanda nodded slowly, absorbing every word. “We’ve been trying to comfort her when she cries, but she doesn’t always want to be touched.”

“That’s okay,” the therapist reassured. “You can stay near without closing the space. You might say, ‘I’m here when you want a hug.’ It reminds her she isn’t alone, but it also respects her boundaries.”

Natasha looked down at you. You were tracing circles on Wanda’s sleeve, lost in your own world. “She’s still scared to sleep alone,” Natasha admitted quietly. “We’ve been letting her stay in our bed.”

“That’s understandable,” Dr. Monroe said. “But long-term, it’s important she learns she can rest without constant contact. You can begin transitioning slowly. Let her fall asleep with you, then move her once she’s in deep sleep. If she wakes, bring her back without frustration. It might take dozens of nights, but you’re teaching her that separation doesn’t mean abandonment.”

Wanda’s voice cracked. “I don’t want her to think we’re pushing her away.”

“You won’t be,” Dr. Monroe said gently. “You’re showing her that love isn’t fragile, that she can have her own space and still be yours.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened. “What about the silence? She barely talks.”

“Language can shut down under trauma,” Dr. Monroe explained. “Don’t force speech. Narrate for her instead. When you cook, describe what you’re doing: ‘Mommy’s stirring dinner, it smells good, doesn’t it?’ It builds connection without pressure.”

You shifted on Wanda’s lap, clutching Bunny tighter. Dr. Monroe smiled at you softly. “You’re doing so well,” she said. “You don’t have to talk until you’re ready.”

You didn’t answer, but your tiny fingers relaxed just a little.

When the session ended, Dr. Monroe handed them each a printed list of “grounding tools” for children, soft textures, rhythmic games, safe-touch phrases, and bedtime patterns.

Outside in the parking lot, the wind was sharp and smelled like rain. Wanda buckled you into your seat, tucking Bunny beneath your arm. Natasha stood for a moment beside the car, the paper in her hand trembling slightly.

Wanda glanced up at her. “She gave us a plan,” she said quietly.

Natasha nodded, voice rough. “Yeah. For the first time, it feels like we’re not just surviving with her.”

Wanda smiled faintly. “We’ll start tonight.”

Natasha looked through the window at you, already nodding off against Bunny’s soft fur. “Tonight,” she agreed.

And for the first time in forever, the word hope didn’t sound fragile, it sounded possible.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The drive home was quiet except for the hum of the heater and the soft rattle of Bunny’s tag against your jacket zipper. Wanda reached back every so often to brush her fingers over your knee. You didn’t say much, just watched the gray winter sky flicker past the windows.

That night, they began the new plan.

Natasha wrote Dr. Monroe’s list on a notepad that now lived on the fridge, small things to remember: Offer choices. Narrate. Stay close, not over. Praise effort, not silence.
It looked simple, but when Wanda read it out loud, it felt like learning to breathe differently.

“Okay, detka,” Wanda said as she came into the living room. You were sitting cross-legged on the rug, Bunny and Uni beside you, stacking blocks into a crooked tower. “It’s almost dinner. Would you like pasta or soup?”

You looked up at her, unsure. Choices had always been dangerous before.

Wanda smiled softly. “You can pick, sweetheart. Either one is okay.”

You studied her face for a long moment, searching for a trick that wasn’t there. Finally you whispered, “Soup?”

“Good choice.” Wanda’s voice was warm and proud, and something flickered behind your eyes, something like relief.

Natasha stirred the pot on the stove, narrating as Dr. Monroe had suggested. “Mama’s mixing the carrots. Look how orange they are, like pumpkins. The spoon’s making circles.”
Her voice was low, rhythmic, half lullaby, half routine. It filled the space that used to echo.

You shuffled to the kitchen doorway, Bunny dangling from one hand. “Pumpkin soup?”

Natasha smiled, surprised to hear you speak first. “Almost.  Vegetable tonight. Want to help me stir?”

You shook your head quickly, but stayed close. Natasha didn’t push, she just slid over enough for you to see the bubbling pot. “See? Not scary, right?”

You shook your head again, this time softer.

At dinner, you ate half a bowl. Wanda and Natasha traded a look that said everything: hope, fragile and shining.

Afterward came bedtime. The plan, Dr. Monroe’s most delicate instruction, sat between them like an unspoken dare.

Wanda carried you to the big bed as always. You clung to her neck, murmuring “Mommy” against her shoulder. Natasha followed, turning off lights until only the lamp near the dresser glowed golden. They read The Little Dragon Who Found Home again; you mouthed a few of the words with them.

When your breathing slowed, Wanda gave Natasha a small nod.

“Okay,” Natasha whispered.

She lifted you carefully, one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting Bunny and Uni. You stirred, whining softly, but Wanda brushed her hand down your hair. “Shh, you’re safe. Mommy and Mama are right here.”

They walked down the short hall to your room. The night-light glowed in its corner, casting gentle stars on the ceiling. Natasha laid you down, Wanda tucked the blanket beneath your chin.

For a moment you opened your eyes, confused. “Mama?”

Natasha bent close. “I’m right here, malen’kaya. Just sleeping next door. You’re safe.”

You reached for her hand, fingers curling around hers. “Don’t go.”

Wanda’s throat tightened. She knelt beside the bed. “We’ll stay until you sleep, okay?”

You nodded, gripping both their hands. Within minutes your eyes fluttered closed again, breaths falling into that slow, steady rhythm they knew so well.

When they finally slipped out, Wanda lingered at the doorway. “Do you think this is working?” she whispered.

Natasha looked back at you, your small form tucked beneath the quilt, Bunny and Uni safe in your arms. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “She didn’t cry this time.”

They left the door open just enough for the light to spill across the hall. The silence that filled the house wasn’t the kind that hurt anymore, it was gentle, new, full of possibility.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The next few days slipped into something that felt almost like peace.
The air outside stayed crisp and bright, sunlight catching on the frost-rimmed windows. The tree in the living room was fully dressed now, ornaments gleaming, a paper star you and Wanda made together crooked at the very top.

Every morning began with small choices, Dr. Monroe’s advice made real.

“Apple or orange juice?” Wanda would ask, crouched beside you.

You’d think for a second, clutching Bunny, before pointing. “Orange.”

“Excellent choice,” she’d say with a wink.

Natasha would smile from the stove, flipping French toast and narrating softly, just like the therapist had taught her. “Mama’s making it golden brown, see? Like sunshine.”

And when you smiled, really smiled, eyes scrunching, the whole kitchen seemed to breathe easier.

By the end of the week, the biggest change came when Morgan came over again.
Tony and Pepper arrived just before lunch, Pepper holding a tin of cookies and Tony balancing a box that rattled suspiciously.

“Tell me that’s not a robot,” Natasha said as she opened the door.

“It’s educational,” Tony defended. “Teaches cooperation and patience.”

“So it’s for Wanda,” Natasha muttered, making Pepper snort.

Morgan burst past them, wearing a glittery reindeer headband. “Where’s my friend?”

You peeked from behind Wanda’s legs, Bunny hugged to your chest. For a heartbeat, old fear flickered, but then Morgan grinned and held out a cookie. “It’s chocolate chip! My mom said I can share!”

You blinked at her, hesitated, then took it carefully. “Thank you.”

It was the first full sentence you’d said to anyone but Wanda or Natasha in weeks.

Pepper put a hand over her heart. “She’s talking.”

Wanda’s eyes shone. “She’s trying.”

Within minutes, the two of you were sitting on the rug surrounded by coloring books and blocks. Morgan chattered nonstop, telling you about school and how she wanted to be a scientist like her dad, or maybe a superhero, or maybe both. You listened quietly at first, nodding at the right times, then started answering with shy, simple words.

When Morgan handed you a crayon, you took it. When she giggled, you giggled too.

Natasha leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “I think we’re officially replaced.”

Wanda joined her, voice soft. “That’s the best problem we’ve ever had.”

Tony and Pepper stayed for coffee, laughing as Morgan and you built a lopsided “lab” out of blocks. You drew a crooked heart on one of the cardboard walls and Morgan labeled it, carefully, in uneven letters, “HOME.”

Wanda saw it and had to look away, pressing a hand to her mouth. Natasha slipped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, “She’s healing.”

Evening came gently, with snow beginning to fall outside. Tony and Pepper bundled Morgan into her coat, promising another playdate before Christmas. The house felt warm in their wake, quiet, but no longer empty.

You sat on the couch between your moms, half-asleep, Bunny tucked under your arm and Uni at your feet. Wanda smoothed your hair while Natasha scrolled absently through her messages.

The knock at the door startled all three of you.

Natasha frowned, setting her phone down. “At this hour?”

When she opened the door, a blast of cold air swept in, and behind it, Nick Fury stood, coat dusted with snow, Maria Hill just behind him holding a thin folder.

“Evening,” Fury said, voice rough as gravel. “Didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Wanda’s heart leapt into her throat. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

Maria smiled faintly and shook her head. “No. Quite the opposite.” She extended the folder toward Wanda. “They’re official.”

Wanda blinked. “Official?”

Natasha took the folder, her fingers trembling slightly as she flipped it open. Inside were stamped documents, signatures, and one line in bold that made her vision blur:

FINALIZED ADOPTION — GUARDIANS: WANDA MAXIMOFF AND NATASHA ROMANOFF.

Her throat tightened. She looked up at Fury, who gave a small nod. “Got delayed in processing. Red tape. We cut through it.”

Wanda’s hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “You mean-”

“She’s yours,” Maria said softly. “Legally, officially, permanently yours.”

Natasha turned to the couch. You were watching, half-confused, half-sleepy. “Mama?” you whispered.

Natasha crossed the room, scooping you up into her arms and holding you so tight it almost hurt. “Yeah, detka,” she murmured into your hair. “You’re home. For good this time.”

Wanda wrapped her arms around both of you, the folder pressed between them like something sacred.

Fury cleared his throat gruffly. “Merry Christmas, I guess.”

Maria smiled, eyes kind. “We’ll leave you to celebrate.”

When the door closed again, the house went still except for the quiet sound of your soft breathing against Wanda’s chest.

Snow kept falling outside, blanketing the world in white. Inside, warmth bloomed, steady, real, unshakable.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, all three of you finally believed it:
you were home.

Chapter Text

The bell above the diner door jingles softly as Wanda holds it open and ushers you inside.
The air smells like syrup, coffee, and sizzling bacon, the kind of morning that feels alive. The walls are pale yellow, lined with framed pictures of the town’s Little League team, and a waitress in pink sneakers waves when she spots Wanda.

“Booth or counter?” she asks with a smile.

“Booth, please,” Wanda says immediately, glancing down at you. You’re clutching Bunny in one arm and Uni in the other, blinking at the chalkboard menu like it’s written in code.

“Booth,” you echo seriously. “For Bunny and Uni.”

Natasha hides a grin behind her hand. “Of course. Can’t leave them without a seat.”

The waitress leads you to a cozy booth by the window, the leather seats squeaking as you climb up beside Wanda. Bunny and Uni are carefully placed beside you, propped upright with their own napkins. Wanda helps you spread out the kids’ menu and a handful of crayons, then slides into the booth next to you while Natasha sits across from both of you.

It’s early enough that the diner hums quietly, just a few customers scattered through the room, a radio playing faintly in the background. Sunlight spills through the blinds in soft, golden lines.

You color quietly for a while, tongue poking from the corner of your mouth as you fill in a smiling pancake on the paper. Wanda watches you with that half-soft, half-melancholy smile she gets when she’s so full of love she doesn’t know what to do with it.

Natasha’s pretending to study the menu, but she’s mostly watching you too. She can’t help it. After everything, the hearings, the papers, the courtrooms, seeing you sitting in a booth with crayons feels like peace.

When the waitress comes back, Wanda orders for all three of you, pancakes for you, an omelet for herself, and coffee black with toast for Natasha. She looks at you as she sets the menu aside. “What do you think, sweetheart? Big day, huh?”

You tilt your head. “Why?”

Natasha leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. “Because it’s official now. You’re ours.”

You blink, confused. “I was before.”

Wanda smiles softly. “You were, baby. In every way that mattered.” She glances at Natasha, who nods for her to go on. “But today, it means no one can ever take you away. You’re our daughter, forever and ever.”

You frown a little, coloring harder. “But I thought I already was.”

The crayons are still in your hand, bright pink pressed into the corner of the paper. Wanda’s heart twists. Natasha feels something deep in her chest snap and then mend all at once.

Natasha leans over the table, resting her chin on her hand. “You were, detka. You always have been. The court just needed to catch up.”

You think about that, brow furrowed in the serious concentration only a four-year-old can muster. “So now it’s forever forever?”

Wanda reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Forever forever,” she promises.

“Even when I’m big?”

“Even when you’re big,” Natasha answers, her voice warm.

“Even when I’m old?”

Natasha laughs softly. “Even then.”

You nod, satisfied. “Okay.”

The food arrives a few minutes later, the table quickly filling with plates and mugs. Your pancakes come in a perfect stack, dusted with powdered sugar and shaped into a smiley face with chocolate chips. You stare at them for a long second like they’re the most magical thing in the world.

“Look!” you whisper, poking the chocolate eyes with your fork. “He’s happy!”

“Because it’s a celebration,” Wanda says.

You pour syrup on top, maybe too much, giggling as it runs down the sides like lava. Bunny and Uni are watching, of course, perched beside your plate. You hold up a small piece for each of them, solemnly declaring, “One for Bunny. One for Uni. But no syrup, they’ll get sticky.”

Natasha snorts. “Good call.”

Wanda grins. “You’re a thoughtful owner.”

You beam, delighted by the word. “Owner.” You repeat it like it’s brand new. “That’s me.”

Natasha can’t stop smiling now. “Yeah, that’s you.”

For the first time in months, breakfast feels simple, no fear, no forms, no hidden agendas. Just you, two women who love you, and a table full of pancakes.

Halfway through the meal, the waitress returns with a small paper crown and a single candle stuck into a  muffin. “Congratulations, sweetheart,” she says warmly. “Your moms told me it’s adoption day.”

You look between Wanda and Natasha in wide-eyed awe. “You told her?”

Wanda laughs. “I might have mentioned it.”

You grin so hard your face hurts. “It’s my day!”

Natasha leans over the table. “All yours, kiddo. Make a wish.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Wanda watches you, hand over her heart. Natasha reaches across the table to squeeze her fingers.

When you blow out the candle, a tiny wisp of smoke curls into the air. You whisper, barely loud enough to hear, “Forever forever.”

Wanda has to blink fast. Natasha looks down at her coffee and pretends she isn’t wiping at her eyes.

After breakfast, you help Wanda count out the tip, arranging the coins into careful piles on the table. Natasha pulls a small polaroid camera from her jacket pocket, something Tony insisted on giving her “for memories.”

“Okay,” she says, leaning over the table. “One picture. Hold Bunny and Uni.”

You scramble into position, Bunny under one arm, Uni under the other, cheeks sticky with syrup and eyes shining. Wanda wraps an arm around you, and Natasha leans in close from across the booth.

The camera clicks, the photo slides out, and Wanda waves it gently as the image develops.

“Look,” she murmurs when the colors start to appear. You and your moms, smiling, sunlight slanting across the table.

“Can we put it on the fridge?” you ask, already excited.

“Absolutely,” Natasha says. “Front and center.”

Wanda cups your cheek, voice soft. “Our first picture as an official family.”

You beam at her. “But we were already a family.”

Natasha smiles faintly, glancing at Wanda. “Yeah,” she whispers. “We were.”

Outside, the morning air is crisp and bright. You bounce between them on the walk to the car, clutching Bunny and Uni, humming nonsense under your breath.

“Where are we going now?” you ask, peering up at them.

Natasha opens the car door for you. “Home for a little bit.”

“And then?”

Wanda exchanges a secret smile with Natasha. “Then we’re having a barbecue to celebrate.”

You gasp, eyes wide. “With everyone?”

“With everyone,” Wanda promises.

You giggle, climbing into your car seat. “Even Uncle Pietro?”

Natasha groans. “Unfortunately.”

“Even Auntie Yelena?”

“Double unfortunately,” Natasha mutters, buckling your straps.

Wanda laughs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “She’s just jealous they’ll bring bigger presents than she planned.”

Natasha sighs dramatically. “You know they will.”

You giggle so hard that Uni falls into your lap. “It’s okay, Mama. You can share my toys.”

Natasha looks at Wanda. “See? Already the most generous one in the family.”

Wanda’s smile softens. “Just like her mama.”

Natasha leans over the seat to tap your nose. “Forever forever, detka.”

You grin, bunny ears flopping as you nod. “Forever forever.”

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The grocery store doors slide open with a whoosh of cold air and fluorescent light.
You grip Wanda’s hand tight, Bunny tucked under one arm, Uni under the other, the familiar plush warmth grounding you against the rush of chatter and clinking carts.

Natasha grabs a cart, immediately checking the child-seat buckle like it’s mission equipment. “Alright, little one. Co-pilot seat ready.”

You squeal as she lifts you in, setting you between the metal bars. “Bunny and Uni too!”

Wanda smiles, sliding both toys carefully beside you so they can “see.” “There,” she says, straightening your hat. “All three of you are strapped in. Ready for the mission?”

You nod solemnly. “Mission grocery!”

Natasha pushes the cart forward with mock intensity. “Objective: acquire snacks. Avoid chaos.”

Wanda smirks. “You’re taking her grocery shopping, not infiltrating a bunker.”

“Same energy,” Natasha says dryly. “You’ve never seen the candy aisle on a Saturday morning.”

The first stop is produce. The air smells like apples and oranges, the soft hiss of the misting system filling the space. Wanda’s already halfway down the aisle, humming as she checks avocados, while you lean forward in the cart, tiny fingers wiggling toward the grapes.

“Mama, green or purple?”

Natasha tilts her head. “Which do you think we should get?”

You think hard. “Both.”

“Excellent strategy.” She tosses both bags in the cart.

Wanda looks up from the tomatoes, amused. “Let me guess. Negotiations went well?”

Natasha shrugs. “She’s a natural at diplomacy.”

Wanda smiles, tossing a tomato from one hand to the other. “She gets it from her mommy.”

“Please,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes, “if she got that from you, she’d be charming her way into free cookies by now.”

You gasp. “Cookies?”

Wanda laughs. “See? She’s always listening.”

By the time you reach the breakfast aisle, the cart is already half full: fruit, juice boxes, chips, ingredients for the barbecue later. You’re happily swinging your legs, humming to yourself while Uni “guards” the cereal boxes.

Natasha stops in front of the shelves, eyeing the endless wall of colors. “We need buns. And juice. And,” She squints at a bright red box. “What even is that?”

You reach for it. “Marshmallows!”

Wanda arches her brow. “We’re not making s’mores.”

Natasha drops them in the cart anyway. “We could be.”

Wanda sighs but her eyes are soft. “You and Yelena are going to turn this into a sugar carnival.”

You grin, holding up Bunny. “Bunny likes marshmallows!”

“Of course Bunny does,” Wanda says, voice teasing. “Bunny likes chaos.”

Natasha chuckles. “That’s how you know he’s family.”

The next aisle is toys and seasonal displays. Everything smells faintly like plastic and cinnamon. You gasp so loudly that both women immediately stop.

A giant inflatable snowman towers over a pyramid of holiday plushies. You clutch Uni tighter. “Mama, look! Frosty!”

Natasha sighs. “We’re here for food.”

“But Frosty’s lonely,” you say, deadly serious.

Wanda looks at Natasha with a grin that’s all mischief. “She’s right.”

“Wanda,” Natasha warns.

“She’s celebrating,” Wanda says sweetly. “And Frosty would look cute by the fireplace.”

Natasha mutters something in Russian under her breath, but ten minutes later Frosty is stuffed in the cart, blocking half the groceries. You’re giggling like it’s the best day ever.

“See?” Wanda says. “Happy family.”

Natasha gestures helplessly at the oversized snowman box. “He doesn’t even fit in the car.”

“He’ll manage,” Wanda says.

You pat the box. “He can ride on my lap!”

Natasha snorts. “Over my dead body.”

At checkout, you’re busy handing each item to the cashier one at a time, very seriously announcing what they are. “Grapes. Milk. Marshmallows. Frosty.”

The cashier hides a smile. “You’ve got good taste.”

Natasha crosses her arms, mock-stern. “Don’t encourage her.”

Wanda leans down and whispers conspiratorially, “Ignore her. She’s just jealous you’re a good helper.”

Natasha points at her. “You’re teaching her to gang up on me.”

“She already knows how,” Wanda says, smirking.

You grin proudly, hugging both Bunny and Uni as the cart fills with bagged groceries. “Team Mommy and me.”

Natasha feigns offense. “What about Mama?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Mama’s team too.”

“That’s better.”

Wanda kisses your temple. “Best team ever.”

Outside, the air is bright and cold, sunlight glinting off the frost on car windows. Natasha loads the trunk while Wanda buckles you into your car seat.

You look up at her with wide eyes. “Mommy?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Do parties mean cake?”

Wanda laughs softly. “Almost always.”

“Even adoption ones?”

“Especially adoption ones.”

Natasha shuts the trunk with a thud. “Yelena’s in charge of bringing it.”

You look scandalized. “Auntie Yelena’s cooking?”

Wanda chokes on her laugh, biting her lip to keep a straight face. “No, she’s just bringing it, sweetie. Someone else made it.”

You relax instantly. “Oh. Okay.”

Natasha climbs into the driver’s seat, shaking her head. “Our daughter just insulted my sister.”

Wanda smiles, buckling her seatbelt. “She learns from the best.”

The drive home feels like music, your soft humming in the back seat, Wanda’s laughter from the passenger side, Natasha’s quiet hum of contentment under her breath.

When you pull into the driveway, the car trunk packed with groceries and one very large Frosty sticking out, you clap your hands. “We did it! Mission grocery complete!”

Natasha glances back at you in the mirror, eyes full of warmth. “Mission accomplished.”

Wanda leans over to kiss her cheek. “Let’s get home, agent.”

You giggle, holding up Bunny like he’s saluting. “Copy that, Mommy.”

Natasha’s laughter joins yours, echoing through the car all the way to the house.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

By the time the backyard fills with laughter, the smell of grilled chicken and smoke clings to the air like sunshine. Natasha is at the grill in her element, flipping burgers with surgical precision. Wanda’s darting between the kitchen and patio, her curls catching the light as she carries out bowls of chips and fruit.

You sit cross-legged in the shade with Bunny and Uni, watching bubbles float lazily over the lawn. It’s your day, the first one that’s really about you.

Wanda crouches beside you. “You doing okay, sweetheart?”

You nod. “Happy loud.”

She smiles, brushing your cheek. “Exactly right.”

The gate swings open. Pietro zooms in first, of course, hair a blur. “There’s my favorite niece!”

You giggle. “Only niece!”

“Even better!”

Clint and Laura follow with their kids; Cooper’s already tossing a football, Lila waves with her free hand, and Nathaniel’s wearing a paper party hat someone must’ve found in a drawer. Morgan sprints in next, Tony and Pepper behind her with a wrapped box.

“You’re official now!” Morgan declares, hugging you so tight Bunny squishes flat.

Natasha chuckles, shaking Tony’s hand. “Thanks for coming.”

Tony grins. “Wouldn’t miss it. Plus I heard there’d be food.”

Pepper elbows him gently. “And family.”

The yard turns into a patchwork of chatter. Thor’s booming laugh rattles the fence, Bruce sets up a salad table, and Bucky sneaks you a cookie when Wanda isn’t looking.

“Don’t tell your moms,” he whispers.

You grin. “Promise.”

Natasha catches sight of crumbs on your lip and sighs. “Bucky,”

He raises both hands. “She bribed me with cuteness. I’m a victim.”

Wanda laughs so hard she nearly spills lemonade.

Then comes Yelena.

She and Kate stroll in fashionably late, Yelena carrying what looks like an entire toy store. Natasha freezes mid-step, eyes narrowing. “Lena, what did you do?”

“Nothing big,” Yelena says innocently, setting a stack of boxes by your feet. “Small things.”

“Define small,” Natasha says flatly.

You gasp. “Presents?”

“For my favorite little spider,” Yelena says, kneeling to your level. “It’s your special day, da? Auntie brought fun.”

Natasha groans. “Wanda told you one small gift.”

Yelena waves a hand. “You sound like her now. Relax.”

Kate snorts. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

You tear into the first box with Wanda’s help. Bright plastic gleams.

“Look, Mama!” you shout. “Drums!”

A neon-colored drum set blinks with every tap. Natasha already looks like she’s reconsidering life choices.

The next box holds a doll, its button eyes wide and blinking. You press its chest and it chirps, “I love you! You’re my best friend! Let’s play!”

You squeal, hugging it tight. “She talks!”

The doll blinks again. “Don’t forget to brush my hair!”

Natasha mutters, “I’m never fucking sleeping again.”

“Language,” Wanda teases under her breath.

The third box is a ride-on unicorn. Its pink mane sparkles under the lights, and when Yelena presses the button on its ear, it neighs loudly and launches into a medley of cheerful nursery rhymes.

You’re delighted. Natasha looks horrified.

“And there’s more,” Yelena says proudly. “Makeup! For art! And slime! For science!”

Wanda leans over to Natasha, whispering through laughter. “You can’t kill her at her niece’s party.”

“Watch me,” Natasha says, but there’s affection under the threat.

Within minutes, chaos reigns. You’re drumming happily while the unicorn sings and the doll declares eternal friendship every thirty seconds. Morgan joins you, and the Barton kids pile in until the yard sounds like a carnival run by kids on sugar.

Yelena sits back smugly, arms crossed. “See? They love me.”

Natasha rubs her temples. “You’re paying for batteries for the rest of time.”

Kate snickers. “Worth it.”

Later, as the sun dips and fairy lights blink on, the noise softens. Wanda carries you to the patio table, settling you on her lap while Natasha slices fruit. Bunny and Uni sit between your plates, watching the world with their button eyes.

Tony raises his glass again. “To this crazy family,” he says. “To second chances, to peace, and to love.”

Everyone cheers. Wanda squeezes your hand; Natasha brushes a thumb over your shoulder.

You beam at them both. “Best party ever.”

Natasha leans in and kisses your hair. “That’s because you’re the best reason to celebrate.”

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The sky glows orange as the sun begins to dip below the horizon, painting long shadows across the backyard. The music has quieted, the kids are sticky with juice and frosting, and most of the adults have migrated toward the patio, chatting softly under strings of fairy lights.

You’re playing in the grass with Morgan, Lila, Cooper, and Nathaniel, surrounded by the last of the party’s confetti. Bunny sits next to Uni on the picnic blanket, “watching” over your collection of half-eaten desserts.

Everything feels warm and happy, until suddenly, it doesn’t.

You look up, expecting to see Wanda and Natasha at the grill like always. But the grill is off. The table where they’d been sitting is empty. You turn slowly, searching. The grown-ups are talking near the fire pit, faces smiling, voices loud. But not theirs.

Your chest tightens.

You stand, your little hands twisting in your shirt. “Mommy?” you call, voice small, uncertain.

No one answers.

You try again, a bit louder. “Mama?”

Still nothing. The laughter feels wrong now, too far away, too big. Your lip trembles. The shadows stretch long and scary, and for a moment it feels like the Red Room again, where silence meant danger and empty rooms meant punishment.

Your eyes sting. “Mommy!”

Morgan looks up from her cupcake. “They’re just talking,” she says kindly but it doesn’t help.

Because when you were gone before, when bad people took you, no one came for a long time.

And what if this is like that again?

The air feels too thick. You stumble backward, heart pounding, tears blurring your vision. “Mommy!”

Pietro hears you first. He turns from the table, eyes widening when he sees your small body shaking in the middle of the yard. In a blur of movement, he’s beside you, crouched low.

“Hey, hey, malyshka,” he says softly, his usual teasing gone. “What’s wrong?”

You can’t get the words out. You just clutch Bunny, no, you don’t have Bunny, he’s back on the blanket, and that makes it worse. “Mommy!” you sob again, your voice breaking.

Pietro’s heart twists. He lifts you gently, holding you close even as you struggle and cry. “Shh, I’ve got you, it’s okay. We’ll find them, yeah? Your mommies are here. I promise.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, hiccuping hard, the word mommy coming out over and over like a prayer.

By the time he reaches the patio, Wanda and Natasha have already stood. Wanda’s face goes pale; Natasha’s expression hardens instantly, instinct taking over.

“What happened?” Wanda asks, voice tight as she reaches for you.

“Didn’t see you,” Pietro says quickly. “She panicked.”

You twist the second you hear Wanda’s voice, arms shooting out. “Mommy!”

Wanda catches you, pulling you against her chest. “Shh, I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

You sob harder now that you’re safe, shaking like a leaf.

Natasha brushes your hair from your face, guilt flashing across her eyes. “We just went to talk by the fence, detka. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

Your breath comes in hiccups. “Thought you were gone.”

The words are muffled against Wanda’s neck, but they hit both of them like a knife.

Wanda hugs you tighter, rocking slightly. “Never, my love. Never again. You hear me?”

You nod weakly, still crying, still clinging.

Natasha’s voice softens, low and sure. “You don’t ever have to be scared like that again. You call for us, and we come. Always.”

Wanda glances over at Pietro, who looks genuinely shaken. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

He nods, still watching you, his usual grin gone. “She’s got lungs like you, huh?”

Natasha manages a small smile. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Wanda carries you inside, the noise from the backyard fading behind you. She sits on the couch, letting you curl up on her lap while Natasha kneels beside you.

Your hiccups have softened, but your little fists are still gripping Wanda’s shirt.

Wanda wipes your cheeks gently. “You okay now, sweetheart?”

You sniffle, nodding, but don’t loosen your grip. “Don’t go.”

Natasha takes one of your hands in both of hers, pressing it over her heart. “I’m right here, baby. Feel that?”

You nod, feeling the steady beat under your palm.

“As long as that’s beating,” she says softly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wanda kisses the top of your head. “Neither am I.”

You look up at her, eyes red and wide. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

For a while, none of you move. Wanda hums softly, the tune warm and low, something that sounds like home. Natasha stays kneeling, her hand resting lightly on your leg, grounding you with her presence.

When your breathing finally evens out, Wanda whispers, “You want to go play again, or stay here?”

You shake your head, tired now, voice tiny. “Stay.”

Natasha brushes a thumb over your cheek. “Then stay you shall.”

Outside, the party goes on. The laughter and chatter drift faintly through the window, but here, in this quiet little corner of the world, it’s just the three of you, safe, warm, and together again.

Wanda hums another lullaby as you drift off in her lap. Natasha sits beside her, sliding an arm around her shoulders.

“She’s healing,” Wanda whispers, more to herself than to Natasha.

Natasha nods slowly. “Yeah. But she’s still scared we’ll disappear.”

“She’s allowed to be,” Wanda murmurs. “We just have to keep showing her we won’t.”

Natasha leans her head against Wanda’s, voice thick. “We will.”

And between them, you breathe out a sleepy sigh, clutching Wanda’s sleeve with one small hand.

Safe again.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

The bedroom is dim except for the soft golden glow of the fairy-light lamp on the dresser. The hum of the party below is faint now, muffled by walls and distance. The window is cracked open just enough for cool evening air to drift in, carrying the smell of smoke and barbecue.

Wanda sits on the bed with you bundled in her lap, your face pressed into her shoulder, your breathing still uneven. Natasha kneels beside you, one knee braced on the rug, her hand gently rubbing your back. Neither of them speaks for a while. They know the first thing you need is silence, the kind that doesn’t hurt.

Your small body hiccups against Wanda’s chest. “You were gone,” you whisper at last, voice raw.

Natasha strokes your hair. “We were right outside, detka. We just went to talk for a minute.”

You shake your head without looking up. “Didn’t see you.”

“I know.” Wanda presses a kiss to your temple. “And that’s our fault, sweetheart. We should’ve told you where we were going.”

You sniffle, clutching the edge of Wanda’s sleeve. “Thought maybe bad people come again.”

Natasha’s heart cracks a little at that. She moves closer, resting her arm along Wanda’s shoulder so you’re cocooned between them. “That won’t ever happen again,” she says quietly but with the kind of certainty soldiers carry. “We made sure of it. You’re safe, baby.”

Wanda hums softly, rocking you back and forth. “You can always tell us if you’re scared, okay? Even if it’s something small.”

You nod slowly, tears still glistening on your cheeks. “Didn’t mean to cry.”

“Oh, honey,” Wanda murmurs, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You never have to say sorry for crying. Crying means your heart’s too full, that’s all.”

Natasha reaches for a tissue and dabs at your nose. “And it’s our job to help you when it’s too full.”

Your eyes flick between them, heavy and wet. “Promise?”

Natasha’s tone softens. “Cross my heart.” She traces a tiny X over her chest. “See?”

You do the same motion over your own. “Cross my heart.”

That makes Wanda smile. “Perfect.”

When your breathing evens, Wanda stands, still carrying you, and lays you gently on your bed. Your room is cozy, soft blankets, stuffed animals in neat rows, the faint smell of lavender from the diffuser Wanda always turns on at night. Bunny and Uni are waiting where Pietro left them after you left them outside.

Natasha tucks the blanket around you, smoothing it over your legs. “They missed you,” she says, pointing to your toys.

You reach for them immediately, hugging both close. “Bunny says he thought I lost you.”

Natasha smiles faintly. “Tell Bunny I’m sorry for scaring him.”

You nod solemnly. “He forgives you.”

Wanda sits beside you on the bed, brushing your hair back from your face. “Do you want a story before we go back downstairs?”

You shake your head, eyes drooping. “No story. Just stay.”

Natasha sits on the other side of the bed, careful not to jostle you. “We can do that.”

For a long while, they simply stay there, Wanda humming under her breath, Natasha’s hand resting over your blanket-covered knee, the three of you wrapped in a quiet rhythm that feels safer than words.

When you start to fade toward sleep, Wanda leans closer. “Sometimes it’s scary when we can’t see the people we love, hm?”

You nod faintly.

“But even if you can’t see us,” she whispers, “we’re always right here.” She taps your chest lightly, over your heart.

Natasha adds, “And if you ever wake up and forget, you can come find us. Always.”

You mumble, half-asleep, “Always.”

Wanda smiles and strokes your cheek until your lashes flutter closed. “Good girl.”

A few minutes later, your breathing deepens, and Natasha leans back, exhaling quietly. Wanda keeps her hand resting on your hair. Neither of them speaks until the silence feels gentle again, not heavy.

Natasha whispers, “She still thinks every quiet means loss.”

“It’ll take time,” Wanda answers softly. “She spent too long in the dark.”

Natasha looks at you, the little rise and fall of your chest, Bunny clutched tight against your chin, and her throat tightens. “I wish I could erase it for her.”

Wanda shakes her head. “We can’t erase it, lyubov moya. But we can fill it with better things.”

Natasha looks up, eyes shining. “Like this?”

“Exactly like this.”

When they finally stand to rejoin the party, they leave the door open just a crack so the light from the hallway spills across your room. Natasha checks the baby monitor on the nightstand out of habit, its faint buzz already picking up your steady breathing.

In the doorway, Wanda laces her fingers through Natasha’s. “You okay?”

Natasha nods, but her voice is quiet. “I hate seeing her afraid.”

“I know.” Wanda squeezes her hand. “But fear fades when love stays.”

They look back one last time at the sleeping child, their child, and then step into the soft glow of the hallway, side by side, hearts steady again.

~/~/~/~/~/~/

By the time Wanda and Natasha return to the backyard, the sky has turned deep violet and fairy lights shimmer above the patio like captured stars. The air still smells faintly of grilled food and sugar; laughter hums like background music.

Tony notices them first. “There they are! Thought you two had eloped mid-party.”

Wanda smiles faintly, still holding Natasha’s hand. “Just calming someone down.”

Laura, tending to the dessert table, nods with quiet understanding. “She okay?”

Natasha exhales, her expression soft. “Yeah. She’s fine. Just needed us close.”

Wanda adds, “She’s asleep for now.”

Yelena, mouth full of cupcake, raises a finger. “Then she will wake up for cake, da?”

Kate elbows her. “Maybe let her rest, Lena.”

Yelena huffs. “You are no fun.”

Natasha smirks. “She’s right about that.”

“Hey!” Kate protests, laughing.

The teasing floats easily through the group, light and familiar. For the first time all evening, Natasha feels the ache in her chest begin to ease.

Inside the house, the baby monitor on the counter flickers quietly. From upstairs comes the faintest sound of movement, a rustle, then a soft yawn.

A minute later, tiny footsteps patter down the hall.

“Mommy?”

Wanda turns instantly. You’re standing at the back door in your socks, Bunny in one arm, Uni in the other, eyes still puffy from sleep.

“Hey, baby.” Wanda crouches, opening her arms. “You woke up.”

You nod against her shoulder once you’re lifted, the warmth of her familiar scent settling the last of your unease.

Natasha brushes your hair back. “Feel better?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good.” She taps your nose lightly. “We missed you out here.”

Yelena leans over from her chair. “Perfect timing, little spider! We were just about to do something special.”

You blink, curious. “Special?”

Wanda glances around, suddenly realizing what everyone’s been hiding. The patio lights dim slightly, courtesy of Tony, and a hush ripples through the crowd.

From the kitchen doorway, Pepper emerges carrying a large white-frosted cake decorated with strawberries and pale-blue icing. Across the top, in looping script, are the words Forever Family. Wanda and Natasha are shocked. They thought Yelena was getting a plain cake.

You gasp. “Cake?”

Morgan bounces on her toes. “It’s for you!”

The adults laugh softly as Pepper sets it down on the table. “For all three of you, sweetheart.”

Natasha’s throat tightens. “You didn’t have to-”

“Of course we did,” Tony interrupts. “You finally made it official. That deserves cake.”

“Two cakes, technically,” Clint adds, holding up a smaller one shaped like a bunny.

You stare at both in wonder. “Bunny cake?”

Natasha chuckles. “Guess you’ve got a fan club.”

Everyone gathers close. Wanda helps you stand on a chair so you can see the candles, four of them, one for each year of your life. Their soft glow reflects in your wide eyes.

“Make a wish,” Wanda whispers.

You frown thoughtfully, then look at her and Natasha. “Already got my wish.”

The words hit them both so hard Wanda’s breath catches. Natasha has to blink fast before she can find her voice. “Still, maybe make another one, something small.”

You nod solemnly, close your eyes, and whisper something so quiet no one catches it. Then you blow. The flames vanish in a puff of smoke, and everyone cheers.

Wanda kisses your forehead. “Perfect.”

After the cake is sliced, chaos returns in the best way. Children run across the grass, chocolate on their cheeks; adults nurse cups of coffee or wine, swapping stories. Someone turns on quiet music. The unicorn toy neighs again from where it’s been abandoned near the steps, startling Thor so badly he drops his drink.

You laugh for the first real time that evening, bright, unguarded. Natasha freezes for a moment just to listen to the sound. Wanda meets her eyes, smiling.

“That,” Natasha murmurs, “is my new favorite sound.”

Later, after the sugar crash begins and the night cools, the guests drift home. There are hugs and congratulations, a few jokes about slime still stuck to the deck, promises to visit soon.

Wanda carries you inside while Natasha says goodbye to the last few stragglers. Your head rests on Wanda’s shoulder, fingers tangled in her hair.

“Did you have fun today?” she asks quietly.

You nod, already half-asleep. “Love party.”

Wanda smiles. “Me too.”

Natasha locks the door behind the final guest and joins you, her arm sliding automatically around Wanda’s waist. “Time for bed, little one.”

You mumble, “Stay?”

Wanda glances at Natasha. “Of course we’ll stay.”

Together they tuck you beneath the blanket, Bunny and Uni placed on either side like sentinels. Wanda smooths your hair while Natasha adjusts the night-light.

“Sweet dreams, baby,” Wanda whispers.

“Night, mommy, night, mama,” you murmur, already drifting.

Natasha leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Goodnight, detka. We love you.”

When they step back into the hallway, the fairy light glows softly behind them. Natasha exhales, the day’s tension melting into something gentler.

“Think we did okay today?” she asks.

Wanda slips her hand into hers. “I think we did perfectly.”

Downstairs, on the counter beside the leftover cake, a single candle flickers out, leaving the house filled with quiet warmth and the faint smell of sugar and smoke.

And upstairs, in the safety of your room, you sleep soundly for the first time since forever really meant forever.

Chapter Text

The world outside the car is silver and white, snow resting heavy on branches and rooftops. Your breath fogs up the window as you hum a Christmas song you half-remember from the radio. In your lap, Bunny and Uni sit side by side under your mittened hands. Wanda says the heater takes time to warm up, so you blow little clouds at the glass until the frost fades.

The drive is quiet. Wanda keeps glancing over at Natasha, who has one hand on the wheel and the other laced with hers. It’s the same way she holds your hand when you’re scared, thumb brushing back and forth like it’s trying to whisper, you’re okay.

No one talks much until Wanda says softly, “She’s been sleeping better. That’s good.”

Natasha nods, her voice low. “Yeah. It’s good.”

The silence after that feels like waiting for something you don’t understand.

When the car stops, you recognize the small gray building with the tall windows. You tug on Wanda’s glove as she unbuckles your seatbelt. “Is this the nice lady?” you ask.

“The very same,” Wanda says, forcing a smile as she kisses your forehead. “Dr. Monroe. Remember, she has crayons.”

That makes you grin. You take Bunny under one arm, Uni under the other, and hop out of the car into the crunch of snow. Natasha opens the office door first, holding it for both of you. The warmth inside smells like peppermint tea and old books.

Dr. Ellen Monroe is already standing by her desk when you walk in, wearing a soft blue sweater and the kind of smile that feels safe. “Good morning, Miss Maximoff. Miss Romanoff.” She kneels down to your height. “And hello, sweetheart. You look very cozy today.”

You beam and lift Bunny so he can wave. “Bunny came too.”

“I’m glad,” Dr. Monroe says seriously. “He’s an important part of our team.”

Her office looks the same, cozy chairs, soft light, a basket of toys in the corner. You wander to the small table with coloring pages already waiting. Crayons. You pick the purple one first because Wanda likes purple.

The grown-ups talk while you color, but you can hear most of it. Dr. Monroe’s voice is calm, the way Wanda’s is when she reads bedtime stories.

“She’s made excellent progress,” Dr. Monroe says. “She’s expressing emotions more freely, forming secure attachments, and she’s had fewer night terrors this month.”

Wanda smiles faintly. “She’s been doing better at home, yes.”

Natasha leans forward, elbows on her knees. “She’s starting to play on her own too. Still quiet, but curious.”

“That’s wonderful,” Dr. Monroe says. She taps something on her tablet, then looks up. “Which is why I want to discuss the next step, gentle social reintegration. Preschool, beginning in January.”

The purple crayon slips from your hand. You glance up, but the adults aren’t looking at you.

Wanda blinks. “Preschool? She’s four, Dr. Monroe. That feels early.”

“Early, but healthy,” Dr. Monroe says softly. “Preschool isn’t just about learning letters or numbers. It’s about structure. Routine. Playtime with other children in a supervised, supportive environment.”

Wanda shakes her head. “But she’s just getting comfortable at home. What if she panics when we leave her?”

“She won’t,” Natasha says gently, before Dr. Monroe can answer. “Not if we do it right. She trusts us now. We’ll drop her off, and she’ll know we’re coming back.”

Wanda’s lips tighten. “You make it sound simple.”

Natasha sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “It’s not simple. But it’s necessary.”

Dr. Monroe’s voice stays even. “Miss Maximoff, I understand how frightening it feels. You’ve spent months protecting her from the world. But learning that the world can be safe, that’s part of her healing too.”

You go back to coloring, trying to decide if “preschool” is a good word or a bad one. It sounds kind of like “play school,” and play is good. You glance up at Wanda, who looks sad in the way she does when she’s thinking too much.

Natasha reaches over and touches Wanda’s knee. “Tony and Pepper put Morgan in a great school. It’s private, small classes, secure staff. She’ll make friends there.”

Wanda exhales shakily. “And if she gets scared?”

“Then we’ll be right there to pick her up,” Natasha says. Her tone softens, just enough that Wanda finally looks at her. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dr. Monroe leans forward slightly. “Letting her explore safely doesn’t undo the safety you’ve built. It expands it.”

For a moment, no one says anything. The clock ticks softly on the wall. You fill in a snowflake with blue crayon. When you’re finished, you hold it up for Wanda to see.

She smiles, but her eyes are wet. “That’s beautiful, sweetheart.”

Dr. Monroe gives you a gold sticker and Bunny a pretend one. You giggle, sticking yours on your coat.

The drive home is quiet again. You hum under your breath, watching snow roll past the window. From the front seat, you hear Wanda say, “I just, I don’t think I can watch her walk into a building and not follow.”

“She won’t be alone,” Natasha replies. “She’s stronger than we think.”

Wanda’s voice trembles. “I’m not ready.”

Natasha’s hand finds hers. “Then I’ll hold your hand until you are.”

You don’t understand most of the words, but you can tell it’s important. You hug Bunny tighter.

When you get home, Wanda helps you hang your coat, her movements slower than usual. Dinner is quiet, too, pasta and bread, with Wanda pushing the spoon around her bowl more than she eats.

Afterward, she gives you a bath that lasts longer than normal. She hums the whole time, a soft tune that reminds you of her love. When she tucks you into bed, she adds an extra blanket, even though you say you’re warm.

“Good night, my love,” she whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Natasha leans down and kisses your forehead. “Sleep tight, little one.”

As the lights dim, you hear Wanda linger by the door, voice barely a whisper.
“She’s my baby, Tasha. I don’t want her to be scared again.”

And even half-asleep, you feel the warmth of both their voices, a quiet promise in the dark that they’ll never let you face the world alone.

The house was still, that deep kind of still that only came after bedtime. The hum of the heater filled the quiet; outside, wind scraped softly against the windows. You were half-asleep, Bunny tucked under your chin, Uni folded under your arm, when muffled voices began to thread through the dark.

They weren’t loud. Not angry-loud like the men used to be, just tight, low, like words trying not to break.

You blinked into the shadows. The light from the hallway leaked under your door, thin and gold. You could hear them down the hall, in the living room. Wanda and Mama.

“...she’s not ready,” Wanda was saying, her accent heavier when she was upset. “Ellen means well, but she doesn’t understand. You saw how she clings. She still wakes up crying some nights.”

“She’s four, Wands,” Natasha murmured. “That’s exactly the age to start. Morgan started at four.”

“Morgan wasn’t-” Wanda stopped herself, voice catching. “She didn’t go through that. She doesn’t panic when she hears a door slam. She doesn’t think closets are safe places to sleep.”

There was silence. You pressed your face into Bunny’s fur. Wanda’s voice came again, softer, breaking. “I just got her. I don’t want to hand her off to someone else already.”

Natasha sighed. “You’re not handing her off. You’re letting her grow. It’s not the same.”

“It feels the same,” Wanda whispered.

You could picture her sitting on the couch, knees drawn up, arms crossed over her chest. That’s how she sat when she was scared.

Natasha’s tone stayed steady, but it was the kind of steady that wobbled at the edges. “She’ll be okay. I’ll talk to the staff. I’ll check the building myself if I have to. She’ll be safe.”

“Safe,” Wanda echoed. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can try.”

There was another long silence. Then Wanda said so quietly you almost missed it, “You not thinking of her that first night. She was tiny, Tasha. She didn’t even cry out loud. She just shook. What if school, what if something there undoes her?”

Natasha’s voice dropped, a whisper of steel and sorrow. “Then we’ll be right there to put her back together again. Like we always have.”

The quiet after that felt heavy, thick enough to touch.

You slid out of bed, toes cold on the floor. The boards creaked under your tiny feet, but they didn’t notice. The hallway light was soft and yellow, smelling faintly of cocoa from earlier. You padded down until you could peek around the corner.

Wanda sat curled at one end of the couch, blanket around her shoulders. Natasha sat on the other end, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, looking tired and worried all at once.

You clutched Bunny tighter, the stitching rough against your fingers. “Mommy?” your voice came out small.

Wanda’s head snapped up. “Oh, sweetheart, why are you awake?”

You shuffled forward, blinking in the dim light. “You’re sad.”

Wanda’s expression broke into guilt and love all tangled together. “No, no, baby, we’re just talking.”

“About me?”

Natasha gave Wanda a look that said there’s no point hiding it. She smiled softly at you. “Yeah, about you, malyshka. We were talking about school.”

You climbed onto the couch between them, knees tucked under you. “School?” you repeated, unsure.

Wanda brushed a hand through your messy hair. “Dr. Monroe thinks maybe you could go to school after the holidays. But Mommy’s not sure yet.”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“Because it means you’d be away from us for a little while every day,” she said carefully. “And that’s hard for Mommy to think about.”

You frowned, thinking. “Morgan goes to school.”

“Yes, she does,” Natasha said, trying to keep her tone light.

“She says school’s fun. They color and have snacks and recess.” You looked from one to the other, serious as only a four-year-old could be. “I wanna go. I wanna play with Morgan.”

Wanda blinked. “You, you do?”

You nodded. “And make pictures for you and Mama. And tell you stories. And maybe learn to read.”

The words were bright, simple, impossible to argue with. Natasha’s lips curved faintly; Wanda let out a quiet, shaky laugh that sounded more like a sigh.

Natasha reached over and tapped your nose. “See? Told you she’s ready.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “Of course you’d take her side.”

“Team Romanoff,” Natasha said with mock solemnity.

You giggled and raised Bunny. “Team Bunny.”

Wanda laughed softly then, the tension starting to melt from her shoulders. “Alright, Team Bunny. Maybe school wouldn’t be so bad.”

Natasha squeezed her hand gently across the back of the couch. “She’ll love it. And we’ll still be there every day.”

You leaned against Wanda’s side, your eyes drooping. “When do I go?”

“Not until January,” she whispered, kissing the top of your head. “You’ve got Christmas first.”

“’Kay.”