My stomach roiled and churned as we turned onto Sherwood Drive. I felt like I was going to be sick. I was breathing more heavily than normal, my heart was pounding in my chest, and my fists were clenching and unclenching rapidly as I struggled to stop myself from reflexively seizing my power or completely breaking down into a full-blown panic attack. I’d already been feeling incredibly anxious about our visit to Westview, but that stupid, ominous Tarot reading certainly hadn’t helped at all.

I’d gotten close to having an actual panic attack a few times over recent months, especially during our two visits to Wakanda, but I’d always been able to calm myself down and not completely freak out. This time, though, I was really struggling to keep a handle on things. It felt like this was the worst I’d been since the attacks I used to get as a teenager—a historical problem that was shared by both versions of me, interestingly enough.

“Pull over here, please,” I said weakly.

Natasha complied, parking on the side of the road before unbuckling her seatbelt and turning to face me. She reached over, taking my hand in hers, and squeezed, worry painted across her face. “Are you okay?”

One of Pietro’s hands snaked over the shoulder of my seat and found my shoulder as well. He leaned forward, bringing his head up to the gap between the seats, looking at me carefully for a few moments before he spoke. “What do you see?” he said, an insistent edge to his tone.

Oh… Yeah. I nodded, my eyes darting around the car interior. “There’s a window. Air conditioning vents. Seatbelts. Leather. Sound system. Cupholders. Gear stick. Steering wheel. Speedometer.” I let out a small snort, the corner of my mouth tugging upwards. “Nat’s legs in those jeans. Лепа.”

It always felt a bit dumb, but at least it worked. My heartrate started to slow a little, my breathing getting that bit steadier. It had been years since I’d had to use that little trick to help me through things—it was hard to remember, sometimes, when you were in the moment. To forcefully distract yourself from whatever was causing you to spiral and focus on something simple instead. It was a good thing I had Pietro here to remind me.

After a few more moments, I reached up with my free hand and put it over Pietro’s, noticing Nat looking askance at him. “Thanks. Sorry. I used to get panic attacks pretty regularly after what happened to our parents,” I explained, then glanced at my brother and gave him a tight smile. Even just having him nearby was a comfort—I probably would have lost it long before now if I’d been alone all this time.

I realised I was hunching over in my seat and made a deliberate effort to straighten up and relax my shoulders. Squeezing Pietro and Natasha’s hands again, I gently freed myself from them, unbuckled my seatbelt, and stepped out of the car. Everyone else followed suit, but I ignored them for the moment and slowly walked out into the middle of the quiet, suburban street, looking around at the houses and trees. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nat step close to Yelena to say something quietly, but I wasn’t paying enough attention to catch her words.

I’d felt a sense of déjà vu a few times now, based on events that I couldn’t possibly have experienced because they hadn’t even happened in this particular timeline—at the Avengers compound, fighting against Ultron—but this was beyond that. I didn’t just feel like I’d been here before, I knew that I had. There were small differences, but I knew every curve of the street, every house, every globe-topped lamp post. A blue mailbox sat near the kerb, exactly where I remembered it being.

The street was relatively quiet, as you might expect for eleven in the morning in the middle of the week. Most people would be at work, their kids in school. Large trees sheltered the footpath. It was nice. Normal. A house down from where I was standing, the sole other person currently in sight raised her head from her row of fluffy azaleas, looking over in our direction curiously. My breath caught in my throat as our eyes met and I felt my hands tremble a little. Even just seeing her made me feel sick again.

Mrs Hart was oblivious, of course, and raised a gloved hand in greeting, smiling widely. I tentatively raised a hand in response, then averted my eyes, looking away down the street, and froze. Of course I’d accidentally just looked directly at our destination. I hadn’t even realised that I’d unconsciously been avoiding looking at it until now. A couple of houses down was an empty lot, the grass slightly overgrown, a large white sign declaring it ‘For Sale’.

“Wanda,” Pietro said softly, standing next to me. I hadn’t even noticed him approach. He nudged me with his shoulder, breaking me out of my frozen stare.

I shot him a tight smile and swallowed the nausea that had once again risen in my stomach, glancing back toward the car. Natasha smiled at me encouragingly as she and Yelena walked over to us and I hesitated. Even though it was the entire reason we’d come, I really didn’t want to go look at the empty lot just yet. I couldn’t just stand in the middle of the street forever, though. Once the four of us had gathered, I turned back toward Mrs Hart, dragging my feet as I led us over to her, feeling a little like I was walking toward an executioner’s block.

“Oh, hello!” the older woman said, rising up from her knees and brushing some errant dirt from her thick gardening apron as we stepped onto the sidewalk in front of her. A straw hat with a bright ribbon around it sat atop her head, and under her apron was a colourful floral blouse. “Can I help you?”

I felt my throat seize up a little but forced a smile onto my face, swallowing hard before I opened my mouth. “Uh, hi. We’re just… looking. Uh, at two-eight-oh-oh. The empty lot.” I tilted my head toward 2800 Sherwood Drive—the parcel of land that Vision had bought for us to build our life together on. I shouldn’t even know the address, or where exactly in Westview it was, but I’d directed Natasha here easily. How was that possible?

“Oh, yes! You’re thinking of buying?”

“Something like that,” I said softly. “What’s the neighbourhood like?”

Mrs Hart perked up, practically beaming as she put her hands on her hips and laughed. “Best street in town! Quiet for the most part, but everyone’s so nice and friendly and we look out for each other. Mr Davis and I happen to have lived here for forty‑three years, but we’ve got a few younger families around, too. Mr Collins hosts a barbecue every month—the whole street is invited.”

“It sounds really nice,” Natasha said, next to me.

I was frowning; something the woman had said had caught me by surprise. “Mr… Davis?”

“Oh, my husband. How rude of me!” She pulled off one of her garden gloves, wiping her hand on her apron before holding it out to me, a bright smile on her face. “I’m Mrs Davis. Sharon.”

“Wanda. Maximoff,” I said hesitantly, taking her hand and gently shaking it. Mrs Davis? Not Hart? I suppose I’d never actually known her when she wasn’t under the effects of my Hex. Her identity had been re-written by my magic, of course, but for some reason I hadn’t expected that to extend to her name. I felt another surge of guilt. I didn’t know anything about this woman; it had all just been a part of my spell.

“Are you and your husband looking for somewhere to settle down?” she asked, glancing at Pietro next to me.

I blinked. “Uh, Pietro’s actually my brother,” I said, glancing over at Natasha. “That’s Nat. We’re, uh, together. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” Sharon’s eyes widened slightly and she made an apologetic gesture with her hands. “So sorry, my mistake. You girls are lucky! Mr Davis would have been in a lot of trouble if we’d had that option back when I was young,” she said with a giggle.

Nat smiled back at her. “Nice to meet you, Mrs Davis.”

“Yeah, really nice meeting you,” I echoed her. “Sorry for interrupting; we’ll let you get back to it.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, it’s no problem at all! If you have any questions, you just let me know. I’d be more than happy to talk your ear off!” the older woman laughed again. “Mr Davis is at work, so I just have my green thumb to keep me company most days.”

“Thanks, Mrs… Davis,” I said, trying to keep my roiling emotions off my face as I turned away and started to walk down the sidewalk. Halfway between Mrs Davis’s house and our destination I stopped, my chest feeling tight.

“Wanda?” Nat prompted me gently. “We can leave, if this is too much for you. We don’t need to keep going.”

I took a breath, staring sightlessly at the concrete under my feet. “I tortured her,” I whispered, throat constricted by the guilt that had welled up inside my chest. My vision blurred, tears springing up in the corners of my eyes. “Her and everyone else in this town. For over a week. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Arms went around me again. I stiffened, but didn’t pull away or otherwise move or react, too busy remembering. I remembered the look on Mrs Davis’s face as her husband choked—how she begged me to stop it, over and over again, to let him breathe, even as my magic forced her to laugh through it. I hadn’t even known their real names. My hands tightened into fists at my side.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Not just the Davis’s. I remembered all of them. Surrounding me, their voices raised in fear and pain as they pleaded with me. ‘I don’t recognise my face in the mirror; my voice when I speak’, ‘When you let us sleep, we have your nightmares’, ‘We feel your pain’, ‘Your grief is poisoning us’, ‘Please let us go’, ‘If you won’t let us go, please just let us die’.

I hadn’t done it on purpose—of course I hadn’t—but I’d been so consumed by my own grief that I managed to somehow convince myself I wasn’t really doing anything at all. Even so, some small part of me had known it wasn’t real. That I was doing something. But I didn’t want to examine it, didn’t want to think about it, in case looking too closely ruined everything and I was alone again.

“That wasn’t you,” Nat said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But it was. It was me. It was my fault. I shrugged her arms off, pushing her firmly but gently away before scrubbing at my eyes with the back of my hand. I’d never be held accountable for what I’d done here. As far as anyone else was concerned, it hadn’t even happened. But I knew. I remembered what I’d done. I didn’t deserve to be comforted for it.

Bulling past the others, I walked right up to the edge of the empty lot and stopped again, still staring at my feet. I took a deep breath and willed myself to look up, to take in the plot of land. Doing so took significantly more effort than such a simple action should have. I stood there quietly, seconds crawling by.

Behind me, I heard Yelena whisper. “Is this why we’re here? We came all this way to look at an empty lot?” But Natasha shushed her.

It wasn’t an empty lot, though. Not to me. I could see it. My house. I could picture the façade perfectly. I knew exactly where the front door had been.

“Wanda?” It was Pietro’s turn to prompt me.

Even though it was stupid, part of me wanted to snap at him. To lash out. I was getting so tired of people doing that, constantly prompting me, asking me if I was okay, when I clearly wasn’t. Instead, I raised a hand to silence him. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed glimmering wisps of red magic twisting around my fingertips. That was a little concerning—I didn’t remember calling my power to me, but suddenly I realised that I was filled with it, holding onto a vast pool of energy that I’d unconsciously drawn around me like a protective blanket. I turned more fully toward my brother and saw the reflected light of my glowing eyes in his. The hand I’d held up was shaking. My breath was coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Wanda,” he said, a bit more firmly. “What do you see?”

“My house,” I said, trying and failing to keep my voice steady. His eyes widened slightly in concern, but I ignored him, instead turning away and starting to move forward, each step like I was moving through molasses as I walked up the garden path toward the phantom house. It was so strange. I knew that it only existed in my mind, that I was just… intensely remembering. Right? That’s all this was. Visualising. Letting myself be mentally transported back in time. Or was it forward? Sideways? I didn’t know. “Grass. A path. Garden beds. Flowers. Windows. A door.”

The door opened and Tommy and Billy ran out—my little boys, ten years old, as they’d been the last time I’d seen them—laughing and shoving at each other playfully, seemingly oblivious to my presence. They darted past me and I stumbled a little, Tommy almost bowling me over, a ghostly, phantom pressure against the side of my leg. My breath caught in my throat. I just wanted to reach down and scoop them up—they seemed so real. I turned to track them as they reached the sidewalk, barely resisting the urge to reach for them. They paused on the path, talking to each other, but their words were garbled; I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Suddenly, Billy turned back toward the house, straightening, and blinked. He locked eyes with me and, for an instant, I could have sworn he saw me. My vision blurred, my eyes filling with tears.

Was someone trying to talk to me? I shook my head, dislodging a pressure that had descended on my shoulder with a flick of my hand, my power shoving away something unseen as I turned back to my house. “My front door,” I said, my voice thick, though I’d forgotten why I was speaking aloud. I took another step closer to the door.

There was a fuzzy noise at the periphery of my hearing, insistent. After a moment, it resolved into a familiar voice, slightly muffled, behind the door. “Wanda?” My heart was pounding at my ribcage like a crazed, caged animal. Vision. My Vision. He was right there. I could hear him. “Wanda!” he called for me again.

I reached out toward the door handle—my hand was outlined with an aura of red power, my chaos magic singing as it coursed through me, filling every corner of my being. I hesitated, looking at it.

“Wanda!”

There was a storm of power blazing around me—trying to burst out, to sweep away from me. My head was fuzzy, but dimly I realised that that was wrong. It shouldn’t be happening. I tried to tear myself away; I needed to control it. To silence my magic. The house wasn’t real. I knew that. I knew that. Vision wasn’t real. I’d butterflied him out of existence. He’d never be real. Billy and Tommy would never be real.

Or would they? I was right here. I could do it. My family… that was my Ten of Cups, wasn’t it? It was right in front of me; within my grasp. All I had to do was let my magic take control. I could have Vision and my children and Natasha and Pietro, all together again, forever. All I had to do was… was…

Natasha and Pietro. Yelena. They were here, too, weren’t they? Where were they? I couldn’t…

“Wanda! You have to stop!” Dimly, Pietro’s shouted voice—twisted with worry and fear—reached me through the haze.

All I had to do was… trap myself. Retreat back into a deranged dream world of denial, lies and self-deception. My hand tightened into a fist as I struggled to rein in my magic, but it wasn’t listening to me. Or, rather, it was listening to me—just responding only to my heightened emotional state, my desire to be reunited with those I’d lost, rather than my head. I knew I needed to stop but part of me didn’t want to. What had the psychic said? Swords versus cups. Intellect versus emotion.

Coming here had been a mistake. I couldn’t control it.

I couldn’t…

Reaching up with my other hand, I grasped the pendant around my throat, scrabbling at the power raging within me to redirect a thread of magic into the Mind Stone. A connection was made and I pulled, as hard as I could. The artifact’s power surged into me and I gasped, suddenly panting in shock like I’d just doused myself in ice water. Every nerve in my body lit up, screaming at me—it wasn’t even pain, as such, just pure sensation, like my brain had no idea how to interpret the signals it was getting. I pushed through it and wrapped the Mind Stone’s power around my own, choking it, forcing it back down and preventing it from bursting outwards.

I staggered under the pressure I was exerting on myself, my feet almost going out from under me. My magic was fighting back, but I was undermining it from the inside, willing myself to release it, to make it to go away. Still, stubbornly, it refused to dissipate. Instead, it was like the pressure from the Mind Stone was condensing it, concentrating it inside of me until it felt like I was going to burst. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t feel anything but the raging storm of power within me as the Mind Stone’s power crushed it down.

Something broke.

Silence. Stillness.

I could see and hear again. Everything around me had calmed, whatever outward physical manifestations had been roiling around me utterly quashed. Still, the air felt thick with power, the familiar thrum of my chaos magic restrained and held in check by the frigid static of the Mind Stone. There was a rawness to it I wasn’t sure how to describe.

Something was in front of me.

I let go of the Stone, my hand trembling slightly as I let it drop to my side and slowly turned to look around. The overgrown grass around me had been flattened, as though crushed by something heavy, fanning out from my feet in every direction, as though I’d been standing at the epicentre of a weirdly-nonviolent explosion, almost like an odd crop circle.

There was a blur and Pietro was beside me, moving nearly instantly from where he had just been helping Yelena to her feet. Yelena herself looked a little shell-shocked, shaking her head as if to clear it. Behind her, Natasha was somehow all the way back out on the street—she had just finished standing up as well, a slightly pained expression on her face as she rubbed at her arm. Shame burned my tear-streaked cheeks as I noticed the smudge of blood at her temple.

I’d hurt her.

I hadn’t meant to.

But then, I never meant to hurt anyone, did I? And I always did anyway.

“Wanda?” Pietro asked, his tone cautious. “You’re okay. Just… breathe. You’re fine. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. My voice felt hoarse.

My brother shook his head, reaching out a hand but stopping just short of touching me, as if I were a wild animal he was afraid of spooking. “It’s okay. It’s fine. We’re all fine.”

“I just… this is important, Pietro. I have to…” I trailed, turning away from the sidewalk to look, once again, at what was in front of me. I licked my lips and swallowed nervously as I stared at it. I had no idea if I was hallucinating or not. “The door. I’m not… You can see it, too, right?”

In front of me, in the exact position it had been in the Hex-constructed house in the original timeline, was the front door to my house, looking as completely and immutably solid as everything else around me. Pristine white-painted wood in a white frame, wrought iron door handle, knocker, and deadbolt, just sitting incongruously out of place on its own. Freestanding, as if someone had put in the door and just forgot to add the rest of the house.

“I can see it,” he confirmed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance back toward Nat and Yelena. “We can all see it.”

To my magical senses, the door practically hummed with energy, as if the Mind Stone’s power had been rendered physical. My own magic was tangled up in there somehow as well. I was linked to it, a thread of energy being steadily drawn from me, contained and regulated by the Stone. It was gentler than the drain from my first flawed attempt at a Hex, but otherwise felt very similar. I knew I’d been right on the threshold, there. Part of me had wanted to try to fully recreate the Westview Hex, but I’d stopped myself, and the power that would have gone into something that huge had instead been compacted down by the Mind Stone to create… this. Whatever this was.

“Can you feel that…?” I asked absently, still staring at it.

“Wanda, I can taste that,” Pietro responded, an edge of worry in his tone. “I think we should just… take a step back.”

The drain was gentler than in Wakanda, but it was still heavy enough that whatever I’d done wasn’t quite right this time, too. Interrupting the process with the Mind Stone had made the structure flawed, just as badly as my first attempt. Whatever I’d done—whatever the door was—it wasn’t going to last forever. I wasn’t sure how long. Minutes? An hour, maybe?

“Wanda?” Nat’s voice came from behind me.

I’d heard her footsteps as she and Yelena had made their way over to us, but I didn’t look at them. Partly because I really didn’t want to see whatever sympathy or concern might be in their faces, but also partly because something about the door was… mesmerising. I didn’t want to look away from it. I felt drawn to it; like I was meant to open it.

“What’s with the door?” Yelena asked, her tone guarded.

A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, the question dragging a dumb reference to the forefront of my mind. “The door is everything. All that once was and all that will be. The door controls time and space; life and death. The door can see into your mind… The door can see into your soul,” I quoted absently.

“…Maybe we should step away from the scary door.”

I wasn’t really listening to her, though. Almost without thinking, I lifted my hand and touched the wood, feeling how solid it was beneath my fingertips.

Everything exploded.