I drifted slowly back into consciousness, feeling Natasha shift slightly in my embrace. Curling up a little tighter against her back, I nuzzled her shoulder, letting the familiar smell comfort me. I’d been dreaming. They hadn’t been pleasant, but they were only dreams. The reality was that I was nestled snugly in bed, safe and warm and happy.

As I basked in my hazy half-sleep, my brain tried to get my attention. Something was different, somehow. Very gradually, I became aware that Nat and I weren’t alone in the bed. There was an arm draped across my side, hand lightly curled against my naked stomach, a body spooned against me just as I was spooning Nat. The feeling of them against my back had been so familiar that, at first, I hadn’t even noticed anything odd about it being there. I was the filling in a three-person sandwich. Despite the unexpectedness of the realisation, I was somehow unbothered by it.

I knew I should probably investigate, but I really wasn’t in any rush at all. I didn’t want to move—didn’t even want to open my eyes. Several minutes passed as I lay there, warm and comfortable, before I eventually managed to build up the wherewithal to lift my hand from Natasha, reaching down with gentle fingers to trace the back of the hand that was holding me. It was big. Mannish. Man hand. Who…?

Even with that small additional revelation, my mild confusion as to who Natasha and I were currently sharing a bed with wasn’t quite enough to break me out of my half-sleep. It just didn’t feel like there was anything wrong at all. Our bodies fit together perfectly. This was normal and natural. It made me feel safe and loved.

And… other things.

I gently took hold of the hand at my stomach and shifted it upwards, cupping it against my breast and arching my back slightly, a small smile on my face as I savoured the sensation. Letting go, I reached forward and dragged my fingers along the edge of Nat’s nude body, my eyes fluttering open as a small amount of heat rose up within me.

As my hand reached Nat’s hip, I stopped. Something wasn’t right here. Not just the mystery man behind me. Something else. It took me a couple of moments to put my finger on what exactly was bothering me but, once I saw it, it was obvious. The first thing that tipped me off was that Natasha normally had a small mole on her right shoulder, which was currently missing. Now that I was actively looking, there were other small differences, too… more than enough for me to realise that—despite her similar hair and build—the woman lying in front of me wasn’t Natasha.

I sat up, suddenly much more awake than I had been. The mystery man at my back was temporarily forgotten, his hand falling unnoticed to my lap. The woman in front of me rolled over toward me, eyes cracking open, smiling sleepily as she looked up at me.

I blinked a few times, my brain taking a second to process what exactly I was seeing.

What.

“…Asian-American Scarlett Johansson?” I said incredulously, all remaining traces of sleepiness vanishing.

Her forehead crinkled at my words and she looked up at me with a small amount of confusion of her own. “What?” she asked, stretching her shoulders slightly. She yawned, seemingly unbothered by the fact that she was in bed with me, ostensibly a total stranger.

My eyes snapped up, scanning the room. Where the fuck was I, actually? It wasn’t Nat’s apartment, that was for sure—we were in a large, four-poster bed, elaborate scrollwork carved into the mahogany headboard and pillars holding up heavy scarlet curtains draped over a canopy. Beyond the bed, stone walls hung with tapestries enclosed a room full of antique, Elizabethan furnishings. Light filtered into the room through a tall window framed by similarly-red curtains.

Behind me, the bed’s third occupant stirred, pulling himself up into a sitting position. I started to turn, but my body froze the moment he spoke. “Ah. Time to get up already?”

My insides seized up, every muscle in my body suddenly tense. For a moment, I felt paralysed. I couldn’t even breathe.

No.

No.

I’d been in Westview. It hadn’t been a dream. My magic had reacted to my emotional state, but then I’d stopped. I’d fixed it. Hadn’t I? I’d stopped my magic from running out of control, I didn’t recreate the Hex. I didn’t! Wisps of red boiled off my hands as my shoulders started to shake. In front of me, Asian-American Scarlett Johansson lifted herself up, suddenly also wide awake and looking at me with concern in her eyes.

“Wanda?” the voice behind me said, a hint of worry leaking into his tone.

His hand touched my shoulder and I wrenched myself away like it had burnt me, scrambling forward on my hands and knees and throwing myself over the end of the bed, landing hard on a luxurious fur rug covering the stone floor. My face was hot, tears filling my eyes as I tried to get as far away as possible.

“No,” I choked out, my breath coming in short, rapid gasps as I started to hyperventilate. “Please. No, no, no, not again. Please. Don’t do this to me. Not again. I can’t…” I hit the far wall and curled up into a ball against it, hands clenched into fists at my temples, an involuntary flare of chaos magic sending the furniture in the room rattling.

“Wanda? Wanda!” The bed’s other occupants had leapt to their feet, following after me. Two pairs of strong arms slipped around my shoulders, one hand—I wasn’t sure whose—stroking my hair gently. “It’s okay! It’s okay. You’re safe.”

I felt like I was on the verge of passing out, my body torn halfway between a panic attack and wanting to embrace the treacherous feelings of warmth and security emanating from the arms around me.

Forcing the fingers of one of my hands to unclench, I reached up with a shaky hand and found his forehead, wisps of energy brushing against the object lodged there. I felt the Mind Stone—its familiar energy—but… that was all. There wasn’t… he wasn’t… The muscles in my neck protested as I powered through the tension, forcing myself to lift my head slightly and look. Vision looked right back at me, wearing his ‘human’ appearance, his blue eyes filled with worry.

But I couldn’t feel him.

This wasn’t a Hex. I hadn’t created him anew. If this had been the same as what had happened in Westview the first time, I’d have been able to feel him. I could see him in front of me, but reaching out to touch his mind was like grasping at mist. There was something there, but it was intangible to me. What was he? Just a shadow? A memory? Some sort of mental manifestation or illusion?

I squeezed my eyes shut again, struggling to get my breathing under control. It wasn’t him. It was like looking at a photo, or vividly remembering him. That was all, I told myself over and over and over again. Vision wasn’t here. He wasn’t real.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed but, eventually, I felt steady enough that I could open my eyes again. Bright blue, inquisitive eyes filled with worry looked back at me. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. “Nightmares, again?”

“I don’t know,” I said, barely able to get the words out. I felt wretched and nauseous. He might not be real, but he felt solid enough.

Asian-American Scarlett Johansson was there, too, still holding onto me, which was just… really confusing. After a few more moments, she carefully disentangled herself, stood up and walked over to a side table. Lifting a glass pitcher, she filled a cup with water, then brought it over and knelt down, offering it to me. “Whatever it was, it was just a dream,” she tried to reassure me. “You’re okay.”

I stared at the water for a moment before reaching up weakly to take it, Vision loosening his grip to allow me to bring it to my lips. It soothed my throat a little, and I shook my head. “…I’m pretty sure that this is the dream, actually. What are you… why are you here?” I asked her.

She frowned at that, her forehead creasing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A bizarre thought occurred to me. “Natasha?” I asked hesitantly.

“…Yes?”

Okay, what the fuck? Focusing on this little bit of weirdness was actually helping to settle me, distracting me from fixating on Vision’s presence. My heart had stopped pounding quite so hard in my chest, my breathing evening out a little bit.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“You’re not… really Natasha, right?” Or was she? Did my magic somehow turn Nat into this universe’s Scarlett Johansson? For what purpose? Just to fuck with me?

She exchanged a concerned look with Vision. “Of course I am,” she said. “Who else would I be?”

I needed to check. I raised my hand, calling red wisps of power to it. “Can I…?”

She nodded, still looking worried, and I reached out toward her temple. Once again, reaching out to find her mind was like trying to grab at shadows, but was it really not working because they weren’t real? Could I safely assume that, or was there a chance that my magic wasn’t working properly, or there was something more to this? I looked past her, taking in the room again. This wasn’t a Hex, was it? If Vision and ‘Nat’ had been created by my magic in the same way that I’d re-created Vision in the Westview Hex, I’d have been able to feel them.

But if this wasn’t a Hex, then what was it? Where was I?

I withdrew my power and she stood back up, exchanging a quick glance with Vision. He stood as well, taking my free hand with one of his and squeezing gently, silently encouraging me to follow them to my feet, which I did. I took another sip of water and we stood there silently.

“I think, perhaps,” Vision ventured. “We should put some clothes on?”

The fact that the three of us were all still naked didn’t bother me, but I didn’t really have any reason not to put something on. Asian-American Scarlett Johansson stepped over to the side to retrieve a red silk dressing gown which was hung at the side of a tall wardrobe, and I allowed her to slip it over my shoulders as I was led back over toward the bed.

Vision hesitated slightly before letting go of me, only reluctantly moving away to retrieve some clothes of his own. While the two of them sorted themselves out, I sat down on a cushioned stool in front of an elaborate vanity table with a trifold mirror atop it.

Beyond the general weirdness of the situation and the presence of Vision and Natasha, there was a general feeling of unreality here. Everything seemed relatively solid, but there was a certain dreamlike quality to things that I normally would have associated with entering someone’s mental landscape. Was this my mindscape? It was a possibility—I’d used the Mind Stone to rein in my unstable magic, after all. Things were far more real and solid than I’d expect in a mindscape, though, and I’d never seen one this populated before.

In Bucky’s mind, I’d encountered two versions of him: a younger, weaker aspect of himself lost in the depths of what we had called The Facility, and the unkillable representation of the Winter Soldier that was hunting him. In Yelena’s, I’d met what I’d guessed was some representation of her stolen childhood. I’d never encountered a version of someone else inside their minds. Then again, I’d never used the Mind Stone to compress down a burst of chaos magic that manifested into what had seemed like a physical door before, either. Beyond that, every mind I’d visited so far had always been unique—maybe this was just my own personal brand of Wanda weirdness. Even if this was my mindscape, that didn’t mean I knew what all the rules were.

I turned my head to glance at the mirrors, taking in my reflections for a moment, watching Vision and Natasha move about in the background as they finished getting dressed.

Music started to play.

It didn’t seem to be coming from anywhere in particular, simply swelling into existence all around me, a melancholy, slightly mournful orchestral tune led by violin that seemed to match my mood pretty well. The music… felt good. There were words that went along with it, inside me, bubbling up. I didn’t know why, but they felt right. Like I was meant to say them. To sing them. I opened my mouth to set them free, then barely stopped myself and blinked.

No.

No, that wasn’t right. Something really weird was going on.

“Oh, come on. Please?” The unexpected voice snapped me out of my reverie and I stared at the mirrors in front of me. The central reflection had moved on its own—had spoken—and was now watching me with an expectant expression. She lifted her hand, twirling her fingers in a ‘get on with it’ gesture and nodding encouragingly.

“What the fuck?” I said.

“Wanda? What is—” Vision started to say, but was interrupted by the reflection speaking again.

“Ugh, fine. You’re the worst, you know?”

I pushed away from the vanity, eyes wide, and almost fell backwards over the chair as my reflection stood up and walked through the mirror’s surface, her bottom half passing through the antique wood as though it wasn’t there. She stepped past me into the room, raising a hand and summoning wisps of red energy to it. I called magic to my own hands in response, but she ignored me at first, her eyes glowing with power. As I turned to track her, I saw Vision and Natasha’s eyes glow as well and they froze.

“What the fuck?” I said again.

My reflection-made-manifest lowered her hand and looked at me, the chaos magic around her hand fading. Vision and Natasha stayed exactly where they were, utterly still and silent. “Alright, I guess we can just talk, then,” she said, and it was only then that I noticed faint lines of glimmering circuitry in her eyes.

My mouth went dry. “Eliza.”

--

“We’ll need to cross the bridge just up ahead—the river is deep and swift, and there isn’t a safer place to cross for miles,” Steve told them as they followed the dirt path up a small hill. “The guards should let us pass without trouble. On the other side is the forest… the trails within shift and move, so it’s easy to get lost. We’ll need a guide. Luckily, I know just the thing to show us the way.”

Their little group had made good time after leaving the village, though Nat was keeping a careful eye on Mrs Davis. The older woman was flagging slightly—they’d need to stop so she could rest soon.

Once they crested the top of the hill, the river came into view. It was as Steve had described it—deep, fast-flowing, and maybe two hundred and fifty feet across at the narrowest visible part. Crossing might have been a problem without the wide stone bridge spanning it. The structure’s foundations looked solid, with arched abutments from either side meeting at a central rectangular column sunk into the riverbed. Small, two-story gatehouses sat at either end, guarded by men in full plate armour holding tall pikes and shields, once again like something out of a medieval fantasy novel.

The guards didn’t react at all as their party drew closer, standing so still that Natasha wondered if there was anyone inside the suits of armour at all—their helmets were fully face-concealing, their poses so stiff that they might have just been propped up on stands.

Just before they reached the gatehouse, an iron-bound wooden door set into the stone building opened and another figure strode out, clad in bulky plate armour enamelled in red and gold, a jewel-encrusted sword scabbard at his side. The newcomer quickly moved to interpose themselves between Nat’s group and the gate, holding out a heavy gauntleted hand to stop them. “Alright—that’s far enough, Cap,” said a muffled voice.

“Oh, for crying out loud…” Sam muttered next to her.

Nat watched Steve carefully, letting him take the lead as they stopped a dozen paces away from the armoured knight that was clearly going to be some version of Tony. “Hey, Tony. We’re not here to cause any trouble, we just want to pass.”

The red and gold knight reached up and lifted his visor, revealing his face. Nat tilted her head, studying his features. It only took her a moment to place him as another actor: Robert Downey Jr. That was actually a pretty good pick—the two of them did look relatively alike.

Nat was fairly well-studied when it came to psychology but, if they really were inside Wanda’s mind somehow, it was a little odd that these… representations, or whatever they were, were being cast as actors instead of appearing the same as their actual, real-life counterparts. It implied some significant level of separation, but she wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

“Sorry. Can’t let you do that,” the armoured knight said.

“Come on, Stark,” Bucky chimed in. “You don’t have to be a dick about this every time.”

“I don’t have to,” the man said cheerfully, clanking a little as he shrugged his shoulders. “But where would be the fun in that?”

Pietro snorted softly. “Tony Stark getting in the way, as always.”

Next to him, Sam nodded. “He’s never gotten along with Wanda—probably knows we’re trying to find her.” He spoke quietly, so as not to interrupt the conversation between Steve and Tony. “Jackass acts like he’s trying to help, but’ll do everything in his power to make her life as difficult as possible.”

Nat let out a small sigh, shaking her head. “I get why Wanda feels like that’s the case sometimes, but Tony doesn’t want to fight with her any more than she wants to fight with him. He really is just trying to do what he thinks is best, for the most part. At least, the one I know is,” she said, gesturing to the armoured figure blocking their way. “I don’t know about yours.”

Sam snorted, shooting Nat a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?” he said, loud enough to get everyone’s attention this time. As he did so, music sprang up around them, filtering into existence from nowhere again—a more whimsical, jaunty showtune, this time—and then he started to sing. “The average Tony Stark is utterly the pits, his ego’s so humungous that his helmet barely fits.”

Bucky chimed in. “He wears two tonnes of armour and thinks he’s quite the man.”

“He’s nothing but a jackass in a fancy metal can!” Steve finished.

Tony scowled, his expression darkening as Sam, Steve and Bucky all launched into a chorus together. “A jackass in a can—there’s nothing worser than—some high-and-mighty jackass in a can!”

What was this? Natasha didn’t recognise the song at all. It wasn’t from Wicked, that was for certain. Was it from another musical? Next to her, Pietro was chortling to himself. He looked at Nat, his eyes twinkling. “I mean, they’re not wrong?”

The music hit a holding pattern for a short moment as Bucky glanced over at Pietro. “Yeah? Your Stark as bad ours?”

“Uh, sure. He’s quite a, uh…”

“Major dillweed?” Sam suggested. “In a fancy metal can!”

The three men all sang together again. “A dillweed in a can, there's nothing lamer than, a condescending dillweed in a can!”

Mrs Davis was grinning, clapping and bobbing her head along to the music, and Sam took the opportunity to swing in, linking arms with her and spinning her around in a small circle for a moment as they continued. “That jerkface in a can, there’s nothing sadder than—”

Steve stepped forward as the music built to a conclusion. “Some smug and stupid, chauvinistic, self-indulgent, egotistic, stingy, prissy, narcissistic, jackass in a can!” The men finished, arms wide, with jazz hands sparkling, as the music ended.

“Right,” Tony said, drawing his sword. Behind him, the armoured figures guarding the bridge shifted, lowering their pikes to point at Steve and the others.

Nat’s hands went to the hilts of the daggers sheathed at her waist and she glanced back at Pietro and Yelena. Her sister looked back at her dejectedly. “If this is going to keep happening every time we meet someone, I think maybe I’d have preferred it if Wanda had just killed us,” she said, her voice pained.