"Hill, come in, we've got a problem."

"What is it, Stark?"

"Stark, we need you over here!"

Tony looked up to see Steve waving him over, towards Bruce. Tony didn't want to be there right now, didn't want to be here right now. He wanted to be eight months into the past, Bruce and him pacing a lab and debating the possibility of infinite energy. He wanted his best friend whole and alive and safe.

"Stark!"

He had one of those.

"Stark? What's going on? Where are you?" Hill pressed in his feed.

"Nevermind, Cap will brief you when we get a chance. There's been a complication."

"A complication… what-" Tony cut off her connection before she could finish the thought, and stepped out of his suit for what felt like the first time in days.

"Tony, Bruce needs you," Clint said as he approached.

Bruce was still on the makeshift bed, his eyes wide and breath erratic. Tony recognized it right away. Flashback.

"Brucie, where are you right now?"

He knelt down beside the doctor, hand on the bed beside Bruce's, but not touching, not quite yet.

"No more… I can't….I'll do it… Just no more… Please ."

He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, just staring incoherently into the ceiling as though it held the answers he was looking for. Tasha fell to her knees beside Tony, tears in her eyes. She was frozen, and it was then that Tony realized he wasn't the only one who had flashbacks.

"You're safe now, Bruce. Hey, bud, look at me. You're not there anymore," Tony said gently, using his hand to lightly turn Bruce's head towards him. He stiffened but didn't flinch away from the contact. The man's brown eyes grazed over Tony's momentarily before falling onto Natasha, and there he froze.

"Monster," he gasped, and Natasha found herself reaching for his hand. He allowed the contact, even curled his fingers around hers.

"Monsters," she echoed, and Tony could only sit silently as he saw something pass between the pair. He wanted to shout, to scream. To say that they weren't monsters. Calling Bruce a monster was what started this whole thing. But he found himself unable to speak. Bruce's eyes were tearing up, and Natasha leaned up to kiss away a tear from his blood-stained cheek. He suddenly realized he lacked context, lacked the history between them. Some unspoken knowledge passed by over his head, and Tony knew that he had never carried the burden Bruce, and evidently Natasha, did. For whatever reason, their short conversation worked. Bruce looked around and saw them, saw him , and smiled.

"Tony…"

Tony clasped Bruce on the shoulder and grinned.

"About time, Brucie boy. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten me…. Which is just impossible, really. I mean, have you seen me?"

Bruce laughed, weakly and with a wince, but he laughed. Tony had never thought he would hear that laugh again, never thought he would see that smile or those eyes or his friend…

"Bruce…." he murmured, feeling tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

Steve moved into Bruce's line of vision, face drawn and pallid. Bruce's eyes glanced up and he smiled again, more tiredly.

"Cap," he acknowledged.

"You gave us quite a scare there, Banner. How are you feeling?" Steve said, feeling hollow. Feeling as though this moment was a dream, not quite real, and nothing he said would ever be right to acknowledge the shit Bruce had been through while they dragged their feet.

Something seemed to cross Bruce's mind, and he looked back down at Tony, then his eyes slid back to Steve. His smile faded into something else, something lost.

"You came," he said. It was almost a question, as if he too couldn't quite grasp the reality. As if he was surprised.

No, Tony thought, as if he thought we wouldn't come at all.

"You came…. You…. You changed your mind," he said softly, but Tony could hear his breathing quicken.

"No, Bruce, wait!" Clint called, but it was too late. Bruce's cuff beeped and the scientist slid back into unconsciousness, his hand going limp in Natasha's, tears still drying on his cheeks.

"What in the hell was that?" Tony demanded, turning to glare at Clint, as if he somehow caused it.

"It's his collar. And the cuff. It releases some sort of sedative into his bloodstream whenever he gets….excited," Steve said. Tony looked back to the hand clasped in Natasha's and took it gently from her grasp. The cuff was nearly seamless, but a few inches under the blinking green light, Tony could see a thin crack in the metal.

"We need Wanda," he said.

Steve looked at him oddly, but pulled out his phone to dial her just the same.

Wanda, contrary to what people thought, was not a child. He childhood was lost, buried in the ruins of her home, crushed with her parent's bodies. Her adulthood was branded into her, in the shape of the Stark logo on the bomb she feared would kill her. No, after staring death in the face and putting a name to it, she was not a child. But Pietro? He'd never stopped being one. Joyful, funny, charismatic, he was everything she wasn't. And without him, she felt like nothing. She felt hollowed out, a husk of old memories and confusion. She had nothing, was nothing.

But she did have a secret, and that secret was Bruce Banner. The man she had killed. The man who, despite bearing the burden for her crimes, had written her a letter. A letter Jarvis had sent after his death, with a simple message of, "He would want you to have this."

The letter had changed her life, changed her. For so long she had felt so alone. Such a monstrous girl, a monstrous ability. Peitro, vivacious Pietro, knew nothing. He had super speed, but he was still human. Somewhere, somehow, she had crossed that line.

She had crossed it so far that a monster had said he'd kill her for being a threat.

After that, Bruce and Wanda had never really talked. They had no reason to. She spent her time with Vision, mostly, sometimes with Steve. But she had never been able to shake that moment, to shake that fear. The memory of looking into Banner's eyes, and seeing only her own monstrosity reflected back. He had been little more than a mirror, and it burned her.

But the letter came and changed everything. Because the person she had hurt most, the person she had killed, forgave her.

Ever since the Avengers had left to go retrieve his body, she had been poring over the letter, trying to grasp the words in a new way. Anything to relieve the guilt inside her, anything to stop her fury from gnawing away at what was left of her humanity. She was angry, she was so angry. And it was at herself, because in the end, she had no one else to blame.

But then she had Bruce, from beyond the grave, the only human to possibly understand what it felt like to be her.

Wanda,

I know we don't know each other. Well, I don't know you. I'm sure you know me very well, after seeing what's inside my head.

She winced, but reread the line again. Like he told her to.

I'm writing this because I think you need it. Because I need it. I needed it when I was younger, especially after the accident.

She remembered, a flash of green. Betty's eyes. Then her broken body.. These weren't her memories, weren't anyone's anymore, but she carried them anyways.

I've never been what people would call a hero. I mean, sure, sometimes I help more than I screw up, but that's just chance. Every good thing I've done has been chance…. Tony would chew me out if he could hear me now. He sees me as something I'm not, ever since I saved him.

A flash of red, burning through a green haze. A silent inner plea from a broken man watching, "Save him, please."

But hey, maybe he is on to something. It always helps to get another perspective. We as scientists know about biases. And that brings me back to why I'm writing this. Wanda, I don't need to be a mindreader to know you are lost. To know how much you're hurting. And I've seen you, the way you avoid mirrors, the way you look at Cap and Tony in their shining armor and think, "Why can't that be me?"

I know this because I do the same thing. Some people are born into this golden world of heroism and privilege, like Thor and Tony, while others work their way there, like Cap. But people look at them and think "hero". No matter what they have been through, no matter how hard it gets, they rise above it.

And then there are people like Natasha and Clint, quiet heroes with a past full of unheroic things. Even Vision has his roots in evil, a part of him comes from Ultron. But they, too, rise above it and get the people's praise.
But for people like us, for monsters like us, well, there is no praise. Our powers, our way of rising above, go against the natural order. To read minds, move things with your thoughts, twist the brains of people with a flick of your finger.

Wanda flinched at those words, such a grotesque summary of her power, her curse.

Or the ability to turn into a literal monster, to be unable to be killed. To fire a bullet in your mouth and spit it back out. These powers, Wanda, are monstrous. They define us as "Other". They make people look at us and just inherently know that we are not human, even if we started out that way. And I've tried so long and so hard to be human, to stay human. But that all stopped with a twist of your hand. A thought, and you saw what I can become. I don't know if you realized, though, that I saw you at the same time.

I was angry. I was so angry. Because you called out my facade and forced me to face what I really am. You killed people, Wanda, with me as your weapon.

She tried not to feel the tears running down her face, the hole eating its way through her lungs.

And yet, I've killed people too. So many. Too many to name, although my brain gives me the updated list every night when I try to sleep anyways. Sometimes it's not always as direct as murdering them, sometimes they are just collateral, but I killed them all the same. Whether it was by my fist or by a building I crushed, it makes no difference. We both carry many deaths, including many with the same names. But I am going to tell you something I have to tell myself everyday, and maybe it will help you more than it does me. I hope so. You need something. Someone.

Being a monster doesn't make you monstrous.

That is a choice. Always. Sometimes good people can become monstrous, and sometimes monsters can become good people. Our powers aren't ever going to be accepted. People will never look at us and feel safe. I wish I could tell you differently, I wish I could teach you how to not unsettle everyone you meet. But people have this instinct in them that sets off alarms when we get too close. But no matter what they call you, no matter what they say about you, no matter what you say about yourself…

You are not monstrous, Wanda. I need you to believe that. I need you to repeat it to yourself every night when your brain feeds you pictures of the dead. I need you to look into the mirror and whisper it to your reflection. You can be a good person, you are a good person. It doesn't matter what you are , it matters what you choose to be.

I realize this letter is long, but I needed you to hear this. You are not alone. I know Pietro is gone. I know no one understands. I know we keep company with heroes and gods. I know that you carry a burden that none of them will ever have to shoulder. I know it's impossible to ignore the cries of, "Monster!"

But you are not alone. I don't care what happened between us. I don't care about the past, because we have both done terrible things. Horrible things that will always haunt us. Things that will make us wake up screaming and trying to wipe the blood from our hands. But this isn't the end. You have a brand new beginning. Use it wisely. You don't have to become me. Laugh. Love. Open up. Enjoy being with your friends.

And when you are ready, come find me. I have something for you.

Your friend,
Bruce

She wondered, not for the first time, what it was he wanted to give her. She had asked Jarvis, but he didn't know. She wished again that she hadn't avoided Bruce. She didn't know when he had gone from wanting to kill her to calling himself her friend, but she had avoided him all the same. Because she was scared both of him and what she saw in him that she also saw in herself.

She wiped a tear off of her face, jumping when the phone vibrated in her hand and Steve's face popped up over Bruce's message.

She took a moment to compose herself, wiping away her tears before putting the phone to her ear. She was glad Steve didn't prefer video calls like the rest of the team.

"Yes?" she greeted.

"Wanda, we need you to come in."

"Come in? Where?"

Steve sighed, in the background, she heard Tony yelling, "Jarvis, send her the coordinates!"

"We'll send the coordinates to your phone, have Vision take you."

Wanda didn't need to touch him to know.

"He sleeps, but he does not rest."

Her eyes roamed his blanket-clad body, each spike of pain breathing caused marred in white in her brain. She melded her thoughts with his, felt the agony coursing through him, the desperation. He dreamt of needles and scalpels and"Monster". She didn't realize how much she had lost herself until she felt Vision's arms wrap around her.

"That is not your pain," he whispered in her ear, wiping away her tears with his thumb. She nodded, still feeling the echoes of his screams.

I did this.

"I am not monstrous," she said under her breath. Vision looked at her oddly, but let her go. Whether or not he heard, Wanda didn't care. Bruce was the only one that had ever asked something of her for her own gain. She wouldn't let him down.

Not again.

"I am not monstrous," she repeated, going forward to touch his temple. His whole body froze, but his eyes never opened.

"You are not monstrous."

She wasn't sure which one of them said it, but she saw his thoughts as her own. The video, the edited clips, the carefully twisted accusations from their grief-laden words. She heard a grown man stomping on the floor calling, "Monster, you killed her!"

He was tired, so tired. She heard the beeping of his cuff, over and over again in his mind like a demented lullaby.

Wake up, Bruce. Your friends are here.

"You are not monstrous."

They left me. I'm nothing, they sent me away because I am a monster. I am nothing, no one. This isn't real, none of it is. I'm dead.

He wasn't talking to her, not really. Nor really to himself. It was just words, the way his thoughts wrapped around his mind and strangled it.

You were lied to. Open your eyes and see the truth. You are loved. They never stopped searching.

Bruce's brow furrowed, and suddenly she was thrown out. Back in her own body and on her knees at his side, tears streaming from her eyes.

She had seen everything. The beatings, the darkness, the surgeries, the torture. So much pain. Pain as she had never known, never wanted to know existed. She felt a hand settle on her shoulder, and leapt to her feet.

"Don't touch me."

It was an echo of his pain, his pleads.

"Please," she whispered, before everything went dark.