Wow! Thank you to everyone who has read the first part of this fic. I am floored by the response! I'm so glad you guys are enjoying it, and I can only hope you continue to enjoy it. c:

A few fic notes: You can assume TFATWS spoilers for the entire show from here on out. There is minor Wanda/Vision in this part.

Big thanks to Trace for being my American word checker and informing me that I am a bad friend for not informing her of what a "bindi" was in Australia. (I'm hoping "burr" is the American equivalent. Thanks, Reddit!)

you came back as the underdog
part ii

She knows he can sense her long before she clears her throat. Wanda stands behind Bucky at the back of her house, watching as he extends himself over the last few rungs of the ladder. Last night, she'd magicked leaves to overflow and weigh down her house gutters. Bucky had diligently noticed them when he'd come to the front door to bid her good morning before taking it upon himself to collect her ladder from her garage at the back of her house and get to work.

She lets her eyes linger on his back as his white t-shirt sticks to his skin. His jeans hug his hips nicely. He has nothing in his pockets—no knife, no taser, no gun. No phone. He's comfortable here—safe.

"Ah, thanks," he says with a smile. Glancing down at her from over his shoulder, he quickly climbs down the ladder. Once his feet hit the ground, he's towering over her. She watches as he brushes his hands against his jeans before accepting the glass of water with several ice cubes and a little umbrella she's brought him. After he'd noticed the umbrella in her attempt at a margarita, she'd been waiting for the right moment to surprise him with one.

Wanda tries to ignore the hot flush to her cheeks. "So?" She peers up at him expectantly, straightening her spine. "How are my gutters?"

He smiles at her from over the rim of the glass. "Interesting how they were very clean yesterday and then today they're magically overflowing with leaves, twigs and rocks. I even noticed a very old newspaper from the 1940s up there, too." Sipping his water, he glances up at the house. Wanda studies the long line of his throat.

She looks up at her gutters when he turns his head to peer at her. They're clean, even if she can see some branches peeping over the rim.

He shakes his head, smiling. "It's good, though," he says, looking back at her. "Glad to be kept busy."

Wanda smiles happily at that, bowing her head and brushing her fingers through her hair. "I'll leave you to it."

As she turns on her foot, his metal hand clasps the crook of her elbow gently. "Hey," he says quietly, his voice warm and inviting. Wanda freezes, feeling a familiar vibration from his fingertips warm her skin. She closes her eyes, grateful he can't see her face. "You don't have to go, you know. You could stay out here, keep me company… Tell me why you've got a garage with no car and a mailbox in the middle of nowhere."

Despite hearing the smile in his voice, Wanda doesn't feel her lips curve upward. "It makes me feel like I'm not alone," she says. She doesn't mean to say it, but it slips from her lips all the same. She gently shrugs his hand off her arm, finally breathing once the warm metal of his fingers leave her. The Vibranium feels too familiar. "I like it. The suburbs without the neighbours."

When she looks at him, she sees the understanding in his eyes. She can also feel the pity sweep off of him and smack into her.

"Let me know when you want lunch." Giving him a small smile, Wanda's quick to scurry away from him and up the stairs of her back porch. Once she's inside of her house, she leans against the back door and heaves in a heavy breath. Brushing her fingers against the crook of her elbow where he had touched her, all Wanda can think of is Vision.

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"I don't get it," he says, digging his knees firmly into the dirt. Bucky doesn't wear gloves and he doesn't use the spade beside him, preferring to dig into the earth with his bare hands. She imagines it's useful to have his metal arm. Wanda tries not to stare at it.

"What?" She glances up at him from where she's chosen to tuck herself on the opposite side to him of her veggie patch. Realigning the small wooden panels to border her garden, she forms a hammer in red glittering magic and smacks it gently against the top.

Bucky waits a moment, openly staring at her casual display of magic. She does her best not to look at him; she can feel how he feels, the awe that overwhelms him and makes him warm. Her cheeks flush.

"You being out here," he says. "I get why you're in Sokovia, but why didn't you pick the suburbs?"

She keeps her head bowed, grateful her hair falls into her face. "You know why."

"Westview?" His hands stop digging into the dirt as he watches her. "So what?" He shrugs casually. "You had a bad run."

"I didn't have a bad run," she says, shaking her head. "I mentally controlled an entire town and turned them into sitcom characters against their will. I want to be alone."

"Message received loud and clear," he says, sounding too amused. They both know he's received it and dutifully ignored it. "I get it. The whole… mind control thing. It's hard. But you didn't mean it maliciously, did you?"

Wanda inhales heavily, shoulders slumping. Her hands fall from the wooden panel. "No," she admits quietly. "I still hurt a lot of people."

"And I killed people. A lot of people. And I carry that with me every day." Wanda watches as he pulls a piece of paper out from his back pocket. Folded haphazardly, the paper's crumpled between his fingers. "I have a list of people that I've hurt. A list of people I want to atone for and be better for. I carry it around with me as a reminder of the people who have either forgiven me or need time to." She watches him look down at his crumpled piece of paper and wonders why he's carrying a totem of pain. Wouldn't he prefer to run from it? "I get what you feel, Wanda."

Wanda doesn't tear her gaze away from the piece of paper. He holds it out like he expects her to take it, but she rejects his invitation. His list of names is for his eyes only. His sins are his to own to bear. Wanda knows Bucky isn't trying to force her to shoulder it.

"And hiding away…" He pulls back the piece of paper and folds it over one of its many creases. The corners of the paper barely meet. "That's not how you're going to get better or prove that you can do better. Hiding just puts everything on ice."

She looks up at him, letting her gaze drop to his dirtied knees. She'd hoped that if she had stayed in Sokovia and out of the eyes of the people who knew of what she was capable of, she was giving them space, giving them the chance to heal. But Wanda's been in her hideaway house for months now and hasn't felt any better.

She shakes her head, keeping her gaze downcast. Quietly, she admits, "I don't think I can face those people. Any people."

"Then don't." When she looks up at him, his brows are furrowed. He says it so easily, giving her a shrug. It's deceptive because it gives her hope. "Don't do it right now. Spend your time here to recuperate and get your head on straight. But don't hide here forever, Wanda," he says with a small smile. His blue eyes are too bright and wide and hopeful. "There's a whole world out there that needs you."

Wanda sighs heavily, feeling her heart race in her chest. It feels like stones have fallen to her feet. She tugs at the wooden panel, trying to align it so that it's a straight edge of her garden patch. She doesn't look up at him, choosing to focus on her shaking hands. "Why are you here, Bucky?"

He smiles lopsidedly and digs both hands into the dirt to turn it over. "I told you. I got nowhere else to be."

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A few days later, he takes it upon himself to fix the loose and creaking floorboard of her porch. He doesn't ask any questions, like why the panel is loose to begin with. He's seen her rearrange the interior of her living room and even add an extra room to her house with a flick of her hands. He's always watched her with interest from the open windows, leaning through the open window and perching himself on the windowsill to peer in like a captivated audience.

Wanda watches him from her bedroom window, pressing her hand against the glass pane. She can almost feel him warm the glass beneath her fingertips. He rakes up the dry and dead leaves from beneath one of her thick trees. The muscle of his arm is bright red, but she keeps her gaze on his metal arm. It glistens in the sun. She thinks she can feel it sweat and heat as if it's actually his skin.

Bringing him out a glass of water and a bowl of fruit, she purposefully allows her fingers to brush against his metal hand when he accepts it. It sends a thrill through her, something warm and hot. Familiar. Bucky gladly takes what he's offered, but Wanda yearns for those very minute touches.

She knows it's wrong. His arm is a mere extension of him. It's too dark and murky grey to ever be red and silver skin, but it feels the same. It has the same pulsing heart and blood rushing through its wires.

Wanda makes sure to let her fingers brush against his wrist when she takes the empty glass and bowl from him, playing it off as a clumsy mistake.

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She doesn't invite him inside for breakfast, lunch or dinner. He seems to understand that's a line he's not welcome to cross. She's allowed him to stay in Sokovia rather than send him flying back into the arms of Sam in Louisiana under the unspoken agreement that he stays outside and out of her space.

But she finds herself curious as he sits on her back porch and stares up at the stars as they begin to twinkle and pop in the sky. He's been doing it for days now, if not weeks. Wanda wants to know if he sees anything new each time the blanket of night rolls itself out for them to both gaze up and watch. Does Sokovia's night sky look like the one he knows from New York?

With a wiggle of her nose, she opens her back door quietly and slowly. Bucky glances over his shoulder and smiles, twisting his body so he can see her. In her hands is a large paper bag and tucked between her arm and body are two plastic cups with straws.

"I thought you would enjoy this," she says, giving him a small smile. He eyes the paper bag with a wide grin, his smile looking almost boyishly dopey.

She walks dinner over to him and happily passes it to him when he lifts his hands to help her. He takes the paper bag so that she can properly hold the cups. She sits down beside him, placing his cup between them and hers on the other side of her body. She sits a small but safe distance away from his Vibranium arm.

"Wow," he says, shaking his head. He opens the paper bag and pulls out a burger neatly tucked away in wrapping paper designed to have the imprints of newspaper articles stamped all over it. "I didn't realise they did that Uber Eats thing out here."

Wanda smiles, shaking her head. "They don't." She thanks him when he passes her burger to her and smiles proudly at the way she's passive aggressively drawn a thick W on all sides of the wrapping.

"Subtle," he says with a light laugh.

Wanda ignores how her cheeks feel like they're on fire. "My brother used to eat my food even when my name was on it. Being possessive over it is a habit I can't quite shake." She takes the paper bag from him and pulls out two packets of fries and ketchup sachets. It's a lot easier to talk about Pietro when it's on her terms. She can feel Bucky watch her for a moment, either looking for a crack in her armour or perhaps permission to even speak on Pietro.

"You really went all out on making this feel like a real takeaway, huh?"

She shrugs, keeping her gaze downcast. It's not a big deal, even if she's smiling, pleased with herself. "I thought you would enjoy something from America."

He smiles toothily, watching her for a moment. He begins to unwrap his burger messily, reminding her of how Tommy and Pietro had done so back in Westview. It makes her both sad and happy to think of them, her son and her very fake brother.

Bucky takes a large bite out of the burger and instantly closes his eyes, moaning. "This," he says, mouth full, "is so fucking good. Did you really get this from—" When he looks at her with his brows lifted, she nods proudly. He shakes his head incredulously, taking another bite. "That's crazy."

Wanda takes a smaller bite out of her burger, looking up at the stars as she chews. He digs into his burger without coming up for any air. He submerges her in feelings of incredulity and surprise—all good, warm feelings that make her feel like she's tucked within a soft blanket.

Eating in silence, Wanda ensures to keep her gaze on the stars in the sky. Bucky uses his metal arm to hold his cup as he drinks and places it down behind him.

Wanda glances at him. "Do you think my house could use a second level?"

Bucky eyes her for a moment, brows lifting into his hairline. He seems surprised she's asked him. Looking at the roof of her porch that's without its cobwebs and water stains, he chews thoughtfully and swallows this time. He peers up at it as if it's the starlit sky and not a plain roof. "I mean… Do you want a second level?"

Wanda shrugs. "I don't know. I like how it is right now."

"A second level would make it a lot harder to clean the gutters and windows."

Wanda smiles and places her half-eaten burger on top of the paper bag. She stands. She walks down her back steps and finds that he follows her, burger in hand as he chews thoughtfully. Once she's a good few steps away from her back porch, she turns around to face her house. He comes to stand beside her, eyeing her curiously.

With a wave of her hand, red tendrils emerge from her palm. They grow long and thick, slithering around her house until it's wrapped in its own red burger wrapping. Quietly and quickly, the house pulls itself apart at the roof and the second level begins to build itself, laying out wooden beams, cement foundations and plaster. Couches appear and slip deeper inside the second level.

Bucky stops eating, his gaze on the bright red streams of light and magic illuminating the dark sky. Wanda pants softly, biting her bottom lip as she curls her fingers into her palm to produce a third level—an attic.

"Holy shit." He turns his head towards her but his eyes remain on her house that now stands taller than it had only moments ago. He chuckles incredulously. "I guess I'm cleaning those gutters again tomorrow."

Dropping her hand, Wanda peers up at her tall house with a furrowed brow. It's still a dark grey colour and looks Victorian in style, an odd-looking thing in the middle of nowhere. But she likes it. She keeps one of the windows open—a bedroom window—and watches as the curtains flutter in and out.

She spies Bucky looking at her from the corner of her eye. She keeps her gaze on her house on purpose.

He eyes her curiously as he asks, "How did you do that?"

She shrugs. "I don't know," she says, even though that's no longer a true answer. She does know now, thanks to Agatha. At this moment, she isn't projecting her Scarlet Witch self to the top of the wall of one of her unused bedrooms. The Darkhold remains tucked away in her underwear drawer, unopened and quiet. "I… can create things. Agatha called it spontaneous creation."

"Agatha," he says quietly. She thinks he's trying to figure out where that name could exist in his catalogue of names, but she won't be surprised if he can't find a match. Agatha had hidden in the shadows, waiting so long she even evaded Bucky Barnes. "A friend?"

She sighs, shoulders sagging. "She was. But not anymore." No longer interested in admiring her house, she walks back to the porch steps and sits on the top one. She doesn't pick up her burger to chew thoughtfully.

Bucky follows, but remains standing in front of her. "She from Westview?" Wanda nods. "One of your neighbours?"

"She was a neighbour and my first friend," she says, cupping her knees. She rubs her hands hard against her thighs, glancing at him before looking away. "She was also a witch. She told me that I'm capable of spontaneous creation and… that I'm a witch, too."

Bucky's brows lift in surprise. He makes a small noise. "A witch?" He gestures to the top of his head. "Pointy hat, black cat—that kind of witch?"

Wanda nods. "I don't have a cat yet. I do have a pointy hat upstairs now."

He smiles, appreciating her joke. With a flick of her wrist, his burger wrapping disappears in a fit of red magic. With his hands now empty, he flexes his fingers. She can't help but be drawn to the way his metal hand glints from the porch light. "How… I mean—I've never met a witch before. Not one that I knew was a witch, at least."

"Until now," Wanda says, giving him a small smile. A part of her expects him to pack up his belongings and leave. Agatha had once told her that there was no place for women like them. Wanda wonders if she has a place here still—or with him.

"I guess… it explains a lot." He scratches at his chin thoughtfully. "You've always had good hair. I can now chalk that up to a hair spell." Wanda chuckles, shaking her head. She rubs the back of her neck, looking away from him nervously. "Also very quiet feet."

"I've always had quiet feet," she says, smiling brightly at him. He smiles back, pleased with himself that he'd made the right comment. She can feel it radiate off of him warmly. "Pietro used to say that I needed to wear a bell, like a cat."

"And Pietro would be right."

Wanda forces herself to smile, knowing her mouth only wants to wilt into a sad frown. She misses Pietro more than she wants to admit. He would have the same reaction as Bucky, she thinks. Mesmerised, a little incredulous, and very much taken aback. It's on the tip of her tongue to tell Bucky she lost more than just a friend in Westview.

He comes to sit back on the top step, sighing as he does so. His Vibranium arm brushes against hers as he sits closer than before. "So, what else can you create?" He tilts his head as he eyes her with a small smile. "I'm curious."

"Anything," she says with a shrug. "Everything."

"So… a car?" She nods. "What about…" Bucky looks around for inspiration, his gaze lingering on the dark grass that extends into darker shadows. "The sun?"

With a purse of her lips, Wanda peers up at the moon. "Perhaps," she says. "But I do want the moon to feel like I'm not favouring the sun over her."

"Ah," he smiles. "Smart choice. The sun's a bitch when you don't wear sunscreen."

She smiles. "I can make that, too."

Leaning his Vibranium hand against the wooden slats of the porch, he drums his fingers against it. "What about a ladder? A potted plant? Beer?"

Wanda laughs. He takes her through a list of questions until he seems to be out of ideas, and then they sit in the dark as Sokovia grows quiet and sleeps. She doesn't invite him inside to explore the second level of the house. A part of her still wants to keep that for herself, afraid of what she can't control.

She leaves him on the porch, the light still burning brightly to keep him company in her absence. She doesn't know when he decides to go to sleep—or where—but she has an inkling it could be somewhere very close to her house.

When he goes back to the garage the next morning, she knows he finds that the fridge has been stocked with his favourite beer. All Wanda feels is happiness radiate from the back of her property.

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Ever since he continued to appear on her doorstep, she's wondered where he's been staying. She had an inkling it was perhaps her garage, but Wanda had never been too sure. Her house is tucked away in the most isolated pocket of Sokovia where no one should be able to find her. It lacks a hotel and a nearby cave. Her neighbours are trees in the nearby woods and the endless fields of tall grass blades that she calms with a flick of her hand. She wouldn't put it past him to sleep out in the open.

After she brings him a small snack out on the back porch and leaves him to enjoy the twilight sky and the slow appearance of the stars, she waits a couple of hours before she ventures outside to search for him. It's darker now. Without streetlights to illuminate her path, she shouldn't be able to see beyond her bright porch light. But it's still easy to follow him. He's the only other person she can sense. He's warm and pulsing.

Stepping out onto her back porch, she follows the stones she's embedded in the dark green grass. They lead her to the garage she's tucked away amongst a neat cluster of friendly trees. It looks like a little house with a small porch and a window at the front. The curtains are pulled closed.

She finds him inside of it. It's more of a one-level barn with her gardening tools lining the walls neatly. Old and worn furniture she had created but hadn't wanted inside of her house decorate the garage like a small apartment. She's glad she hadn't erased those pieces of furniture. There was something about having old furniture stowed away in another part of her enormous property that made her feel normal.

Bucky's leaning against the furthest wall, flanked on both sides by two large and neatly styled shelves. On the left shelf on the bottom rows sits a small bucket with spades and rulers and little pots that she hasn't bothered to fill with plants. On the right shelf, there are books of all sorts covering each row, from English Atlases and gardening manuals to ones written in her native tongue. He still looks rather large placed between the tall shelves.

His knees are drawn up to his chest and his arms hang off the caps. He's still wearing his deep blue jeans; tonight, he wears a white singlet. Despite looking a little worn out, he's smiling at her in the dim light. "Didn't expect you to find me for another few weeks."

Wanda crosses her arms and stands at the doorway, not wanting to intrude on his space. Despite it being her garage on her property, she feels as though she's on the threshold of dipping her toes into his world. The mattress she'd carefully left out on the back porch a few weeks ago has found its home in here. Dark red sheets the colour of apples are tucked haphazardly around the mattress. She suspects he's been making use of her tall refrigerator with all of her drinks and leftovers she's magically transported from her house's fridge to this one.

Once she's finished taking in how lived-in her garage looks, she smiles at him. "And here I thought you were in a tree all this time."

He laughs lightly, shaking his head. Running his hand through his short hair, Wanda enjoys the way his embarrassment wraps around her. He feels a little shame at being tucked away in here. A thought flutters towards her from him, unbidden and free from his grip. She flushes as his gaze settles on her and her bare legs. Wanda wears a camisole and small bed shorts with her hair in a loose French braid her own fingers had cramped trying to create. She's forgone shoes, knowing there are no burrs in her lawn.

"I think I'm a bit too heavy for a tree," he says, smiling at her. He ducks his gaze and lets his eyes settle on her ankles. "I can leave if you want. I know that this is kind of imposing."

She shakes her head, brows furrowed and her mouth forming a frown. "No. I should have created something for you."

His brow arches up at that, surprised or curious—she's not quite sure what that feeling is. "You would've?"

Her cheeks flush hot. "Maybe," she says, brushing her fingers beneath her chin. They both know why she hasn't—she never wanted him to stay. Foolishly, she'd expected him to have given up by now and called Sam to come pick him up via the Avenger's jet. She should've known better. She had sensed how stubborn he was from when he merely stood by her lake's edge.

Wanda clears her throat. "Are you hungry? I made a roast."

He looks impressed. "You made a roast?" He begins to push himself up, moving heavily like his metal arm is weighing him down. His white singlet stretches tightly along his muscles and lifts lightly at his belly to reveal his skin. "This I have to see."

He grimaces, holding his left elbow. His hand cups the metal roughly. She stops herself from closing the distance between them and correcting the way he handles himself. His arm deserves delicacy. He may not be able to feel his touch as he once had, but she knows that there's skin and wires and bone and blood beneath it. She can feel it humming for her.

"Are you okay?" Wanda asks, eyes on his metal arm. She can't quite pull her gaze from it. His arm is the most beautiful part of him.

He nods. "Oh, yeah." He gestures to it dismissively before lifting his arm and flexing his fingers. "I'm just one hundred and six years old. It catches up to you. Let me put on a shirt—"

"It's fine," she says too quickly. Inhaling sharply, she tears her gaze away from him abruptly and clears her throat. "It's warm and it's… fine."

He takes a few steps towards her, jeans tight around his hips and his feet bare. Wanda's quick to turn on her heel and scurry over the threshold, easily leading him back in a flurry to the back of her porch.

She holds the door open for him and gestures with a sweep of her hand for him to step inside. When Bucky brushes the fingers of his non-metal hand against her waist, touching her skin where her camisole rides up, she finds she wants him to do it again.