A/N: It's been a while, kids. Sorry about the wait, and thanks to anyone who's stuck it out. I'll be posting the next chapter shortly, as well, and I hope y'all enjoy. Also, thank you again to anyone who's commented or left kudos, you are greatly appreciated. Anyway, on to the show.

Chapter 18: Humanity

"We're leaving." Pietro is the first to come into focus, his voice booming in the corner of the quickly developing room. Around him, what looks like a library takes form with hundreds of books lining the walls, stacked ten and twelve volumes high.

"Is that so?" A gentleman appears, perhaps in his thirties or forties, much older than Pietro looks to be. Something in his face looks familiar, but Vision can't quite place it before the dream continues on, pulling his attention back.

"Now."

"As I recall, one of you still owes me a debt."

"Here." Pietro uncrosses his arm to drop something onto the dark mahogany table between him and the older man. A burgundy drawstring bag lands with a resounding thump, some loose coins and bills tumbling out of its mouth. "Debt paid. If we're going to fight, it will be for our home."

"You have no home outside these walls. Those people you fled would destroy you given the chance. I thought that much was clear. Or, have you forgotten?" The gentleman's eyes snap to Wanda, who's finally made an appearance, standing beside Pietro. As the man glares at her, he snarls, "You, most of all?"

The scarlet haze around the edge of the scene sharpens, spitting embers as she speaks. "I remember. The carnage and destruction you caused, it will be burned in my memory until the day I die." She looks different, younger, and Vision realizes this must be her at 17, around the time she and her brother fled the orphanage.

"WE caused, Wanda. All of us, together." The man's fist hits the table with enough force to make the coins rattle, sending several bouncing across it and onto the floor. "Had we not acted preemptively, we would have suffered much worse."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I know it intimately, child. I survived it. You think that you've seen the worst of humanity? You know nothing of the devastation, the suffering, the malice. You've barely scratched the surface."

It's Pietro who gets the final word, a hard edge in his voice, "Goodbye, Erik."

Erik and Pietro disappear as the scene around them changes, the warm tones of the wood fading into bleak, grey concrete. In front of him, Wanda's being led down a hallway, two people in lab coats on either side of her. She still looks young, but her hair is longer, darker. Her clothes have changed, a drab hospital gown replacing the patterned dress she'd had on in the previous memory.

They stop at an indiscriminate door and usher for Wanda to enter, her escorts fading away as she walks forward, the door slamming shut behind her. For a moment, the new room is tiny, no larger than a broom closet. Then, the wall before them clicks open, revealing a larger room.

'Wanda?'

Like the hallway they traversed to get here, the room is mostly concrete, with the exception of the wall directly opposite them. It's lined with windows, two barely discernible figures moving about behind them.

And, perhaps most peculiar of all, there's a lit catwalk, extending towards the center of the room, directly from where he and Wanda stand. At its end, what appears to be Loki's staff sits, its power both familiar and foreign.

'Wanda.' She still hasn't responded or acknowledged his presence at all. His attempts to block the channel, too, appear futile. During her last night terror, he'd been on the outside, able to rouse her. Now though, like the first time he'd seen her dreams, there's nothing he can do but observe.

After a moment, a voice rings through the room. "For our notes, Miss Maximoff, can you please state your name and confirm your status?"

Her response is almost inaudible, her voice small and quiet in the empty space. "Wanda Maximoff, volunteer."

"Touch the stick."

"I… I just…" She takes no more than a few steps down the runway before the scepter vibrates and breaks, sending the mind stone flying to the center of the room. The sight momentarily mesmerizes Vision, drawing him forward.

But, before he's barely moved two strides, the stone is already passing through him. Flying straight through the center of his chest, on an inevitable path towards Wanda. He nearly misses it, turning around just in time to see an extending hand and her eyes bright with its reflection.

Wanda wakes to the smell of coffee wafting through the door. With a groan, she burrows deeper into the sheets, pulling the plush comforter tighter around her.

In the softness of waking, her thoughts turn languid. Drifting back and forth from what lies in the day ahead to what's lingered from the night before.

Between subdued expectations and half-formed musings, there's Vision. His relentless patience. His ridiculous handsome face. His reckless kindness. His stupid perfect words and his stupid perfect self.

She imagines how Pietro might react. What he might say if he could hear her. If he wasn't dead. And, just like that, the lure of something hot and caffeinated wins out, dragging her from bed.

They're in yet another rental. From the outside, it looks like a cabin. Warm and inviting. Inside, it's been decked out with all chrome appliances and ultra-modern furniture pieces.

It just feels fake. Like a display in a store, or a photo in a magazine. It's too sterile, too new. Too unlived in. But, in it stands Vision. His back to her as he adds cream and sugar to a mug.

"Morning. That smells amazing."

"Good morning," He turns, extending the steaming cup towards her. "It's yours."

"Thank you." It comes as no surprise that the coffee is stupid perfect, too.

"You're welcome." He says it with half a smile, his brows almost knit together, irises spinning. The way they do when he's thinking or overthinking. She gets caught looking, and they still, his gaze meeting hers. "Er… Did you sleep well?"

"I did, yeah. I'm almost positive I didn't break anything this time, so that's a plus. Unless, there's something out here I missed?" Looking around, nothing seems out of place.

"No, no, nothing was broken. There is something, though. Last night, I saw your dreams- or memories, perhaps? I don't know for certain, really…" For a moment, he seems to scrutinize the sleeve of his sweater, picking at a loose strand. "No matter. The fact remains that, despite our practice, I admit I was unable to remove myself, and I'm-"

"It's okay, Vizh." It would only require a slight movement, a flick of her wrist. Using her power to remove the string that's distracting him, that's keeping him from looking up, would be easy. But she doesn't. Instead, reaching over and pulling it off herself. And if her knuckles dragged against his open palm in the process of taking her hand back, it's only to capture his attention. "You don't have to apologize. I appreciate you telling me."

Clearing his throat, he gives a quick nod. "I gave you my word that I would. I intend to keep it."

"It means a lot that you did. What did you see?"

"You have no recollection?"

"A few bits, maybe, but it was a dream. I don't usually remember much of them. Do you remember your dreams?"

"Sleep and dreams are not functions which I require."

"Neither is cooking or baking, but you do both better than most." Behind her cup, Wanda smiles, "Besides, I've seen you asleep and dreaming."

"Ah, are you referring to my Conservation and Recovery Modality? I hadn't thought the processes to be akin to dreaming. The data they yield is retained in my memory, though…" He trails off, and she can almost see the thought blooming. So she lets it sit with him, deftly slipping behind him to bring her mug to the sink for washing.

As much as she wants to know what Vision's seen, she feels it equally necessary to let him mull it over. His preoccupation with defining himself as something other than human has only made his immense humanity more unmistakable, more pronounced. Apparently, he just hasn't noticed it yet.

She heads to the bedroom to make the bed, and he follows. Automatically moving to the other side and assisting with the sheets in an entirely too domestic show.

"Anyway, about last night, would you prefer I tell you, or?"

With the bed made, Wanda sits, extending her hand. "Show me."

It's nearly dusk when they reach the future site of the memorial, the former site of the Battle of Novi Grad. Partitioned off from the rest of the half-built city, the church they defended and the 10-kilometre radius around it are in various stages of reconstruction. Wire fencing and signage surround the area, forbidding any trespassing in English and Sokovian every 500 metres. Between the signs, missing posers turned makeshift memorials are woven into the wire and left along the fence's edge.

For 33 minutes, Wanda walks beside the Vision in silence, lifting a hand from her pocket and trailing it along the wire every so often. The first time she stops, she points out a photo of an elderly woman. She tells him how the woman once owned a bakery, how she was kind to their family. Smiling as she recalls shopping with her mother and brother, shedding a tear when she mentions that the woman would gift them small candies during the war. In turn, he looks up the woman on ancestry archives to find her surviving family and names them for her, explaining where they've ended up and what they've pursued since. It makes her smile again before she leads them away further along the fence line.

Several hours pass as they continue the cycle, over and over. Wanda recognizes someone every so often, and Vision does his best to provide comfort, relaying information about their family. While he'd known the cost of the battle before, it gives the numbers and reports a human face. More often than not, a face that appears innocent and far younger than he'd anticipated.

Eventually, the memorials disappear as they reach the edge of a forrest, dark with overgrowth. The fence continues, winding through trees and bushes, rising over rocks and hills. He assumes they'll come to a halt as the treeline grows closer. Instead, she continues on, taking them farther into the woods.

"Where is it that we're going?"

"Just ahead…" stalling after a few steps, she slows to a stop. "Yeah, okay." she pauses, tying her hair back with an elastic. "Right here should do it, I think."

Flipping the hood of her jacket over her head, she turns glowing palms to the ground and takes to the air. The sudden turn of events takes him by surprise, and she's already landed on the other side when she looks back. "Are you coming?"

Vision phases through the fence, solidifying by her side. "This is breaking and entering."

"Technically, we only entered illegally, neither of us has broken anything."

"Wanda."

"Do you know where we are right now?" Before he can formulate a reply, she continues on, and he realizes the question she posed was rhetorical. "I grew up about a kilometer to the east of us. To the south of us is the square where the church once stood. Not far from there, to the west… well, you know. I… I need to be where they were, if that makes sense."

He thinks it does, or at the very least that he can understand. Though not equivalent, after her arrest, he'd spent hours in the spaces they'd shared. It had been a great source of comfort for him, as well. "Lead the way, then."

As the fence fades from view, the sheer vastness of the destruction sets in. The dilapidated ruins of houses, apartments, and businesses spill out in every direction. Beneath heaps of rubble and fragmented structures, the city's streets are practically indistinguishable. Still, she moves with purpose, weaving a path, undeterred, through the debris.

It only takes 11 minutes and 39 seconds to reach Wanda's childhood home. To the unknowing eye, the indiscriminate pile of dust, brick, and twisted metal appears no different from the wreckage around it. Only that it once served as the backdrop to her most precious memories, its defining characteristic, makes it unique among the extensive detritus of Novi Grad.

Under the thick silence that's fallen over them, she uses her power to rearrange some loose stones into two six-pointed stars. Watching, wordless, the Vision waits at her side, reaching out a hand whilst the rosy glow over the gravel fades.

They pass the church on their way west, its dome easily recognizable, even fractured as it is. Rather than lead them towards it, she merely squeezes his hand in acknowledgment and presses onward. Turning the last corner, he can feel the tightening of her grip, the tide of grief within her rising. Coming face to face with their last stop, where Pietro made his first and final stand as an Avenger, it crescendos.

At a loss for words that might heal or help, Vision does the only thing he can think to do. Though he's never been one to initiate, he pulls Wanda into an embrace, bent on offering support of some kind. And, it seems, to just be there is, actually, enough.

After a while, she breaks away from him, using her power to create another star from rocks nearby. Like the two she made for her parents, the memorial is simple. But this time, when he extends his hand, hers is already waiting.