Chapter Four: Found
Jameson arrived at his office building before anyone else just after the sun began to rise. The rain had stopped, but the thick gray clouds remained, turning the sky a soft blue. The air was heavy but still, and even he had to take a moment to enjoy it before heading inside. He opened the door to his office and flipped on the light.
"Hello, Jameson,"
"Jesus Christ...!" He swore, his eyes snapping to the young woman sitting at his desk. The contractor had her feet on his desk and was visibly wet. "Great... My damn chair's gonna be soaked!" Jameson knew enough about the young widow to keep his complaint to himself. He took a deep breath before he asked. "Did you find out who that menace to society is yet?" He asked. Yelena wanted to laugh, but her face revealed no emotion. She found calling Spider-Man a menace absurd but didn't say it. Yelena shook her head, her green eyes tracking his movements. "Then what can I do for you?" He wanted to sit but wasn't about to suffer the indignity of sitting in the guest chair in his office.
She took something out of her lap and threw it on the desk. Jameson looked down at the damp Daily Bugle newspaper with the Spider-Man on the front page. "You have someone supplying you with these rather high-quality photographs, yes?" He nodded. "Photos no one else seems to be able to get?" The journalist stared at her for a moment, unsure of where she was going with this, but he eventually nodded. "I need the name of the person who supplies them." Yelena knew they'd be able to lead her to him.
"I'm not sure who he is; his stuff comes in the mail," Jameson lied.
Yelena looked less than amused, and her fingers tapped against the top of the desk. "I am not one of your viewers. I know when you're lying. Now," In a swift motion, she took her feet off the desk and leaned forward, and Jameson couldn't help the flinch she drew out of him. "You said 'his' pictures come in the mail, so we'll start there. What is his name?" She had expected him to have given her the information freely and found herself annoyed by not having it already.
"I never reveal a source,"
The corners of her mouth turned up into an evil smirk, and her head tilted to one side. "I am quite certain I could get it out of you," It was far from a veiled threat, but Yelena wanted answers.
He held up his hands a little. "I have no doubt. But the answer is still no," Yelena clicked her tongue against her teeth, her cold stare not leaving him. They sat in that tense silence for a long time, Yelena waiting for his resolve to break, as most people would have. But to Jameson's credit, the man didn't falter.
Yelena let out an annoyed sigh and stood from the chair. As much distaste as she had for Jameson, she had to respect his integrity in not turning over his photographer. "So be it," She headed for the door, and Jameson let out the breath he'd been holding in. "Oh, one more thing," Yelena stopped in his doorway. "You wouldn't mind if I hung around the office, would you?" It wasn't a question, not really. Perhaps someone on his staff would be more forthcoming with the information, or perhaps he was a member of Jameson's staff.
"By all means," He answered anyway.
Yelena walked out of the building and ran a hand through her wet hair. Finding the man taking pictures of Spider-Man still seemed like her best bet at figuring out who was beneath the mask, but she'd have to find another way. Briefly, Yelena thought of a children's story. "Following a trail of bread crumbs," She thought about him again; something he said had stuck out in her mind.
"The person beneath the mask doesn't exist anymore," Yelena stared up at the morning sky and replayed it in her head repeatedly.
"The person beneath the mask doesn't exist anymore...?" She repeated them aloud this time, still not getting it. "What the fuck does that mean?" The widow's words came out with a yawn. She'd have to figure it out later; she needed a nap.
True to her word, America returned to see Wanda the next night. As always, Wanda sensed her before she appeared on the beach. Some of the girl's anxiety remained, but it was far less pronounced. Mere background noise that Wanda could faintly feel, like static on a television. Or perhaps- 'Stay out of her head, Wanda... You're not welcome there,' She reminded herself, focusing entirely on the child before her. They didn't speak at first; neither of them really knew what to say. This was their first meeting where one didn't already have something to get off their chest.
The Witch judged the distance between them but decided not to approach, at least not yet. Wanda saw the uncertainty on America's face, so she decided to take the lead by asking the first question. "Have you spoken to Stephen?" She asked, even if she was sure she hadn't. America only shook her head, her long brown falling into her face. "You should. Stephen cares about you a great deal, and I'm sure-"
"I didn't come here for a lecture..." America said, rolling her eyes and folding her arms across her chest. Her anxiety was momentarily overpowered by annoyance, and Wanda couldn't help but laugh. She very much saw the teenager in those rolled eyes.
"Right, sorry," Wanda apologized, shaking her head and chuckling a little, interlocking her fingers in front of herself. "So, what did you come here for?" Wanda asked. She didn't sense that America had questions; she just KNEW. She wasn't sure they would be questions she'd want to answer, but she'd do her best. "Do you have something you want to ask?" She stopped herself from referring to her as 'little one.'
American shifted uneasily on her feet and fidgeted with her hands. The older woman took a few tentative steps forward, gauging her reaction, and stopped as soon as America's feet began to move backward. "I wanted to ask about..." She stopped again, still uncertain and afraid of accidentally offending the Witch. She didn't THINK Wanda would hurt her, but she didn't KNOW that. Her brown eyes met Wanda's, and the older woman smiled warmly, her eyes encouraging her to go on. "Well, I was just wondering how you found me, I guess," She wanted to ask Wanda about her parents and brother but couldn't bring herself to do it. Those just felt too personal.
Wanda sighed and nodded. It was a fair question; indeed, it was a question she had expected, but still, it was uncomfortable.
The Witch looked up to the brilliant sky of orange and grey clouds, thinking back on it. Wanda hadn't been using the Darkhold for long when she'd seen her the first time. "I saw you with the Strange that I..." Wanda paused when she thought of the variant. "The Strange that I murdered," There was no sense in dancing around the awful things she'd done. "I wasn't looking for you; I was just... LOOKING..." She'd stumbled across the child by accident, though she doubted America believed that. At that point, she wasn't dreamwalking, just spectating. "I was looking to see what life was like for other versions of me." Finally, her eyes came back to America's. "And there you were!" Random chance felt unlikely. What were the odds Wanda stumbled upon the one child capable of multiversal travel? A trillion to one? But, she didn't know how to explain it other than chance.
"And that's when you decided to take my powers?"
Wanda shook her head. "No, that didn't even cross my mind." She took one more cautious step forward, her eyes fixed on the girl as she thought back. "I'm not sure when I decided that. Or even how I'd made the jump to that decision." The corruption had taken hold quickly. "But I know that wasn't what I wanted when I first saw you." Now, it was Wanda who felt anxious, unsure if America would believe what she was going to say next.
"And... what was that...?" She asked.
"She needs me..."
America frowned. "I needed you? So, what? You wanted to help me?" America wasn't sure she believed her. How could Wanda have gone from wanting to help her to wanting to kill her?
"Of course I did." The older woman sighed. 'You're a motherless child; how could I not want to help you?' Wanda thought but didn't say. She couldn't help but think of how different things could have been if she hadn't listened to the Darkhold. 'If only I'd been strong enough to resist it...'
America felt the pull back to her world and felt a touch of disappointment. She had more questions and was annoyed by not having time to ask them. "I guess we'll have to continue this conversation when I get back." The 'when' not 'if' she came back made Wanda smile.
"I'll be waiting, but America?" The girl gave her a curious look. "Go back to Stephen." America opened her mouth to protest, but Wanda stopped her with raised hands. "Even if you're not ready to listen to him, he deserves to know you're safe." Another teenage eye-roll. "He-" Wanda paused when America vanished from the beach, but she finished the sentence anyway. "He loves you..."
Two full days came and went, and there was no sign of America at Kamar-Taj or the New York Sanctum. Stephen found himself racked with anxiety; the girl could be anywhere. "Did she go to another universe and get stuck there? Is she lost? Did she leave this universe and decide not to return?" America had come a long way with controlling her powers, but she still had a way to go. He thought of the portal she'd opened to leave the Sanctum, to leave him. He sighed. Yes, she'd come a long way since the girl whose powers only came out when she was afraid.
A portal opened, and Wong stepped through. "Still nothing?" Wong asked. Stephen only sighed and shook his head. Wong knew his friend well enough to recognize anxiety when he saw it, even if Stephen would never express it. "I'm sure she's fine; she just needed some space, but she'll come around," Wong assured him. Stephen forced a smile and nodded in agreement. "Perhaps Wanda has heard from America?" The words hung there for a moment, and Stephen's already racing mind kicked into high gear.
Stephen opened his mouth to say something to Wong but realized the other man was gone. "Wanda..." The name left his mouth involuntarily. What could the Witch be filling America's head with? In how many ways could she be turning her against him? "No... No, she wouldn't do that... Would she?"
Cadmus had long since given up the fight for control over his body. Being a voice's puppet was as humiliating as it was infuriating, but he was too exhausted to fight it. The dragon finally reached the end of the ice, where it met the sea. The water was blue and calm, only moved by a gentle breeze coming over the glaciers. He looked down at his reflection in the water, his piercing gold eyes reflecting off it, punctuated by streaks of purple. He turned his head to the side and leaned closer to get a better look. "Magic..." Cadmus said aloud, his breath displacing the water.
"We don't have time for this, Cadmus..." The voice came again. There was almost annoyance in its tone, as if his stopping was an inconvenience.
He forced himself to stay where he was, studying how the magic reacted to his resistance. "Ancient and very powerful magic." Indeed, the spell and the caster would have to be to control him.
"Take flight," He was ordered, and his body responded as once, his wings extending fully for the first in who knew how many thousands of years. The first flaps of his mighty wings were extremely painful, and it drew out a screech only muffled by the flame that came with it. Before Cadmus knew it, he was soaring into the thick cloud cover. It would be soon that he reached whoever he was searching for.
It was a fight for Peter to keep his eyes open while he diced onions in the back of the kitchen. He hadn't slept after his encounter with Yelena, only returning home to shower and change. Nearing the end of his shift, exhaustion was settling in on his aching body. Pain shot through his body with each movement and each breath. Peter allowed his eyes to drift closed, knowing his body would react before he could cut himself. "Hungry, exhausted, stressed," He let out a hard breath and immediately winced, setting the knife down and resting a hand on what he could only assume was a broken rib.
Peter heard someone approach but didn't open his eyes. "You alright there, kid?" His chef, a tall, heavy-set, dark-haired man named Luka, asked him.
"Yeah," Peter opened his eyes and quickly tried to shake the exhaustion from his mind. "Yeah, sorry, I just didn't get much sleep last night," He said, returning to dicing the onions.
Luka leaned against the counter, wiping his hands with a towel. "Looks like it," He chuckled a little. "It's slow; why don't you finish that and take off?" The chef offered.
Peter gave him a small grateful. "Thanks, chef," He said before he sighed. "But... I really can't afford it," The end of the month was approaching, and Peter was more than tired of the stress that came with being broke, not to mention the inevitable lecture that would come from Ditkovich.
"Eh," Luka waved a hand and pushed himself off the counter. "I'll pay you for the day; take off," Peter watched him walk back toward the line and smiled a little. He didn't know much about the older man. He made it a point of being distant from people, but Luka had always been kind. He had always invited Peter out when the kitchen staff went out drinking after work, no matter how many times he'd said no.
"Maybe next time I'll-" Peter stopped himself and returned to his task. "No! You know what happens when you let people get close," The feeling of loneliness he'd tried so hard to suppress now seemed to be a permanent fixture in his mind.
Half an hour later, Peter clocked out and began his walk home. Peter had just started to pull the baseball cap off his sweat-soaked hair when a chill ran down his spine. The feeling stopped Peter dead in his tracks, the hat in his hand dropping to the ground. It was a feeling he hadn't felt since... "Goblin..." Peter had to steady himself against a building, one hand clutching his heart as it raced inside his chest.
Another chill ran down his spine, and his eyes snapped open as something blocked out the sun. Peter stood stunned as he watched the creature glide silently above the buildings, carried by its massive wings. The danger was gone, but his body didn't relax. Peter was transfixed but did his best to focus on what his senses were telling him. It was the same feeling he'd had before May died. "America..." He wasn't sure how he knew, but he did. Peter sprinted into the alley and yanked his suit out of his backpack.
Across town, America meandered aimlessly down the busy New York streets. She had nothing planned and wasn't sure what she would say to Stephen when she saw him again or what he would say to her. "Probably a lecture about disappearing and an explanation about how he didn't have another way to beat Thanos," She shook her head and turned the music playing through her headphones up as high as it would go.
The blaring music and intentionally preoccupying herself with the sights of Manhattan left America utterly unaware of the danger as it approached. Someone clipped her shoulder as they ran by, knocking her phone from her hand. "Hey-" She began but stopped when she heard the screams, and a shadow blocked out the sun above her head.
There was a moment of disconnect from reality when America saw the winged beast, its wings folded back and diving toward her like a hawk. The split second between recognition and realization was the difference for America to being able to jump out of the path of the clawed hand that tried to pin her to the ground. Its massive claws dug through the asphalt like sand, and it snarled at her, revealing a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.
America's mind was frozen, caught somewhere between amazement and terror. Her fight-or-flight instincts screamed for her to turn and run, but she only managed to get her feet to take a small, shaky step backward. And then the dragon spoke, snapping her from her trance. "Open the doorway," It hissed, stalking her as she slowly backed away. "Open-" A web caught the side of its face and yanked its head to the side and into a hard kick.
"Spider-Man!" America thought, stunned but relieved as he landed between her and the dragon.
The dragon shook its head before bearing its teeth at him in agitation. He whipped his head around to the girl behind him, unmoving despite the perfect opportunity he'd give her to flee. "What the hell are you waiting for? RUN!" America nodded before turning and running in the opposite direction. Peter's senses brought him back to the dragon just in time to jump and avoid the claws that pierced the asphalt where he'd been standing. With speed Peter couldn't have expected, the other hand swatted him out of the air like a fly. The strike sent him through the brick wall of the building and through to two floors as well. As if he hadn't been in enough pain, Peter struggled to his hands and knees.
America tried and failed to open a portal as she ran, only managing a few golden sparks. She was increasingly desperate as the thunderous crack of its feet against the asphalt quickly ran her down. The time the dragon's claws did get her, slamming her face first into the ground. Her mind was hazy, and she struggled to draw in a breath, having had the wind knocked out of her.
The dragon scooped her up and held her directly in front of its face. "Open the DOORWAY!" It roared at her. America could only squeeze her eyes shut and scream.
Across the world, beneath the rubble of Mount Wongergore, Wanda's eyes snapped open.
Author's note: Here's an unforgivably late chapter. I have some ideas for how Wanda found America in the first place, as well as how she made it back to her body, but that'll come later. Something I hope to flesh out in this is Wanda's turn to the Darkhold and becoming the Scarlet Witch and how that person differs from Wanda Maximoff.
Again, I'm so sorry for the wait, but I appreciate the patience! Drop a review if you have time.
