The Assembly Room's holotable hummed to life. Observing the display where the *currently* available Avengers in the compound at the moment: Iron Man, Captain America, Captain Marvel, Blade, She-Hulk and Ghost Rider.
All of them plus Doctor Strange.
The Assembly Room smelled like ozone and burnt coffee. Jennifer Walters' fingers drummed against the conference table—once, twice—before the sound abruptly stopped. Her eyes tracked across the holographic wreckage display Tony had thrown up mid-explanation.
Tony had briefly mentioned on his explanation that based on what little they got from Spiderman's ramblings, at some point, he had been mourning what appeared to be their child from another world. Jennifer still wasn't sure how to feel about that little *tidbit* of info.
Danvers hovered near the ceiling, her photon glow casting jagged shadows as she crossed her arms. "So let me get this straight—To summarize," voice tight with restrained energy. "Our Friendly Spider neighbor punched a portal through reinforced steel—"
"Magically punched," Tony corrected without looking up from his gauntlet display.
"Technically," Strange interjected from where he stood tracing glowing sigils in the air, "he *unmade* the molecular bonds while simultaneously channeling dimensional energy to travel—"
Carol's photon glow flickered like a dying bulb as she leaned forward, her booted feet touching down on the conference table with barely a sound. "Let's cut through the mystic mumbo-jumbo," she said, eyes locking onto Strange. "What I'm hearing is we've got a spider-powered individual who just *remembered* how to Cast magic spells." Her gaze swept across the assembled heroes—lingering on Robbie Reyes' hellfire-smudged knuckles, sliding past Blade's sword hilt protruding over one shoulder—before landing back on Tony. "And you're telling me he is currently reliving every bad ending from every possible universe?"
Thor's storm cloud scent rolled through the room as he shifted, Mjolnir's leather grip creaking. "The Man of Spiders walks the branches of Yggdrasil," he rumbled, beard sparking with residual lightning. "To glimpse such suffering would splinter even a god's mind."
Jennifer Walters chimed in. "We're dealing with a traumatized Spider-Man who might suddenly 'remember' how to cast Fireball then?" Her voice carried the particular brand of dry humor that only came from law school and gamma radiation.
Tony's gauntlet servos whined as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pretty much..."
Blade's sword hissed free of its sheath, the edge catching the lights. "Question remains—is he dangerous?" The vampire hunter's sharp teeth flashed. "Not morally. Practically."
Strange's cloak twisted around his shoulders like a living thing "temporal psychosis" he stepped forward and continued "Imagine someone dreaming with their eyes open," he said quietly, "except every nightmare is real somewhere." His fingers sketched a glowing mandala that collapsed inward. "Now imagine they can use magic to defend themselves from dangers that only they can see"
Carol's photon glow pulsed once—hard—like a lighthouse beam cutting through fog. Her eyes never left the holographic display of the damaged containment unit. "Friday," she said, voice stripped of all inflection, "run a probability matrix. Scenario: possibilities of Spiderman harming or endangering anybody while actively experiencing temporal psychosis"
The AI hesitated—a fraction of a second that told Tony everything. "Projections indicate 97.3% likelihood of involuntary collateral damage within next twelve hours," Friday finally reported. "Primary risk factors: disorientation, hypervigilance, and..." Another pause. "Defensive magical discharge."
Carol's power field flickered as she absorbed that last part. Her jaw worked silently before she turned to the rest of the occupants of the room "he needs to be stopped"
Tony gives her an unimpressed stare "You're all heart Carol —really— just as sweet as the Pacific Ocean…"
Captain Marvel glared at him "Don't start with me Tony" she then turns to strange also pinning him with an accusatory glare "you two are yet to explain *in detail* why until just a few minutes *SOME* — me included— could not remember Spiderman's real identity"
Strange's fingers twitched against the Eye of Agamotto's empty socket, the residual green energy flickering like a dying streetlamp. "Because he *asked* me to," he said quietly, the words landing like stones in still water. The scent of burnt parchment clung to his robes as he turned toward Carol, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. "After the Civil War fiasco—after his face was plastered across every news outlet and government database—Peter came to me."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Tony's gaze lowered, in a show of something that nobody would expect from the millionaire: Shame
Strange exhaled through his nose, conjuring a swirling mandala of golden light between his palms. The image resolved into a memory—Peter, slightly younger, hunched over with shadows under his eyes that no amount of caffeine could fix. Strange continued, rotating the memory with a twist of his wrist. "He wanted a way to rebuild what your superhero spat destroyed." The image shifted—May Parker being shot and his then wife Mary Jane hysterically crying. Strangely the memory image of the latter had a glitchy a distorted haze quality to it, almost like demonic interference… but nobody mentioned it, more focused on the sorcerer's words.
Carol's photon glow dimmed slightly.
"It wasn't a spell to *erase*," Strange clarified, watching as the memory dissolved into golden motes. "Just to... obscure. Like holding a photograph underwater. The details are still there if you know where to look—" His gaze flicked to Tony, who hadn't moved, "—or if you're one of the lucky few he trusted enough to pull back into focus."
The silence in the Assembly Room thickened like drying cement. Tony's gauntlet servos whined as his fingers flexed—once, twice—before going still. His reflection in the polished conference table showed a man ten years older than the one who'd walked in.
Tony's gauntlet hit the conference table with a sound like a bell tolling. The metal groaned under the impact, but nobody flinched. "I made him the face of the Registration Act." The words tasted like battery acid and old regret. "Had the kid smiling on pamphlets like some goddamn recruitment poster."
Steve's shield clanged against the floor as he leaned forward, the vibranium singing a low, mournful note. "Tony—"
"—convinced him it was the right thing." Tony's laugh was a broken thing, all sharp edges and hollow spaces. "Told him it would keep his people safe. His *family*." His fingers twitched he then brough up an holographic display, showing May Parker's frail figure hooked up to medical tubes in an ICU unit "Look at how that turned out."
Tony's gauntlet hit the table again—this time with enough force to spiderweb the reinforced surface. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the silent Assembly Room. "I failed him before," he said, voice stripped raw. "But I won't do it again." His fingers curled into the cracked tabletop, synthetic muscles whining under the strain. "Not like this."
Carol's photon glow flickered, casting jagged shadows across Tony's face. Her voice, when it came, was softer than expected. "Stark—"
Tony's gauntlet unclenched with a hydraulic sigh, the fingers splaying across the cracked conference table like a man bracing against a storm. "Kid's pulled our asses out of the fire more times than I can count,"
Carol's photon glow flickered like a candle in the sudden silence.
Tony's thumb brushed the edge of the holographic display. "Remember that time Clint's quiver got jammed mid-fight with those Doom-bots?" His lips twitched in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Kid webbed the safety release just as a grenade rolled toward the Widow's position. Didn't even wait for orders—just *moved*. Fastest damn reaction time I've ever seen."
Thor's fingers tightened around Mjolnir's haft, the leather creaking. "The Man of Spiders once diverted a killing stroke meant for mine own back," the thunder god rumbled. "Malekith's cursed blade would have cleaved me asunder"
A holographic feed flickered to life above the table—security footage from the Compound's gymnasium. Peter, younger by at least a decade, effortlessly spotting Carol —who at the time was still Ms. Marvel— during deadlifts when her photon aura flickered out mid-rep. The way he'd braced under 800 pounds of descending barbell without a single quip, just focused intensity as his tendons stood out like steel cables.
Jennifer Walters' fingers drummed once—hard—against the cracked conference table before going still. "Spidey pulled me out of a collapsed subway tunnel last winter," she said abruptly, eyes fixed on the holographic display. "Some asshole had destabilized the support beams. I was pinned under almost three thousand tons of concrete when..." Her fingers flexed, leaving fresh fractures in the tabletop. "Webs. Out of nowhere shows up. hauling rebars off my chest like they were cardboard."
Blade's sword tip scraped against the conference table as he leaned forward, the sound like bone on marble. "Kid pulled me out of a nest of bloodsuckers last month," he admitted, the words dragged out like a confession. His usual smirk was absent—replaced by something that might've been respect if you squinted.
The silence stretched like taffy as all eyes slid to Robbie Reyes. The Ghost Rider shifted uncomfortably in his leather jacket, the faint scent of hellfire and motor oil clinging to him. His gloved fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the conference table—left hand human, right hand skeletal beneath the leather.
Jennifer Walters cleared her throat. "Anything to add?"
Robbie's jaw worked silently for a moment before he shrugged, the motion making his chains clink softly. "Ran into him once," he admitted, voice rough as gravel. "Took down some arms dealers moving advance tech weapons near Brownsville." His hellfire eye flickered briefly. "webbed my car to a lamppost."
Thor's beard twitched in what might've been amusement.
The klaxons hit like a physical blow—a shrieking, overlapping wail that made Robbie's hellfire eye sputter violently. Carol's photon aura flared defensive-bright as Friday's voice cut through the chaos:
"*Unidentified vessel breaching northern airspace. "
Tony rolls his eyes in annoyance "Of *course* there's an alien spaceship incoming now. Because why the *hell* not?" The holographic display dissolved into tactical maps, showing a jagged silhouette streaking toward the Compound like a bullet wrapped in lightning.
"Friday, magnify that image," Steve barked, shield already raised as the holographic projection flickered. The display zoomed in with a digital whir—and the so-called "alien vessel" resolved into sleek, unmistakable contours of the X-Jet's distinctive delta wings.
The X-Jet hovered like a blade suspended above the Compound, its engines humming at an idle that somehow felt more threatening than a full-throated roar. Tony's gauntlet sensors whirred as they mapped the ship's weapon ports—all inactive, but that meant nothing when dealing with telepaths who could fold a tank into origami with a thought.
Steve's grip on his shield tightened fractionally. "Cyclops doesn't make house calls," he muttered, gaze tracking the jet's shadow as it rippled across the cracked conference table's holographic display. The last time the X-Men had left Krakoa unannounced, half of Manhattan had ended up temporarily inverted.
Carol's photon glow pulsed once—a warning flare. "Friday," she said, never taking her eyes off the feed, "scan for psychic signatures. I want to know if—"
The holographic feed crackled to life with a burst of static— Cyclops' face materialized in jagged fragments, his visor's ruby quartz refracting emergency lights into blood-red shards across the Assembly Room.
Tony feigned a friendly tone. "Well if it isn't our favorite one-eyed theme named fellow" he drawled, voice dripping with Stark-brand sarcasm. "Love the new visor—very 'ruby slippers meets Terminator.' Tell me, are the X-Men selling cookies door-to-door now, or did Krakoa finally run out of mutant-only espresso?"
The holographic Cyclops didn't so much as twitch, his jaw set in that infuriatingly perfect military line. "Stark," he acknowledged, the single word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid arguments.
Tony's gauntlet waved dismissively before Cyclops could even open his mouth. "Save the manifesto, Slim—we're knee-deep in Trauma-loaded spider-drama and fresh out of patience for your mutant-brand melodrama." The holographic display flickered "Unless you're here to donate cerebro to our little neural implosion problem, turn that flying sardine can around."
Cyclops' holographic jaw tightened, the red glow of his visor intensifying. "We're not here for pleasantries, Stark. Release the mutant. Now." The words hit like sniper rounds—precise, lethal, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
Tony's gauntlet hit the Table again, fracturing the holographic feed into jagged pixels for a millisecond before it cleared again. "Oh *Christ*, Summers— Newsflash: Wanda's the one who erased her own damn door."
The silence that followed was absolute. Carol's photon aura flickered violently as she whipped toward Tony. Jennifer Walters' fingers froze mid-drum against the cracked conference table. Even Strange's cloak went unnaturally still.
Steve—Steve didn't react at all.
Jennifer Walters' fingers curled around the edge of the shattered conference table, her thumb brushing the jagged edge where Tony's gauntlet had left spiderweb fractures. "Okay," she said slowly "What the hell happened to Wanda?"
Steve didn't move—didn't even blink—"Not now." The words came out flat, final.
Cyclops' holographic jaw tightened. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Stark," he said, each word sharp. "And frankly? Couldn't care less." His voice echoes through the Assembly Room. "We're not here for your witch. We're here for *him* —the mutant you hold."
Tony gives a deadpan look as he replies "Buddy, I think you've got the Wrong Avengers— we only got the one mutant" he thinks for a moment and continues "there was Storm... —but she only hung out with us because she was all *lovey-dovey* with Panther"
Steve's shield dipped slightly, his brow furrowing behind the star-spangled cowl. "Scott," he started, tone measured in that particular Captain America way that somehow made even confusion sound like diplomacy, "who exactly do you think we're—"
The hologram flickered—not from interference, but from Cyclops' abrupt gesture as he turned his head toward someone off-camera. A new voice crackled through, feminine and frayed at the edges: "The anomaly"
Jean Grey's voice cut through the static like a scalpel. "We felt it," she said, stepping into frame. Her emerald eyes burned brighter than Cyclops' visor—not with optic blasts, but with something infinitely more dangerous. "The moment he *woke up*."
The holographic feed wavered as she raised a hand, fingers trembling with barely-contained power. Behind her, the X-Jet's interior lights pulsed with an ominous glow, casting her face in eerie bioluminescence. "Charles thought it was an infant at first—this raw, *screaming* presence in the psychic plane. Like watching a supernova give birth."
Jean's fingers hovered midair, trembling with the effort of containing whatever psychic resonance she'd dragged with her from Krakoa. The holographic feed distorted around her like heat haze. "Not the Phoenix," she corrected, voice scraped raw from channeling too much power. "But something... adjacent"
Carol's photon aura flickered violently, casting jagged shadows across Strange's face. "And you?" she demanded, fingers crackling with restrained energy. "Wouldn't the Sorcerer Supreme have sensed something like the Phoenix coming online?"
Strange's cloak twisted around his shoulders as if caught in an unseen wind. His fingers twitched toward the empty socket where the empty Eye of Agamotto rested—a reflexive gesture he'd never quite shaken. "I was... undisposed," he said through gritted teeth, the words carrying the particular weight of remembering his ordeal with the time stone.
Cyclops' holographic image flickered like a faulty neon sign, his jaw set with the kind of stubbornness that had once held the line against Sentinels. "This isn't a negotiation," he said, voice colder than the Arctic Circle at midnight. "That power belongs with Krakoa. Not locked in some StarkTech cage." The ruby quartz of his visor flared brighter "Release the Mutant"
Tony was not impressed by cyclops intimidation tactics "Scott…" Tony takes a long breath "We could release an Album. We could release a sex tape. We could even join forces —and with great effort— help in releasing that stick you hold so deep up your ass" Tony pauses dramatically to let his words sink in and continues "but we cannot —unfortunately— release your *anomaly* mutant… cause we don't have him" another quick pause just to catch his breath "now would you kindly do a 180 turn and fly away— optionally— you could just crash and die *EVEN* better if you actually stayed dead this time"
Cyclops' hologram flickered violently, the edges dissolving into static like burning film. "You think this is a *joke*?"
Tony inspected his gauntlet's repulsor with theatrical disinterest. "Jokes are supposed to be funny, Slim." He snapped the wrist plating shut with a hydraulic hiss. "*This*? Not so much." A beat. Two. Then—"Unless you actually commit to the crashing and dying bit. That'd be *hilarious*."
Steve's shield hit the conference table with a dull *thunk* that cut through the rising tension like a vibranium blade. He stepped between Cyclops' flickering hologram and Tony's crackling gauntlet, his posture radiating that particular Captain America brand of calm authority.
"Scott," Steve said, voice steady as a heartbeat "look at me." The holographic Cyclops' jaw tightened, but his visor tilted fractionally toward Steve. "We're not holding anyone prisoner. Not mutants, not enhanced, *no one*." His grip on the shield's straps didn't tighten—a deliberate choice. "If you're tracking some kind of powerful mutant signature, it's not coming from this place."
Jean's fingers spasmed midair, sending psychic feedback shivering through the hologram. The projection warped momentarily, stretching Cyclops' face into a grotesque mask before snapping back. "Then explain," she demanded, voice layered with echoes not entirely her own, "why Cerebro painted your compound *bright red* with omega-levels last night"
"Oh, *perfect*," Tony drawled, fingers twitching toward the holographic display. "Cerebro painted us red—what, did Xavier run out of *colors* when programming his mutant GPS?"
Tony's gauntlet servos whined as he gestured toward the X-Jet feed. "All we've got is a door-erasing Witch, a catatonic wizard, and—"
…
The realization hit him like a repulsor blast.
Tony's gauntlet froze mid-gesture, his face draining of color so abruptly Steve half-expected Friday to announce a medical emergency. The holographic display reflected in his widening pupils as the pieces clicked together with almost audible force.
"Uh," Tony said with all the eloquence of a man who'd just been gut-punched by revelation, "I need to—" He swallowed hard, throat working around some unspoken horror. "Bathroom. Now. Like, yesterday."
Carol's photon aura flickered in alarm as Tony backpedaled toward the exit, gauntlets whining with uncharacteristic clumsiness. "Stark?"
The corridor smelled like recycled air and regret. Tony braced one armored hand against the wall—the same hand that had signed Peter Parker into the Registration Act—and exhaled hard "Friday," he said, voice stripped raw, "run a full spectral analysis on the containment unit that housed Spiderman, analyze the blood splatter on the walls."
"Blood sample analysis impossible," Friday reported, her voice uncharacteristically halting. The holographic display above Tony's gauntlet fizzed like bad reception. "Primary biosensors were compromised during Subject Spiderman egress." A schematic flickered to life—the containment unit's interior walls mapped in pulsing red, showing where Peter's blood had sprayed across damaged sensor arrays. "Approximately 87% of monitoring systems were physically... *unmade*."
Tony's repulsors flared to life before Friday finished her sentence, sending him rocketing down the corridor so fast his shoulder clipped a reinforced bulkhead—the impact leaving a StarkTech-sized dent in the alloy. The containment unit doors hissed open just in time for him to barrel through, boots skidding across the blood-smeared floor plating with a sound like nails on slate.
Tony's gauntlet hissed open with a sound like a decompressing airlock. He pressed bare fingers against the containment wall—still tacky with Peter's drying blood—and watched as the crimson smear streaked across his fingertips like war paint. he went to the hallway. The overhead emergency lights painting fractured red shadows as he raised his stained hand toward the ceiling-mounted biosensor.
"Friday," Tony's voice scraped raw against the silence, "run the analysis now." His pulse throbbed visibly in his temple as the sensor's blue scan beam licked across his upturned palm, illuminating the blood in lurid detail.
The scan beam flickered blue-white as Friday began reciting molecular breakdowns in her usual clinical cadence. "Blood composition indicates elevated leukocyte count consistent with traumatic stress response, trace elements of—"
"Stop," Tony interrupted, fingers curling into a fist that smeared Peter's blood across his palm. The metallic scent filled his nostrils—too sharp, too human. "Just tell me if it's positive for the X-gene. Yes or no."
Silence stretched for three heartbeats—long enough for Tony to notice the way Peter's blood shimmered slightly under the lab lights.
"Affirmative," Friday said quietly. The word landed like a hammer on glass.
Tony stared at his blood-streaked palm, the words *Mutant magic traumatized spider* escaping his lips in a breathless exhale. The absurdity of it all hit him like a freight train—Peter Parker, Queens' perpetually broke science nerd, suddenly sprouting an X-gene like some late-blooming mutant puberty.
Mutant-magic-traumatized-spider
the servos of his retracted gauntlet whined as he dragged a hand down his face, leaving a faint smear of red across his cheek. While unconsciously walking into the containment unit "Christ," he muttered in disbelief, "if he was still a teenager, we'd probably find him in the sewers eating pizza and learning kung fu from a talking rat." The joke landed like an egg on asphalt.
Steve found Tony standing in the containment unit like a man staring at the ruins of his own life's work. The silence between them wasn't just empty—it was hollowed out by the weight of what he'd just learned. Steve's boots made no sound as he stepped closer, but Tony's shoulders stiffened anyway, the way they always did when someone approached from his blind spot.
"Tony?" Steve's voice cut through the antiseptic air "What's wrong?"
Tony didn't turn. His gauntlet fingers flexed around the glowing hologram of Peter's genetic sequencing, the edges pixelating where his grip strained the projection's integrity. "Remember the times we joked about Parker's luck being an actual superpower?" The words came out flat, stripped of their usual Stark-brand snark. "Turns out we weren't entirely wrong."
Steve's shield tilted slightly on his back as he shifted his weight, "Tony—"
"No Hogwarts, Cap. Strange was wrong" Tony finally turned. The holographic display reflected in his pupils. "Kid's not a wizard. He just won the mutant lottery instead." His laugh was a dry, humorless thing that barely made it past his teeth "maybe he is both" tony keeps lamenting "he is a magic traumatized mutant— another Wanda..."
"he is probably out there erasing people's doors" Tony mutters —his gauntlet then froze mid-gesture, the holographic genetic sequencing flickering violently as his head snapped toward Steve. "Wait. Hold on —why aren't you still in the Assembly Room playing diplomat with Eyeblast McGee and his merry band of uninvited mutants?"
Steve's shield shifted slightly against his back—that subtle tell Tony had learned to recognize over more than two decades of fighting side-by-side. "They're landing on the south pad," Steve said, voice carefully neutral. "Carol's Meeting them with—"
Tony's gauntlet whirred to life mid-sentence, repulsor flaring bright enough to paint Steve's face in electric blue. "Waitwaitwait—*WHAT*?" The holographic DNA sequence dissolved as his fingers splayed wide. "You cleared a parking spot for Summers' clown car? Without consulting—"His eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "Tell me you at least charged them for valet."
Steve's jaw worked—that stubborn set Tony knew meant he was about to say something catastrophically noble. "They're allies, Tony."
"Allies," Tony repeated, gauntlet gesturing wildly toward the blood-streaked containment unit walls. "Allies who just accused us of mutant-napping while we're elbow-deep in Parker's magical mutant meltdown? That kind of allies?" He tapped his reactor with a metallic *ping*. "Quick wellness check, Cap—did Thor clock you one too many times with Mjolnir recently?"
Steve exhaled through his nose, the sound barely audible beneath the hum of Tony's repulsors. "We have nothing to hide," he said, fingers tightening around his shield straps. "We're not holding any mutants against their will."
"Technically," Tony drawled, tapping one glowing repulsor against the containment unit wall—leaving a smeared arc of Peter's blood across the StarkTech plating, "we did." The word landed between them like a live grenade. "brand new and spider themed. fresh from the shelf. 5 feet 10 inches tall. Stickiest hands this side of the Mississippi."
Steve's jaw worked beneath the cowl. "That's different," he countered, but the protest sounded hollow even to his own ears. The scent of copper still hung thick in the air—Peter's blood, their failure made tangible. "We can explain the situation. They'll understand—"
"Right. Because *convincing* Cyclops has historically gone so well for us!" Tony yells at Steve in that particular Stark-brand of sarcastic disbelief. "While we're at it, let's talk Thanos into becoming a pet groomer—maybe get him a nice little apron with 'Galaxy's Best Titan' stitched on it."
Tony gestured wildly at the blood-smeared cell. "They take one look at this place and what do you think happens, Rogers?" His voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. "*Avengers Torture Mutant in Secret Lab*—front page of the Daily Mutant Bugle before Cyclops finishes his first self-righteous monologue."
Steve's shield shifted against his back with a quiet *shink* of vibranium. "We show them the neural scans. The magical residue. Strange's diagnostics—"
"—and what?" Tony's gauntlet whirred as he tapped the cracked observation window where Peter's fist had left a dent shaped like a starburst. "Even if by some Christmas miracle they *believe* us—" The word dripped with enough sarcasm to drown a small country. "—you think for one *nanosecond* I'm letting them drag Peter off to Krakoa?" His repulsors flared briefly, casting jagged shadows across the containment unit's ruined interior. "Their idea of 'help' involves more psychic probing than a Vulcan mind meld."
Steve's grip tightened around his shield straps, the leather creaking under his fingers. "They don't want to hurt him, Tony. The X-Men *help* mutants—"
Tony's gauntlet hit the containment wall hard enough to spiderweb the plating. "Oh, please," he spat, the holographic schematics of Peter's bloodwork trembling in the air between them. "Jean didn't say 'help'—she said *felt it*. Like he was some goddamn seismic event." His helmet *engaged* with a violent hiss, covering his head, in response to his anger. "And Cyclops? 'That power *belongs* with Krakoa'? That's not rescue talk, Cap. That's *claiming*."
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. Steve's jaw worked beneath his cowl, but Tony didn't give him time to mount a defense. He stabbed a finger toward the dent where Peter's fist had cratered the wall. "Kid's out there right now reliving every bad day he's ever had—every death, every failure—and Summers wants to drag him to 'Total Dram Mutant Island'" His laugh was a sharp, broken thing. "Xavier —like always— is trying to collect omega-levels like trading cards?"
Steve's hand landed on Tony's armored shoulder with the weight of a mountain—not restraining, not comforting, just *there*. The kind of solid presence that had held up collapsing buildings and grieving teammates in equal measure. Tony's helmet retracted with a hydraulic sigh, revealing dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises in the containment unit's harsh lighting.
"I don't—" Tony's throat clicked as he swallowed. The words came out sandpaper rough. "Christ, Steve. I don't know how to fix this one." His gaze tracked the blood smear where Peter's fist had cratered the wall. "Kid's out there unraveling at a Multiversal level and all I've got is sarcasm and bad decisions."
The silence stretched thin between them, filled only by the drip of a leaking coolant pipe somewhere in the ruined containment unit—until Natasha's voice sliced through like a razor wrapped in silk. "Apologies for interrupting this *touching* moment," she drawled, stepping through the shattered doorway.
Tony's helmet Engaged while his gauntlet snapped up instinctively, repulsor whining as it locked onto her chest. Steve barely flinched—years of working with Natasha meant little surprised him.
Natasha didn't even blink at tony, just tilted her head in that infuriating way that suggested she'd already calculated seventeen ways to disarm him before his targeting system finished its beep.
Tony groaned, letting his gauntlet arm drop with a hydraulic sigh. "Romanoff," he said, voice dripping with the particular brand of exhausted fondness reserved for people who regularly scared the hell out of him, "how are you doing?" helmet turned toward the containment unit doorway. "And by that, I mean from what particular circle of hell did you crawl through to get in here undetected?"
Natasha ignored Tony's question with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent years dodging Stark-brand sarcasm. Instead, she stepped fully into the containment unit, her boots making no sound against the plating. The emergency lights caught the sharp angles of her face as she tilted her head toward the shattered and dented walls the ones Peter's fist had turned into abstract art. "I've been monitoring the situation since Strange brought Spider-Man and Mordo in," she said, her voice slicing through the tension like a garrote wire. "We have a serious problem."
Tony's helmet retracted with a hydraulic hiss, revealing eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. "You don't say," he deadpanned, gesturing wildly at the wreckage around them. "Was it the bloodstains or the spontaneous multiversal unraveling that tipped you off?"
Steve ignored Tony's sarcasm entirely—and fixed Natasha with that particular Captain America stare that made even gods blink first. "What's wrong?" he asked, voice stripped of everything but urgency.
Natasha's fingers twitched—almost imperceptibly "Remember that list you made?" she asked, voice deceptively casual. "The one with possible diseased Children of Spider-Man across the multiverse?"
Tony's gauntlet clicked open with a sound like a disengaging safety. "I'd ask how you know about that list," he said, fingers twitching toward the holographic wreckage display still hovering between them, "but we both know you'd just deflect with some terrifyingly vague spy shit." His head tilted slightly, the arc reactor casting a blue shadow across Natasha's impassive face. "So what's up with the list? Did you spot your name in the multiversal baby daddy registry?" The sarcasm dripped like faulty reactor coolant. "Feeling nostalgic for kids that never existed?"
Natasha's jaw tightened—just for a fraction of a second, but Tony caught it. The way her fingers spasmed against her thigh holster told him everything. Before he could file that reaction away for later dissection. "How many of them came in pairs?" Her voice was steel wrapped in silk—too controlled to betray anything but the question itself.
Tony's gauntlet flicked through the list with a series of sharp gestures, holographic pages dissolving and reforming like a deck of cards. "Mostly solo acts," he muttered, before pausing on two entries that pulsed amber. "Except these—Benji and May. Then..." His fingers twitched. "Natalya and Erick..."
Natasha didn't blink. "Look at Erick's name again." The command was soft but absolute. "Tell me does it ring any bells."
Tony's gauntlet hovered over the holographic names, fingers twitching as he squinted at the flickering text. "Natalya and Erick..." He snapped his fingers suddenly. "Ah! The Little Mermaid! You're the scrappy redhead, obviously, and Prince Erick is—what—some himbo you're secretly engaged to?" Tony sighs in frustration. "Nat, we are about to have a mutant crisis in our hands we don't have time for Disney fanfiction"
Natasha sighed—not the exasperated huff Tony usually earned, but something deeper. The kind of sigh that carried the weight of stories best left untold. "Once upon a time," she began, voice laced with mock sweetness, "a man named Erik Lehnsherr and a woman named Natalya Maximoff met under less-than-fairy-tale circumstances."
Erik Lehnsherr(Magneto)\Natalya Maximoff
Her fingers drummed against her thigh holster in a rhythm too precise to be nervous. "And against all odds, they had two beautiful children." Her smile was all teeth. "Care to guess their names?"
Pietro Maximoff - Wanda Maximoff
The blood drained from Tony's face so fast his arc reactor flickered. Steve's grip on his shield tightened audibly, the vibranium straps creaking like old floorboards. The containment unit's ruined plating seemed to press in around them, the air suddenly thick with the copper tang of Peter's blood and the ozone crackle of impending disaster.
"Natasha," Steve said slowly, the name landing like a grenade with its pin half-pulled, "are you saying—"
Natasha's fingers curled around a holographic projection of Erick's file "*Theirs.* Peter and Wanda's. From a timeline where they..." Her jaw tightened. "Where things went differently."
"When Wanda tried to help Peter earlier," Steve said slowly "she didn't just see his memories." The words came out leaden, each one dragged up from some dark place. "She saw theirs. Of them *together*. A timeline where they—"
"—made little reality warpers together," Tony finished flatly, gauntlet crushing the hologram of Natalya's file into digital confetti. His laugh was a broken thing. "And those kids probably died screaming." The containment unit's lights flickered ominously. "Wanda went digging for trauma and struck fucking oil and gold."
Natasha's gaze cut between them like a scalpel. "So," she said, voice deceptively smooth, "what happened the last time Wanda experienced something like this?"
Tony's gauntlet sparked violently, sending blue-white arcs skittering across the containment unit's ruined plating. Steve didn't move—didn't breathe—as the realization hit them both with the force of a vibranium shield to the ribs.
"M-Day," Tony whispered. The words tasted like ash.
Steve's hands—steady through alien invasions —trembled visibly. "She rewrote reality because—"
"—because she lost children that never existed," Tony finished, gauntlets retracting with a hydraulic hiss as he dragged bare hands down his face. The blood smears—Peter's blood—left crimson streaks across his cheeks like war paint. "Christ. We're watching it happen all over again"
Natasha's fingers twitched toward her widow's bites—not threatening, just restless. The way they always were when she had to deliver bad news to people she cared about. "Wanda saw Peter's memories," she said quietly. "His *alternate* memories. Of a life where they..." Her jaw tightened. "Where they had what she lost."
Tony's gauntlet buzzed violently against his wrist—Friday's emergency alert flaring crimson across his HUD with the kind of urgency usually reserved for nuclear meltdowns. *Reality shift detected: Southwest Quadrant.*
Steve's hand was already on Tony's armored shoulder before the alert finished blaring. "She's not the same as she was," he said, grip tightening just shy of denting. "We can reason with her. Talk her down before—"
Tony's helmet *engaged* with a violent hiss, cutting Steve off mid-sentence. "Oh, *perfect*," he snarled, repulsors flaring bright enough to paint Natasha's face in jagged blue shadows. "And what about your new best friends, Rogers? The ones you *graciously* invited inside our defensible position?" The sarcasm dripped like faulty reactor coolant. "You think Cyclops is gonna sit quietly while Wanda does her thing"
Natasha materialized between them—a silent blur of red hair and tactical gear—her fingers already flying across a holographic security feed. The footage showed Jean Grey's eyes glowing white-hot as she spun toward the compound's southwest wing, one hand clamped over her temple. "They already know," Natasha said, voice razor calm. "And they won't wait."
The feed flickered to Cyclops barking orders at his team, visor flaring ominously while the avengers led by Captain Marvel got ready to engage them in combat. Natasha didn't need to voice what they all knew—mutants who'd lived through M-Day wouldn't risk diplomacy. Not with those energy readings.
"Friday," Steve barked, voice cutting through the chaos "why aren't emergency protocols engaged?" The words landed like hammer strikes—each syllable demanding answers the AI couldn't immediately provide.
The holographic interface flickered violently above Tony's gauntlet, Friday's voice emerging in fragmented bursts between digital static. "Primary—systems compromised—external intrusion detected—" The projection dissolved into pixelated snow before reforming just long enough to display a cascading series of security breaches—every failsafe systematically dismantled by something with surgical precision.
Tony's gauntlet twitched toward the flickering display, fingers dancing across holographic firewalls that crumbled faster than he could reinforce them. "Oh, *fantastic*," he muttered "We're not just hacked—we're *artistically* hacked." His fingers spasmed as another subsystem collapsed. "Someone's treating our security like a fucking buffet line."
Steve's eyes took a grim edge "Tony—assist Carol's team." The command left no room for argument—that particular Captain America tone that turned suggestions into inevitabilities. "Natasha and I will intercept Jean while you guys hold back Cyclops" Steve tone soften as he adds "we might be able to reason with her"
Tony's gauntlet twitched toward the holographic security feeds still flickering above his wrist—showing Jean Grey moving with eerie purpose through the southwest corridors, her fingertips trailing faint psionic afterimages. "Oh, sure," he muttered, repulsors cycling up with a whine that betrayed his agitation. "Because *clearly* the woman currently glowing like a Chernobyl firefly is the *reasonable* type."
Natasha was already at the shattered doorway, her silhouette backlit by emergency strobes. "Jean has *seen* this before," she said without turning, her voice slicing through Tony's sarcasm like a monomolecular blade. "M-Day. She knows what happens when Wanda—" Her fingers flexed momentarily around her widow's bites. "When grief gets cosmic-level destructive."
"If we can convince Jean," Steve said, voice stripped raw with urgency, "she might be able to talk Cyclops down before is too late"
Natasha's fingers twitched against her thigh holster—once, twice—before settling into deliberate stillness. Her jaw tightened just enough for Steve to notice, but she nodded sharply anyway. "Fine," she said, the word clipped like a bullet casing hitting concrete. "But if this goes sideways, I'm blaming your moral compass." The corner of her mouth twitched in something too bitter to be called a smirk.
Steve didn't smile back. His shield straps creaked as he adjusted his grip, the sound oddly loud in the blood-scented silence. "Noted."
Tony's repulsors flared rocketing him backward through the containment unit's ruined doorway in a streak of blue-white light his sarcastic laughter—sharp and jagged with adrenaline—echoed down the corridor. "Try not to die before I get back, kids!"
The wind screamed past Tony's helmet as he banked hard around a sharp corner, Friday's tactical display painting the southwest quadrant in pulsing crimson. Between Cyclops' team advancing from the landing pad and Wanda's reality-warping meltdown, the compound felt like a grenade with the pin halfway out.
"Friday," he muttered, dodging a column "run diagnostics on the foundation. —Tell me — is this place build on top of some ancient Native American burial ground?"
"I kind of feel Cursed right now"
--------------------------------------------
And... CUT!
A few things a need to address:
1. No She-hulk reaction.
All Jen knows at the moment is that an Alt Spiderman and her had a kid and it died.
Imagine somebody told you that they dreamt that they had a kid with you and it died...
you'd probably be like:
"Uh.... bummer?"
but Wanda saw....
an unstable Wanda is a petty Wanda. she might start sharing with a few individuals some VERY traumatic memories.... just saying....
2. Canon
Originally I wanted to keep everything as close to comic canon as possible (2022 comic canon) but...the more a read the more SHIT I find canon to be
a few Examples:
-Wanda and Pietro Maximoff. Famously know mutants. Famously known for being children of magneto... are no longer Mutants and are no longer children of magneto.... its been like that since 2015.... I would not be surprised if I suddenly find out that Cyclops has been a freaking mermaid this whole time(Its Merman!)
In the Comics canon Wanda and Pietro are the children of Natalya Maximoff and some other dude. they got knabbed by the highevolutionary guy, I'm keeping the mother's name and Magneto as the father
- Scott, Jean, Logan and Emma frost are implied to be all on an open relationship... nothing against open relationships, but after all the shit Scott has done... no... just, no...
-Riri Williams, America Chavez... there is an Asian hulk somewhere I think... —no. I'm not touching any of that... at least not for now(might try to make Riri into something somewhat likeable instead of preachy)
-Echo has the phoenix force....
nope! not doing that here! Hecho is a character from Daredevil comics.
In my opinion— and this is jut my personal opinion, not fact— if the Marvel universe was a theater play, Echo would have been.... potted plant No.5.
you don't give the freaking Phoenix to potted plant No.5.
-Paul and MJ. I don't care if they kill him. the damage has been done. MJ and Peter should never even try to get together, is just not worth it anymore. I'm keeping the whole Paul thing only cause already have plans that involve him.
*
I'm going to be playing *DJ* with a lot of things. Keeping things canon is just a drag, it makes writing feel like chore. sorry
3. Romance
I'm going to hit the red button. I'll be 'deploying' all Romance options.
this does *NOT* mean that he will end up with a *HAREM* it just means that I have *YET* to make a decision on the pairing... Harem is not impossible either it all depends on how things develop.
4. Where in the world is Peter San Die— I mean Parker— where is Peter Parker?
...
In our hearts.....
...
Nah he is: In next chapter.
there was gonna be a bit of peter at the end of this one, but I Cut it out because it just felt kind of disjointed on this chapter.
So much avengers drama to suddenly see Peter get into a Shield abandoned bunker to—
you'll find out on the next chapter.
it wont be long for it. I have at least a 30% of it done already
Bye!