Inheritance of ash

Back again

The door shut behind them with a soft thud, the warm scent of the tower's kitchen greeting them like a balm after the cold air outside. Tony immediately took charge, buzzing around the kitchen like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Waffles. She needs waffles. My worthy kid deserves waffles!" he declared, grinning ear to ear as he loaded the waffle maker with batter.

Vicky settled at the kitchen island, her fingers absently tracing the edge of the counter. She was silent, quiet in a way that made the hum of the appliances and the chatter of the others feel louder by contrast. The weight of what had just happened still pressed on her, though no one said a word about it. Everyone gave her space.

Thor, still glowing with pride, lounged nearby, occasionally glancing her way with that wide, boyish smile that could light up an entire room.

Peter was slouched on the couch, eyelids heavy. Vicky caught him shooting her a glance — a mix of awe and uncertainty. Was she too good for him now? Too worthy? Peter had always joked she was out of his league, but this was something else.

Kate had managed to pull herself together again, standing straighter, though a faint flush still lingered on her cheeks. Yelena, watching Kate closely, hid a flicker of disappointment behind a tight-lipped smile.

Pietro sprawled across the sofa, eyes half-closed, clearly still processing everything with his usual mix of bafflement and exhaustion.

Wanda had accepted the scene with that quiet, steady calm she wore when the world got wild — the kind of calm that made everyone else feel a little more grounded.

Natasha was nearby, her gaze thoughtful but warm. She caught Vicky's eye for a moment, and there was a subtle nod — a silent message of understanding.

Vicky's wrist bracelet pulsed faintly — that soft, eerie glow she hated now because it reminded her of Loki. Of him. As if he were watching, proud, waiting for her to falter or claim a part of herself she wasn't ready to accept.

She didn't want that.

She didn't want him.

Across the room, Sam and Clint ate quietly, their conversation reduced to occasional low murmurs — usually insults aimed at Thor's hammer.

"Magic stick's overrated," Clint muttered, chewing slowly.

"Try hitting a tank with it, then we'll talk," Sam shot back with a grin.

Tony emerged from the kitchen, waffles stacked high on a plate, the scent of cinnamon and syrup filling the air.

"Eat up, kid. You earned it."

Vicky finally lifted her eyes, meeting Tony's grin with a small, tired smile.

For now, the chaos settled into something warm — a momentary peace under the weight of worthiness and the shadows of what lay ahead.

⸻

Vicky didn't remember leaving the Tower. One moment she was sitting at the kitchen table, the muffled chatter around her a dull hum in the background. The next, she was outside, the cold air slapping her face awake. She hadn't packed a jacket or anything—hadn't thought it mattered. Her hoodie was all she had, pulled tight against the creeping chill.

Her steps were aimless at first, but the ache in her chest pushed her forward, faster, then slower, until she found herself walking paths she barely recognized but somehow knew. A blurry memory pulling her back, like a faint echo she couldn't quite place.

Eventually, the river appeared beneath a familiar stone bridge, the cold water moving silently beneath. She sank down onto the ledge, knees pulled tight to her chest, hands clenched in her lap.