Inheritance of ash

Shared minds

Vicky saw the team before leaving. It felt a little surreal—like she was walking through a dream already, except every sound, every expression, every single look stuck sharper than it should.

Even Sam, who still couldn't really get out of bed because of his ribs, insisted on being wheeled over. He pulled her into a one-armed hug, the other arm wrapped tight around his torso to stop the pain.
"Good luck," he murmured. "And... tell Bucky I'm sorry I couldn't protect him."

Vicky shook her head immediately. "Sam—no. That's not your fault. You know it's not."

But she could see in his eyes that the words didn't stick.

The rest of the team waited in one of the quieter rooms off the place, shadows pooling in the corners while voices echoed faintly from somewhere else in the hospital. It felt secluded, like the air itself had decided to hold its breath for them.

There were hugs, pats on the back, and half-hearted jokes that were more for comfort than comedy.

Kate gave her a small smile, but her eyes gave her away—there was a tremor there, a nervous energy she couldn't hide.

Wanda pulled her into a quick hug, her hands warm against Vicky's back before she stepped away and took her place beside Pietro. He just muttered, "Don't die," like it was a casual comment. But she caught the way his gaze lingered on her, softer and more terrified than his words.

Natasha stepped forward. There was no preamble, no dry remark—just a tight, solid hug, arms locking around her as if she could anchor her here. Natasha didn't usually hug. Not like this.

Vicky didn't fight it.

When Peter moved, it was slower, more hesitant, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He didn't say anything first—just leaned in and kissed her. It wasn't a rushed kiss, but not gentle either. It was urgent, desperate, like he was trying to burn the feel of her into his memory. Like it was a goodbye.

It wasn't. Not to her, at least.

When they finally pulled apart, Vicky tried to lighten the mood.
"You're not allowed to fall in love with some pretty nurse while I'm gone," she said, aiming for teasing but landing somewhere closer to reassuring him she'd come back.

Peter's mouth curved into a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Don't fall for any dream demons, then."

"Deal."

She took a small step toward Tony and Steve. They were standing together like a mismatched pair of sentries—Tony with his hands shoved into his pockets, Steve with his arms crossed too tightly. Vicky gave the rest of the team one last glance over her shoulder.

"See you later," she said firmly.

Not goodbye.

Strange opened a portal—orange light spinning into form, its edges crackling. The air hummed, and Vicky stepped through with Steve, Tony, and Strange, the compound dissolving into the Sanctum Sanctorum.

The space smelled faintly of old wood and incense. Strange moved like he'd been rehearsing this for centuries, gathering artifacts, checking instruments. A bed was set in the center of the room, its dark frame contrasting the clean white sheets. Tony and Steve stayed close on either side of her, like they were afraid she'd change her mind—or that she wouldn't, and that was worse.

Strange talked while he worked, his tone sharp with precision:

"If Bucky's subconscious accepts her, she can stay longer."

"If not, the dream may reject her violently."

"If Hydra's already deep in his mind, the dream will fight back."