Inheritance of ash

Day three - part two

Peter nodded weakly, pressing the tissue to his face. "Hanging in there."

Kate had to bite the inside of her cheek so hard it hurt to keep from bursting into laughter. Yelena, cool as ever, clocked her struggle and hid a smile of her own. Natasha clocked that.

Then Vicky's voice cut through, sharper than anyone expected. "What makes you think strangers Bucky doesn't even know can get him out, when we couldn't?" Her tone clipped, angry. But underneath it—exhaustion. Frustration. Hurt.

She hated herself for failing him.

Natasha sighed softly. "It might be a long shot."

"No." Vicky's voice cracked. "It's no shot." She shoved herself off the couch, storming past them and out of the room.

Peter half-rose, ready to follow, but Tony's hand pressed him back down. "Give her time. She'll come around. You need to take care of yourself right now, remember? One step at a time."

Peter sank down again, cheeks hot with embarrassment as Kate and Yelena traded incredulous looks. Both were quietly impressed—his fake breakdown had Tony Stark wrapped around his little finger.

Peter only wanted to sink through the floor.

Natasha gave the whole scene a long, skeptical look, then muttered something about helping Thor order pizza without asking for mystical creatures to be added, and turned toward the doorway.

But Pietro's voice stopped her.

"She's right."

The room went still. His words were quiet, but weighted with all the fear and frustration bottled up since Wanda vanished. "If anyone can get through to him, it's her. Not Wakanda. Not tech. Her. Because she... means the world to him."

Silence hung heavy. Even Clint didn't argue.

Kate's voice finally broke it, softer than usual. "It's the only thing we've got right now."

And so the waiting started.

⸻

By the time dinner rolled around, the compound felt heavy with waiting. Everyone had drifted back downstairs eventually.

Pietro had tried earlier, in the lull before food, to corner Wanda. To ask her. To demand where she had gone, what she'd done. But Natasha had come sweeping in with plates and Thor booming something about "a feast for Midgardian survivors." and the moment slipped away.

So now, they ate.

Pizza boxes stretched across the coffee table, everyone grabbing what they wanted. Steve and Natasha sat apart, just far enough that neither had to look at the other. Steve hunched over a chessboard, his tiredness masked behind the movement of pieces. Natasha sat far from him, posture sharp, face unreadable.

Wanda slid into her place as Steve's opponent, her movements precise, mechanical. Stoic. Unchanging.

She was only here for Bucky.

Vicky had returned too, slipping back into the group like nothing had happened. She wouldn't admit it to herself—not out loud, not even in thought—but she was hoping. Hoping something would shift. Hoping this waiting wasn't useless. She had finally managed to convince Tony he didn't need to hover over Peter like a hawk, or over her which he had also started doing now.

Tony still hovered, only now from a distance, his eyes flicking between Peter and Vicky as though checking for cracks.

Peter sat at her side, casual in a way that was anything but casual. He traded slices with her—mozzarella pesto for her, plain cheese for him—like it was a secret exchange, some ritual that grounded them both.