Natasha's truck crunched to a stop in front of the manor just as the last light bled from the sky.
Heavy snow fell in thick curtains, blanketing the hill and muffling every sound. The scarlet wards shimmered faintly, parting for her vehicle like a living veil before sealing again behind the taillights.
She killed the engine, grabbed her pack from the passenger seat, and climbed the stone steps. The recon had been uneventful — roads mostly clear until the first mountain pass, a few feral tracks but no active packs, fuel caches still intact in an abandoned convoy. But She had planned to report some unhinged news.
While walking towards the manor, Natasha felt something wrong the moment her boots hit the porch.
No warm glow spilled from the windows. No scent of cooking or woodsmoke greeted her. The manor felt… hollow.
She hurriedly ran towards the gate and rang the old iron bell pull once. Twice.
The clang echoed inside, then died into silence.
No footsteps. No voices.
Natasha's training took over. She drew her sidearm — Glock 19, suppressor already attached — and tested the front door. It was locked from inside. She slowly removed her hairpin, made a makeshift lockpicker, and opened the door. She slipped inside low and fast, eying the corners, clearing the grand foyer and adjoining halls with practiced efficiency.
The fires in every grate burned low but steady, as if Wanda's magic sustained them even in absence. The kitchen was empty. A half bowl of noodles cooled on the counter. Everything looked paused mid-moment.
"Sam?" she called, voice sharp but controlled. "Wanda?"
Only the wind answered, rattling the tall windows.
Anxiety coiled tight in her gut. She took the grand staircase two at a time, boots soft on the worn runner carpet, weapon raised. The upper hall was dim, fireplaces casting long shadows.
She reached the guest room door — ajar, faint glow pulsing from within.
Natasha pushed it open.
Sam and Wanda lay on the rug inside a fading circle of chalked runes, side by side, hands loosely clasped. Their eyes were closed, faces slack in unnaturally deep sleep. Breathing steady but shallow. A thin, oily blackish fog swirled slowly around them — tendrils of shadow that moved against the air currents, as if alive.
Natasha dropped to one knee, holstering her pistol.
"Sam! Wanda!!" She reached for his shoulder.
Her hand met resistance — an invisible barrier that flexed like thick glass. Scarlet sparks crackled across her knuckles, sharp and warning. Wanda's residual magic upon the circle was still protective and full of instincts — it repelled her harder.
She tried again, her teeth gritted against the sting.
But The barrier held back.
"Damn it."
Frustration surged hot. She scanned them for injuries — no blood, no visible wounds. No!! They are not dead. Not dying also. It must be possible that they leapt through the dream dimension.
It was A dream state, A Deep trance.
Natasha exhaled slowly, forcing calm. She had no counter for this — no spell, no tech. All her skills were useless here.
She dragged the heavy armchair closer, positioned it to face them directly, and sat — pistol across her lap, eyes on their deep sleepy bodies, waiting for them to revive back again.
The black fog swirled lazily, tendrils brushing their hair, their clasped hands.
"I'm here," she said quietly to the silent room. "Take whatever time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
Natasha kept vigil — her back was straight, her gaze was steady, heart tight with worry she refused to name.
She would wait.
As long as it took.
.
.
.
The Dream Dimension's night descended like a suffocating shroud, thick and absolute, as if the sky itself had collapsed inward. Shadows bled from the corners of the ruined house, pooling on the floor like spilled ink that writhed when unobserved. The air turned frigid, carrying faint, childlike whispers that slithered along the walls: giggles twisting into whimpers, footsteps pattering just out of sight. The house groaned with every gust of wind, beams creaking like old bones, dust sifting from the ceiling in slow, ghostly cascades.
Sam and Wanda lay on their separate beds in the upstairs room he had painstakingly cleaned — dust wiped from the wooden frames, blankets shaken out until they smelled faintly of forgotten lavender, the cracked window propped shut against the howling dark. A dim glow from Wanda's pendent hovered in the air like fireflies, the only light in the oppressive gloom.
Sleep came fitfully, pulled by exhaustion rather than peace. Both of them were asleep for some time, but suddenly Wanda woke first to the sound that pierced her soul.
"Mommy…"
A child's voice — small, fragile, laced with cold and fear — drifting up from downstairs.
Her eyes flew open, heart slamming against her ribs. She sat bolt upright, breath catching in her throat, hair falling in tangled waves across her tear-damp cheeks. The sound came from the porch again.
"Mommy… we're so cold…"
Two voices now, overlapping in heartbreaking harmony — Billy and Tommy, exactly as she remembered them, down to the slight Sokovian lilt.
Wanda rose without a thought, bare feet silent on the chilled wood. She moved like a woman in a trance, drawn inexorably down the dark hallway toward the staircase. The shadows seemed to part for her, then close again behind, whispering encouragements in voices only she could hear.
Sam stirred at the soft creak of floorboards. He blinked awake, rubbing his eyes, the room's dim glow casting eerie red highlights on this already shady wallpaper.
"Ms. Maximoff?" he called softly, voice thick with sleep.
She didn't answer. He pulled up from the bed, saw her silhouette vanished down the stairs, too much slow as she was in a trance, red sweater hanging loose on her frame.
Sam scrambled out of bed, his heart was quickening with unease. The air felt more heavier, charged with a malevolent hunger that prickled his skin like static. He followed her, barefoot as the cold biting his soles.
Wanda reached at the bottom of the stairs. The front door stood wide open. The chilly air drifted across the threshold in lazy swirls, but nothing stirred it — an unnatural stillness that made the hairs on his neck rise.
Two small boys stood just outside — no older than ten, dark hair tousled, red jackets too big for their slender frames, faces pale and luminous in the moonlight. Their eyes were wide, pleading, lips blue from cold.
Wanda halted on the porch, arms reaching out, tears already streaming down her cheeks as she recognised them.
"My boys…" Her voice broke on a sob of pure joy and agony. "Billy… Tommy… Mommy's here."
They smiled — sweet, innocent smiles that lit their small faces, but something hidden beneath that smile, something eerie. They took a step forward, smiling as same. Wanda did not notice the eerie smile, she just wanted to embrace them, again.
Sam was standing on the edge of the Stairs. He heared Wanda's words, but saw only empty darkness beyond the door, the same destroyed pavement, still barren and silent.
"There's no one there!" he called, voice sharp with alarm.
She didn't hear him. She walked toward the illusion, hands trembling as she reached for them.
The boys vanished like mist in sunlight.
Wanda froze, breath hitching.
Then the voices returned — from behind Sam, at the top of the stairs.
"Mommy, help us… we're scared…"
She whirled. The boys stood on the landing now, small hands reaching down the banister.
Wanda ran up the steps, tears flying. "I'm coming — Mommy's coming!"
But the illusion was not over. Wanda, in that moment, saw Sam pushed the boys from the stairs, as they rolled down from top, cried in pain, "Mooom, Help....!!"
Her face twisted into sudden, unimaginable horror.
"You—" she screamed at Sam, voice raw and shattered. "You killed them! I lost them... againnn!!"
Scarlet hex bolts erupted from her palms — wild, uncontrolled bursts that lit the dark house in strobing crimson, shadows fleeing like frightened animals.
Sam dove sideways as the banister beside his head exploded into splinters sharp as knives. "Ma'am, please stop! It's not real!"
She advanced down the stairs, floating now, feet inches above the wood, eyes blazing pure crimson, tears glittering like blood in the hex light.
"Why did you push them?" she sobbed, voice cracking. "Why did you take them from me?"
Another bolt shattered the chandelier overhead; crystal rained down in a deadly cascade, almost hit Sam on his head.
Sam bolted down the hall, heart pounding in terror. He needed time — needed to break the illusion before it consumed her completely. Wanda is already a powerful mage, but right now, she is uncontrollable, that was deadly for him.
Wanda followed, levitating, hex energy crackling around her like a living storm, the air vibrating with her grief.
"Tell me SAM! I helped you! But you killed them..?!" she bolted another energy bolt towards Sam. He tried to dodge, but the bolt crashed into his leg, shattered his ankle. Sam screamed in pain. But Wanda did not stop.
As she was about to finish him, The boys' voices echoed again — outside a shattered window, closer.
"Mommy, we're here… please… save us... we want to be with you..."
Wanda turned, distracted, floating toward the jagged glass, leaving Sam on the floor.
Sam saw his chance. He lunged from the shadows, wrapping strong arms around her waist from behind, dragging her down hard to the floor.
"They're not real!" he shouted desperately. "Fight it, Fight — please!"
She thrashed violently, scarlet power burning his arms like brands, grief fueling impossible strength. "Let me GOOO!!" she screamed in trance.
The boys appeared closer — laughing now, faces twisting grotesquely, now Sam was able to see them. Skin peeled away in wet strips, revealing raw muscle beneath; eyes sank into black, bottomless voids; mouths stretched impossibly wide, lined with rows of needle teeth.
"Why did you kill us, Mommy?" they screeched, voices layered and demonic, echoing inside her skull.
"Whyyy?"
"Whhhyyy?"
"Whhhhhyyyyyyy?"
The screeching voice now echoed through the room.
Wanda screamed — a raw, primal sound of unimaginable agony that shook the walls. Her hex energy started to glow profoundly.
Sam held tighter, taking the searing burns, refusing to let go even as his skin blistered.
The creatures lunged — elongated limbs stretching, claws extended, hunger burning in their void eyes. With an impeccable noise, they flew towards them.
Sam twisted at the last second, as he threw Wanda clear and taking the full impact. Icy claws raked his chest, cold, oily darkness poured into him like venom, freezing his blood.
Wanda hit the floor hard, her head was cracking against wood with a sickening thud.
But it helps, as The illusion shattered like glass.
She blinked, vision clearing through tears and blood. The "boys" revealed their true forms — twisted, shadowy figures with elongated limbs ending in talons, too many jagged teeth glinting in the hex light, hunger burning in their void eyes. Dreamcatchers — parasites of pain.
Wanda realised everything. She was now disgusted. With a furious, heartbroken cry, Wanda unleashed pure scarlet force — a wave of raw chaos magic that slammed into the creatures. They shrieked in unearthly tones, the whole house appeared to be shajen with the impact of their echo, their bodies contorting, dissolving into writhing black smoke that wisped away into nothing, leaving only the stench of rot.
Silence crashed down, broken only by Wanda's ragged sobs. Then she saw Sam.
Sam was collapsed there, chest heaving, blood seeping from deep claw marks across his torso, skin burned and blistered from hex backlash, left ankle shattered and full of blood.
Wanda scrambled to him on hands and knees, hands glowing desperate healing red.
"Sam.... oh God.. ohh my god... What have I done? I have done it... No! No! Oh god... I'm sorry I'm so sorry—"
He coughed, blood flecking his lips, but managed a weak, reassuring smile.
"You're… okay," he rasped. "That's… what matters."
She healed him frantically — scarlet light flowing over torn flesh, knitting muscle, sealing skin, easing burns with trembling precision. Tears streamed down her face, dripping onto his chest as she worked.
When the worst was mended and he could breathe without pain, she pulled him into her arms, rocking slightly, sobbing his name against his shoulder.
"Sam... I am sorry... I did not see... I just... I just want to held them again.. but I hurt you... I am sorry.."
Sam held her tightly, as she continuosly stroking his head with gentle tenderness.
"I'm alive," he whispered. "We're okay. It's ok now."
After long minutes, her sobs quieted to shudders. She pulled back, wiping her face with shaking fingers.
She checked Sam again, as his tshirt is now torned and burned. His pant was also torn, revealing his now healed leg.
Sam asked, "What are those things?"
"Those were Dreamcatchers," she whispered, voice raw and heavy with the tears as she still checking Sam's wound. "Parasites of this realm. They feed on pain, take the shape of your worst memories, try to trap your soul forever."
Sam nodded, still catching his breath. "They used your fear... your boys against you."
She looked at him, eyes red-rimmed and raw with gratitude. "And you saved me. Took the attack meant for me."
He shrugged shyly, cheeks flushing even through the lingering pain. "I just… couldn't let anything hurt you."
Wanda helped him to his feet, supporting his weight as they climbed the stairs back to the cleaner room with the two beds. First, with her magic, she joint the beds together. She laid him gently on the bed, pulling the blanket up to his chest, then sat on the edge of the other end, knees drawn up.
"This house…" she said quietly, voice trembling. "It was my home before. Where I lived with Billy and Tommy. My boys... My hope. Before I lost them. Before I broke everything trying to bring them back."
Sam listened, he knew the story.. his heart was aching for her.
"I tried so many times to revive them," she continued, tears welling again. "But they were never real. Just pieces of chaos magic. Echoes. Every time they faded, it hurt more. Like losing them all over again."
Sam reached for her hand, his touch innocent and earnest.
"Ms. Maximoff, ma'am, I know it all. As you know, I don't know what a real family feels like either, as I never knew my parents," he said softly, voice full of quiet sincerity. "I was in Foster homes. Always moving. Alone. When I was bullied, I had no one to go to... Now I saw them done experiment upon me. But I find you, Natasha, I get to learn about family, about friends..." Sam paused for a moment, then said again, "So, If you want… I could be your son. I never had a mom's embrace before.. if you want, then I'll take your embrace as your son. From today, you're my mom."
Wanda's breath hitched. She stared at him, eyes shining with joy and sorrow mingled.
Then she leaned forward and hugged him, kissing him in his cheeks and forehead. She was crying, but it was tears of joy. She lift her head, pat her hand around his burned cheeks, which now healed, then kissed him — soft, lingering, maternal on the lips.
Sam froze, wide-eyed and shy, cheeks flushing deep crimson. He reciprocated gently, hesitant and awestruck, feeling the pure tender from her.
She pulled back, forehead resting against his, fingers stroking his cheek.
"This marks my new life," she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "From now on… you are my son."
"Yes.. Ms.Maximoff.."
"No Sam. Call me mom."
"Ok... Mom."
Wanda kissed his forehead again, then stood slowly, the night deepening outside the broken windows, shadows lengthening across the room.
She reached for the hem of her red sweater, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion, revealing a delicate red laced bra that cupped her full breasts, nipples visible through the sheer fabric in the dim light. Then she hooked her thumbs into her leggings, sliding them down her hips along with her laced panties, stepping out gracefully. Her body was bare now — curves soft and womanly in the faint scarlet glow, dark curls visible between her thighs, skin pale and flawless.
Sam's eyes widened, face burning. He sat up slightly, hands clutching the blanket tightly, voice small and hesitant.
"Mom… what are you..?"
She smiled, maternal, warm, with a deeper, sensual tenderness — and stepped closer, the air between them charged with quiet intimacy.
"I want to make my boy happy," she said softly, voice low and loving. "You saved me tonight. Made me the happiest person in this broken world. Let your mom take care of you… in every way a mother can."
Sam swallowed, innocent eyes full of wonder, nervous desire, and unwavering trust, heart racing as she approached the bed.
The night grew darker outside.
Inside, in the quiet room a dream of a mother fulfilled at last.