WHAT: Wanda gives Carol more detail on the memory update she and Stephen got WHERE: The Sanctum/Mirror Dimension WHEN: Backdated to around the end of June WARNINGS: Spoilers for Multiverse of Madness, talk of murder/death STATUS: Complete
That’s what Wanda thought, anyway - this Mirror Dimension, a parallel plane that could split into a kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and fractals, a place to unleash power without harming the physical realm and those on it. Stephen brought her here often when she had first arrived in Vallo. Before the memories of Westview, of Agatha, he was the first to toss the term chaos magic her direction. This is where they practiced.
She still came here sometimes. To try a new move, work on a spell - let out energy that felt pent up, crackling under her skin. Coming here with Carol had been fun too when they had engaged in a spar of friendly blasts, her now-husband watching them with eyes crinkled in amusement. They didn’t have to concern themselves with the idea of property damage here.
Which was why, well - she thought it would be the perfect place to have a chat.
Wanda could do many things but access this place on her own, no - she had to get Stephen’s blessing for this, borrow the sling ring to create the entryway in. He knew why. There was a lot for her to come to terms with; to face, accept, make up for, more things she had to learn to live with. Nothing she wasn’t used to at this point.
Still, Wanda was tired. It showed with how withdrawn she’d been; how she avoided certain people, forced her smiles sometimes to get on with things. It wasn’t all terrible - she was a newlywed, she had a whole marriage to enjoy. How fortunate for her that the beginning was overshadowed by a series of events shared with her husband in which they were enemies.
(They had known something like that was coming. They hadn’t known it would happen like that.)
But she had reached out to Carol first, the texts she’d sent clipped and short - and she had welcomed her into the Sanctum with a small smile, engaged in some light small talk as the electric, orange rings brought them into a reflection of Vallo City where the only two occupants that existed were them.
“Stephen told you about some of what happened back home,” she started, reaching back behind her head to fix the sorry excuse of a ponytail she’d been wearing. Wanda hadn’t dressed up for Carol, don’t take it too offensively. There were sweats and a t-shirt and the best she did was wear a bra. “Isn’t that right?”
Carol knew something about this situation wasn’t right.
Not Wanda inviting her over. That was fine, had happened plenty of times before, and while she was closer with Stephen, she also had a solid relationship with Wanda and considered her a good friend. They were all close in a way she didn’t anticipate they would be — especially after what Stephen had revealed about what was going on at home.
Home, however, wasn’t here. Everything was different here, and Carol considered Vallo more her home every day she (and the people she loved the most) continued to exist here. There was a peace here, even among the spikes of insanity, that she knew she would never find back in their universe. The superhero life had called her, pulled her in before she really knew what was happening; as much as she loved it, she was glad to be able to take a step back.
That meant forging relationships and getting to be a friend. Wanda’s texts seemed short for her, but Carol did her best not to judge tone in written messages. She asked her to come by, said something along the lines of I need to tell you something (which was concerning, but less so than it would have been if she’d received that message from Emme), and so she was there. Her style of dress wasn’t much better — a sleeveless tank top and matching yoga pants, fresh from Defense training — so no judgment on Wanda’s kind of unkempt appearance either.
It was the Mirror Dimension part of it that struck her, though. She’d been here a handful of times (for blasty fights with Stephen and/or Wanda, mostly) so it wasn’t that she was unused to it. But for what she assumed was going to be just a conversation? Weird, bordering on concerning.
“He gave me an overview,” she confirmed, one eyebrow perked up curiously. “He said there were some things that weren’t his to tell.”
Now she was putting the pieces together, why she was here. But she’d let Wanda get it out however was best for her.
Wanda gave an affirmative hum. She wasn’t, ah - looking at Carol right now. Her eyes were focused elsewhere, on the mirror image of buildings she knew - the landscaping, potted flowers and outdoor seating. But she was aware of her friend, felt the suspicious look being sent her way and heard the expectance of her tone.
Carol wasn’t stupid. The Mirror Dimension wasn’t a place for friends to chit-chat. She could have invited her out for a lunch, or a drink if this was just a normal conversation.
“Walk with me?” she motioned down the empty streets. They could talk while moving - she had restless energy to burn, her stomach in knots despite how stoic she came across on the surface. “Did he tell you about the Illuminati?”
Carol didn’t argue, falling into stride beside Wanda. She could do a walk-and-talk with the best of them, and she liked to be in motion, anyway. There was something a little eerie about walking through these cubist facsimiles of Vallo City, totally devoid of life, but that wasn’t her focus right now.
Wanda’s question was answered with a shake of her head. “No, don’t think so.” When she said ‘overview’, she meant ‘overview’. She knew already she hadn’t gotten a whole lot of detail. Her conversation with Stephen had been less of a conversation and more of an emotional outpouring on his behalf with her comforting him — which, obviously, she was happy to do. From what she knew, they’d witnessed almost nothing good, about themselves or each other.
But, overall, she was Jon Snow here. Wanda would need to expand.
“Earth-838,” Wanda started with, the label probably vague - she wasn’t sure how much of that Stephen’s told her, but there would be context clues to fill in the gaps. “Very jealous of myself in that universe. I had a house, the kids.” No spouse to raise them with, though. That hadn’t bothered her much. At the time the Darkhold had sharpened her grief to hone in on one particular focus; motherhood, and a reunion with her children. “The Stephen Strange that existed there wasn’t so particularly lucky. He died, hailed a hero. Before that he formed a team of powerful people - much like the Avengers, you could guess. The players were a little different.”
All of them, she knew by name - or at least by title.
They walked a little more before she continued, exhaling a breath from her nose. “That was the team that faced Thanos. Their methods were not like ours - Stephen turned to the Darkhold, and they used the Book of Vishanti to defeat him. Stephen had them kill him for destroying a universe during his own corruption. When our Stephen fell into that universe with America, I dream walked into that suburban mom version of myself. I killed them,” she said, looking at Carol calmly. “The members of the Illuminati.”
It was a story she was explaining without much feeling, you see - these were simply the cold, hard facts. That was how she was relaying them.
Carol couldn’t say she was fond of the way Wanda was laying all of this out. There was a coldness and disinterest in her tone that was jarring, for a woman who was such an emotional creature. But she couldn’t say she hadn’t been the same way in tough situations. And she knew enough to know about the Darkhold, the corruption it had caused both Wanda and other versions of Stephen, and the casualties that had amassed from this situation.
She’d definitely call that tough. If removing emotion while talking about it was how Wanda dealt, then she had no room to judge her.
She met Wanda’s eyes and nodded, arms crossing loosely over her chest. She was completely fine letting Wanda get all of this off her chest, and she wanted to be a supportive friend and listen. Finding anything she could say in response, though — well, that was harder.
“I’m sorry,” she said. It was the first thing that fell out of her mouth, an automatic expression of sympathy. “Having to live that out…can’t imagine what that’s like.”
Much like she had told Stephen, she didn’t relish hurting people. That fact - despite how she had fallen into a pit of a psychotic break infused with the darkest of dark magic - was true. Wanda didn’t want to be a killer. She never wanted to be this villain that took advantage of people, was the cause of innocent lives being lost but even at her best, when she was doing everything she could to be one of the ‘good guys,’ an Avenger - there were casualties.
People would look at her warily, like there was some monster hidden under her skin. They weren’t wrong to wrap her up in a straight jacket with a collar, locking her up as if she was some wild, rabid animal.
There was another moment of silence before she continued, feet taking them around a corner. Shapes around them moved, shifting and sliding seamlessly in some geometric pattern. “There is nothing that can be changed,” she went on, offering Carol a weak smile. It was brief. Not much to smile about with a conversation like this, really. “They underestimated me. There was Peggy Carter - and I think part of me is glad Steve isn’t here. I wouldn’t want to tell him this.”
But she would, because the guilt was killing her - eating away at her conscience bit by bit. “A man of the name Blackbolt. Charles Xavier, who was a telepath in a wheelchair.” Erik had talked about him when he was here; a shame that that was how they met. “Karl Mordo was the Sorcerer Supreme but I think Stephen told me he was unconscious somewhere when I went down the list, lucky him. There was a Reed Richards, supposedly the smartest man alive. He underestimated me. He told me he had children, and I didn’t care.”
Or she did care - a twisted truth she told herself when she turned a living man into dying flesh noodles. His children would have a mother to raise them, this was justified, right?
Gods, Wanda was sick of herself.
“Then,” she swallowed thickly, licking her lips that suddenly felt dry. So did her mouth. This is the moment her nerves started to surface. “Captain Marvel. But she wasn’t you.”
Carol was tempted to reach out to Wanda. Touch was one of the biggest ways she usually showed support to her friends. She’d offer her hand, let her hold it, or even just drop it on her shoulder and squeeze. But she got the impression that wouldn’t be particularly welcome right now. There was clearly a lot Wanda still had to say, had to get through. This couldn’t be easy for her, not one bit of it. Casualties came with their line of work; it was unfortunate, but sometimes, it was inevitable. This — well, it was different, and she knew Wanda had to be feeling that.
So, for now, she kept her hands to herself, tucked tight under her crossed arms for the time being while they ventured onward. She’d listen as long as she needed to.
A couple of the names — members of the Illuminati, apparently — Carol was vaguely familiar with. She knew of Peggy Carter. She knew of Mordo. The other three, no. Funny how similar and how separate different universes could be. There was even a Captain Marvel that…wasn’t her.
Huh. That was something to think about.
She almost made a joke. Something along the lines of guess we know you’re really most powerful, right? But she could sense the nerves finally coming out when Wanda spoke. She had held onto that cool demeanor the entire time, and this was what finally started causing fissures. It started to clarify why Carol had been asked here. This Captain Marvel that had been killed may not have been a version of her, but it had to be someone Carol knew. Someone that would hurt her.
She stopped walking, back straightening, and she searched Wanda’s expression. She had a very bad feeling, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. “Who?” she asked. The word was quiet and clipped, completely devoid of the usual ease and humor Carol carried as just herself these days. This was all Captain Marvel — her version, at least.
Wanda breathed in deep, held it for one, two, three seconds and let it out. She had stopped walking too. Again, there was a reason why she brought Carol here specifically - and while she had an idea of what her reaction might be, she thought it best to brace herself for the worst.
(Because, deep down, Wanda knew she deserved the worst.)
Best to rip it off like a bandaid.
“Maria,” she answered, balled hands fisted into her pockets. It wasn’t the Maria that Carol knew, and, gods, Wanda did not even know the woman but she had heard stories. She had known her daughter; had been essentially saved by her. She knew Carol loved her.
It may not be the same Maria but it was a Maria, and that was enough. Wanda couldn’t carry on like she hadn’t remembered killing her. Not if she wanted to try and salvage whatever friendship she might have with Carol after this, if that was even a feasible option.
That was what Carol had suspected and the hands tucked behind her crossed arms clenched into tight fists. She dropped Wanda’s gaze, looked off to the side. Just away. She needed a few seconds.
It made sense, Maria becoming Captain Marvel in another world. If Maria had just beaten her to base that morning, that was exactly what would have happened. She would have gone off to help Lawson, and everything Carol had been through with the Kree, she’d go through, too. One little change, and yeah, it all could have been different.
She knew it wasn’t her Maria. Her Maria was gone, too, but she hadn’t been Captain Marvel. She hadn’t been killed at Wanda’s hands. But Maria was still Maria in any universe — the first person she’d ever fallen in love with, the woman she thought she’d spend her life with once upon a time. It hurt like hell to hear she had become one of Wanda’s victims.
She took a slow breath and turned back to her friend because she was her friend. She was angry — it was written all over her face, tensed jaw and guarded eyes — but she meant what she’d said to Stephen. They were different people here. That made a difference.
Still, she needed answers, so she asked for them: “Why?”
Why, she asks. Wanda could have laughed. She almost did. It would have lacked mirth, maybe even sounded a little insane but had enough control over herself to distinctly not do that. It was tasteless. It was insensitive.
“Why did I do any of it,” she stated, letting out a small hah as her nose scrunched up in a way that helped keep the tears stay in her eyes. “I wanted America’s powers and they were in my way. They thought Stephen was the greatest threat to the multiverse at that time. In other universes, he was. He endured the Darkhold’s corruption. Caused incursions. Dreamwalked his heart away into other universes. The Scarlet Witch is a myth to most; not some reality made flesh for them to fear. She is not born, she is…” Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, letting the sting overcome the swell of her emotions. “Made, by certain events is what I have come to understand. They underestimated me.”
Saying ‘it wasn’t personal’ would be meaningless. Callous. Maria was at the wrong place and at the wrong time but didn’t matter. She slaughtered every member (except Mordo, a shame) in cold blood and she wouldn’t have hesitated to worsen the bloodbath if others kept standing in her way.
Made sense that the only person that could stop her was herself.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. But I am sorry, Carol.”
“I know.” Another automatic response but true. Carol knew Wanda well enough to know when she was sincere. She knew the apology was meant and not just a bout of lip service. She shouldn’t even have to be apologizing for something that, for all intents and purposes, she hadn’t done. This wasn’t a path she’d chosen here, but she’d still been sent back to live through it. What kind of torturous bullshit was that?
She sighed, reached out to pull her long hair free of the ponytail she was wearing. She raked her fingers through it, stared up at the ceiling (sky? nothingness?) above them for another minute. She wanted to do what she’d done for Stephen with such ease: insist there was nothing Wanda could do, that it was literally an entirely different life at this point, and it didn’t matter. All of that was just as true for Wanda as it was for Stephen, but knowing Maria had died at her friend’s hands — even a different version of her friend? That was harder to shake off.
Her eyes were a little watery when she returned her gaze to Wanda’s, but she quickly blinked them away, and just…nodded at her. “I can’t say it’s fine,” she said quietly. “None of it’s fine. Westview, now all of…that.” She waved a hand to acknowledge what they’d discussed without having to repeat it. “But I know it’s not you, so—” A forced, tight-lipped smile emerged, followed by another nod. That was the best she could do right now.
No, none of it was fine. All of it was wrong. Wanda was wrong; like there was something fundamentally broken about her that made it easy for someone to use her, for something to slither its way into her soul and blot out any bits of light she had left like dark ink spilled. She left Monica with the hopes - and the confidence - that she would figure out her powers. She never meant to hurt anyone. She never wanted to hurt anyone, because Wanda was someone that’s been hurt before and has seen innocent lives lost.
Every time she tried to do something better, something good - she would trip along the way, and getting back up on her feet was becoming harder and harder every time.
“It is me,” Wanda replied calmly, shoulders shrugging. “That Scarlet Witch - she is me. I did all of it. Everything. I may know better about the Darkhold now, and I may be safe from it but that doesn’t change what happened. The only thing it does change is that… here, I’m alive. I can do more than destroy the book across the multiverse and…”
Now, she laughed. It was this tired, broken little sound. She cried a bit too but dried her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I can do more than try to kill myself out of guilt. But I am not telling you this for sympathy. You’re important to Stephen, and you’re important to me, and I can’t go on like nothing happened. I couldn’t keep this from you. Stephen knows. But he agreed that this - you hearing about it - it should come from me.”
Maybe that was true. Maybe Wanda inherently was the Scarlet Witch no matter what. Maybe everything that had happened had stemmed from her and been exacerbated by the Darkhold. Carol didn’t really know. If there was one thing she’d learned about magic lately, it was that it wasn’t for her. She would leave that in the hands of much more capable users (namely, Stephen and his fancy Sorcerer Supreme title). She would chip in where she could, but she intended to stay as hands-off in that department as possible.
But no matter how much or how little she really got this, she knew Wanda was hurting. She had put on a calm face and a carefully stilted voice to keep from falling apart, but she had suffered in all this more than any of them. Hearing about anything happening to Maria was a jab in the heart for Carol, yeah. She couldn’t deny that, but she also knew this hadn’t been some crusade against her. None of this had anything to do with her in the end — except her friend was hurting, and she couldn’t help wanting to fix that.
“C’mere,” she murmured, reaching out and pulling Wanda into her arms. She’d let go if she didn’t want to be held, but she’d had enough of the distance. “If you tried to kill yourself, I’d have to kick your ass, y’know.” Her voice was a little rough, but the words were meant to help, to lighten the mood as best as she could muster. “You’re important to me, too.”
A hug was low on the list of expectations. Wanda really had prepared herself for the worst - some kind of yelling, the threat of a cosmic-powered fist coming her way. It wouldn’t break her. She’s taken a blow like that from America too, something that was well-deserved but, unfortunately, did nothing to stop her. All that power to rule and destroy existence coursed through her veins, branding her with this role she never wanted or even knew could exist.
She just wanted back what she had lost. What was hers. But they were all the things she couldn’t have, and it was difficult to trust that she could have it here despite how everything was monumentally better in this bizarre pocket dimension separate from all else.
“You are stuck with me here,” she choked out a small laugh, melting into the embrace she knew she was undeserving of. “But you are better off without me in that universe, I promise you. The books were destroyed, and the castle that held all the text was what I had come crashing down on me. The Darkhold is no longer a threat. I am just… done being an enemy back home.”
Vallo was a preferred alternative. She had everything here - her friends, her children, love (Stephen). In the scenario they were taken from her she knew this place had dampened her magic enough to where she wouldn’t be a danger.
Carol didn’t believe that. Wanda was good. She’d started out good, and if she was still out there, she could make her way back to the right side. But she couldn’t blame her for feeling lost in darkness, like she was beyond repair after what she’d done. She had killed. She had terrorized a kid. She had been ridiculously selfish and done terrible things.
That didn’t mean her goodness was gone. Taking down the castle to keep anyone else from being tempted and taken in the way she had was proof enough the woman Carol knew was still in there.
But it was better to focus on the here and now. She wrapped Wanda up a little tighter in her arms, nose pressing into her temple. Now that she knew it was okay to hold onto her, that she needed it if the way she’d sunk into her was any indication, she was holding on until she was pushed away. “Better be stuck with you or I’ll have to kick Vallo’s ass. After I kick yours for talking so bad about my friend.”
Lots of ass-kicking threats being made today, but — well, she knew her strengths.
“Stop,” Wanda snorted, biting back this sound that was very well almost a genuine chuckle and this was not the time. “You’re going to make me laugh.” If she did then maybe she could just - muffle it into her shoulder or something.
She loathed being… what did they call it? A Debbie Downer. She had been in such doom and gloom lately, oscillating between being thrilled she was married with this good life here and mourning the lives she’s taken from people there and trying to find some balance in between hadn’t been easy. Not when the people she killed or tried killing had something to do with the people she cared about.
Or were people she cared about.
After a steadying breath, she peeled away from Carol to blink up at her. “I am just… sorry. For everything. So if you need time, let me know. I understand. I appreciate you not punching a hole through me but I know this was… a lot to take in.”
Carol had been hoping to make Wanda laugh. She knew this wasn’t anything to laugh about; she wasn’t trying to make light of it or of how torn up it must have left Wanda feeling. But she didn’t deserve to fall into a pit of misery and darkness either. She couldn’t fix this for her, but she could try to diffuse the bad feelings, for a few minutes at least.
She sobered quickly, though, hands sliding down Wanda’s arms when she pulled back. She nodded, letting out a slow breath through her nose. “Yeah, it is,” she acknowledged. “It sucks, and it might take me a while to process it. But I’m glad you were upfront with me, even if it’s shitty to hear.”
Maria would always be a sore spot for her. The first woman she’d loved, regardless of universe, would always have a hold on her heart. Hearing she was collateral damage in Wanda’s single minded quest to get what she wanted at any cost wasn’t easy. But, even if it was a part of her, that heartlessness wasn’t a part of the woman Carol knew.
“And,” she continued, “I’m not going anywhere, alright? Our world isn’t this world. I know you here. I love you still, and you’re stuck with me right back. Like it or not.”
Honesty was the only thing she had going for her right now, considering all the lies she had told herself to justify her actions - the killings, the spells, taking over the life of a Wanda who also wanted the happiness and simplicity of taking care of her children. The plan was flawed from the start. The Darkhold didn’t want to give her what she wanted; it wanted her to fulfill whatever prophecy was in store for her, to destroy and rule and there was guaranteed destruction with the path she had paved.
“I love you too,” Wanda nodded, able to miraculously hold back the fresh set of tears that threatened to spill. Carol could take all the time she needed - she didn’t expect them to immediately fall back into a rhythm of little quips and seamless comfort. But if she was willing to stick around despite it all then she wanted to make sure she was someone worthy of that too. “Let us go back, then? Stephen might be pacing the floors out of worry. He might find it comforting knowing his best friend and wife aren’t trying to destroy this dimension.”
Carol laughed, easily able to picture just that. She already knew how much these memory updates had disturbed him, and she was sure he’d pictured a big reaction from her when Wanda told her about Maria. And it was in there, no way it wouldn’t be, but she meant everything she said. Wanda was her friend and she loved her, and she wasn’t going to lash out at her. She could channel her anger elsewhere. Later.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” She grabbed Wanda’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze, flashing her one more reassuring smile. It was going to be okay. Wanda would get through this, and she’d be right there with her to help however she could. “Let’s head back.”