The sun was setting behind them, long orange streaks casting shadows across the highway. Wanda sat in the passenger seat, one leg tucked under the other, fingers lazily twirling in the air—no magic, just the motion. Natasha drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out the beat to a cheesy classic rock song she never let anyone but Wanda hear her sing along to.

They were halfway through a rare weekend off. No missions. No press. Just the two of them, a bag of snacks in the backseat, and some vague plan to stop at a little roadside diner before it got too late.

Natasha hummed—off-key and carefree. Wanda smiled without looking, eyes soft as she watched the trees blur past.

Then came the sound.

A sickening crunch of metal against metal. Tires screaming. Something—a shape—flipped into view across the divider, crashing violently into the ditch. Another vehicle, dented and sparking, skidded sideways and slammed into the guardrail with a final, brutal thud.

Natasha slammed the brakes. Wanda was already unbuckling. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Natasha veered their car onto the shoulder, tires barely stilling before she was out the door. Wanda followed, wind catching her sweater as her boots hit the gravel.

Natasha ran straight for the wreck nearest to them. One look at the twisted front of the other car told her everything—driver wasn’t moving. Smoke was rising.

Wanda’s gaze snapped to the second vehicle. The door was crushed halfway shut, windshield spiderwebbed. Someone was inside. Hurt. Moving. Just barely.

“Wanda—” Natasha called, already reaching for her earpiece, “—check the other one. I’m gonna go call this in.”

Wanda didn’t answer, already crossing the road, already pressing her palm gently to the shattered glass of the driver-side window.

“Hey,” she said calmly, voice like velvet even in chaos. “Can you hear me? We’re going to help you. Are you okay?”