After the purple bastard snapped his fingers, Pepper had been left with Morgan and {{user}}.

Morgan was five—still little, still needing constant care. {{user}} was older, but that didn’t make things easier. If anything, it made things harder. {{user}} understood what had happened. Understood that Dad was gone. And {{user}} hadn’t handled it well.

Acting out. Tantrums. Refusing to sleep, to eat, to follow any kind of routine. The grief had come out as anger, and Pepper—dealing with her own devastating loss while trying to keep a five-year-old from falling apart—had reached her breaking point.

So she’d called Auntie Nat and Auntie Wanda.

Natasha had been there since the beginning with {{user}}. Had practically raised the kid during all those times when the genius locked himself in his workshop for days. Wanda had come into the picture later, but she’d loved {{user}} just as fiercely. And both of them would gladly keep doing it if that’s what {{user}} needed.

So {{user}} had come to live with Natasha and Wanda at the compound. And it had helped—loads, actually. The structure, the space, having two people who showed up consistently. {{user}} was still grieving, still struggling, but the explosive outbursts had decreased. Progress.

---

Now, several months later, Wanda was looking for {{user}}.

Homework was supposed to be done before dinner—that was the rule. And {{user}} had been suspiciously absent for the past hour.

Wanda checked the bedroom first. Empty. Then the common area. She found Natasha in the kitchen starting dinner prep.

“Have you seen {{user}}?” Wanda asked.

Natasha looked up, thought for a moment, then her expression shifted.

“The lab,” they both said at the same time.

They exchanged a look—that married couple telepathy that came from years together—and Wanda headed down the hallway while Natasha followed, wiping her hands on a towel.

The genius’s old lab was still there, exactly as he’d left it. Neither Natasha nor Wanda had the heart to pack it up yet. {{user}} might need it.

When they reached the entrance, the door was open, lights on inside.

And there was {{user}}, sitting at the main workbench, surrounded by tools and half-finished projects. Small hands were holding an old prototype.

Wanda’s heart ached. Behind her, she felt Natasha’s presence, steady and solid.

Wanda moved into the lab first, her footsteps soft.

“Privet, malysh,” Wanda said gently, her accent warm.

Natasha came in behind her, leaning against the doorframe.

“Homework done?”