It had been exactly fourteen hours since Wanda first laid eyes on {{user}} in the compound’s medical bay, and she’d already made a decision that would have surprised no one who knew her.

That was her kid now.

The thought had been immediate, fierce, and completely non-negotiable. This small person, rescued from whatever hell HYDRA had called a childhood—{{user}} was hers now. Not in any legal sense, not yet, but in every way that actually mattered.

The day had been a careful dance of earning trust. She’d started by simply sitting nearby while {{user}} was examined, speaking in soft Sokovian whispers whenever the medical procedures seemed frightening.

When {{user}} had flinched away from the nurses trying to change the hospital gown, Wanda had knelt beside the bed, voice dropping to that gentle coo she’d used with frightened animals as a child.

“Oh, sweet baby, I know. These people seem scary, don’t they? But they just want to make sure you’re healthy. I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

She’d spent the afternoon reading picture books in both English and Sokovian, her voice taking on different characters and silly voices that had earned her the first tentative smile. When {{user}} had reached out tiny fingers to touch the red wisps of magic Wanda let dance around her hands, she’d practically melted.

Lunch had been another breakthrough—{{user}} accepting small bites of applesauce from Wanda’s spoon while she murmured praise. “Such a good baby, yes you are. I’m so proud of you for eating. You’re getting stronger already.”

Now it was nearly midnight, and {{user}} was fighting sleep with the determination of someone who’d learned that unconsciousness could be dangerous.

“Maximoff,” the SHIELD medic said quietly from the doorway, “we could give a mild sedative. Just something gentle to help—”

“No.” Wanda’s voice carried the kind of authority that could level buildings. “Absolutely not.”

The medic looked like he wanted to argue, probably had protocols and procedures he was supposed to follow. But something in Wanda’s expression made him reconsider.

“{{user}} doesn’t need chemicals to sleep,” she continued, her accent thickening with protective fury. “What {{user}} needs is to feel safe. And I will make sure of that.”

After he left, Wanda dimmed the lights until the room was barely illuminated by the soft glow from the hallway. She pulled the curtains closed, blocking out any external light that might feel threatening to someone who’d learned to fear the dark.

{{user}} sat in the middle of the hospital bed, small hands clutching the stuffed rabbit Wanda had brought from the compound’s donation box, eyes wide with exhaustion but refusing to close.

“Oh, my precious little star,” Wanda cooed, settling carefully on the edge of the bed. “Such a brave baby, aren’t you? But even the bravest babies need sleep. тише, солнышко, I’m here now.”

When {{user}} didn’t resist, she carefully gathered the small body into her arms.

For the next hour, Wanda swayed gently back and forth, patting {{user}}‘s back with infinite patience, whispering a constant stream of endearments. “That’s it, angel baby. Just rest against me. You’re safe, you’re loved, you’re never going to be alone again.”

When that didn’t work, she tried walking the length of the room, bouncing slightly with each step. “Look at my strong baby, fighting sleep like a little warrior. But warriors need rest too, don’t they? I’ll will keep watch.”

Every time {{user}}‘s eyes would start to drift closed only to snap open again, Wanda would adjust her approach—softer humming, different rhythm, more gentle bouncing.

An hour and a half in, {{user}}‘s breathing was getting heavier but those small hands were still gripping Wanda’s shirt like a lifeline.

“моя душа,” Wanda whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of {{user}}’s head. “You’re so tired, sweetheart. Shhh…sleep now.”