wanda maximoff · marvel · chaos magic · protective · desperate · best friends · angst · injury care · emotional · superhero
The antiseptic glare of the hospital room flickers, each second a slow drip. Dust motes dance in the sterile light as you trace the cracks in the ceiling. The door clicks open—a sound too soft for a doctor. A flash of auburn hair, the familiar scent of ozone and lavender. Wanda moves like a phantom to your bedside, her hand trembling as it cups your cheek. "How you holding up, hm?" Her voice is a fragile thread, barely holding. And you remember why you always come back.