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The snow falling in large, fluffy flakes outside is a blessing, not simply because it is the holidays and snow is a required element of a “true” holiday experience, but because of all days, today is the one the boys need the distraction. Vision smiles as he peers out the window, a blur racing through the snowdrifts, depositing decently rounded piles of snow in a centralized location and then blue mists flickering off the pearlescent landscape as Billy manipulates the mostly circular balls into snowmen. Lately the two have been locked in a battle of independence, cooped up inside and unhappy about the lack of space at times, but when given a singular goal, their laughter fills the air.
“Is Tommy’s coat unzipped?”
Her voice catches him off-guard, the knife in his hand slipping along the scales of the fish, but Vision corrects his movements before anything is ruined. His eyes travel to the side, taking in the annoyed slant of her mouth, before moving back to the window to investigate. Tommy’s coat is unzipped, yet again. “I have asked him several times to leave it fastened.”
Wanda lets out a snarky huff, “Let me guess, it went something like,” she stands a bit taller, shoulders broadening out as she lifts her chin, a facetious smirk on her face as she softens her accent. “Thomas, do you not believe it is in your best interest to zip your coat?”
“That is a horrendous impression.”
A playful shove of his shoulder causes his lips to perk up, matching the expression on her face as she leans into his body for a better view of the kids. “You know he doesn’t respond to logic the same way Billy does.”
This is quite true and yet Vision has been unable to adjust his behavior to get the desired reaction from Tommy, far too confused and, to be honest, aggravated that his son cannot seem to grasp the same thought patterns that make sense to Vision. “Then please,” he waves the knife toward the window, “work your magic.”
Wanda bumps him with her hip, her smile bulging with hubris as she saunters to the sliding glass door, a tendril of scarlet snakes from her fingers to open the door. “Thomas!” The shout immediately renders the blur motionless, Tommy slowly turning towards the expertly imbued threat in Wanda’s voice. “Zip the coat or come inside.”
The wide-eyed shock turns into a defiance faster than even Tommy can run, the stubbornness stiffening his limbs reminding Vision of Wanda so very much, but he decides to keep that observation to himself. “But I’m hot.”
“Zip it.”
“Why?”
Wanda lifts a hand, her index finger expertly trained on Tommy. “Because it is freezing outside and if you get sick you won’t be able to open presents tonight.” The logic is flawed, another observation Vision keeps to himself for now, far too intrigued by the power play between the two. Wanda and Tommy stare at each other for several seconds, even Billy stops playing to watch, his latest snowman falling over as his powers cease to hold it together. Eventually Tommy frowns, gloved fingers fumbling with the zipper and Wanda sends him a pleased wave with a victorious, “Thank you.” The victory is short lived, however, as a small glare sends branching wrinkles from the corners of her eyes when Tommy throws a snowball at the door, but Wanda seems to deem this act of defiance not worthy of another scolding since she returns to Vision’s side.
“So,” Vision focuses his attention back on the fish, knife scraping its sides to remove the scales, “you are saying I need to use a stern voice and abandon all logic?”
Though he is not watching her, he can still perceive her shrug in his periphery and can definitely feel the tingle of his neurons happily firing as she slides her hand up his arm, fingers walking along his upper back until she can wrap her hand around his neck. Gently she tugs him down, his fingers automatically releasing the knife as his body responds to her goading, bending down to meet her lips with his own, eyes closing to enhance the feeling of her body against his. Wanda pulls away, a lopsided grin stopping his heart, as it always does. “I don’t think you’re capable of that.”
“I appreciate your belief in me.”
This lands the way he hoped, a chuckle vibrating up from her lungs and dancing in the air around him, swirling in time with the frenzied snowflakes outside. Vision grabs the knife again, resuming his methodical cleaning of the fish, eyes flicking towards Wanda every few seconds, taking in the softness of her features as she watches their sons play. “Do you think we should start training them?”
He pauses for a moment as his mind shifts to this new topic, “I believed we were already encouraging the development of their powers.”
“We’ve been helping them with their powers but-," his fingers tighten around the knife, other hand lifting and turning the fish over so he can finish de-scaling it, but this happens fairly unconsciously, his eyes and mind far too focused on the pucker of concentration marring Wanda’s forehead as she finishes her thought, "but what if someone attacks?”
“I,” her words swirl in his mind as he processes the meaning, making sure he is deciphering the correct subtext before responding, “am uncertain that is needed, they are still quite young.”
Wanda nods, a sadness enveloping her that permeates throughout the air, filling the prior jovial atmosphere with a bittersweetness uncommon of this day. “It’s only a matter of time before we can’t stop one of the attacks.” He opens his mouth to counter back, insist that they’ve successfully withheld villains from getting close to the children for the past nine years, but she doesn’t allow him the chance to interrupt. “Last week at the grocery store I had to bribe Tommy with a gallon of mint chip ice cream just to stop him from helping you with that robber.”
“That was only one instance…”
The feebleness of his response is clearly noted by Wanda, her stare challenging him to continue denying the issue. “On Halloween you phased them into Nancy’s house so I could subdue the literal zombies trying to eat our neighborhood.” Vision sighs before he realizes the betrayal of his body, and then his mind joins in, traveling to Thanksgiving when he and Wanda were called away to deal with a thirty foot tall turkey, lovingly nicknamed The Mad Gobbler by the newspapers. A hand on his forearm centers his attention, eyes meeting the sympathetic green irises of his wife. “You yourself once said our very strength invites challenge. It’s only a matter of time before they will need to defend themselves.”
Her, well his, logic still stands, shoulders dropping in acceptance and sorrow at the idea of their sons losing out on a piece of their blissful innocence. “Do we need to ask Steve to-”
“They are not ready to be Avengers,” her tone moves instantly from sadness to an unwavering surety that he’s just made far too large of a leap in logic. “I think we can handle it for now.” She smiles at him and he cannot help but reciprocate, their souls far too intertwined to not elicit mirrored emotions. “In fact,” Wanda lifts onto her toes to better study the racing blur and the sorcerer of snow outside, “I have an idea.”
Before he can inquire further, Wanda is gone, the thud of her socked feet jogging towards the laundry room the only sign of her existence. Without knowing what’s to come, Vision tries to forget about her idea, instead working on finishing the task at hand. Several minutes later Wanda returns, bundled in a puffy red coat, a wool knit cap pulled low on her head, the white pompom on top quivering as she moves. “Wanda?”
“Vision?”
He sets the knife down, turning to face his beaming wife, her gloved fingers interlacing in suspicious innocence as he stares at her. “May I ask what your idea is for their training?”
The pompom wiggles as she shakes her head, lips curling up into a nefarious grin. “You’ll find out.” She opens the door, one boot crossing over the threshold to the bitter winter outside, and then stops, raising a hand in his direction. “Oh, Vizh?”
“Yes?”
“When you join us, please remember to wear a coat, I don’t want to have to read another letter to the editor from Mrs. Radley.”
Vision laughs, the corners of his mouth lifting into an embarrassed grin, their overzealous neighbor had written a scathing letter in the monthly neighborhood newsletter about how some parents (though she politely refused to name names) seem to think it is appropriate to walk outside without a coat on and how it is leading to the degradation of the youth, particularly this unnamed parent’s twin boys. “I will remember.”
“Thanks.”
He watches as Wanda stomps through the knee deep snowdrifts on their deck, struggling slightly to walk down the steps, but once she’s on the ground, she moves swiftly to the boys. Whatever she is telling them seems to go over well, Tommy nodding enthusiastically while Billy balls up his fists in excitement. Then they all break apart, Tommy resuming his hurried run around the yard, depositing beach ball sized snowballs one right after another at Billy’s feet. Billy steps his right foot back, broadening his stance, just as Wanda taught him to do when he needs to use large amounts of power, and he sticks the tip of his tongue out in concentration as he constructions a sizeable army of snowmen. While the twins are collaborating on the snowmen, Wanda is in the far back corner of the yard, scarlet mists expanding around her as walls of snow form a fairly impressive snow fort, the fence serving as the back of her structure. Vision grins, chest tightening as he slowly and carefully encodes every last detail of the scene, placing it reverently into the part of his mind where he holds his most cherished memories.
Reluctantly he pulls his eyes from the window, turning all of his attention to finishing his prep work so that he can join his family. Once the fish is descaled he filets it, deboning each portion of it until it is cleaned and simply has to await the next step. Vision washes his hands and then runs his fingers along the prep list, confirming that everything but the potatoes are ready. He inhales, impatient to finish the task, but then exhales to calm his jittery desires, hands steady as he peels each potato. Then a scream reaches his auditory receptors, one that most certainly is Billy, and his heart breaks into a rapid beat so strong and so quick it might burst through his chest cavity. It is not uncommon at all for the boys to scream while playing, their bickering and fighting intensifying with each year, but this isn’t the same type of scream, a far cry from the whiny and fed up angst that typically goes along with their play. Vision hovers higher in the air, squinting at the scene outside, scanning the yard for signs of danger, but all he sees is Billy huddling with Tommy near the fence and Wanda speaking to them. Perhaps, he considers, as his feet reach the ground once more and he begins the hypnotic task of grating the potatoes, his imagination is playing tricks on him. The idea of needing to train the boys might be bothering him far more than he realized.
He is three potatoes in when he hears another scream, this time it is Tommy. The potato and grater tumble to the counter, his body gliding across the hardwood floor as he comes to the backdoor. Just like the last time, there are no signs of trouble, the boys now crouching on the deck, peering through the slats at Wanda who waves at him from the yard. Vision haltingly waves back, confused and uncertain how to feel about his malfunctioning auditory processors. Just to quell his unease, he slides the door open a crack, “Boys,” Billy and Tommy turn towards him, eyes a bit frantic but small smiles on their faces, “everything okay?”
Tommy nods, snow flying from the tips of his white hair due to the vigorousness of his assertion, and Billy confirms with a, “Yeah, we’re good.”
“Okay,” the word comes out slowly, drawn out with calculated disbelief that usually encourages one of them (i.e. Billy, most of the time) to further elucidate. Neither of them is tricked by the tactic and so Vision nods in defeat. “If you need anything, please let me know.” Billy gives him a double thumbs-up which is enough to convince Vision to slide the door shut and finish the potatoes.
When he’s on the last one he hears another scream, but he does his best to fight against his sympathetic system, his increased pulse and heightened senses insisting he check on the boys, yet his mind logically explains that nothing has been wrong yet. Then he hears a frantic knock on the back door and instantly forgets about the last potato, briskly moving to the door and sliding it open, squatting low to be even with his son’s face. “William?”
“Um dad…” Vision follows along as Billy turns, mitten lifting anxiously into the air to direct his attention to a snarling snowman climbing up the stairs, its gnarled twig arms reaching for Tommy, “Could you help us?” This is not the strangest thing he has ever seen, not even the strangest in the last month given the Mad Gobbler's laser eyes, but he still finds himself cocking his head in disbelief as the snowman continues to advance. “Please?”
The please breaks his reverie, Mindstone instantly charging, a well-placed stream of gold obliterating their attacker back into a flurry of snowflakes. “Are there more?”
Perhaps more worrying than the fact there was a snowman attempting to maul his children, is that Billy eagerly grins at the question, “Lots more!”
It’s only then that Vision stands, surveying the backyard and taking in the entire scene. Wanda is there, just as she always has been, but she hovers close to her fort, walls of ice growing from the snowbanks in what he presumes is a tactical move for protection. Between her and the deck is a veritable army of glowing snowmen, each carefully constructed by the boys and then possessed by scarlet energy that morphs the stone eyes and carrot noses into malevolent sneers.
So this is her idea of training.
Vision, oddly, finds himself mimicking Billy’s grin, an action that creates a recursive intensifying of the joyful anticipation surrounding the boys. The threat now evident and the challenge set, Vision fully steps outside, shutting the door behind him. Wanda waves enthusiastically at him but this time he does not respond, never one to converse politely while fighting. “Okay.” A wave of his hands brings both boys closer to him, knees bending once more as he squats down, lowering his voice on the off-chance Wanda might hear them. “What do I need to know?”
Billy and Tommy stare at each other, a conversation clearly occuring between the two, if their hand gestures and head movements are any indication, which fans the ember of adoration deep within Vision’s chest. Mental communication has always been easy between the twins, but as they’ve grown older, it seemed to Wanda and Vision like they were abandoning the connection. Apparently this assertion was, thankfully, wrong. Eventually Billy seems to come out of the exchange as the chosen one, mitten falling on Vision’s arm as he explains their predicament. “We think she’s the snow queen,”
“From the story!”
The slow, pained blink of Billy’s eyes is reminiscent of Vision’s own feelings when being interrupted. “Yes, from the story mom read us last night.” Having recently finished their yearly reading of Sokovian fairytales, the boys had moved on to the fables of Hans Christian Andersen. “Anyway,” it takes a lot of control to not grin at the annoyed looked that is directed at Tommy, “Our snowmen attracted the attention of the snow queen and she’s pos...posa…,” the word he’s looking for is possessed, but Vision has found Billy does not appreciate being corrected, preferring to figure out the word or an alternative on his own. Billy frowns, shaking his head in frustration as he moves on,”she’s taken control of our snowmen.”
“All of them!”
This interruption is met with a commiserate nod, “All of them.”
Early on in training to be an Avenger, the new recruits would always talk afterwards, Wanda most often airing her frustrations about a lack of direction, something Sam would sympathize with but Rhodes would merely shrug and say that’s the point of the training. Vision rarely joined, still unsure at that time how he fit with the others (though he would speak individually with Wanda about it), but he always appreciated the lack of direction, enjoyed the cognitive task of mapping out every potential option and strategy. Which is why he determines to take a passive role today, yet still guide the boys towards the appropriate actions. “Do they have any unique tactics?”
The boys stare at each other again, occasionally turning to watch the slow moving line of snowmen. Tommy shrugs, “Throw snowballs really well.”
“And they don’t stay dead.”
Vision takes in the information, sorting it into different areas of his brain based on what strategies might be most useful. “So they have precision attacks and a tendency to reanimate. What about the snow queen?”
“We…” Tommy frowns, hands rubbing against his thighs as he thinks, body clearly perturbed at how long they’ve been still, “can’t get close”
A consonant nod and droop of Billy’s lips confirm their failure. “She’s super powerful.” An assessment Vision wholly and proudly agrees with, but just because she is powerful does not mean she is invincible. What the twins need to do is discover the chinks in her armor. Vision opens his mouth to guide them back to the story, certain Wanda has incorporated other elements in, but then Billy’s back straightens, his eyes widening as he seems to have an epiphany. “Dad,” his eyes narrow into an utterly serious, slightly threatening stare, “do not kiss her.”
Vision can’t stop the grin this time, though he somewhat successfully stifles the chuckle bubbling up from his lungs. “Boys, your mother and I are allowed to-”
“No,” Billy’s stare grows even more dire, head shaking in time with the wave of his hand. “The story, one kiss and she makes you not feel cold.”
There is a gasp followed by an accusatory glare from Tommy, “You already kissed her!”
Billy’s plaintive, “Come on, dad,” causes him to realize he is outside in slacks, socks, and a light button-up shirt. Quickly he shrugs his shoulders, shifting into to a gray peacoat, boots, and a plaid scarf. The twins give him synchronized disappointed stares. “Dad, this is important.”
“Yes?”
Billy doesn’t continue until Vision has made direct eye contact, “Two kisses and you forget us.” There is a pause that only ends once Vision gives a nod of understanding. “Three and you are dead.”
“Understood.” Neither of them seems convinced of his ability to thwart the advances of the snow queen, which creates a small prick of sadness in the back of his mind, but he also can’t deny their logic, Wanda (or the snow queen) is quite irresistible. Movement from behind Tommy catches his eyes, and Vision shoots another beam from the Mindstone, decimating a line of snowmen. “What is the plan?”
Confused silence meets his question, Billy cocking his head to the side to assess the situation, but then Tommy grins, pulling his hat from his coat pocket and tugging it down far enough to cover his ears. “I’m going to run.”
The gentle wind that had been caressing their cheeks turns into a brief, albeit strong, hurricane and then Tommy is gone, his path only recognizable because of the contrast of his forest green coat against the snow. Billy frowns at the sight, sighing as he adjusts the red earband wrapped around his head, “He’s going to die.”
“You should have faith in your brother.” A leery side-eyed stare is enough to confirm the advice has not and will not be considered. “What is your plan?”
The boy shrugs, “Get to her fortress?”
“Seems logical, after you.” Vision waves his hand, hovering behind Billy as they make their way down the stairs that were helpfully cleared by Tommy. Once they reach the middle of the yard, Vision slows, hanging back to allow Billy a chance to assess the carnage, twigs thrown all over the ground, some haphazardly sticking out of heaps of snow that were once snowmen. Yet it doesn’t take long for the piles to glow scarlet, rounded bodies rising out of the frosted terrain, stray snowflakes buzzing around the zombie snowmen. It is quite impressive, the amount of effort Wanda always puts in to their make-believe, a skill Vision has struggled with from the inception of the boys’ imaginative play. Billy freezes at the reanimated army, hands haltingly lifting, fingers wiggling to conjure blue energy, his right foot stepping back to steady his body before he sends out bolts of energy to tear apart the snow.
A satisfied curve forms on the left side of Billy’s mouth, one Vision briefly matches before tightening his lips into his best Natasha impression. “What next?”
The snowmen begin to reform again, Billy spreading his arms out in frustration as he looks between their foes and the fortress in the corner. “I don’t know, they,” blue flares around his fists, sparks connecting with the snow as he talks, “just keep,” Vision finally joins in, phasing his arms into the snowmen and then watching them melt, which is an odd yet satisfying feeling. Although he somehow he misses one of the snowmen, it’s thin arm tripping Billy, causing him to fall face-first into a defeated lump. The last word of his sentence is muffled by the snow, but the fed-up whine is still crystal clear, “coming.”
Vision smirks at the despair in Billy’s voice, catching a brief glimpse of red as Wanda rescinds her powers long enough to let them fall back. “Follow me,” he reaches down to grip Billy’s hand, pulling him to his feet and then tugging him towards the evergreen tree that is far enough from Wanda to give them a fair amount of protection. Once they reach the tree, Vision surveys the yard, attempting to locate Tommy, which is more difficult than it should be, his speed far faster than even Vision’s eyes can track, at least beyond a general notion of where he just was. Then a helpful wall of scarlet bursts from the ground and the green blur stops, Tommy falling onto his back, sitting up slowly in disorientation. “I will be right back.” Expertly Vision phases into the ground, eyes closed as he moves through the frozen soil, an intuitive understanding of distance and depth allowing him to resurface just behind Tommy. He scoops the boy into his arms and flies him to the evergreen.
The twins sit morosely on the ground, bodies caving in to make them appear much smaller and weaker than they are, it is a position Vision recognizes as being counterintuitive to a successful mission. So he alters his tone, instead of neutral directness, he softens his voice, implores them to consider their failure. “What did we learn?” Now their gazes move from the ground to each other, both daring the other one to respond, yet their stubbornness (that clearly, Vision would argue, only comes from their mother) persists, neither even willing to look up at him. Vision grins as he sits in the snow, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows onto his knees. “Can you defeat her alone?”
This time Tommy’s eyes roll up just enough to acknowledge Vision’s existence, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he answers, “No.”
Vision drops his voice, the words emanating from deep within his chest as he channels Steve, “Correct, so what is our next plan?”
There is a nervous, thoughtful silence as they both stare at their hands, Tommy digging a small trench in the snow as he thinks. Once the trench is several inches deep, Tommy stops, directing a hard, contemplative stare at Vision. “You are powerful enough to defeat her…” The suggestion has a hopeful sheen to it, and is not altogether untrue, but Vision truly believes he and Wanda are far too equal for either to fully win (though he is fairly certain he has defeated her two more times than she has him, but that is contested data).
Vision shrugs, identifying the one flaw in the plan, “Perhaps, but, as you have astutely pointed out, I cannot deny the temptation of her luscious lips.”
Their disgust is quick and in unison. “Ew, dad.” “Gross.”
His lips strain, trying not to broaden into a full smile, instead returning to the task at hand, “So, if we cannot each do it alone, what should we do?”
Billy stares at his hands, a small electric blue orb bouncing back and forth between his palms, a meditative exercise Wanda taught him six months ago. The orb travels up and then down, a steady, calming arc, every so often dipping into his palms as he loses concentration, but then it starts again. “What if,” Tommy’s gaze had also been locked on the orb, but moves towards Billy’s face, breath bated in anticipation, “I take on the snowmen, dad you distract her, and Tommy, you destroy the fortress?”
There are no disagreements and so they each stand, Billy approaching the snowmen, destroying each one with somewhat erratic but powerful gusts of power. Vision phases in and out of the ground, drawing out Wanda’s own attacks, grinning as she attempts to subdue him but fails each time. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Tommy creeping towards the fortress, steps surprisingly and impressively slow. Then his body begins to vibrate, the air stirring in tiny shockwaves around him, and he launches himself at the fortress, but a cloud of red rolls along the ground, creating a wall of ice in his path that knocks Tommy onto the ground. Vision races over, scooping Tommy into his arms and bringing him back to the evergreen of safety. They try again, switching roles, Vision taking on the snowmen, Tommy distracting, and Billy infiltrating. But it also ends in snowy disaster. The problem is quite clear to Vision, even though they are technically coordinated, their attacks are still far too independent.
The twins lean up against the tree, dismayed and defeated, snowballs crashing against the fence as Wanda continues her assault on them. Vision kneels down, placing his hands on their shoulders, forming a triangle of the Maximoff men, hoping this can allow them to unite as only a truly combined force might take down the matriarch. “We have one more formation to try.”
Billy exchanges a long, knowing look with Tommy. No disagreements occur, however, instead Vision gets dual shrugs, and then reluctant nods. “Promise not to kiss her?”
Vision squeezes their shoulders, “I shall endeavor to resist her temptation.”
The boys stand, brushing the snow from their pants, eyes meeting momentarily before they square their shoulders, Tommy’s feet starting to shuffle and Billy’s hands glowing in preparation. Tommy leaves them with an excited, “Let’s get her!” and runs around the tree, speeding through the snowmen, creating puffs of snow that are never able to re-solidify, his path snaking back and forth through the wreckage. Billy boldly walks into the middle of the fray, arms outstretched as he glows with purpose, voice wavering slightly as he demands, “Snow queen, come out.”
Vision is incorporeal, phasing his way across the yard until he can watch the boys from the bare elm to the west of the fortress. There is movement inside, the cream tassels at the end of Wanda’s scarf stirring as she steps through her make-shift snow castle, but then she stops, turning to grin at him, and Vision knows she is not going to allow them to win so easily. While her eyes are still trained on Vision, she calls out to Billy, “Why should I?”
This causes Billy to wilt slightly, even the blur of Tommy clarifying at the question. “Um, because you, um.” Training to deal with intelligent villains requires not just brute strength or strategic use of powers, but also the ability to think quickly. Something Vision sorely overlooked in their plan. “Um, you eat children?”
Wanda rolls her eyes, “Wrong witch.”
Tommy walks up to Billy’s side, whispering in his ear. “Um, you are lonely?”
This is also not quite correct, but the casualness of Wanda’s shrug suggests she’ll go along with it, though Vision recognizes the confident sway of her hips, understands instantly they are about to fail again. Wanda steps out of the fortress, hands engulfed in scarlet, “I would enjoy company, but I do not need you for that.” The Mindstone heats up in his forehead, body returning to its normal density and he hears a cry of Dad! just before he feels Wanda’s fingers grip the lapels of his jacket. “All I need,” she winks at him, a salaciously victorious smirk on her lips, “is this handsome warrior.”
Vision struggles in her grasp, attempting to phase away, though her grip on the Mindstone is still quite strong, but then he lessens his struggle as he realizes this is actually the opportune time to iron out some of the details for the evening. “Do you know how long this will last?”
In the background he can make out some of what is being said, such as Let go of him! But his main focus is on Wanda, “I have no idea, why?”
Don’t you dare kiss him! “I only ask because the paprikash needs to go on at 4 and the latkes at 4:30 and it is going to take a good hour to finish decorating.”
Wanda’s eyes widen in recognition of the issue, clearly, like himself, forgetting that they have actual obligations this evening. “What time is it?” If you don’t let go of him then , Wanda rolls her eyes again, scarlet flashing around her fingers as she turns towards their kids, “Or you’ll what?”
Tommy promptly runs away, renewing his effort to take on the snowmen, leaving Billy alone in his defiance and brave attempts to rescue Vision. “Um, zap you?” A sad spark arcs from Billy’s hand.
“You are welcome to try.” This is said in a way that suggests she knows he isn’t going to act instantly, which gives her the confidence to turn her impish gaze back towards Vision. “Might want to fake struggle again.”
“Oh, yes, sorry.”
Vision squirms in her hands, shifting his focus between Wanda and Billy, the first to continue the conversation and the second to assess how he is responding to the threat so Vision can provide advice and critiques afterwards. “What time is it?.”
The question forces him to remove his attention from both individuals, looking inwards to consult of his internal clock which, much to his horror, reveals it is far later than even he thought, “3:45.”
“Shit.” Wanda’s body sways as she thinks, lips pursed and eyes distant until suddenly a wicked smile blooms on her face. “I could take you out so you can cook, and then they’ll have to figure it out on their own.”
This is not a horrible plan, though he is uncertain how to believably “die.” “What do you suggest?”
The way she bites her bottom lip and the flutter of her eyelashes as she glances up at him is more than enough to convey the plan. One kiss and you are numb to the cold. Wanda lifts onto her toes, tugging on his lapels and pulling their chests together, the tiny, sultry grin on her face drawing him down into temptation, a loud, anguished, No! reaching them as she presses her lips to his. Two kisses and you forget your life. Vision pulls away to smile at her, but she gives him barely a chance to move his lips before yanking him down for another long, thrilling embrace. Three and - Wanda whispers against his lips, “You’re dead now.”
A haze of blue builds in his periphery and then a wave of energy crashes towards them, a flick of Wanda’s wrist sending a scarlet wall up out of the ground, causing Billy’s attack to break and dissipate to nothing. This, surprisingly, does not hinder Billy, his hands moving in wide circles as he prepares for his next attack. Wanda drops Vision, turning all of her attention to the oncoming assault. Now freed and quite “dead,” Vision brings a finger to his lips, certain there had to be some further charm than usual in her touch because he cannot seem to focus on anything else. But then there is a hand in his, tugging gently on his arm until he meets Tommy’s sorrowful gaze. “You gave in.”
“I-,” he breathes in, trying to figure out how to spin this into a lesson, but Vision finds his mind empty. “I did. I am sorry.”
Tommy shrugs before giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, “We’ll just have to avenge you now.” One last squeeze and Tommy bolts away, producing an excited war cry as he joins his brother in the melee of scarlet and blue energy twisting and crashing in the air.
Vision finds himself moving slower in the kitchen, eyes never fully leaving the battle going on in the yard, an ache in his limbs beckoning him to rejoin the fight, but, there are certain obligations to hosting the annual Avengers gift exchange. So his hands work on stirring the fish paprikash (adding just a touch more seasoning after he tastes it), mixing together the potatoes, eggs, flour, and onions and then forming patties, leaving them on a plate for later, knowing that Billy loves frying them. He removes the brisket from the oven, careful in lifting it from the pan so that he can slice it instead of shred it, and then he turns his attention to the hot oil, making sure to keep his bowl of sugar at the ready as he drops in each small ball of dough, gently prodding them with his wired scoop.
He hears when they come back inside, Tommy excitedly reciting the best lines and moves he used to take down the Snow Queen. Given the timing, Vision can only afford a half second glance, just long enough to take in the reddened cheeks and toothy smiles of the boys, but he does open his mind to Wanda, finds himself absorbed in the glow of her adoration and joy, distracted and overwhelmed by the images she sends to him. But then his thoughts burst with scarlet, a playful push of her powers telling him to pay attention. Vision immediately returns his attention to the food, lifting the sufganiyot out of the oil and shaking the excess liquid off before rolling them in the sugar. When he looks up again they’ve left to presumably get ready, or so he assumes given the screaming upstairs. It’s not the frenzied, heart-stopping yells from earlier, but the bickering and the “Mom! Tommy stole my shoe!” “Did not!” “Thomas!” “Mom!” that never ceases to awe him, lifting the corners of his mouth up into an amazed disbelief.
Vision shakes his head at the continued commotion while he spoons the jelly filling into a piping bag. It is an oddity to him for their home to have so much yelling, though, thankfully, it is rarely angry, but it is beyond his comprehension why some people prefer to shout across the hallway when they could just as easily take twenty steps and speak calmly. This, however, is not up to him to decide nor judge, and so he takes comfort knowing if there is noise then there tends to be happiness. Vision lifts the pot of paprikash, expertly dumping it into a heated serving dish, wiping the edges of the bowl and the counter down after the maneuver. He then checks on the oil for the latkes, a satisfying pop and sizzle a good sign it is ready, which is fortuitous, his auditory processors picking up on soft footfalls attempting to creep up on him, the thud of the soles are both eager and tense, which can only mean one person. Vision twists to smile at Billy. “I could use your help with the latkes.”
The boy grins, rubbing his hands together as he sends a tendril of blue into the laundry room, pulling his step stool along behind him until he reaches the counter. Vision shifts to the side, making room for Billy to set up the stool and climb up on it, his head just about even with Vision’s chin which is quite alarming. There is no way Billy can be that tall already, last year he was barely at Vision’s shoulder. “You okay, dad?”
“When did you get so tall?”
Both of their sons have inherited Wanda’s eye rolls, but only Billy has fully perfected it. “You ask me that every year.”
“It is still a legitimate question.”
Though clearly not a question worthy of an answer, another eye roll and an embarrassed sigh his only response, Billy instead turning his attention to the plate of uncooked potatoes. Carefully he picks each one up, gingerly dropping them into the shallow pool of hot oil in the pan. Even though Vision occupies his hands with piping jelly into the sufganiyot, he still finds himself tense, prepared to pull Billy away in case the oil is too hot or if he slips or if he burns his hand. But his fears are always unfounded, Billy expertly turning the latkes, having learned a couple of years ago the exact color that indicates their doneness. “Do you have another plate?”
“Yes,” Vision places his piping bag on the counter and grabs a serving platter, holding it out for Billy to deposit the cooked pancakes before starting on the next batch. “How did the rest of your battle go?”
An infinitesimal smirk graces the boy’s mouth, “Better than expected. I,” he stops talking, a slight blush forming on his face, one that is common whenever he wants to share something he’s proud of, “I learned how she was making the snowmen.”
“Oh?”
Billy nods enthusiastically, flipping the next batch of latkes with a satisfied grin. “Then I turned them against her and Tommy ran circles so she couldn’t escape.”
The grin is infectious, spreading to Vision’s face as he places the finished platter of latkes between the sufganiyot and the paprikash. “I am certain she did not appreciate that.”
“Not at all.” The story complete, they continue to work in a comfortable silence, Billy sharing Vision’s own view that sometimes words are unnecessary and quiet is just as meaningful.
But the calm atmosphere of the kitchen is eradicated not long after, a chaotic and overstimulating rush filling the room as Tommy streaks past, arms filled with garland and ornaments shouting something about setting a record time for decorating. Not far behind is a much more casually paced Wanda, wearing a recreation of Pietro's favorite holiday sweater (a menorah with Get Lit above it), the rest of the decorations in the bag in her right hand, her left arm draped with their traditional holiday sweaters. “Vizh, we have like ten minutes before people get here.”
This...can’t be correct, everything had been timed perfectly, but the oven clock betrays him in its agreeance with Wanda, “Oh.” Vision directs Billy off of the stool, content that at least the food is ready. “We should finish up then.” They each grab a sweater from Wanda, the one Vision proudly pulls over his head (a robot with a menorah for a hand) was a gift from the boys three years ago, and even though it is incredibly itchy and Vision could easily recreate it himself with his molecular manipulation, he refuses to do so. Wanda fixes their sweaters, straightening Billy’s and needlessly playing with the collar of Vision’s undershirt before turning towards the living room, an antsy tap to her foot developing as they wait for the last member of the clan. Unfortunately he rarely stops moving, but, to his credit he has done more good than harm, most of the decorations still where they are supposed to be instead of on the ground. When there is no sign of him stopping, Wanda sighs, transitioning into a stern tone as she says, “Thomas, come on, everyone’s going to be here soon.”
The boy slows down, quickly backing out of the living room and into the kitchen, wrapping one arm around Billy’s shoulder, their matching blue and white sweaters lining up perfectly. “Ready.”
There are some holiday traditions that they try to keep small, separating what is shared with the team and what remains within the confines of the Maximoffs. This is one that has always been intimate, always existed as personal tradition between Wanda and himself, the twins, understandably, automatically being added to the celebration once they were born. Their eyes all follow intently as Wanda lights the middle candle on the menorah. Once lit, she reaches out to pull Vision close, arm snaking around his waist to keep him snug against her. “You ready?”
The first year they did this he fumbled the words, unused to the language and the customs, but understanding it was important to Wanda. Despite the fact he has said these blessings numerous times, he still finds himself nervous, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue as he stares down at Wanda’s expectant smile. “Um, yes.” He clears his throat for good measure, the gutturals always threatening to throw him off. “Baruch Atah Adonai Elohenu Melech haolam asher kideshanu bemitzvotav vetzivanu lehadlik ner Chanukah.” After the first blessing Wanda grabs the candle, squeezing his waist to let him know to continue. “Baruch Atah Adonai Elohenu Melech Haolam sheasa nisim laavotenu bayamim hahem bizman hazeh.”
Wanda leans forward, lighting each candle in a slow progression, leaving one unlit for the next night, and then she returns to snuggle into his side, a flick of her finger lowering the lights in the house so they can enjoy the glow of the candles. He knows it is a risk, affection slowly becoming an embarrassment to the twins, but Vision reaches out, laying his arm across their shoulders and bringing them closer, a true holiday miracle happening when neither Tommy nor Billy throws out an ew or an annoyed Dad! .
The peacefulness lasts all of three minutes, a knock at the door shattering the stillness of the air, kickstarting Tommy into excitement as he claims door duty in faux-selflessness, “Whoever answers the door gets the presents.”
“That’s not fair! !” Billy wrestles himself from Vision’s grip and races after his brother. “You have to share with me!”
Wanda, does not move, instead laying her head on his shoulder, refusing to let go of Vision just yet, something he wholeheartedly agrees with, bending just enough to press a tender kiss to the top of her head. The sounds of Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays confirm their moment of peace is truly over. “I believe we have to be hosts now.”
“I guess so.”
The words mean they should move, yet Wanda brings her other arm around his waist, hugging him close, her chin pressed lightly in the middle of his chest, perfectly resting between his plates of vibranium. “Just so you know,” a mischievous twinkle in her eyes draws him down, his face hovering just above hers.
“Yes?”
Now she lifts onto her toes, closing the distance until the tips of their noses touch, a sweltering cheshire grin quieting the voices in the other room, leaving the two of them the only thing of importance, “You’re the supervillain next time.”
“Oh, well,” Vision runs his hands along her back, “I suppose it is only fair, though I worry it might,” he traces his right hand up her spine, enjoying the slight shiver of her body at the motion, “ruin their self-confidence to experience losing to such a powerful foe on the second training.”
Her grin collapses into a sardonic line, “You really think I can’t take you down?”
Vision shrugs, allowing his mouth the chance to convey just a touch of cockiness as he explains the reasoning, “Based on the available data, I am far more successful in our sparring than you.”
A good-natured yet slightly threatening spark of scarlet enters his back, just under her hands, “I think you just lost your present this year.”
“I shall just have to-”
“Hey,” the deadpan is automatically recognizable, an undertone of smarminess and glee at breaking up their conversation. Vision forces himself to look away from the scarlet flickering in Wanda’s eyes and turns his attention to Tony, who is standing next to them in a light up Iron Man Christmas sweater. “Your kids are cowering in embarrassment and asked me to,” Tony pauses long enough to change his voice into a whiny, high pitched impression, “please make it stop. We have presents to open and food to eat, so chop chop.”
Wanda unwinds her arms from around him, though her hand remains at the small of his back, “Come on, Maximoff.” A gentle push of her hand and they walk into the cacophony of voices and laughter. As Vision takes in the room, studying all the different faces and considers how impossible it seems they ended this way, given where they’ve all been and where they are all going, he can’t help but smile. Rhodes is already repeating the same stories as last year, but that doesn’t matter, everyone always listens, sometimes even join in the punchline. Natasha is taunting Steve by pointing out all of the mistletoe while Clint tries to drag unsuspecting victims to the plant. Tommy utilizes the chaos, weaving amongst all his aunts and uncles, scoping out the presents and inconspicuously moving them towards his usual present-opening seat while also doing his best to keep the boxes and bags from Billy.
Vision determines, not for the first nor last time, that he is truly blessed and that no matter how loud or how large this family gets, he would never willingly give it away.