Chapter Text
Vision flies over the wreckage of Sokovia, searching for Ultron. He can hear the Avengers attempting to evacuate the last of the city's residents, and he itches to find his would-be creator before he can harm anyone else. Vision does not know a lot about himself yet, but he knows that he does not want anyone to be harmed. If that means that he must destroy Ultron, then he knows what he must do, as much as the idea of it pains him. He only wishes that there might have been time, time for him to know Ultron, to teach the AI - his father in some ways, his brother in others - the truth about humanity, about their beauty. But Sokovia will fall and humanity with it, and Vision will not allow that to happen. (Humanity is a puzzle, still. Most things are puzzles. He thinks he might like to solve such puzzles, should he ever get the chance.)
Vision turns his head, the sun blaring down on him and turning the wreckage of metal beneath him into shining silver. His eyes do not require adjustments to different levels of light like human pupils do, and so he sees it all perfectly clearly, silhouetted against the merciless sun, as Ultron flies in a Quinjet, poised to fire; he sees, too, the small figures of three humans below - Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, and a young boy. He hears the rapport of bullets being fired, and he can see the trajectory of where they will land even as they leave the gun. A jolt echoes somewhere in his chest - concern, he thinks it may be, though the intricacies of emotions are something he is as of yet completely clear on - and without pausing to consider it, Vision swoops down from the sky and throws himself in front of the spray, condensing his form to a solid wall of vibranium and taking the full brunt of the assault. The bullets ping harmlessly off of his skin, not even making a dent into his cape as the Quinjet passes over them.
Clint glances up, the boy in his arms safe and secure, and Pietro turns to give Vision a shocked look. "Did you just save my life?" he asks.
Vision pauses. "I believe so, Mr. Maximoff."
The man swallows. "I didn't see that coming." Something flashes in his eyes. "Thank you," he says quietly, with only a touch of wariness.
Vision inclines his head. "Of course," he says easily. "We are a team, after all."
Clint stands, and the boy lets out a little sniffle where he had his head buried into his neck. "We need to get to the Helicarrier."
Pietro makes a sound. "Not without my sister."
"I can assist Miss Maximoff," Vision says. "You would be better suited making certain that everyone has left."
Pietro's mouth tightens, but he nods. "Alright," he says. "But I am only agreeing because Wanda will yell at me if I don't." He looks at Clint. "Keep up, old man." He disappears in a flash, and Clint mutters something derogatory under his breath as he shifts the boy in his arms and starts running for the Helicarrier.
Vision lifts into the air. In the distance, he can make out Wanda, glowing red in the sunlight, and he makes his way towards her, stopping briefly to dismantle a few of Ultron's creations on the way, batting them out of the sky and turning them into heaps of twisted metal with the beam of the Mind Stone.
When he lands beside Wanda where she's standing over the core, she turns to him, eyes glowing red. To a human, she would be a terrifying image - inhuman, a predator, activating their hindbrains and telling them to be afraid.
But Vision is not human. He does not fear.
"Miss Maximoff," he says, "I believe the Avengers have nearly emptied the city."
Wanda takes out a robot with the flick of one hand, not taking her eyes off of him. There is something magnetic about her, and Vision is faintly startled by it. She blows out a breath. "You saved my brother," she says quietly.
He knocks a bot to the ground, ripping it apart easily. "Yes," he says. Sensing her next words, he adds, "You do not need to thank me, Miss Maximoff."
"Yes," she says softly, and he looks back up at her to find that her eyes are no longer glowing. They are green like this, he notes. What shade? Perhaps jade, he thinks. Or moss. Emerald? In any case, they are very human. Beautiful, he thinks the word might be. "Yes, I do," she says.
He nods at her seriously. "When Thor begins the detonation, I will fly us out of here. Until then, I suggest we focus on protecting the core."
She smiles a little. "Already on it."