Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The hum of the advanced air filtration system was the loudest sound in Hope Pym’s spacious, meticulously organized office. Sunlight, filtered through the smart glass, cast long, clean lines across the polished floor. Hope sat at her sleek, minimalist desk, a holographic display shimmering before her, while Scott Lang leaned against a counter nearby, a half-eaten protein bar in his hand. Opposite them, seated in comfortable ergonomic chairs, were Hiccup Haddock and Astrid Hofferson Haddock, their faces etched with a familiar weariness that came from a lifetime of high-stakes missions. They were Shield’s top-tier operatives, often the first call when a situation required a unique blend of combat prowess and a touch of the extraordinary.

“Okay, you two have heard of the Quantum Realm, right?” Scott asked, pushing off the counter and leaning forward, his usual easygoing demeanor laced with an unfamiliar gravity.

Hiccup and Astrid exchanged a confused glance. Hiccup, ever the thoughtful one, stroked his chin. “Not properly… why? Did something happen when you and Hope went down there?”

Hope sighed, running a hand through her short hair. “It’s hard to explain, but in a way. Yes. This guy who called himself Kang the Conqueror… okay, he tried to escape the Quantum Realm, and I was wondering, or hoping even if…”

“We’d go and check it out,” Astrid finished, her voice flat, cutting straight to the unspoken request. She knew Scott and Hope well enough to read between the lines.

Scott nodded, relief flickering in his eyes. “It’s hard to explain, but there’s a whole different world in there. And while Kang’s there, it’s dangerous. He’s gone now, or a variant of him is, but the aftermath… the damage he caused, the power vacuum… it’s a chaotic mess. We thought we’d dealt with it, but we’re getting reports, faint signals of… trouble.”

Astrid fell silent, her gaze drifting to the panoramic view of the city skyline outside Hope’s window. Her mind wasn’t on the quantum world, but on her own world, her own children. Dawn, her eldest, was sixteen now, sharp and observant, a spitting image of her and Hiccup, but with a fierce independence that sometimes bordered on defiance. Then there were the younger ones, Zephyr and Nuffink, still young enough to believe their parents were just ‘going to work’ without fully grasping the dangers.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” Astrid finally asked, her voice tight. “And what about the kids? Dawn can handle herself; we’ve seen that for ourselves.” She thought of the countless times Dawn had stepped up, taken charge of her siblings, handled small crises around their home when she and Hiccup were away on lengthy Shield assignments. But handling herself didn't mean she should have to.

Scott ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I actually don’t know. Time works differently down there. Five minutes in the Quantum Realm can be five hours up here, or five days, or five years. It’s… unpredictable. But Astrid, don’t worry about Dawn and the younger ones. Alright? We’ll look after them until you return. However long it will take. Heck, we’ll teach Dawn the ways of shrinking properly.”

Astrid hesitated, the idea of leaving her children again, especially for an indefinite period, gnawing at her. She processed his words, the promise of care, the offer of training for Dawn. Her daughter had shown an uncanny knack for understanding complex tech, and a natural agility that hinted at a latent ability. Hank Pym, before his full retirement, had even commented on it.

“I don’t know, Scott… we’re already away from the kids half the time thanks to Shield,” Astrid admitted, her voice low, a raw edge of guilt in it. “But if it’s important, we’ll do it.”

“It is. It really is. You don’t realize it now, but there’s a whole world down there that may need our help. And if possible, if anyone wants to come up to the surface world… our world. See if you can make that happen as well.” Scott’s urgency was palpable, a rare intensity that even Hiccup, usually the more reserved of the two, found compelling.

Astrid's hesitation lingered, a shadow in her eyes, but the weight of the mission, the potential for catastrophe, slowly eclipsed her personal turmoil. She understood the stakes. Since the events of Endgame, the world had become both safer and more vulnerable, the fabric of reality stretched thin in places. Threats now came not just from alien invaders but from the very fringes of existence.

She finally nodded, her determination shining through, a warrior’s resolve trumping a mother’s worry, for now. “Alright, Scott. Let’s do it. We’ll go down there and help however we can, and if there’s a chance to bridge the gap between our worlds, we’ll make it happen.”

“But how will Dawn take the news? Zephyr and Nuffink would be fine since they don’t understand why we do this, but… We’ve left Dawn multiple times for who knows how long.” Hope’s voice spoke up as she entered the room, going beside Scott, a soft, understanding smile on her face. Her own childhood had been marked by her mother’s disappearance into the Quantum Realm, and her father’s desperate, often misguided, attempts to retrieve her. She knew the particular ache of a child left behind, the mix of fear, anger, and longing.

“We’ll talk to her,” Hope continued, her gaze meeting Astrid’s. “I know what it’s like to be left for who knows how long. But she won’t be alone, Astrid. I promise.” Hope then turned to the Shield agents. “Dawn will have Cassie as well as my parents to help her. You know she’s never alone.”

“I know… I just can’t help but feel we’ve let her down so many times.” Astrid’s voice was barely a whisper, the raw truth of her guilt laid bare.

Scott nodded, understanding etched on his face. He knew that feeling, too, the struggle to balance a heroic life with parental responsibilities. “But we’ve always come back for her, and this time will be no different. We’ll make sure she has the support she needs, and we won’t let her down again,” he reassured Astrid, his voice filled with unwavering determination. “Besides, the training. She’s got a real spark, and Hank always said it was better to guide that kind of talent than to let it flounder.”

The conversation shifted then to the practicalities. Hope pulled up schematics for a new, reinforced Quantum Sub, specially designed for longer, more aggressive excursions into the subatomic realm. Scott explained the intricacies of the Quantum mechanics, the fluctuating timelines, the myriad biomes and civilizations that existed within. He also detailed the remnants of Kang’s influence – shattered timelines, rogue technologies, and the lingering threat of his discarded variants or their loyalists.

“Hank showed us how to synthesize more Pym Particles before he fully retired,” Hope explained, gesturing to a secure vault in the corner of the office. “It’s a painstaking process, but we’ve got enough for your journey, and then some for contingencies. You’ll need the new suit designs too – better environmental seals, more robust power cells, and a significantly upgraded comms system to punch through the Quantum static.”

Hiccup, ever the engineer, listened intently, his fingers tracing patterns in the air as he absorbed the technical data. Astrid, meanwhile, was focused on the immediate future. The hardest part wasn’t the mission itself; it was the goodbye.

Later that evening, the Haddock family gathered in their living room. Zephyr, a whirlwind of boundless energy, was drawing pictures of dragons, while Nuffink, still a toddler, played with a worn toy Viking ship. Dawn sat a little apart, scrolling through her phone, her expression distant. She’d been like that for a while, a barrier forming between her and her parents, a silent accusation in her increasingly independent demeanor.

“Dawn, Zephyr, Nuffink,” Astrid began, her voice softer than usual. “Your father and I… we have to go away for a while.”

Zephyr looked up, her bright eyes wide. “Like to the arctic again?”

Hiccup knelt down, ruffling her hair. “Something like that, sweetie. It’s very important. But you’re all going to stay with Auntie Hope and Uncle Scott, and Cassie. Won’t that be fun?”

Nuffink giggled, clapping his hands. “Auntie Hope!”

Dawn, however, lowered her phone, her gaze hardening. “Again? How long this time, Mom? A week? A month? Six months like last time, when Zephyr had the flu and I had to miss my finals because I was taking care of things?” Her voice was calm, but the underlying resentment was a sharp needle. “You always say ‘important,’ but it always means ‘we’re leaving you.’”

Astrid winced, the truth of Dawn’s words stinging. “Dawn, I know it’s hard. Believe me, it’s hard for us too. But this mission… it’s different. It’s to prevent something truly catastrophic.”

Hope, who had joined them for this difficult conversation, stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm. “Dawn, your parents are going into a place called the Quantum Realm. It’s incredibly dangerous, and time there works differently. We don’t know how long they’ll be gone, but we promise, they will come back.”

Dawn scoffed. “Everyone always says that.”

“I know what it feels like to be left, Dawn,” Hope continued, her eyes meeting the teenager’s. “My own mother was stuck there for thirty years. I understand your frustration, your anger. But this isn’t just about waiting. While your parents are gone, Scott and I want to teach you. Really teach you. About the Pym Particles, how to shrink, how to grow, proper combat, the science behind it all. You’ve got a mind for it, and a natural ability. You won’t just be waiting; you’ll be training, becoming an agent in your own right. Cassie will be here too, your age, going through similar things.”

Dawn paused, the resentment warring with a flicker of interest. The Pym Particles. The shrinking and growing. She’d seen Scott and Hope do it, seen the incredible things they could achieve. A future beyond just being the responsible older sister, beyond just waiting. A future where she had power, agency. Where she could do something.

“You’d teach me?” she asked, her voice softer now, a hint of vulnerability in her tone.

Scott, sensing the shift, chimed in. “Absolutely. Hope and I believe in passing on what we know. You’d be a brilliant student. And it won’t just be about fighting. It’ll be about problem-solving, understanding complex science, and protecting those who can’t protect themselves. Just like your parents do.”

Astrid watched her daughter, a silent plea in her eyes. Dawn looked from Scott to Hope, then back to her parents, who stood with a mixture of hope and anxiety. The idea of learning from the original Ant-Man and Wasp, to genuinely master the powers she had only dreamed of, was a powerful lure. The thought of not just being left behind, but being empowered.

“Okay,” Dawn said, her voice firming. “But you'd better come back. And you better teach me everything.”

A collective sigh of relief filled the room. Astrid rushed forward, pulling her daughter into a tight hug. “We will, love. We promise.”

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparations. Hiccup and Astrid underwent rigorous training simulations, familiarizing themselves with the new Quantum Sub controls and the upgraded suits. Hope and Scott meticulously went over the Quantum Realm’s known hazards, highlighting areas where Kang’s influence had caused the most instability. They discussed potential allies and enemies within the realm, factions that had either sided with Kang or suffered under his rule. Just before their departure, Scott managed to synthesize a fresh batch of Pym Particles, a viscous azure liquid shimmering in its containment vials, a direct legacy from Hank’s original research.

The morning of their departure was quiet and solemn. Outside Hope’s company headquarters, a sleek Quinjet awaited. Inside, Hiccup and Astrid shared final, tearful goodbyes with Zephyr and Nuffink, who were still too young to fully grasp the weight of the moment. Dawn, however, stood taller, a new resolve etched on her face. She hugged her parents tightly, a silent understanding passing between them.

“Be safe,” she whispered to Astrid. “And don’t forget your promise.”

“Never,” Astrid replied, kissing her forehead. “Look after your siblings, and learn everything you can.”

Scott and Hope stood beside them, their presence a reassurance. “We’ve got them,” Hope said, placing a hand on Astrid’s shoulder. “Go save the whatever-verse.”

With a nod, Hiccup and Astrid boarded the Quinjet, which would take them to a Shield-secured facility housing the Quantum Gateway. They turned at the ramp, waving to their children and friends one last time.

Then they were gone.

Days bled into weeks, and weeks into what felt like months. On the surface, life continued. Zephyr and Nuffink quickly adapted to life with Auntie Hope and Uncle Scott, finding endless fascination in Cassie’s ever-growing collection of superhero memorabilia and the vast, sprawling campus of Hope’s company.

For Dawn, however, life had irrevocably changed. Every afternoon after school, she would report to a specialized training room within the company’s R&D wing. Scott and Hope were meticulous teachers, patient but firm. They began with the basics: the theoretical physics of subatomic compression and the precise molecular restructuring necessary for mass displacement. Dawn devoured it all, her resentment replaced by a hunger for knowledge and control.

Her first shrinking experience was… exhilarating. The world exploded into colossal, impossible landscapes as she dwindled to the size of an ant. Scott was there, guiding her, teaching her how to navigate the miniature world, how to use the suits’ enhanced agility and strength. Hope showed her how to manipulate the Pym Particles, not just for personal shrinking, but for affecting other objects. She learned to grow a pencil to the size of a javelin, then shrink it back to her palm. She learned to ‘kick’ with the force of a giant by rapidly expanding her foot at the point of impact.

Cassie, understanding Dawn’s struggle more than anyone, became her confidante and sparring partner. They trained together, laughing as they practiced shrinking through a maze of enlarged everyday objects, or growing to punch through miniature obstacles. Cassie shared stories of her own journey, the fear and pride she felt for her father, the loneliness of his time in the Quantum Realm, and the joy of his return. Their shared experiences forged a deep bond.

Hope and Scott would often find Dawn hunched over Hank Pym’s old notebooks, meticulously deciphering his cryptic notes on advanced particle manipulation. Her progress was astonishing, her innate talent blossoming under their tutelage.

Yet, even with the excitement of training, the shadow of uncertainty remained. Hiccup and Astrid had been gone for what felt like an eternity on the surface. Weeks had turned into months, stretching towards a seemingly endless horizon. The time dilation of the Quantum Realm meant they could be gone for years, or they could return tomorrow morning, or not at all. Hope and Scott always reassured Dawn, reminding her of their promises, but the silence from the Quantum Gateway was a constant, unsettling presence.

Dawn, no longer just a resentful teenager, was becoming something more. She was a student, a warrior in training, a guardian in waiting. She had embraced the responsibility, not out of obligation, but out of a fierce determination to ensure that when her parents did return, they would find not just their children safe, but their eldest ready to stand beside them, a true partner in the fight for their worlds. The Quantum Realm still held its secrets, its dangers, and its promise. And Dawn, the future Wasp of Shield, was now acutely aware that her journey, like her parents', had only just begun.

Chapter Text

The hum of the espresso machine was the loudest sound in the Lang-Van Dyne kitchen, a stark counterpoint to the quiet anxiety that had settled over the house like a fine dust. It had been two months since Hiccup and Astrid Haddock had vanished into the unknown, chasing a faint quantum signature they believed could stabilize a nascent energy field – a field vital for their own world, but also a potential bridge back to what they'd left behind. Two months since they’d waved goodbye, leaving their eldest, Dawn, then just shy of sixteen, with the unenviable task of wrangling Zephyr, six, and Nuffink, four.

Scott Lang, hunched over a stack of technical schematics, scrubbed a hand over his face. The paperwork for the Quantum Realm Observation Initiative – a fancy name for ‘how do we get Hiccup and Astrid back?’ – blurred before his eyes. Across the polished kitchen island, Hope van Dyne, ever precise, tapped away on a tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration. She was dissecting sensor readings from the last, desperate beacon they’d sent after the Hadocks. Every day was a cycle of meticulous research and gnawing uncertainty.

“Anything?” Scott asked, not looking up. The question was a ritual, its answer almost always the same.

“Fluctuations,” Hope replied, her voice tight. “But nothing definitive. Still too much interference. It’s like trying to find a specific grain of sand in a hurricane.”

Scott sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. He missed his friend, the quiet inventor with the sharp mind and the even sharper wit. He missed Astrid, the fierce protector whose pragmatic nature reminded him a lot of Hope. But mostly, he worried about Dawn. The girl was holding it together with a strength few adults possessed, but he saw the shadows under her eyes, the way she sometimes stared into the middle distance, lost in thought.

Just then, the air shimmered. Not a ripple, but a sudden, almost violent displacement of the molecules in the center of the kitchen. Like a mirage in fast-forward. Neither Scott nor Hope needed to be told who it was. The tell-tale sign of a being whose molecular structure was in constant flux, barely tethered to this reality.

Ava Starr coalesced, gasping, her form flickering as if a faulty projector were struggling to keep her image steady. Her usually pale face was stark white, her eyes wide with a desperate fear that cut through the scientific curiosity. She clutched at her chest, her hand passing through her own sternum for a terrifying moment before solidifying.

“Ava!” Hope exclaimed, pushing back from the island, her SHIELD instincts kicking in. Scott was already on his feet, moving towards her, a mixture of concern and caution in his stance.

“I… I couldn’t wait,” Ava choked out, her voice raspy, like grinding gears. Her phasing was worse, far worse than they’d last seen it. The controlled, almost elegant transitions she’d once managed were gone, replaced by uncontrolled, painful blips in and out of existence. “The Blip… it made things unstable. But now… it’s accelerating. It’s like my atoms are trying to remember how to be a person, but they’re forgetting faster than they learn.”

Scott glanced at Hope. They’d planned to help Ava. They’d promised. But then Hiccup and Astrid had made their desperate journey, taking with them nearly all their carefully synthesized, stable quantum particles – the very kind Ava needed to anchor herself. What little remained was their emergency reserve, their only shot at pulling their friends out of the Quantum Realm if they found them.

“We understand, Ava,” Hope said, her voice softening, though her mind was clearly racing. “Come, sit down. Scott, can you get her some water?”

As Scott moved, Ava tried to sit on a stool, only to phase halfway through it, letting out a sharp cry of pain as her molecules resisted. She scrambled back, leaning against the counter, her body flickering in and out so rapidly she looked like a strobe light.

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Scott asked, putting a glass of water on the counter.

Ava nodded, her eyes glistening. “I need… I need a stable quantum charge. Something to re-anchor me. Just enough to let me… exist.” She looked at them with a raw vulnerability that tugged at Scott’s heart. “You said you could help. Before…” Her gaze dropped, acknowledging the elephant in the room – the missing Hadocks.

Hope walked around the island, her expression conflicted. “We still want to, Ava. But the amount of stable particles you need… it’s substantial. And right now, what we have left is… it’s for Hiccup and Astrid. It’s our only way to generate a rescue portal.”

A flicker of defeat crossed Ava’s face, but then it was replaced by a desperate, almost animalistic glint. “I know what you mean. I can feel it. The void. The nothingness. It’s what I’m fighting every second.” She paused, then pushed herself away from the counter, trying to stand tall despite her failing body. “I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way. I’ve tried everything. Every contact, every old lead. Pym was the only one who ever understood the Quantum Realm well enough to even theorize it. You’re my last hope.”

Scott looked at Hope, then back at Ava. He remembered what it felt like to be untethered, lost in an endless, alien void. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone, let alone someone who was already suffering.

“Let’s look at the schematics,” Scott suggested, trying to bridge the gap between their conflicting priorities. “Maybe there’s a way to synthesize a smaller charge, a temporary stabilizer. Something to buy us time.”

Hope nodded slowly. “It would deplete our remaining Pym Particle supply significantly. And the synthesis alone would take days. But… it’s worth exploring.”

They moved into the adjacent lab, a room usually buzzing with the quiet hum of sophisticated machinery, now filled with the frantic energy of two brilliant minds scrambling for a solution. Ava, carefully, painfully, phased herself onto a reinforced chair, trying to keep still, her form still wavering.

The afternoon wore on, filled with the language of quantum mechanics, subatomic particles, and theoretical energy fields. The more they analyzed, the clearer the problem became: to stabilize Ava, they needed a substantial, precisely calibrated dose of quantum energy. And to generate that, they needed Pym Particles. The very Pym Particles that were now dwindling to a critical level, the very ones they needed to rescue Hiccup and Astrid. It felt like a cruel cosmic joke.

Just as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows through the lab window, the front door burst open.

“We’re home!” Zephyr’s cheerful voice chirped, followed by the thud of backpacks dropping and Nuffink’s contented gurgles.

Dawn’s voice, a little more weary, chimed in, “Zephyr, don’t make so much noise! And Nuffink, let’s get your shoes off.”

Scott and Hope exchanged a panicked glance. Ava’s presence was not something they usually shared with the kids, especially not in her current, terrifyingly unstable state.

“Stay here, Ava,” Hope whispered urgently. “We’ll try to keep them out of the lab.”

But it was too late. Zephyr, a whirlwind of boundless energy and curiosity, was already peering around the doorframe. Her eyes, wide and innocent, landed on Ava, whose form flickered violently, catching the evening light.

“Whoa!” Zephyr exclaimed, pointing. “Is that a ghost, Uncle Scott?”

Nuffink, clinging to Dawn’s leg, whimpered, burying his face in her jeans. Dawn, however, took in the scene with a teenager’s sharp assessment. Her parents’ friends, intense and worried. A strange, shimmering woman who looked like she was phasing through reality. And the palpable tension in the air.

“Zephyr, Nuffink, go to the living room,” Dawn said, her voice firm. “I’ll be right there.” She stepped into the lab, her gaze meeting Scott’s, then Hope’s, then finally Ava’s. A flicker of something akin to understanding, and perhaps even pity, crossed her face.

“It’s okay, Dawn,” Scott said, trying for a reassuring tone that didn’t quite land. “This is Ava. She’s… a friend. She’s not feeling well.”

Ava managed a weak, almost imperceptible nod, trying to hold herself together for the children.

Zephyr, however, wasn’t deterred by her sister’s command. She bounced in, holding up a small, glistening vial. “Look, Uncle Scott! Look what I showed for Show and Tell today!”

Scott and Hope froze.

In Zephyr’s tiny hand, glinting innocently in the lab’s fluorescent light, was one of their last, precious vials of Pym Particles. Not the stable quantum energy Ava needed, but the key to creating it, the very essence of their shrinking and growing technology, and the only way to open a stable portal to the Quantum Realm.

Hope gasped, a sharp, choked sound. Scott felt his blood run cold. “Zephyr! Where did you get that?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

Zephyr’s bright smile faltered. “I… I found it on your workbench this morning. It was shiny! And everyone at school thought it was super cool!”

Dawn’s eyes widened, understanding dawning on her. She knew what Pym Particles were. Her parents had explained them. They were important.

"I didn't know she had that" Dawn spoke up, her voice defensive, her hands shooting up in surrender.

Ava’s eyes, however, fixed on the vial with an intensity that was almost frightening. A desperate, ravenous hunger briefly flashed there, quickly replaced by a flicker of guilt as she saw the distress on Scott and Hope’s faces.

“It’s… it’s the last of our reserve,” Hope whispered, her voice barely audible. “The last usable vial. If we use this for Ava, we won’t have enough to open a stable gate for Hiccup and Astrid.”

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, a cruel choice laid bare. Ava, the ghost, or Hiccup and Astrid, the missing.

Scott looked from his wife to the shimmering woman, then to the vial in Zephyr’s hand. He saw the suffering, the imminent threat of Ava’s molecular dissolution. But he also saw the faces of Hiccup and Astrid, the memory of their brave, hopeful departure. And for the first time, he truly understood the burden Dawn had been carrying for two months.

Dawn, ever perceptive, stepped forward, carefully taking the vial from Zephyr’s hand and placing it on the lab bench, out of reach. She then turned to Scott and Hope, her young face etched with an unexpected maturity.

“Mom and Dad… they wouldn’t want her to suffer,” Dawn said, her voice quiet but firm. “They went into the Quantum Realm to help, didn’t they? To make things right. They’d want us to help her.” She looked at Ava, her gaze unwavering. “My parents believe in second chances. In compassion.”

Ava, normally so guarded, visibly flinched at Dawn’s words. The raw, open empathy from a child whose own parents were missing—a situation she was inadvertently complicit in—struck her deeply.

Scott looked at his daughter, then at Hope. Dawn’s words cut through the scientific dilemma, the logistical nightmare. They reminded them of the core of who they were, of what they fought for.

Hope, ever the pragmatist, still hesitated. “It’s a risk, Dawn. A massive risk. If we use this up entirely, we’re blind. We can’t rescue them.”

Ava, her voice regaining a fraction of its former strength, pushed herself forward, her form still flickering. “Wait. There’s… a possibility. A highly experimental, incredibly risky possibility.” She looked at Scott and Hope, then at Dawn, a strange mix of self-preservation and newfound humility in her eyes. “It doesn’t have to be either/or. Not entirely.”

She paused, considering, then continued, “When I was with Bill Foster, he theorized a way to ‘tune’ the Pym Particles, not just for size manipulation, but to create a localized, temporary quantum field. A stabilizer. It would… it would require a massive energy surge, and it would be incredibly painful for me. It would also deplete the particles, but not entirely, if we’re precise. It would buy us time. Enough time to synthesize more Pym Particles from scratch for your rescue mission. But it means I become a conduit. A living battery, for a short while.”

Scott and Hope exchanged a look. It sounded insane. Dangerous. But Ava’s desperate, unwavering gaze, coupled with Dawn’s silent, empathetic plea, pushed them.

“Tell us,” Hope said, her scientific curiosity overriding her caution. “Every detail.”

For the next hour, the lab was a blur of frantic activity. Ava, drawing on her deep, albeit fragmented, understanding of her own condition and Foster’s abandoned research, guided them. Hope, with her unparalleled knowledge of quantum mechanics, calibrated the energy relays. Scott, with his quick thinking and practical engineering skills, jury-rigged a containment field from spare parts, ensuring the energy surge wouldn’t destabilize the entire house. Dawn, quiet but resolute, comforted Zephyr and Nuffink in the living room, a shield between innocence and scientific desperation.

The moment of truth arrived. Ava, strapped into a makeshift harness, her body a shimmering testament to her suffering, looked at them. “It’s going to hurt,” she whispered. “A lot.”

“We’re here, Ava,” Scott said, placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch phased through her for a moment, then solidified. “You’re not alone.”

Hope nodded, her finger hovering over the activation switch. “Ready?”

Ava closed her eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “Ready.”

Hope pressed the button.

A blinding flash of blue light erupted from Ava, followed by a sound like tearing fabric. The air crackled with energy. Ava screamed, a guttural cry of pure agony, as her body became a conduit, molecules stabilizing and destabilizing in a rapid, agonizing dance. Her form distorted, almost blurring out of existence, then snapping back with violent force. Scott and Hope watched, helpless, their faces grim, trusting in Ava’s knowledge, their own expertise, and the fragile hope that this would work.

The process lasted for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a minute. Then, as suddenly as it began, it ceased.

Ava slumped forward, gasping, sweat plastering her hair to her forehead. Her body still flickered, but the violent, uncontrolled phasing was gone. It was a rapid, visible shimmer, but she held a more solid form, no longer fragmenting into nothingness. She was still unstable, still suffering, but she was anchored. She was present.

Slowly, carefully, Ava lifted her head, her eyes meeting Scott’s. A weak, grateful smile touched her lips. “It… it worked. Temporarily.” She tried to move, and this time, her hand didn’t pass through her own leg. “I’m… I’m here.”

Scott felt a wave of relief wash over him. He looked at the vial of Pym Particles. It was diminished, but not empty. Enough remained to begin the complex, time-consuming process of re-synthesizing more. Enough to launch a rescue mission, eventually.

Hope, ever methodical, was already checking readouts. “Molecular integrity improved by 40%,” she announced, a rare note of triumph in her voice. “This buys us weeks, maybe months, to stabilize you fully, Ava. And it gives us a fighting chance for Hiccup and Astrid.”

Dawn, who had crept back into the lab, her siblings now safely asleep in their beds, watched the scene unfold. She saw the relief on Scott and Hope’s faces, the fragile hope in Ava’s eyes. Her own shoulders, which had carried so much weight, felt a little lighter.

“So… Mom and Dad will be okay?” she asked, her voice small but clear.

Scott knelt down, pulling her into a hug. “We’re closer, kiddo. We’re definitely closer. Ava helped us. We helped Ava. And now we have a plan.”

Ava, seeing Dawn, managed to push herself up, managing a genuine, if weak, smile. “Your parents would be proud, Dawn. You did good.”

Dawn offered a small, shy smile in return. The empathy she’d shown had indeed triumphed. It had forged an unexpected alliance, bought precious time, and rekindled a spark of hope in a household consumed by worry.

The road ahead was still long. Ava’s full stabilization was a monumental task, and the Quantum Realm still held Hiccup and Astrid in its enigmatic grasp. But as the night settled around the suburban home, casting gentle shadows, there was a new kind of quiet. Not the quiet of gnawing anxiety, but the quiet of shared purpose, renewed determination, and the faint, hopeful hum of a quantum field, waiting for its friends to come home.

Chapter Text

The scent of burnt popcorn and the aggressive buzz of a neglected dishwasher were the backdrop to Dawn Haddock’s life now. Six months. One hundred and eighty-two days of pretending everything was okay for an Six-year-old who asked “When?” every morning and a four-year-old who was starting to forget the exact shade of his mother’s hair.

Dawn stood at the stove, mechanically stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese, the kind from a blue box that was their staple. Her phone was propped against the ketchup bottle, displaying a paused training module Hope van Dyne had sent her. Advanced Pym-Particle Field Manipulation: Sub-Atomic Trajectory Stabilization. It glowed with a promise of a future that felt galaxies away.

“Dawn! Zephyr took my dragon!” Nuffink’s wail cut through the low hum of the house.

“Did not! I was just showing him how to make it swoop properly!” Zephyr’s voice, already edged with the defiance of a child feeling perpetually short-changed, echoed from the living room.

Dawn squeezed her eyes shut for a second, the wooden spoon digging into her palm. “Zephyr, give him back his toy. Now. Or no dessert.”

A grumble, then the thud of small feet. Peace, fragile and temporary, was restored. This was her domain now: a too-quiet suburban house in California, a world away from the rugged, open skies of Berk they still called home. She was the keeper of schedules, the master of laundry, the mediator of toy disputes, and the silent bearer of a fear so heavy it sometimes stole her breath in the middle of the night.

The fear that her parents weren’t just lost, but gone. That the frantic, whispered calls with Uncle Scott and Aunt Hope were just them playing along, too kind to confirm her worst nightmare.

Her phone buzzed, and Scott Lang’s name flashed on the screen. Her heart, as it always did, launched into her throat. A call, not a text. That was unusual.

“Hey, Uncle Scott,” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice she didn’t feel. “Mac and cheese crisis over here, what’s up?”

“Dawnie.” His voice was different. Electric. It crackled with a energy she hadn’t heard since before… everything. “Get the kids. Get them ready. Now. We’re meeting at the warehouse. The new one.”

The spoon clattered into the pot. “What? Why? Is everything–”

“They’re back, Dawn.” Hope’s voice cut in, clearer, steadier, but with the same undeniable current of joy. “We’ve got them. They’re safe. We’re bringing them home.”

The world tilted. The greasy smell of powdered cheese, the distant sound of the cartoon still playing in the other room, the feel of the linoleum under her socks—it all sharpened into a painful, beautiful focus. A sob escaped her, harsh and unexpected. Six months of holding it together evaporated in a single second.

“They’re… you’re sure? They’re okay?”

“Loud and clear,” Scott said, and she could hear his grin. “A little disoriented, but they’re your mom and dad. We’ll bring the kids and meet you at the warehouse!! Dawn will be so happy to see you two! That kid worked really hard to look after her brother and sister...”

The words washed over her, a balm and a mandate. The weight wasn’t gone, but it had transformed. It was now the weight of a miracle.

“Okay,” she breathed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Okay. We’ll be there. Hurry.”

She hung up and stood there for a moment, trembling. Then, the Big Sister switch flipped. There was no time for her own emotional tsunami. There was action to be taken.

“Zephyr! Nuffink! Shoes on! Now!” she yelled, her voice cracking with an authority that brooked no argument.

Zephyr appeared in the doorway, her face a mirror of confusion and dawning hope. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Dawn knelt, grabbing Nuffink’s tiny sneakers as he toddled in. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, looking at both of them, her vision blurring with fresh tears, this time of pure, unadulterated joy. “Nothing’s wrong at all. We’re going to see Mom and Dad.”

The drive to the industrial park was a blur. Zephyr fired question after question from the backseat, her energy now focused and buzzing. “Are they really back? How did they get out? Did they fight any quantum monsters? Are they heroes like Uncle Scott?” Nuffink, picking up on the seismic shift in mood, just chanted “Mama! Daddy!” and kicked his feet against his car seat.

Dawn answered in monosyllables, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The fear was still there, a stubborn ghost at the feast. What if something went wrong at the last second? What if they’d changed? The Quantum Realm wasn’t a vacation spot; Hope had told her stories about time vortices and probability storms. What if they came back… different?

The new warehouse was unmarked and sterile, a far cry from the cluttered, homely chaos of the original Pym van or their first lab. The large, man-made Quantum Tunnel dominated the space, humming with a potent, silent energy. Scott and Hope were waiting, their faces etched with a triumphant exhaustion.

Before Dawn could even speak, the Tunnel flared. A light that was every color and no color at all spilled out, and two figures stumbled forward onto the platform.

Hiccup and Astrid Haddock.

They were here. Solid. Real.

Dawn’s breath hitched. They looked… older. Not in a way that added lines, but in a way that had sanded down their edges. Their hair, Astrid’s blonde and Hiccup’s auburn, seemed to hold a faint, shimmering memory of the quantum energy. Their eyes, when they focused, held a new, unsettling depth, as if they were still processing the scale of an infinite universe.

But they were them.

“Mom! Dad!” Zephyr shrieked, launching herself forward, a torpedo of unchecked emotion. She collided with Astrid, who wrapped her arms around her daughter with a strength that was both fierce and, Dawn noticed, slightly hesitant, as if re-learning the shape of her child.

Nuffink, suddenly shy, buried his face in Dawn’s leg. Hiccup knelt, his movements still a bit uncoordinated, like a man getting used to gravity again. “Hey, bud,” he said, his voice rougher, quieter than Dawn remembered. It had a faint, harmonic echo, like two versions of him were speaking a microsecond apart. “It’s me. It’s Daddy.”

Dawn watched, her feet rooted to the spot. The six-month burden, the fear, the responsibility—it demanded a release. It demanded a moment. But as Astrid disentangled from Zephyr and her eyes found Dawn, everything else fell away.

“Dawn,” Astrid whispered, and opened her arms.

Dawn broke. She crossed the room in a few strides and fell into the embrace, sobbing into her mother’s shoulder. She smelled of ozone and something else, something metallic and strange, but underneath it was the faint, enduring scent of her shampoo, a scent Dawn had tried and failed to replicate from the last bottle left in their shower. Hiccup’s hand, calloused and familiar, landed on her back, completing the circle.

For a long time, they just held each other, a fractured unit slowly knitting itself back together. The questions could wait. The explanations could wait.

The ride home was quiet, filled with a soft, exhausted awe. Zephyr held onto Astrid’s hand as if she might vanish. Nuffink, curled in Hiccup’s lap in the backseat, was already asleep, his head nestled against the chest of a father he’d started to forget.

It was at home that the subtle changes began to surface.

Hiccup stood in the doorway of the house he’d built, looking at it as if it were a museum diorama of a life he’d once lived. He ran his fingers over the doorframe, frowning slightly.

“It’s… smaller,” he murmured, not to anyone in particular.

Astrid, helping Nuffink with his shoes, paused. Her gaze was distant, tracking motes of dust dancing in a sunbeam as if she could see the individual atoms spinning. “Time moved differently here,” she said, her voice soft. “Faster. For us… it was a long time.”

Dawn watched them, the ember of her old fear glowing again. Scott and Hope exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. They’d seen this before.

Later, as Dawn was cleaning up the abandoned mac and cheese pot, she saw her father jump, a full-bodied flinch, at the sudden screech of the garbage disposal. He recovered quickly, offering a weak smile. “Loud,” he explained, but his eyes were wide with a residual shock that seemed disproportionate.

Her mother, putting plates away, would occasionally pause, her head tilting as if listening to a faint, faraway frequency. Once, she reached for a glass on the top shelf without looking, her hand finding it with an impossible, preternatural accuracy that made Dawn’s breath catch. It was a move she’d seen Hope make in the Wasp suit.

They were home. They were safe. But they had brought the Quantum Realm back with them, nestled in their bones, behind their eyes.

The true test came at bedtime. Nuffink, overstimulated and emotional, had a complete meltdown. He didn’t want the old pajamas; he wanted the ones he’d outgrown six months ago. He didn’t want a story; he wanted a song his father used to sing, a Viking lullaby from Berk that Hiccup had always fumbled.

Hiccup stood in the doorway of the nursery, looking lost and overwhelmed by the sheer, visceral reality of a toddler’s despair. The infinite probabilities of the Quantum Realm had no answer for this.

Astrid moved forward, but Dawn put a hand on her arm. “Let him,” she said softly.

Hiccup knelt by the bed, his movements still not quite his own. He looked at his weeping son, and for a terrifying moment, Dawn thought he wouldn’t know what to do. That the Realm had stolen this from him, too.

Then, he began to hum. It was shaky at first, the tune unfamiliar on his tongue. But then the words came, old Norse words about brave dragons and endless seas. His voice, with its new, faint harmonic resonance, made the simple lullaby sound ancient and magical. Nuffink’s sobs quieted into hiccups, his wide eyes fixed on his father. Hiccup’s hand, which had built empires and tamed dragons, gently smoothed his son’s hair with a touch that was, finally, perfectly sure.

He hadn’t forgotten. He’d just been remembering from a very long way away.

Later, Dawn found her parents on the back porch, sitting close together, watching the California stars—so different from the ones over Berk.

“You okay?” Dawn asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Astrid turned and smiled, and for the first time since the warehouse, her eyes seemed entirely present. “We are,” she said. “It’s just… a lot to come back to.”

“We missed so much,” Hiccup added, his voice thick with guilt. “Scott told us… what you did. For them. For everything.”

Dawn shrugged, the weight of it finally feeling like a honor instead of a chain. “Someone had to.”

Hiccup reached out and took her hand. His skin was warm. “You grew up while we were away,” he said, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was an observation, filled with awe and a profound sadness.

“Yeah, well,” Dawn said, squeezing his hand. “Don’t go getting stuck in any more science experiments, and maybe I can be a kid again for a bit.”

Astrid laughed, a real, true laugh that was the best sound Dawn had heard in six months. “Deal.”

They sat in silence for a while, a family of five again, three sleeping inside, three awake under the stars, piecing themselves back together.

“The things we saw, Dawn…” Hiccup whispered, his gaze lost in the heavens. “The things we learned… it changes you.”

Dawn looked at her parents—her father, who saw the strings of the universe, her mother, who could hear its music. They were different. They were scarred by wonder. Their journey wasn’t over; it had just changed direction. And hers was now irrevocably tied to it, to the suit Hope was training her to wear, to the secrets the world held in its smallest spaces.

It wasn’t the perfect, storybook ending she’d dreamed of during those long, lonely nights. It was messy, and complicated, and tinged with the strange. But as her mother’s arm slipped around her shoulders and her father’s head rested against hers, Dawn knew with absolute certainty that it was theirs. And it was enough. The challenges would come, but they would face them. Together. Not as a girl who had to hold the world alone, but as a family, united, finally whole, if forever altered.