Chapter 60

Guys I’m lowkey so locked in. I’m genuinely so shocked I managed to get an actual full chapter out today, like hello?! This took like five hours ong

Maggie presses an envelope flat against the desk, smoothing it. The basement is dim and blue with early morning light sneaking through the high windowl. She licks the envelope and immediately regrets it.

“Gross,” she mutters under her breath, wiping her tongue on her sleeve like that helps.

She slides the letter into the small stack she’s made. Behind her, someone snores.

Dustin Henderson. Supposedly on watch. Currently unconscious with his mouth open and a blanket half on.

Maggie exhales through her nose. Typical.

She reaches for the last envelope, then freezes when she hears soft footsteps behind her.

She doesn’t announce herself, but Maggie can tell it’s Max. She turns briefly to catch the exhausted look in the red head’s eyes. An exhausted look that doesn’t come from lack of sleep.

Max takes in the scene in one sweep. Maggie, the letters, and Dustin asleep as if the world is not ending.

She snorts quietly, “Wow. Stellar security detail.”

Maggie doesn’t look up, “He said he was just resting his eyes.”

“Lying is his strongest skill.”

Max comes closer, crouching across from her. She picks up one envelope carefully.

“You’re really doing it,” Max says.

Maggie shrugs, “Your idea.”

“Yeah,” Max says, “I know.”

They sit there for a second in the comfortable quiet.

Max flips the envelope over, then sets it back in the pile, “You seal them yet?”

“Most of them.”

Max nods, “Good. That’s important.”

Maggie finally looks at her, “Is it?”

Max meets her eyes, “Yeah. Makes it definite.”

Maggie huffs a quiet laugh, “That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid.”

“Too late,” Max says, “You wrote letters.”

Maggie presses the last envelope closed and slides it under the stack. Her hands linger there longer than necessary.

“I don’t even know if they make sense,” she admits, “I kept rewriting things. Like… what if I sound stupid. Or dramatic. Or like I’m trying to make everyone sad on purpose.”

Max tilts her head, “You’re allowed to make people sad. If you’re gone.”

Maggie grimaces, “Comforting.”

Max shrugs, “Honest.”

They sit in silence again. Maggie’s leg starts bouncing. She doesn’t stop it.

“I wrote yours,” Maggie says quietly.

Max doesn’t react right away, she just stares at the envelopes.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you say anything dumb?”

Maggie snorts, “Absolutely.”

“Good,” Max says, “Then it’s accurate.”

Dustin snores louder. It’s like his sleeping subconscious is offended by the emotional vulnerability happening without him.

Max glances over her shoulder, then back at Maggie, “You can’t sleep either, huh.”

Maggie shakes her head, “Every time I close my eyes, it’s like my brain goes, hey, remember that horrifying thing? Let’s unpack that again.”

“Same,” Max stands and offers a hand, “Kitchen?”

Maggie hesitates and takes it.

They move quietly up the stairs, stepping over backpacks and abandoned shoes, past the couch where Lucas is curled in on himself and Robin’s arm is flung over the back.

The kitchen is dim and gray with early light. It smells faintly like coffee grounds. Maggie sets the stack of letters on the counter.

Max hops up onto a stool. Maggie leans against the counter opposite her.

For a moment, neither of them talks.

Then Max says, “You’re not allowed to die.”

Maggie laughs a little, “Oh. Okay. I’ll pencil that in.”

“You scared?” Max asks.

Maggie thinks about lying, but decides she’s just too tired, “Yeah.”

Max nods, “Me too.”

They sit there in the quiet kitchen, dawn creeping in. Two girls who should be worrying about school and music and literally anything else, instead sharing space with the idea that tomorrow is not guaranteed.

Max opens her mouth, then closes it again, clearly arguing with herself. Finally, she asks anyway in a hesitant voice.

“What does he show you?” she says, “In your dreams. You know… him.”

Maggie exhales through her nose and leans back against the counter, eyes on the pale light creeping through the window.

“Do you know how I came here?” she asks instead.

Max shakes her head, “The boys said it wasn’t their story to tell.”

“Yeah. That tracks,” Maggie nods slowly, “I fell through a portal into the Wheeler basement one night. A little over three years ago. No memories, no past, nothing except my name.”

Max’s eyebrows knit together, “So you really didn’t know where you came from?”

“I didn’t,” Maggie says, tension tightening her shoulders, “Not until he started showing me things. At first it was just flashes. Faces, places, stuff that felt really familiar. And then last night…”

She trails off, jaw tightening, “He showed me the moment right before I fell through the portal. And everything just… clicked. Every person I ever knew. My whole life. I remember all of it now.”

Max straightens, fully awake now.

“So what happened?” she asks, “Where did the portal come from?”

Maggie lets out a short laugh,”That’s kind of the ridiculous part.”

Max stares at her, “I don’t like how you said that.”

“Do you know Marvel?” Maggie asks.

Max squints, “Like superheroes?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean… I’m more of a DC person,” Max says, “But the boys are obsessed.”

Maggie nods, lips quirking, “Well. That’s where I came from.”

Max goes silent, not sure if she’s playing a joke or not.

“…Come again?”

“Tony Stark,” Maggie says, “Iron Man. He’s my dad.”

The words hit like a brick.

Max’s mouth drops open, “Holy shit. What? How? Oh my God, the guys are going to completely lose it.”

“It’s weird,” Maggie admits, “Thinking about it now. The Avengers were my family. That sounds fake when I say it out loud. Like something out of a book. But my life wasn’t exactly the same as the comics. Same people, sure, but things were different. Events. Relationships. Choices. Losses.”

Her voice softens, “It was real to me. It was my life.”

Max watches her carefully, “So Vecna’s been showing you all of that.”

“Yeah,” Maggie says, “Memories I didn’t even know I was missing. Grief I didn’t even know I had.”

Max hops down from the counter and paces once, “Okay. So you’re from another universe. Your dad is Iron Man. You’re basically a superhero. And now a magic death wizard is trying to kill us.”

Max stops pacing and looks at her, “Are you gonna tell Nancy?”

Maggie hesitates.

“I don’t know,” she admits, “I don’t want to scare her. Or make it sound insane. Or worse, make her feel like I’m… not really here.”

Max’s expression softens.

“She deserves to know,” Max says gently, “But you get to choose when.”

Maggie nods, “Thanks.”

Another quiet settles between them. Morning light fills the kitchen now.

Max breaks the silence, “So. Just to be clear. If we survive this, I want to meet Thor.”

Maggie snorts, “He eats like Dustin. Just taller. Don’t get him started on Pop Tarts.”

Upstairs, someone drops something and swears loudly. The house wakes up inch by inch.

Maggie glances at the doorway, then back at Max, “Can we not tell the boys yet?”

Max smirks, “Oh absolutely not. I want to see their faces when you do.”

Maggie rolls her eyes, “You’re evil.”

“Learned from the best,” Max says.

Their conversation dissolves into soft smiles as footsteps sound overhead. Maggie looks up first. Max stiffens a little, instinctively shrinking into herself.

Karen Wheeler appears at the top of the stairs, robe pulled tight, hair still sleep-soft and slightly wild, suggesting she woke up approximately thirty seconds ago.

“Well,” Karen says, gazing at the two of them in the kitchen, “You’re both up early.”

Maggie straightens immediately, like the sun just walked in, “Good morning, Karen.”

Max mutters, “Morning.”

Karen smiles warmely, slipping into hostess mode despite the hour. Her gaze flicks between them, taking in their tired eyes, and the untouched coffee pot.

She moves into the kitchen, reaching for a mug. Maggie watches her like this is the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

“Early riser?” Maggie asks.

Karen hums, “My body seems to think six a.m. is when the whole world wakes up.”

“That’s tragic,” Maggie says seriously, “You deserve better.”

Karen snorts before she can stop herself, “You’re very kind.”

Max shoots Maggie a warning look that says please do not. Maggie ignores it with dedication.

“You know,” Maggie continues, “I’ve been meaning to say, you have incredible hair. Like, I would sell a kidney for that volume.”

Karen pauses mid-pour, “Thank you, sweetie. You’re always so lovely.”

“Anytime,” Maggie says smoothly, “Compliments are my love language.”

Max audibly sighs and drags a hand down her face.

Karen’s gaze shifts to Max, who’s still half-curled into herself, “And you, Max. Did you get any sleep at all?”

Max shrugs, “A little.”

Karen nods, clearly filing that away, “If you’re hungry, I can make pancakes. Or eggs. Or… toast.”

Maggie perks up instantly, “You’re telling me you’ve been hiding pancake-making abilities this whole time?”

Karen gives her a look, “You’ve eaten my pancakes. Don’t lie to me.”

“Oh right,” Maggie says, “Yeah. Those. Life-changing. I blacked out for a second.”

Karen laughs, already opening a cabinet, “You’re going to wake everyone up.”

“Honestly,” Maggie says, dropping her voice, “I think everyone deserves pancakes after whatever this week has been.”

Max mutters, “She’s not wrong.”

Karen pauses, glancing between them. There’s concern there, a look that only comes from being around long enough to know when something is very wrong.

“Well,” Karen says gently, reaching for the mixing bowl, “you two keep me company. I’ll start breakfast.”

Maggie beams at her, “This is why you’re my favorite Wheeler.”

Karen snorts, “Flattery won’t get you extra chocolate chips.”

“…Worth a try,” Maggie says.

Max leans closer and murmurs, “Please stop flirting with your girlfriend’s mom.”

Maggie murmurs back, “I’m not flirting. I’m maintaining a very important emotional support adult relationship.”

Karen turns, eyebrow raised, already amused, “Do I even want to know?”

Maggie meets her eyes, completely unashamed, “You’re providing hospitality and stability. It’s very attractive.”

Karen laughs, softer this time, and reaches out to squeeze Maggie’s shoulder as she passes, “You’re so funny.”

Max watches the exchange, the corners of her mouth lifting. The kitchen fills with the sound of a whisk and the faint smell of batter.

Maggie leans against the counter, stealing chocolate chips when she thinks no one is looking. Karen notices, but chooses peace.

Footsteps thump overhead again, heavier this time, followed by a long yawn that could only belong to Ted Wheeler.

He appears in the doorway carrying Holly on one hip, both of them still half-asleep. Holly’s hair sticks up at crazy angles, and she’s clutching a crumpled coloring book.

“Morning,” Ted says, “Why are there extra children in my kitchen.”

Maggie straightens, “Good morning, Ted. Lovely weather for impending doom.”

Ted squints at her, “I don’t know what that means.”

“Neither do we,” Karen says lightly, “Sit down.”

Holly’s eyes light up when she spots Maggie, “Maggie!”

“Hey, superstar,” Maggie says, holding up a hand for a tiny high five.

Holly smacks it with enthusiasm before wriggling out of Ted’s arms.

She scampers to the table, dragging a chair out with a screech. Max slides her a piece of paper and a small handful of crayons without a word.

Holly gasps, “I can use them?”

“Yeah,” Max says, “Just… don’t eat the red one.”

Holly nods solemnly, already coloring with the seriousness of a master artist.

Max sits hunched over her own paper, a pencil moving fast, almost angry. Lines form without hesitation.

Maggie watches from the corner of her eye, saying nothing.

Karen sets plates on the table, “What are you drawing, Max?”

Max pauses, then shrugs, “Just… stuff.”

Karen doesn’t push. She just sets a glass of juice next to Max’s elbow and ruffles Holly’s hair as she passes.

Ted lowers himself into a chair with a sigh, “I thought today was supposed to be quiet.”

Maggie snorts, “Ted, respectfully, that ship sank years ago.”

He considers it and grunts in what sounds like agreement.

They settle around the table. Maggie takes the seat beside Max, close enough that their arms brush. Holly hums to herself, coloring aggressively outside the lines.

For a moment, it’s just the sound of pencils, crayons, and bacon sizzling on the stove.

Then footsteps pound up the basement stairs.

Nancy appears first, hair frizzled, braced for the worst. Dustin barrels up behind her, out of breath, curls wild.

They both let out relieved exhales when they catch sight of the two girls at the table.

“Morning, guys,” Karen greets from the stove, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Nancy pants, forcing the word out, “Yeah, everything’s okay.”

Karen smiles at her, unaware of how tightly Nancy’s nerves are wound, and slides another batch of pancakes onto the growing stack.

“I just think it’s really sweet,” she says warmly, “how you kids are sticking together like this.”

Nancy doesn’t look away from Maggie. Not even for a second. Maggie gives her a small, sad smile in return.

“Could try sticking together at someone else’s house for a change,” Ted mutters, finally glancing up from behind his newspaper.

Karen shoots him a look.

“You know you’re welcome here anytime,” she tells Dustin pointedly.

Dustin grins, utterly sincere, “Totally. You guys are basically family.”

Nancy doesn’t grab a plate. Instead, she makes a straight line for the table, sliding into the chair beside Maggie as Max continues to scribble furiously across a piece of paper.

Maggie reaches for Nancy’s hand beneath the table, squeezing once. Nancy squeezes back, just as tightly.

“You look exhausted,” Nancy murmurs.

“No kidding,” Maggie says quietly, as Nancy grabs Maggie’s head gently and places it on her shoulder.

Nancy turns her attention to Max, “You okay?”

Max glances up, eyes rimmed red but focused.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she says evenly, “But Holly and I’ve been busy with her crayons all morning.”

Nancy gestures to the scattered drawings, “Is this… what you saw?”

Max shrugs, shoulders tight, “It’s supposed to be. I figured it’d be easier to draw it than explain it.”

Nancy picks up one picture with bodies suspended, cocooned in thick, red shapes.

“It was like they were on display,” Max explains, voice flattening, “And there was this red fog everywhere. Like walking through a nightmare.”

“Do you think Vecna’s just trying to scare you?” Nancy asks carefully.

“With Billy?” Max nods, “Yeah. That felt deliberate. But when I showed up there… something was different. He seemed surprised. Like he didn’t want me there.”

Maggie lifts her head slightly, “Surprised how?”

“Like I wasn’t supposed to see it,” Max says, “Like I broke in.”

Dustin perks up.

“Okay, hear me out,” he says, already gesturing wildly, “Vecna invaded your mind, right? Is it really that insane to think you somehow ended up in his?”

He waves at the drawings, “Maybe you opened a backdoor. Maybe the answers are literally in this incredibly vague drawing. God, we need Will.”

“No kidding,” Maggie mutters, “I tried calling again. Same thing. Busy signal. No answer.”

Her jaw tightens, “That’s not normal. Joyce doesn’t miss calls. Especially not when I’m halfway across the country.”

Nancy lifts another page, “Is this a window?”

“Yeah,” Max says, “Stained glass. Roses.”

She looks at Dustin, “See? I’m not that bad.”

“Never doubted you,” he lies.

Nancy’s eyes sharpen. She gathers several pages, laying them out, folding corners, lining shapes up. She grabs a Sharpie and starts outlining details, hands moving fast as the picture comes together.

“Oh my God,” she breathes.

She shoots upright so suddenly Maggie’s head jerks off her shoulder.

“It’s Victor Creel’s house.”

“Where are you going?” Maggie asks.

“Waking everyone up.”

Not long after, Steve’s car crunches to a stop outside the Creel House. The group steps out, forming a loose half-circle as the dilapidated building looms in front of them.

“Yeah,” Steve says, staring at it, “That’s not creepy at all.”

They approach the front door. Steve immediately starts yanking nails out of the boards to find a way in.

“So what exactly are we supposed to be looking for in this place?” he asks.

“We’re not sure,” Nancy admits, “We just know this house matters to Vecna.”

“Because Max saw it in his red soup mind world,” Steve says skeptically.

“Basically,” Nancy snaps.

“Maybe it tells us where he is,” Dustin adds, “Why he’s back. Why he killed the Creels. And how to stop him before he comes back for Max. And Maggie.”

Maggie bites the inside of her lip, the reminder settling heavy in her chest.

“We don’t think he’s actually here, right?” Lucas asks.

Max exhales.,”Guess we’ll find out.”

Steve yanks the last board free, revealing the stained glass roses beneath.

“Well,” he says slowly, “that’s unsettling.”

He tries the doorknob. It doesn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” he sighs, “Should I knock? See if anyone’s home?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Maggie says.

She grabs a loose brick from the ground and hurls it through the stained glass. The sound echoes loudly. Steve reaches through the hole, unlocks the door from the inside.

They enter one by one. Maggie lingers at the threshold. A deep chime echoes from behind her.

She spins, heart hammering, but there’s nothing there.

“Maggie?” Nancy calls.

“Yeah,” Maggie answers, forcing herself forward,”Coming.”

Inside, Lucas flicks a switch that does nothing.

“Looks like someone forgot to pay the electric bill.”

Dustin clicks on his flashlight.

Steve squints, “Where did everyone get those?”

Dustin stares at him, “Do you need to be told everything? You’re not a child.”

Steve stares at him, offended before he grabs Dustin’s back pack and takes one for himself.

Everyone splits off in pairs, footsteps fading into different hallways, voices lowering until they’re swallowed by the house. Maggie lets herself drift the opposite direction without announcing it.

The air feels thicker the farther she goes. Each step creaks too loudly, echoing in her head. Her chest tightens. She presses a hand to it, shallowly breathing.

Get it together.

She turns a corner and stops dead. At the end of the room stands a grandfather clock, completely intact, and void of any dust or cobwebs.

Its dark wood gleams faintly in the low light, carved details curling along the edges. The brass pendulum swings smoothly, back and forth.

Maggie’s stomach drops.

“No,” she whispers, “That’s not…”

Her brain scrambles, grasping for logic. This house has been abandoned for years. There’s no way that thing should be—

Tick tock.

The sound crawls under her skin.

She squeezes her eyes shut, heart slamming against her ribs.

“You’re not real,” she mutters. “You’re not here.”

The ticking doesn’t stop.

Against every instinct screaming at her to run, Maggie steps forward. Her hand lifts, trembling, reaching out.

Her fingers brush cold glass. The ticking stops.

Maggie inhales sharply and opens her eyes.

The house is gone. She’s standing outside.

Gravel crunches beneath her shoes. The air smells like rain and cut grass. Her breath catches as she looks around, dread blooming before she even understands why.

Rows of headstones stretch out before her.

Her knees weaken as her gaze locks onto one marker directly in front of her. Dark grey marble, clean, polished, and well-kept.

NATASHA ROMANOFF

1984 – 2023

Daugther. Sister. Aunt. Avenger.

Maggie’s breath shatters.

“No,” she sobs, stumbling forward, “No, no, no—”

She drops to her knees in front of the grave, hands pressing against the stone like she can somehow pull it open. Her chest caves in, grief crashing over her all at once.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, voice breaking, “I’m so sorry. I tried. I swear I tried—”

A shadow falls across the grave.

Maggie freezes. Slowly, she looks up. Natasha stands there.

Whole and completely uninjured. Her red hair is pulled back the way Maggie remembers. For a split second, hope flares so bright it hurts.

“Aunt Nat,” Maggie breathes, scrambling to her feet, “You’re— you’re here.”

Natasha tilts her head slightly. There’s no warmth in the gesture.

“You left,” she says.

The words hit harder than a slap.

Maggie shakes her head frantically, “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t choose—”

“You ran,” Natasha cuts in, “And I died.”

Maggie’s throat closes, “That’s not fair. That’s not—”

“If you’d stayed,” Natasha continues, stepping closer, “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to make that choice.”

Maggie’s vision blurs, “Please stop.”

Natasha’s eyes harden, “You should’ve been there.”

Footsteps sound behind her. Maggie turns.

Steve Rogers stands a few feet away, arms crossed, disappointment etched deep into his face.

“You were supposed to fight with us,” he says quietly, “Instead, you vanished.”

Tony Stark appears beside him, looking older than Maggie remembers.

“I lost my daughter,” Tony says flatly, “And then I lost the war.”

Maggie backs up, shaking her head, “This isn’t real. You wouldn’t say this.”

Bruce steps forward next. Then Clint. Then Wanda. And Thor. Faces she loves. Faces she lost.

“You got away,” Wanda says softly.

“You got a second life,” Clint adds, “We paid the price.”

Maggie clamps her hands over her ears, “Stop. Please. This isn’t you. This is him.”

Natasha’s voice cuts through anyway, “You don’t get to run from the guilt.”

Maggie sinks to the ground, sobbing openly now, breath coming in broken gasps, “I didn’t want to leave. I loved you. I love all of you.”

Tony kneels in front of her, meeting her eyes.

“Then why am I dead?”

The ground beneath Maggie’s hands begins to crack, red light bleeding through the fissures.

The ticking starts again.

And in the Creel house, Maggie screams.

Nancy stands in front of her, shaking her shoulders as Maggie’s cry dies. Her eyes are blown wide and terrified.

“Maggie?! What happened? Why were you alone?!” Nancy interrogates frantically in fear.

When Maggie stutters, trying to keep back a sob, Nancy kisses her temple, pulling her into a tight hug.

Maggie manages to gasp out from her shoulder. 

“24 hours.”