Since Thanos had been defeated, life on Earth had returned to normal.
Well, almost normal.
The trail of casualties in that war was long and heavy as a boulder.
Natasha Romanov
Tony Stark
Loki from Asgard
Vision
Heroes who had given their lives for something greater than themselves, for the good of humanity.
Although a year had passed Wanda still asked herself that question.
Was it really worth it?
In those fourteen million scenarios was it really possible that only one showed their victory?
He had hated Stephen Strange deeply, for not doing enough.
She had watched her husband die before her eyes, staring motionless at Thanos' cruelty as he tore that gem from the forehead of the man she loved.
Fourteen million scenarios, one epilogue.
She had dissolved, too, the first time. Flown like ashes in the wind, along with the man she had truly hated, blinded by the pain she had turned into anger.
And when she'd come back, she'd realized that he'd known about it for a lot longer than anyone else.
He could prepare them for war.
He could prepare them for death.
Tony Stark himself was ready to die the moment he learned the truth.
Fourteen million scenarios, one epilogue.
Some had returned to their families; others, like her, to a dark, empty apartment. An emptiness that no one could ever fill.
She had hated Strange, for the simple fact that he knew how it would end.
If you had known...
He had lost his brother Peter in a very similar way.
The Avengers had given her, the Avengers had taken her away.
She had begun to grieve over time, bringing flowers to her husband's grave every week and surprising herself with how many times she had crossed paths with Stephen Strange.
The first few times she'd kicked him out and he hadn't resisted, respecting the aura of anguish and pain that now belonged to her.
But after days of chasing him away Wanda had decided to ignore him, as if he didn't exist.
One, two, three days.
A week, a month.
She always found him there, in his usual black suit, his beard done and his face contracted.
He had ended up wondering how he was really experiencing the whole thing.
And he understood.
Knowing the future meant having a huge burden on his shoulders.
Knowing who wins.
Know who's losing.
Knowing who dies and not being able to avoid it, not being able to snatch them from death and seeing them go to their deaths.
And he'd started talking to him, trying to figure out what his angle was.
And he had found a deep sense of guilt mixed with helplessness.
To know but not be able to act, it was terrible.
He was a lonely man, Stephen Strange.
He had been as a surgeon, he was still at that moment as a time warlock.
She still remembered the first hug, which had been almost out of necessity. His hands had tightened on her and she had felt that warmth she hadn't felt in a year.
And that contact for her became a need to be satisfied, that gesture soothing her deepest wounds as well as those of the man.
And from hugging, they ended up kissing, making love.
A love of the passionate and intense kind, mixed with the pain that gripped them both.
Lips touching, hands reaching for each other and moans joined by tears that had no name.
And after a year from that war that had taken away friends, fathers, fellow travelers, Wanda was back to life.