❝ all the bad dreams that you hide show me yours, I'll show you mine ❞
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
007. savior complex
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 that always made Ingrid’s heart race. It was an instinct, deeply ingrained. It didn’t matter who it was— stranger or friend. But when Peter called… everything stopped. The world around her dimmed, all sound faded to a distant hum, and all that remained was that familiar, gut-wrenching need to save him. To fix it. To be the one standing between him and whatever pain he was facing. It consumed her before she even had time to process it, like muscle memory she couldn’t control.
This wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. That weight of responsibility— no, compulsion —had driven her onto this jet, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles turned white as Happy piloted them toward Peter’s location.
Peter needed her.
That was all it took. She could’ve been halfway across the world, and the second she heard his voice, everything else faded into insignificance. Maybe it was unhealthy, this fierce pull she felt toward him, the way her heart twisted at the thought of not being there when he needed her. Maybe it was that she felt like she owed him, like she had to make up for something. Or maybe it was simply because she couldn’t bear the thought of someone she loved being in danger and not doing anything about it. Either way, something deep within her made it impossible to say no.
From the moment she’d discovered her powers, that need had been there. This endless desire to be the one to help, to fix, to shoulder the weight of a broken world even when the pieces were jagged and cut into her hands. She hated it sometimes— the pressure, the expectation she placed on herself. There were moments when all she wanted was to walk away, to let someone else carry the burden, even for just a little while. But when it came to Peter— especially Peter —walking away was never an option.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispered under her breath, though the words felt hollow even as they left her lips. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or Happy, who cast her a sideways glance from the pilot’s seat. How many times had she said those exact words? Too many to count. It had become her mantra, her go-to reassurance whenever she found herself diving headfirst into danger. But she knew better. She wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been fine in a long time. The truth was, “fine” was the lie she told herself to keep moving, to keep pretending like she wasn’t on the verge of falling apart.
The real fear, though, was that it wasn’t about being fine. It was about not failing. About being the person everyone relied on. Because if she failed— if she let Peter down —what would that make her?
