❝ the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up ❞
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018. multiversal trespassers
𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 — the unmistakable signs of Dr. Strange’s portals — began crackling to life in the dim, cramped living room, every eye turned toward Ingrid.
Evelyn’s small apartment had become a sanctuary for the group, a bubble of normalcy where they could momentarily let go of the outside world’s expectations. For Dylan and Lucas, it was a reprieve from overbearing parents and school pressures. For Ingrid, it was a brief escape from crowds eager to capture a glimpse of Spider-man's girlfriend and murder accomplice and, more recently, time altering spellcasters. Here, they were just friends, spending the afternoon in comfortable silence, noses buried in their phones, laptops, and books.
But peace shattered as Dr. Strange stepped through his portal, ignoring the trio's startled stares and fixing his eyes directly on Ingrid. His expression was a mix of impatience and something close to frustration, and she didn’t have to ask why he was here; she’d seen news footage of the latest 'incident' Peter had been caught up in. The chaos on the bridge, a new kind of battle, and Peter's face emerging in every possible news angle.
“I need you to come with me,” Strange said, his voice low and cutting, as if she’d been caught skipping class rather than relaxing with friends.
With a reluctant sigh, Ingrid slid her book into her bag, then slung it over her shoulder, readying herself for whatever awaited on the other side. She started to say goodbye, but before she could, Dylan leaped to his feet, laptop nearly flying off his lap as he slammed it shut. His eyes sparked with excitement, and he clasped his hands together in a dramatic plea.
“Can we come too?” he asked, voice brimming with excitement that his expression couldn’t quite contain.
Ingrid shot him a warning look, but before she could shut him down, Strange raised an eyebrow, arms crossed as he glanced over at the trio of hopeful faces. “Of course, because what every mission needs is a bunch of kids handling multiversal threats,” he replied dryly.
But the sarcasm sailed right over Dylan’s head. His eyes widened, mouth agape. “Wait, the multiverse is real?” Each word pitched higher with excitement, transforming his usually calm, scarred face into something almost boyish.
Strange let out a long, weary sigh but said nothing. The look on his face was answer enough, though — yes, it was very real, and yes, that was exactly the problem.
Ingrid could feel their stares, especially Dylan’s — an intense, pleading gaze that reminded her all too much of herself. She recognized that hopeful, eager-to-please look because she’d worn it countless times, practically begging to be included in things she probably shouldn’t have been part of. She felt a flicker of sympathy, but it was quickly overshadowed by a new sense of dread; she now understood just how grating that kind of relentless eagerness could be.
