┏━━━━. ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚━━━━┓

MOTHER DEAREST

"SECRETARY ROSS HAS A CONGRESSIONAL MEDAL OF HONOUR, WHICH IS ONE MORE THAN YOU HAVE."

"So let's say we agree to this thing; how long will it be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?"

The minute Secretary Ross left was the minute the conversation moved to the living room area of the compound. The acoustics in there were far better for the screaming match that was happening between Rhodey and Sam Wilson, both evidently rooting for opposite outcomes.

"A hundred and seventeen countries wanna sign this, Sam. A hundred and seventeen, and you're just like no it's cool—"

"—how long are you gonna play both sides?"

Wyatt had his head on Wanda's shoulders, the pair taking up residence on one of the loveseats that were sprawled around. Both were silently watching the squabble play out, though the noise and incessant arguing was really doing Wyatt zero favours. His head was killing him, he was exhausted, and he wanted no part in signing away the freedoms he only just got.

He felt two soft taps at his leg, coming from the Maximoff girl to his right. It was a silent agreement of his presumably loud thoughts that she was listening in on. Me too. The comfort of knowing she was also thinking the same was worth more to him than the innocent intrusion of his mind.

"I have an equation," Vision said from just on Wanda's other side, interrupting the pair of men who were still arguing.

Sam scoffed, arms crossed over his chest. "Oh, this'll clear it up."

"In the years since Mr Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially," he explained, and it made Wyatt frown. Anyone could chalk it up to mere coincidence, so why was Vision making it out to be such a grim statistic. "During the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has also increased."

"Are you saying it's our fault?" Steve asked, pausing in his act of flipping through the Accords.

"I'm saying there may be a causality."

"More like a coincidence," Wyatt mumbled under his breath, fiddling with the metal bracelet on his wrist.

"Our very strength invites challenge, challenge incited conflict, and conflict breeds catastrophe," Vision added on, really hammering down on the idea that the world-ending events were their fault in some form or anything.

Natasha's gaze turned to the man who looked like he was being bored to death. "Tony," she chided, "you're being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal."

"It's 'cause he's already made up his mind," Steve supplied, just after taking one look at the man. At that, Wyatt sat up a little straighter, watching as Tony rode to his feet.

"Boy, you know me so well," he sighed out, walking over to the nearby kitchen space as he babbled on about a headache and something about coffee grounds. Though, he paused when his phone projected a picture of a seemingly random boy. "Oh, that's Charles Spencer by the way. He's a great kid."

No one knew where he was going with this.

"He had a floor-level gig planned at an intel place in the fall but first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul," he continued on. "Charlie didn't wanna go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would've done. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing in guess where: Sokovia."

And there it was.

"He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass," he muttered out, though it was loud enough for everyone to hear. "We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I'm game."

"Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up," Steve said, the disagreement clear in his tone. "This is run by people with agendas and agendas change."

Wyatt had always looked up to the infamous Captain America, so it was easy enough to agree with Steve. His opinion made him pull his lip between his teeth. This whole thing was screaming SHIELD's downfall 2.0, and the last thing the world needed was another incident like that. There were traitors everywhere, and they'd be giving up control on some blind hope that there were none.

For the first time in a while, Wyatt couldn't agree with Tony, even as he and Steve began to argue about it further.

"We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own."

"If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later. That's a fact. That won't be pretty."

It was like watching tennis, Wyatt's eyes flickering from one person to the other, and it was only when Steve's phone buzzed that he realized none of them would agree on a final verdict.

When Steve all but bolted from the room, Wyatt watched him go. The stress lines were prominent on his forehead, sporting a new sunken demeanour that hadn't come from their discussions about the Accords. No, something had happened, and being the ever-so nosey boy he was, he put him hands on his knees to prepare to stand— to go after him.

Only to be interrupted by the beeping of his phone, a brief alarm going off. Retrieving the device from the pocket of his sweatpants, he inhaled through his nose. Lagos had derailed his sense of time, and he'd all but forgotten what day it was.

Tony did, however, the second he noticed the flat stare on the boy's face when he silenced the reminder. He downed the rest of whatever was in his mug before clapping his hands twice.

"What a perfect little segue. C'mon kid, it's showtime."

. ⁺☀︎₊⁺

Wyatt's mother was his least favourite person in the entire world.

She hadn't always occupied that prestigious position, because it hadn't been until he reached thirteen that his newfound teenage angst reared to life. The sadness and naive desperation he once felt for the woman's affection disappeared overnight, a switch permanently flipped toward the one emotion he knew best: anger.

Though, until he was eighteen, he had no choice but to abide by the measly rules of her agreement while Tony searched for a cure in his spare time. He could do with seeing her once a month, and there wasn't a rule that said he had to make it easy on her.

They found themselves in a desperate little living room area on the opposite side of the compound, one that had a camera in it so that their time could be monitored. It usually gave him peace of mind, given that it was always Tony on the other side, just incase things got to be a little too much.

"So, Tony tells me you've joined the soccer team this year," Vivian said, putting her cup of tea down on the coffee table that separated them.

Wyatt ran his tongue over his teeth. "Last year... I joined it last year."

"Oh," his mother laughed out, a little off-kilter. She blinked before changing the topic entirely, not bothering to ask him more about it. "How was Nigeria?"

That was how their conversations went; nothing but small talk, bouncing from one meaningless topic to the next, and she never asked for details. If she had, she would've known about the soccer thing, and she would've known he was a great right back in the defensive line.

"Considering I woke up on the jet ride home with a minor concussion, I'd say it all went to shit," he responded flatly.

Vivian grimaced, her head faltering to the side in what was probably sympathy. It was still a foreign emotion on her face, but was one Wyatt had an indifference about.

There was an awkward beat of silence before the blonde woman inevitably broke it. "Oh, I almost forgot," she said, rather cheerfully, as if she hadn't heard about her son's injury, while she dug around in her purse. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she did so, Wyatt's eyes focusing on it before she held out a piece of paper.

Hesitantly, he reached forward and held the small paper in his hand. He knew his face gave away what he was feeling, the utter shell-shock coursing through his veins as he held a picture of an ultrasound. "You're—"

"Fifteen weeks along," Vivian answered with a bright smile, the brightest he'd ever seen in a long time. His gaze zeroed in on the hand at her stomach, and his own twisted in an ugly way. "And it's a girl."

Wyatt always hated hearing about his mother's new life, partly because it felt like she was moving on without him. In theory she was, with her new husband with an extravagant corporate job and two step-children, one of which was Wyatt's age. She'd brag about the other boy often, always singing his praises and throwing his achievements around with a proud smile.

Vivian Jameson had favourites, and given that her own son wasn't even allowed to meet her new family, it was safe to say that Wyatt was nowhere near the top of the list. And yet she could brag about knowing The Flare... surely it must've made sense in her deluded mind, because it didn't to Wyatt. Not at all.

"Congrats," he said stiffly, putting the ultrasound image onto the coffee table. His shoulders were wound tightly, and the urge to rip that damn bracelet off and burn the couch he was sitting on was rolling around in his mind.

Nonetheless she smiled at him. "Me and Andy are thinking of names," she replied, the mention of her new husband making the boy's skin crawl. "His kids both have C-names, y'know, Catie and Charles... and he loves the name Camille, so I—"

Pause.

His ears began to ring, his hands reaching for the cushion of the couch as something to hold on to. Her lips kept moving, all while she smiled, and every syllable he couldn't hear was making him angrier and angrier.

Camille was as close to the name Camilla as you could get. Camilla was meant to be a sacred name to them both, and it sure as hell wasn't the best baby name she could come up with.

Camilla was the name on the tombstone.

In an instant, his indifference turned to searing rage. Agitation in its most volatile form.

"So you're replacing her?" he snapped, interrupting her long string of chatter regarding the name. "You think swapping out the A for an E makes it fine, huh?"

Vivian looked confused for a single beat before her expression shuttered. She swallowed around nothing, going to shake her head. "It's not like that, honey."

Wyatt stood abruptly, the steam practically leaking from his ears. "I think it's exactly like that," he spat, his fingernails digging crescents into his palms. "You get to have your fresh start, with your new husband and his son who's perfect in all the ways I'm not. I don't get that luxury, Mom, and you wanna know why?"

Vivian inhaled through her nose shakily, something indecipherable in her gaze. "Why?" she couldn't help but mumble out.

"Because you left my ass here," there was a laugh that bubbled out of him, but it was lacking any humour. "I can't start over, because you made sure that all I'd be is this! A kid with a problem that no one will ever fix."

He didn't know when his breathing had turned rapid, but what he did know was that there were footsteps coming from right behind him.

"A whole twenty five minutes," Tony mockingly cheered as he entered the room, no doubt seeing the escalation in how close Wyatt had gotten to the woman. "I'd say that's a new record, Viv. You always outdo yourself."

The woman nodded in his direction. "Tony," she greeted, before she was gathering her things. She was standing when Tony came to a stop right beside the kid, a gentle yet firm clap to his shoulder. Stabilizing. Vivian knew not to reach out for a hug anymore, not after the last time she'd tried. "I love you, baby."

"Just not enough to take me back though, right?"

The guilt on her face was discernible, and Wyatt could practically taste it in the air around them as she scurried from the room in her newly polished heels.

Good.

. ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[ wyn's note ]

it isn't a bronwyn fic if one of my oc's parents aren't a piece of shit. vivian #sucks but some hints of their backstory here????? yurrrrr

all my love x