SHE SQUEEZED HIS HAND. A reassuring smile was stuck on his face, and his eyes lit up whenever she met them.
Peter Parker, the person behind the mask of Spider-Man, better known to her as her boyfriend of... was it two months now?
"What are you thinking?" Peter whispered, leaning toward her. They sat side-by-side on the train, thighs pressed together.

Bronwen opened her mouth to reply, but shut it as soon as the answer came to mind. She was thinking so many things, too many to voice all at once. Instead, she forced a smile and shook her head, "Nothing."

The truth was, Bronwen hated taking the train. It was the fastest way to get to Peter's place after school, but the crowded carriage, the smells she couldn't place, it was too much for her to process. She made progress with her mind, being stable thanks to the mysterious girl in Wakanda, but this? This was all too much. Bronwen couldn't refuse when Peter said for them to take the train, couldn't voice how she felt about the confined space.
It was too similar to her room in the compound. The many pairs of eyes in their carriage reminded her of the blank ones she fought, the blank ones she...
She swallowed, shoving those thoughts into the depths of her mind. She could do this.
For Peter.

Bronwen exhaled in relief when the name of their stop chimed over the speakers, and she held onto Peter's hand as he pulled her through the crowd. To the platform beyond.
The sunlight stung her eyes as they exited the station completely. Peter's hand never loosening his grip.
"What are we going to do at your place?" Bronwen looked up to Peter.

He'd gotten so much taller during the time they were apart. So much had changed, and she was just waiting for the moment that he would grow bored of her nightmares and her 'irrational' (as many strangers told her) fears, and he would get rid of her. Thrust her out of his life, leaving her alone.

"School starts up again next week, so..." Peter shrugged, "Relax, I guess."

Bronwen nodded, following Peter as he turned the corner to the apartment complex he lived in. They ascended the stairs to the foyer, surpassed the shabby doorman — who Bronwen thought was there just for show — and entered the stainless-steel elevator.
Bronwen pressed herself against Peter's side as the doors shut. Her heartbeat quickened, and the grip she had Peter's hand in slowly turned his fingers an alarming purple. Though, Peter did not mind. He knew more than anyone what Bronwen had gone through, the horrors she faced, the fears that followed. Bronwen wasn't comfortable with a number of thing, including her power. The proper wording would be that she was terrified of it — terrified of what it could do. Even after all the rehabilitation she went through in Wakanda.
The elevator stopped. Bronwen tensed. The doors slowly opened, and as soon as they were wide enough, Bronwen slipped through them and onto the landing beyond.
"You okay?"

She nodded, "Do you want to watch that Star Wars film I hadn't seen yet?" Bronwen asked, sidling next to Peter, taking his hand once more.

Peter laughed, "You know me so well."

∆ ∆ ∆

Hands gripped the wheel. The strangers face held steely determination, eyes so close to the front window you'd think they were glued to it. In the passenger seat, a young man repeatedly dialed the same number over and over again.
"Mom." He said, clearing his throat as he finally decided to leave a message, having hung up every time the beep sounded, "Mom, I gotta know you're alive. So many people have suddenly dropped off the face of the earth — turned to ash. To dust. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. I just need to know you're okay — we need to know you're okay. Mom, I—"

The phone cut off, a tone sounding, and the screen turning black. Dead.
The man swore, hitting the dashboard with the palms of his hands, tugging at his hair.
"She didn't pick up." The drivers knuckles turned whiter, and their stomach rolled, "David, tell Mom I—"

And before the passengers eyes, the driver turned to ash.

∆ ∆ ∆

Hands flung in the air, legs kicking, Peter pinning her arms down, repeating her name over and over again. Telling her it's all right. Reminding her he was still there. The scene was not unusual to Peter, the first time her dreams made her react this way was in Wakanda, in the house she had shared with the former Winter Soldier. Since then, Bronwen had carried the journal Bucky Barnes had given her everywhere. She would not part with it, no matter what circumstance came forth.
"No!" She was shouting now, tears squeezing out of her eyes.

As soon as it started, she went limp. Muscles relaxed. Features slackened. Her eyes flung open, wild-eyed, startled.
Peter was prompt with retrieving a pen and her journal from her bag, handing it to her. They sat in silence as she scribbled on the pages, stilling at moments when she had to recall the dream. When the pen dropped from her hands, Peter took the opportunity to encircle her within his arms. Bronwen leant her head against his chest, closing her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat. This was real. This was real.
This was real.
What did the ashes mean? Why were they a recurring part of her dreams?
"Do you want a cup of water?" Peter whispered.

"I'm sorry." Was all she replied.

He shifted, running a hand through her hair, "Do you want a cup of water?"

A pause, "Yes."

Bronwen was reluctant to let Peter go, to have the warmth slowly seep away from her, to leave her alone in his room while he retrieved the cup.
The dream was unlike the others she had. They were always brief mentions about what could happen, glimpses of faces and outfits and planets she had never known to have existed. She saw the effect that it had on the population, that someone would spontaneously crumble into a pile of ash, and those who were left behind had to deal with what happened next. Bronwen always wondered where the Avengers were, Earth's Mightiest Heroes. How could they leave the Earth in such state?

In the kitchen, adjacent to the hall where Peter's room was, May leant against the counter. She knew the routine. It had happened so often that she seemed to always wake up at the exact moment Bronwen would begin to voice her dreams. The same time every night, almost every day. It did wonders for her sleep schedule, but she couldn't leave Peter to deal with the aftermath alone.
She held the already prepared glass in her hand, her mind acting much like a television stuck on static.
Peter, bleary-eyed from the sudden awakening at 1am in the morning. He rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, and leant over the sink. Collecting his thoughts.
"She all right?"

Peter ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the locks that were more than due for a haircut, "As all right as she could be."

May handed over the glass, but before he could disappear, she caught his arm, "Pete, I don't know what she's been through, but if she or you ever need help, don't forget that I'm here too."

Peter nodded, the grip on his arm loosened, and he returned to his room.
Bronwen was sitting against the wall behind the door, her sweat-plastered hair pressed against the wall. She had her arms wrapped around her legs, and she hunched herself over, staring at the grey carpet.
In silence, Peter passed over the glass. She downed it in one take, almost dropping the glass as she sat it down beside her.
Peter slid down the wall and sat beside her, laying his hand over hers. Her mood after the dreams would always be different. Most of the time she would be tired, and fall asleep on his shoulder to only wake when the sun rose. Others, she would fight with him, the anger bubbling in her chest lashing out. She was more like her 'compound-self' in those moments than anything else. Those times, Tony Stark would be alerted, and she'd be taken home to Gwen's where she'd be sedated until the drugs wore off.
"What was it about?" Peter asked.

Bronwen bit down on her lip. The lie fell easily from her mouth, "The usual stuff."

Peter knew all about what would go on in her head during those nightmares. Of the compound, of Bucky, of her past. Bronwen offered for Peter and Tony Stark to read through her journal. They were the closest to her, and she wanted them to understand, so when she began to freak out, or speak in rapid Russian, they'd know what to do. What to do even more than they do now.
But they told her it was private. They didn't need to see it. Didn't need to know what was going on in her head. Peter knew the basics of her dreams, the ones she had whispered early in the morning, rocking back and forth at the foot of a bed.
The ones with the ashes, she hadn't told anyone those. Not Tony Stark. Not Peter. Not even Gwen Stacy, who she was allowed to confine anything with. The woman had become a mother-figure to Bronwen, but even she couldn't look her in the eye and say what her dreams were about.
She was more similar to glass than human. Handle with care. This side up. Fragile. Do not touch. Keep your voice down. The dreams were the fractures in the glass, the barrier she kept between her old self— 024– and who she was now.
Peter's face suddenly broke into a grin, and he pulled over the 90's television he found on the side of the road, plugging in cords to the back. He switched it on, and a familiar tune began to play.
"Want to play Mario Kart?"

1am Mario Kart, something that hadn't happened in a couple of weeks.
Bronwen matched his grin, "This is the last time you win, Parker."

He snorted, handing over a controller, "I doubt that."

It was best to keep her mind off the past.

(This should've been in the first book but whatever it's here now — credit to whoever made it on Tumblr. I found it on google images)
Wowowowow here's a chapter. Bare in mind that chapters in this book will be shorter than the last chapters — easier to write out the AU/UA stuff. So, here's the first bit!! I'm so so so so so excited! (Can you tell??)

THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO -_Ninja_- FOR BEING AN AMAZING FRIEND, AND FANGIRLING OVER THIS IN CLASS WHEN WE'RE SUPPOSED TO DO WORK. I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH MY FRIEND. Honestly Bronwen and Peter are your babies as much as they are mine. Whenever I was writing you were in the back of my head — and a few times I stole things you mentioned to add to this (I don't remember what they are, though, don't @ me). Thank you so much for reading this book, for being an absolute GEM and making me promise not to kill anyone.
By the way, my fingers were crossed behind my back. I'm sure tomorrow at school I'll get a beating for this— but I can't promise anything! I just CAN'T!

So that was for you— thank you thank you thank you thank you!!

- J