It was raining; a vast, heavy downpour that had started as a drizzle until the sky had decided to open up. Billy couldn’t see it - he hadn’t seen anything in a long while - but he liked to imagine that the clouds had literally parted in order to dump bucketfuls of water down on the city of New York like it had ordered a mediocre car wash at one of the sketchy gas stations near the bridge.
It wasn’t normally a complaining matter, a bit of rain never did anyone any harm, but as it was, he was stuck several blocks from the Sanctum Sanctorum, having been spending the afternoon once again in Washington Square Park. He wondered if he had become a fixture, like the middle aged woman who came every weekend to feed the squirrels, each of whom had their own name. He also wondered if Squirrel Girl had ever visited Washington Square Park. Tippy Toe would have plenty of friends.
The idea of navigating wet and busy streets of Greenwich Village was not at all appealing to the young mage, who still took his relative time while moving around the areas he was comfortable in, all things considered. But the other option was the use of his powers, and he was equally uncertain of that outcome. It wasn’t as if he had sworn them off - he’d used them around the girl who had been helping him research his conundrum, as well as the occasional transport spell. In truth, it made him a little bit anxious every time, after the mission that he couldn’t remember. What was worse, was he felt tired, like every time he used magic it was being sucked out of him. He had reasoned with himself that it was the lack of use, but it really didn’t ease his anxiety all that much.
Nonetheless, after some quick deliberation, he decided it was the best option. With a quiet chant of “I want to be back at the Sanctum Sanctorum,” he found himself on the porch, still sopping wet. He didn’t even bother to try a spell to lighten his dripping clothes, his magic was always startlingly absent whenever it benefited him directly. He would be lying, of course, if he didn’t admit privately to having wondered about whether or not that was related to his own self consciousnesses, but that was an issue for another day.
As he trudged through the hallway of the Sanctum Sanctorum, he felt more than a little bit guilty for dripping all the way up the stairs and to his bedroom. He supposed, had he his wits about him, he could have stopped at a lower floor bathroom or even the tiled kitchen to rid himself of the worst offending pieces of clothing, but as it was, there was simply now a trail that clearly communicated ‘Billy got stuck in the rain.’
He threw his wet clothing piece by piece onto an old iron heater by the window, one that to his recollection had never been on. The house, like many other older installations in the city, sported plenty of notes from its old life, though it was now heated by other means. Had he not been damp and suffering from that vague chill that clung strongly to skin after you had shed it of wet, sticking clothes, he might’ve had the presence of mind to wonder if it was heated supernaturally. But then, that was a bit silly, wasn’t it? Why do things the hard way?
The sodden magic user pulled on a pair of dry sleep pants and a t-shirt, not intending to leave the Sanctum again that day. Heck, he’d be lucky if he left his room. One unexpected downpour was more than enough to spoil the effort he’d been making to pick up his mood. A nice, sunny day out at the park. What could possibly go wrong?
With an exaggerated sigh, the teen laid back on his bed, trying to focus on the slightly warmer temperature of the inside air. His mind wandered to a hundred different places, but settled firmly on superheroes. His life had been a roller coaster since his powers had properly manifested, and this was just another downturn. It wasn’t all bad, no. There was Teddy, and Kate, and - well.. everyone was a superhero, still. Even after the fall of shield, after his own swearing off superheroing (at least until everything was figured out) the rest of them even sort of had, well, a team. The Young Avengers. Kate had mentioned it, and really, the names were appropriate. They’d all sort of taken after an avenger, hadn’t they? And, who was he? Thor? That was a laugh. Sure, his first manifested power had been lightning, but that was where the similarities ended.
As his thoughts drifted, he wondered what it would have been like if they had been The Young Avengers first. If SHIELD hadn’t happened. Maybe, just maybe... things wouldn’t be like this. Maybe he would be able to see, and maybe he would still be a superhero. A proper one. He hadn’t even trained with Doctor Strange since everything had happened, and sometimes he wondered why he didn’t just go home. But that would be giving up, and he wasn’t going to do that. At the very least, he would try to push forward. If only he could go backward, instead. That would be easier, wouldn’t it? Pedaling backward on a bike didn’t get you very far, but there wasn’t much resistance, either. Maybe he could just... coast.
What if they could go back, before everything went the way it did? Or better yet, what if everyone had made different choices -- or even had been different people? Would everything have changed, or would he still end up here, some parallel universe Wiccan, still blind, still without answers? What if the Avengers had formed differently, what if SHIELD hadn’t fallen? As he began to wonder, playing through thoughts and ideas in his head, he felt warmer - as if the thoughts themselves had comforted him, wrapping him like a warm blanket that had just come out of the dryer. The thought that somewhere in the multiverse, there might be a universe where everything was okay. Where everything felt okay. If only...
“I want everything to go back to the beginning,” he lamented sadly, exhaling in the newly found warmth. It cocooned him, and he suddenly felt very tired indeed - the rain must have taken a lot out of him, or so he reasoned. Still, wishing did very little good in the long run, didn’t it? What was that Harry Potter quote - it did not do well to dwell on dreams? Well, maybe Dumbledore was right, but that wasn’t going to stop him from taking a good, solid nap.
The young mage began to slip off into the refuge of his dreams, then, oblivious to the blue energy swirling around him - or the fact that nearby, small cracks had begun to form on the surface of reality.
