It matters because I want to help, [ Stephen replies, quick, with earnest urgency that surprises even him. The Scarlet Witch is a name whispered on the cosmos to anyone able to listen – a terrifying power, an unbridled well of chaos and destruction. Stories so vivid in their intensity that even Stephen has tasted their tragedy – always a girl with powers overwhelming, with anger borne of sorrow. Universes destroyed or transfigured, turned to wastelands of red. He hasn't deciphered the text of those timelines, but he's seen their bindings – cracked, bleeding, burned to ash.

He remembers a dark horizon hemorrhaged into the sky. Buildings and figures, half-dissolved, wails on the wind. One of them must have been her.

His chest clenches.

No one came to break me out – which means she's confirming everything else. Stephen has knowledge and therefore power. He thinks of Peggy Carter, her creased brow. What happened to you? A common loss, shared. He breathes in. ]

I know how you feel. [ He raises his eyes to hers, slow and sober. ] Your power – choked with it, like you're... like you can't hold it in. Like if you let your guard down for a second, it'll burst from the seams. It'll hurt people.

[ A shuddering exhale. He shakes his head. ]

I'm not psychic – I know about what happened from the news. And I know about Wanda Maximoff from seeing other timelines she's touched. I don't... I don't want you to end up in one of the bad ones.

[ Like his. ]