This story was inspired by Marvel: I'm in Westview Town, I recommend reading it.
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Westview.
The gentle morning breeze danced through the tree-lined streets of the small town, carrying with it the fresh scent of damp earth and wildflowers. The sun, still young in the sky, bathed everything in golden hues, filtering through sparse clouds that looked as if they had been painted with delicate brushstrokes. The air was slightly cool—enough to justify a thicker jacket, but not so much that it took away from the comfort of the crisp, revitalizing atmosphere.
At Westview Coffee Shop, the coziest place in town, the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional clinking of cups created a tranquil symphony. The television hanging in the corner, however, slightly disrupted the peace with news from the outside world.
"More protests emerge at Avengers Tower in New York. Their actions are sparking mixed reactions, with various consequences unfolding in the places they've passed through."
The reporter's voice echoed through the room, professional yet carrying an almost imperceptible melancholy—as if he himself doubted things could ever truly return to normal after all that had happened. Some customers glanced at the screen with thoughtful expressions, while others ignored it, preferring to focus on their coffee and conversations.
Josh, the coffee shop's receptionist—a man of average height with messy blond hair (as if he had rushed out of the house without time to fix it) and tired brown eyes that always seemed to carry the weight of sleepless nights—wiped the counter with a damp cloth. His movements were meticulous, almost automatic, until his gaze landed on one of his most frequent customers.
Oliver—or Ollie, as those close to him called him—was sitting in his favorite spot by the window, where the sunlight hit just right, illuminating his profile like a painting. His dark brown hair, thick and slightly wavy, was impeccably combed back, giving him an air of classic elegance, as if he had stepped straight out of a 1950s film.
His eyes, a silvery gray with bluish undertones, reflected the morning light, making his gaze intense—almost hypnotic. He wore a flawless ensemble: a long-sleeved black dress shirt, matching dress pants, polished leather shoes that gleamed, and a leather jacket that seemed to have stories of its own to tell.
"The Avengers..." Josh murmured, leaning against the counter, the rag still in his hand. "Why are people acting like this? They're helping people."
Oliver lifted his coffee cup with deliberate movements, as if every gesture were calculated. The steam curled in soft spirals before he brought the dark liquid to his lips, taking a slow sip. The coffee seemed to soothe something inside him, if only for a moment.
"Because that's how most people are," he replied, his voice soft but with a firmness that made Josh pay attention. "They judge based on mistakes. Everyone focuses on the failures, the moments when something went wrong, and forgets everything that was done right." His fingers tapped lightly against the side of the cup, and for a brief moment, his gaze drifted into emptiness—as if seeing something (or someone) that only existed in his memories.
Then, he turned fully toward Josh, resting his elbow on the counter, coffee still in hand.
"Speaking of which," he continued, his tone lighter now, almost casual, "that new place they're in… what was it again?"
Josh furrowed his brow, rubbing the back of his neck as if the motion alone could help him remember.
"Ah, Sokovia. I think."
Oliver tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if the name stirred something in him.
"Sokovia..." he repeated, the word coming out like a sigh. "Interesting."
_______
Oliver left the café a few minutes later, the soles of his shoes clicking softly against the pavement as he walked through the quiet town streets. The crisp morning air wrapped around him, but his mind was far away, lost in thoughts only he could understand.
Exactly one year ago, his life had changed forever.
His transmigration into this universe had been a "miracle," so to speak. When Oliver first woke up here, he thought he would be safe—far from the dangers of his original world. But his understanding of the Marvel Cinematic Universe quickly proved more complicated than he had imagined.
The timeline had progressed steadily since Captain America: The Winter Soldier. He had watched events unfold from a distance, observing, analyzing, but never interfering. Not because he didn't want to, but because he simply couldn't. His powers were still dormant, and without them, he was just an ordinary man—useless against a threat like Bucky Barnes, a super-soldier trained to kill.
But everything had changed a few months ago.
From a distant universe, from a series called Ninjago, Oliver had gained the power of Creation. It wasn't just matter or energy manipulation. He could control the very concept of creation, warping reality to his will. With training, he learned to shape it, to wield it without collapsing existence itself.
"Sokovia, huh..." Oliver murmured to himself, the corners of his lips quirking slightly. "Looks like we've reached the Age of Ultron."
He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. This era would mark the beginning of the Avengers' real problems—and the world's. Ultron's rise, Sokovia's destruction, the team's fracture… it was all about to unfold.
But now, there was a new variable in play.
"Good thing I exist."
His eyes, once a calm blue-gray, suddenly burned with a fierce golden light, as if ancient flames had awakened within him. The same glow flickered around his body for a brief instant—and then, in a flash of gold, he vanished, leaving behind only the silence of the empty street.
Sokovia, Central Europe.
A golden flash split the silent air of the forest outside the city, and Oliver reappeared - completely intact. He quickly checked himself over with meticulous care.
"Arms? Check. Legs? Check. My downstairs buddy? All present and accounted for." He smiled in relief. "Consequence-free teleportation - finally mastered it."
It hadn't always been this smooth. During early attempts, parts of his body would sometimes... not make the trip. Once he'd reappeared missing his right hand. Another time, part of his foot stayed behind. Thankfully, his creation powers allowed for rapid reassembly, but it had been unpleasant to say the least.
His control over his powers was now advanced enough to prevent reality from collapsing around him when he used them - something he'd tested (and nearly regretted) in those first days. But there were still minor imperfections, details needing fine-tuning.
Oliver's gaze turned toward the city ahead. Sokovia was under attack. Blue energy projectiles rained from the sky like deadly hail, slamming into buildings, streets, and - most horrifically - people. Distant screams echoed, and the smell of smoke and burning already filled the air.
"Okay." He took a deep breath, fingers flexing slightly. "Normally I wouldn't interfere, but... could score some points with the locals."
His eyes blazed gold again, the same luminous energy beginning to swirl around his hands. He crossed his arms against his chest, focusing, then threw them wide in a grand sweeping gesture.
BOOM!
A wave of golden energy erupted from his body, expanding in a perfect arc over the city. Within seconds, a translucent barrier—shimmering like liquid gold—formed above Sokovia, intercepting every projectile before it could wreak further havoc. The blue bolts slammed against the shield and dissipated into harmless sparks.
But Oliver wasn't done.
With a single step forward, he passed through his own barrier as if it were mist, stepping into the heart of the city's chaos. The wounded screamed, children cried, and fear hung thicker in the air than smoke.
Quietly, he extended his hands, a soft glow radiating from his palms. Wounds sealed shut, broken bones realigned, and blood ceased to flow. He drew no attention—just moved through the crowd like a benevolent shadow, mending as he went.
As he worked, his ears caught the distant roar of jet engines and the thunderous clang of metal on metal. The Avengers were here, fighting against... whatever was causing this.
Oliver smiled, satisfied.
"Small adjustments can prevent big disasters."
His eyes still glowed as he looked skyward, where the battle raged.
"But maybe it's time to say hello to the team."
With another golden flash, he vanished—this time, straight toward the heart of the conflict.
Sokovia Forest - HYDRA Base Perimeter
Oliver reappeared among the trees, the golden glow in his eyes fading as he steadied himself. The air thrummed with distant explosions and shouts from the battle between the Avengers and HYDRA forces. The base—a fortified castle with watchtowers and underground bunkers—was on high alert, but not for him.
Every eye (and weapon) was trained on the brightly suited heroes.
"Alright, time to be the Snake."
He crouched low, ready to sprint toward the base. He knew about the secret tunnel—the one Pietro had used to escape during the early events of Age of Ultron. If he could slip in that way, he could infiltrate unnoticed.
But before he took a single step, white-hot pain exploded behind his eyes.
"Ghk—!"
He dropped to his knees, hands clawing at his temples as a invasive sensation—like something scraping at his mind—crawled through his skull.
Inside the Castle - Control Room
Wanda Maximoff, who had been observing the chaos outside with her crimson energy-charged eyes, suddenly clutched her head with a pained grunt, doubling over.
"Argh!"
Pietro was at her side in the blink of an eye, kneeling immediately as he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, you okay?"
Wanda took a shaky breath, fingers trembling against her temples. Something strange had happened—something she'd never felt before.
"There's... someone out there," she murmured, eyes still clenched shut. "Or something."
Pietro glanced toward the entrance, then back at her, muscles tensed. "Another one of Stark's toys?"
Wanda shook her head slowly, lips pressing into a thin line.
"No... this was... different. I feel a connection." Her eyes fluttered closed as she focused on the presence calling to her from beyond the walls. "Pietro, take me to them. Please."
After a brief exchange of glances with Strucker, Pietro scooped Wanda up and vanished in a silver blur.
Forest Perimeter
Oliver finally caught his breath as the pain subsided. He lifted his head, squinting toward the castle through the trees.
"Ah, damn it," he muttered under his breath. "She sensed me."
Wanda Maximoff—the Scarlet Witch. Oliver mentally kicked himself for overlooking the future strongest Avenger, a Nexus Being. He'd always been fond of the character (and frankly, of Elizabeth Olsen's portrayal). Yet beneath the admiration simmered pity, remembering the tragic path fate had carved for Wanda—all that loss, all that pain.
"Sorry in advance, Vision," Oliver whispered, golden light flickering in his eyes like embers, "but I might just steal your girl."
A sudden gust of wind sliced through the clearing. Before he could react, two figures materialized before him: Pietro standing protectively in front, and Wanda—still cradling her head—whose scarlet gaze burned with equal parts pain and unnerving curiosity.
Oliver kept his posture relaxed, though every muscle coiled like a spring. The residual glow in his golden eyes betrayed his otherworldly nature as the three superhumans sized each other up in the charged silence.
Pietro sized up Oliver with narrowed eyes, instinctively shifting into a protective stance in front of Wanda. His words came as fast as his movements: "Who the hell are you? Another one of Stark's puppets?"
But Wanda's reaction was different. She stared at Oliver with something like recognition, her fingers twitching slightly as scarlet energy curled around them. "No..." she murmured, voice distant. "He's... something else."
Oliver exhaled slowly, choosing his next move carefully. These weren't enemies—just pawns who didn't realize the game they were in yet.
"Oliver," he introduced himself, keeping his hands visible. "And no, I've got nothing to do with Stark. Actually, I'm here because you two shouldn't either."
Pietro's frown deepened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Oliver locked eyes with Wanda, feeling the untamed chaos magic swirling beneath her skin—powerful, unrefined, intoxicating. "It means Strucker and HYDRA are using you," he said. "They see weapons. But you're so much more."
Wanda's fingers pressed against her temples again. "Why do I feel... this?" Her whisper trembled. "It's like—"
"Like we're cut from the same cloth?" Oliver finished, offering a small smile. "Close enough. The difference is, I already understand what you're still discovering."
A distant explosion rocked the castle foundations—the Avengers had breached the defenses. Time was running out.
"I know you hate Stark," Oliver said, extending his hand. "But the real monsters are the ones who put you in cages. Let me show you."
When Wanda reached for him, Pietro grabbed her wrist. "Wanda, don't—!"
"Trust me," she breathed.
Their fingers connected.
Golden and scarlet energy erupted in a maelstrom of visions—HYDRA's lies, Strucker's manipulations, carefully edited flashes that hid Ultron's future but exposed enough truth. When the vision broke, Wanda was gasping on her knees, Pietro clutching her shoulders with dawning horror.
"You... showed us," Wanda rasped, staring at Oliver with new clarity.
He nodded toward the crumbling castle. "Now you choose. Keep being their pawns..." A grin flickered across his face as his eyes blazed gold. "...or help me flip the board."
Wanda rose, scarlet energy crackling with purpose. Pietro sighed—but after a beat, gave a grudging nod.
"What's the plan?" Wanda asked.
Oliver's grin turned sharp. "First, we help the Avengers burn HYDRA to the ground." He offered his hand again. "Then? We rewrite the rules."
As Wanda's fingers closed around his, Pietro muttered, "This is gonna suck."
Oliver's laugh was all teeth. "Oh, absolutely."