Starchild

Resting, but Not for Long

—You passed out. —

Wong's voice is soft as I open my eyes again. We are not in the store anymore, in fact, when I finally recognize the roof on top of me, I notice we are in my room. I'm laying on my bed, still in my suit, and Wong is standing in front of my bookshelf, checking it out.

I frown. —How long? —

—Two hours. —I try to stand up, but he signals me to stop. I comply. —Strange said you barely sleep. You should try to at least take a nap. It's probably the reason why you got exhausted, aside from the fact that you might've overworked yourself. Every kind of magic has its limits, are you aware of that? —

—Mine is not supposed to. —

He shrugs. —That's just life. —he starts walking to the door, —I'll be right back. I'm gonna make you a cup of tea, it'll help you rest. —

When he leaves, I put my hand up, trying to make a little spark out of magic; maybe a little flame, or a small proof of energy. It doesn't work. Instead, my arm cramps a little, and I need to shake it for a bit. That's not normal.

Suddenly, Maximoff appears at my open door. He is holding Django with one hand while the other carries two bags, and he smiles when he notices I'm awake.

—We were almost leaving but Strange said I could come and leave Django with you. Also I got some stuff for him since you probably don't know how to take care of a cat. —he says very quickly. He takes something out of one of the bags; it's like a green cushion. —This is a bed for him. Where do you want it? —

I point at a spot on the floor, and he places it there. He leaves Django on it. I nod at the bags. —Where did you get these? —

He takes out two bowls, —The store 'round the corner. I'd tell you the prices but I kinda stole everything. Don't tell the Professor. —oh. Okay. —Anyways, this is for food, —he shows me a bowl, —This is for water. Fresh water. —he puts them down, next to the cat's bed. Then, he grabs another product out of the bag. —And this is the food. Lemme see how much he should eat... —he mutters, reading the package, —Do you know what grams are? —

—Not really. —

As Maximoff continues reading, I notice Django, slowly but surely, crawling to the bottom of my bed in curiosity. He starts meowing.

Oh. Oh. Oh no.

Quickly, before Maximoff notices, I grab Django. I forgot animals have great senses. I also kind of forgot about the corpse under my bed. The cat meows in my direction, confused.

—Okay, so, like, half a cup these first months. He can't be that old. —Maximoff finally adds, completely unaware of the situation, or maybe just plain indifferent. He leaves the bag of food on the nightstand. —I feel like I'm missing something. —

—Well, uh, —I shrug, as Django starts biting my hand again, —I would tell you but, you know, —awkward chuckle, —I don't really know. —

He narrows his eyes at me for a moment. Then, he gets enlightened, —Oh, shit, of course! —

In a blink, he leaves and comes back, holding a new object. It's a box filled with sand. —Sand box! That's not the name, I just forgot the word. Imma leave it in the bathroom, with your permission. —he doesn't wait for it, straight up moving it there. —This is like his bathroom. I recommend you clean it once a week, or it can smell disgusting. —

I nod, —Alright. Is that all? —

—Yeah. Yeah, I think so. —he looks around for a moment, —Is this house actually magical? Scott was theorizing that but I don't trust his judgement. —when I nod, he raises his eyebrows. —Man, that's cool. Sometimes I like my job- Litter! —he snaps his fingers,