Look What You Made Me Do (Wanda-SI/OC)

I drummed my fingers on my knee, my leg bouncing up and down nervously as we finally drew closer to the Wakandan border. I’d been able to open a portal large enough to get the jeep through, but Google Maps only got us so far before we had to spend almost a full day driving the old-fashioned way. It had been a little bit of a stressful trip.

Every so often, I absently sent wisps of red energy creeping into the back seat to where Ulysses Klaue lay, bound hand and foot. I’d originally thought to make him drive us, but had just not felt comfortable controlling someone for that long. Much easier to knock him out and check in every so often to make sure he stayed unconscious. Though we were driving toward his imminent doom, I envied his stress-free, blissful ignorance as he snored peacefully.

The literal pile of vibranium filling the back of the jeep wasn’t helping my nerves—we’d secured the canisters tightly so that they wouldn’t move around or jostle each other, but I knew that the metal ore could be dangerous to transport in its raw form. I’d warned Pietro and he was driving as carefully as he could, given we’d had to go off-road to get to Wakanda, but every single bump and dip still made me wince. Luckily, the grassy plain we were currently driving across was relatively flat.

Of course, all that was mostly just a welcome distraction from the real source of my anxiety: our upcoming approach to Wakanda. I’d filled Pietro in on most of the details as we drove—the Black Panther and the Heart-Shaped Herb, the Dora Milaje, Prince N’Jobu’s death at the hands of his brother, Killmonger, and what details I could remember about Wakandan technology. All the while, I’d stressed myself out worrying about how receptive they were going to be to our approach. In the original timeline, Killmonger had given them Klaue’s dead body and that was enough to secure a meeting with the king (in handcuffs, but still), but that had been after also showing proof of his heritage as a Wakandan.

I hoped that bringing in the arms dealer alive, in addition to returning literally billions of dollars’ worth of vibranium, would even out the difference but Klaue was fundamentally right: we were outsiders, and Wakanda was incredibly insular and xenophobic right now. All I could do was get to King T’Chaka and inform him of Killmonger’s existence and plot against the throne. Hopefully that, on top of everything else, would be enough to persuade them to tolerate our presence for a while and grant us access to some of their resources.

Since escaping with the sceptre, it felt like every attempt I’d made at making headway toward my goals had ended up backfiring. Things were pretty much irreparably fucked up with Kamar-taj, and our first meeting with the Avengers didn’t exactly endear us to them—I really, really needed a win here.

Before long, dozens of grass huts appeared on the horizon: a border village I didn’t know the name of. As we drew closer, I saw the blue and red patterned cloaks of the Border Tribe’s warriors as a dozen came together, with more Wakandans stopping what they were doing to watch from afar. Pietro eased off on the gas as several warriors on horseback made to intercept us—they signalled for us to stop and we complied, but they remained at a distance. Several cloaked men approached on foot, and I recognised W’Kabi, the Border Tribe’s head of security, at the front.

Not for the first time, I mused briefly on the nature of this universe and my presence in it. In Kathmandu, Mordo had approached us in the street, presumably after overhearing us, mirroring the way that Stephen Strange found Kamar-taj in the original timeline. Now we were arriving at Wakanda, and what were the odds that W’Kabi would be present for our arrival, much as he would have been for Killmonger’s? In both instances it made narrative sense, but when examined in reality felt far too contrived to just be coincidence. It wasn’t anything that I could draw meaningful inferences from, but it still sat uncomfortably with me.

As W’Kabi walked toward us, I flicked my fingers toward the back seat, sending a small jolt of chaos magic to wake our passenger as I opened the door and stepped out. In response, several of the warriors immediately flicked back their cloaks to draw curved, sickle-like swords. Under his own cloak, W’Kabi raised a hand and they settled slightly—still alert and ready for danger, but not immediately attacking. Behind me, I heard Pietro get out of the jeep and start to wrangle Klaue out.

“Leave, outsiders. You are not welcome here.” W’Kabi said, his voice neutral.

I bowed my head slightly, deciding that a formal approach was probably best. “Peace, W’Kabi of the Border Tribe. We come with gifts for King T’Chaka,” I said, pleased to see the warrior’s eyes widen a fraction at the use of his name. Next to me, Pietro pushed Klaue out, who stumbled and sprawled out on the ground in front of us, hands still bound, muttering curses under his breath. “Ulysses Klaue, the thief who stole from your people. In the back of the jeep is the vibranium he took. We wish to return it to its rightful owners, and hope that you will allow us to speak to King T’Chaka personally, to pay our respects.”

There was a pause as he processed this, then he turned slightly, tilting his head to the warriors to his left. One stepped forward and grabbed Klaue by the hair, pulling his head to the side and showing the Wakandan thief brand that decorated his neck. Two others circled around us cautiously, heading for our vehicle. I stood quietly, matching W’Kabi’s measured gaze. There was a clunk as they opened the rear door, then one called out something in Wakandan.

W’Kabi’s forehead crinkled slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Who are you?”

“Friends, I hope,” I said, shooting him a hopeful smile.

“Stay here,” he commanded, then turned around and walked several paces away, bringing his hand up in front of him. Our view was blocked by his body, but a few moments later he started speaking in Wakandan, his voice low. I looked at Pietro meaningfully and touched my wrist with one hand. The Wakandan was using his Kimoyo beads, the seemingly‑mundane beaded bracelets they used essentially as smartphones. After a few minutes, W’Kabi turned back toward me. “You will come with us.”

Our hands were cuffed behind our backs, thin vibranium bands around our wrists. I wasn’t too worried about them—I could still access my powers like this, though it was a little trickier, but I also knew that Wanda’s magic was strong enough to bend or break vibranium, and Pietro with his feet under him was still a threat even with his hands bound.

However, then they approached with black hoods to put over our heads and I went still, feeling a familiar sense of panic starting to rise up in my chest. I took deep breaths, telling myself over and over again that a bit of discomfort would be worth it in the long run. Pietro balked slightly as well, but I nodded at him, trying to look confident, before letting my own head be covered. If anything, the precautions they were taking should have been a relief. It looked like my assumptions had been correct and we were being taken to see the king.

There was a bit of an awkward blind walk, where I was guided only by a hand grabbing my arm and pulling me in the correct direction, followed by a short wait before I heard the engine of a vehicle arrive, and then we were carefully helped on board where we sat and waited while we were transported to our destination.

About an hour later, we were being led into a building of some kind, and made to wait for a few minutes before being taken through to a second room. The hood was pulled roughly from my head and I blinked in the sudden light. Pietro was next to me, W’Kabi turning to him next and uncovering his head as well. I didn’t recognise the room we were in—a sleek chamber with a vaulted ceiling, black, irregular floor tiles edged in blue, and one wall that was artfully polished and highlighted natural rock, rather than built. There were two Border Tribe guards flanking the closed door behind us where we had entered from, and ahead of us was a short flight of stairs that led up to a path that wound around the edge of the room, another door at the top.

A moment later, that door opened and a trio of bald women entered, clad in red and gold and holding wicked-looking vibranium spears: the Dora Milaje, the all-female Wakanda special forces. The one in the lead was instantly recognisable.

I smiled and dipped my head to Okoye as she approached. She scowled back. “Who are you?”

“My name is Wanda; this is my brother Pietro,” I said, tilting my head toward him.

“You brought us Ulysses Klaue,” she said. It was a simple statement, but I could hear annoyance behind it. “And much of the vibranium he stole. Where is the rest?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. We brought all that he still had with him. If there was more, he must have sold it already.”

“Where did you find him?”

“His operation was based in a salvage yard, on the southeast coast, near Richards Bay.”

“You expect me to believe that the two of you brought down his entire operation by yourselves?” Okoye looked back and forth between the two of us. “Who are you working for?”

“We’re not working for anyone,” I said. This was less friendly than I’d hoped it would be. “We’re more capable than we look.”

“Why did you bring Klaue here?”

“Because I knew he had escaped justice and stolen from your people.”

“That is not the concern of outsiders,” she growled, brow furrowed as she leaned in close, eyes searching my face. “You returned the vibranium, knowing what it was.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “It belongs to Wakanda. We wanted to return it.”

Okoye stepped back, looking at W’Kabi, as she considered my statement for a moment. “Fine,” she said. “You will be compensated for your effort, and then you will be returned to the border. You will leave, and you will not return.”

I shook my head with a bit more insistence. “Please, we need to speak to King T’Chaka first.”

“The king has no time for outsiders,” she snapped back, gesturing to the Border Tribe guards. They moved forward, taking us by the arms, and I tried to pull away.

“Please,” I said. “It’s important. We have information he will want to know.”

Okoye paused, halting the guards with another hand signal. “If you have information, then speak it. I will relay anything worth knowing.”

I made a face. “It’s… sensitive. The king needs to hear it directly, he won’t want anyone else to know before he does.”

“Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?” she scoffed.

“Okoye, General of the Dora Milaje and head of Wakanda’s armed forces,” I exhaled through my nose, a little bit of anger rising in my chest. “Sorry, I do know who you are and I understand your caution, but really, honestly, the king will want to hear me out when he listens to what I have to say.”

She regarded me levelly for a moment. “If this information is as important as you claim and yet you will not speak now, perhaps a few days in the cells will loosen your tongue.”

“What the fuck?” I blurted out in disbelief, pulse quickening at the thought of being trapped in a cell again. “Is this really how you’re treating us? We bring you Klaue and the vibranium he stole, willingly surrender ourselves into your custody so we could be taken to speak to your king, and now you’re threatening to lock us up?” I was willing to be led here in handcuffs, I was willing to be blindfolded, I was willing to be interrogated even, but I was drawing a hard line at being imprisoned.

“I do not care that you brought Klaue. You are outsiders,” she said dismissively. “You think you can walk into our home and demand the right to speak to our king?”

“It’s to do with his brother’s disappearance,” I said, a slight amount of desperation leaking into my tone.

That got a reaction. Okoye tilted her head sharply, eyes widening. “You have information regarding Prince N’Jobu?”

“Yes. Please. It’s for King T’Chaka’s ears only.”

She regarded me for a few long moments, then shook her head and took a step forward threateningly. “You will tell me what you know. Now.”

I stared back at her, a heavy weight settling in my stomach as my mind raced to find a solution here. I’d miscalculated and overcommitted. I could tell her about Killmonger, but without also telling her that T’Chaka killed his own brother his motivation for revenge wouldn’t make any sense, and she had zero reason to believe me on that. The information might filter its way up, but we’d be long gone by then, and Okoye might even decide to lock us up for accusing the king of murder.

If I didn’t tell her, though, it seemed like she would have zero hesitation in following through with her earlier threat and just locking us up until we chose to talk. I noticed I was starting to breathe more heavily, and tried to calm myself before I started to hyperventilate. I couldn’t let myself be locked up again. I just… the thought of it was enough to start my heart pounding in my chest. I’d fucked this up and backed myself into a corner. I needed a way out. I had to do something.

“Are you really this stubborn?” I asked, my voice oddly calm in my ears. “Or are you just pissed off because we got Klaue while the Dora Milaje have been chasing their tails for years?”

A spear was suddenly at my throat—not touching, but definitely threatening. “Choose your words more carefully,” Okoye hissed angrily.

I locked eyes with her. “You alone, then,” I said quietly. “Send everyone else away, and I’ll tell you.”

Deafening silence stretched out between us, several seconds passing as neither of us backed down. Eventually, Okoye nodded slowly. Lowering her spear, she turned to W’Kabi and said a few terse words in Wakandan. Glancing at Pietro out of the corner of my eye, I nodded fractionally. He looked unsure, but didn’t make a fuss when W’Kabi grabbed his arm and led him from the room. The other Border Tribe guards and Dora Milaje filtered out, the door closing behind them and leaving Okoye and I alone.

“I really wish you’d made this easier,” I said with a sigh. She scoffed in response, but I was already focusing on reaching out for my power.

My body jerked slightly as I astrally projected out of it. She couldn’t see my astral form, of course, so she was essentially defenceless as I interposed myself between her and my body. I reached back toward myself with one hand, placing my palm over the Mind Stone, channelling its power through me and letting it flow up to where my other hand hovered near her temple, wisps of chaos magic spearing from my fingers. Her eyes flashed red and she froze, her body unresponsive as I took control.

From the lightest touch of her mind, I could easily confirm that Okoye had been deadly serious about locking us up, so I thought at the very least I’d made the right call here. However, I was now at a crossroads. I could remain controlling Okoye long enough to get her to send us away, and walk away from this whole mess with nothing, or… I could try to press on and use my control over Okoye to arrange the meeting with T’Chaka. This didn’t have to have all been for nothing.

Okoye was suspicious by nature, and would do anything to defend her king. If T’Chaka thought that she’d vetted me and had agreed to let me meet with him, that would hopefully add some extra weight to my words, and he was friendlier and less paranoid than she was. I could still go with my original plan and get a good outcome or, at the very least, have tried my best. If T’Chaka wasn’t willing to help us, we could still just get dropped off at the border none the worse for wear.

I opened up more of a channel between us, drawing deeply on the Mind Stone. I didn’t want to seize complete control her… I really, really wasn’t comfortable literally enslaving someone. Besides, I was still holding out hope that Wakanda could be our base of operations moving forward, and it would be far too risky to try to maintain control the entire time we wanted to work with them.

Instead, I opted for subtlety. With a light touch, I started to tweak and massage her thoughts and memories, just enough to insert an impression—a decision. All I needed was for her to resolve that I should be taken before King T’Chaka. That what I had to say to him was important and meaningful enough that he would want to hear it from me.

A handful of seconds crawled by as I worked. My magic was being backed up by the power of the Mind Stone, but I’d still never done anything quite like this before. I wanted to make sure she wouldn’t realise she had been manipulated, and I didn’t want to do any damage while I was poking around in her head, either.

Finally done, I withdrew, my astral form sinking back into my body as Okoye blinked, her own senses returning to her. “Okoye,” I said quietly. “Please, let me speak to King T’Chaka.”

My voice seemed to snap her back into the present and she stared at me for a few seconds before she nodded. “Fine,” she ground out. “You will be taken before the king. Do not take this gift for granted.”

“Thank you. I won’t,” I said. “I promise.”

Okoye raised her voice, calling out loudly in Wakandan, and a moment later the door swung open again. As I was reunited with Pietro, the leader of the Dora Milaje had a quick back-and-forth conversation with W’Kabi, who looked over at us once or twice, his expression dubious. Eventually he nodded, then came over to us as Okoye and the two other Dora Milaje filed back out of the room. We were led through to another room, where we were sat down and forced to wait another hour before W’Kabi finally returned.

The throne room was impressive—a massive room with high vaulted ceilings, steps on either side of the door we entered through leading up to balcony galleries, each with four Dora Milaje standing guard in front of them. Most of the room’s floor was tempered glass with visible exposed metal supports, resting above a rough base of artistically cracked and weathered red rock. The rock jutted upwards in the centre, creating an island-like platform in the middle of the room upon which sat the throne and six other, smaller seats clustered around it. Behind the throne was a floor-to-ceiling set of windows looking out onto the city, flanked by a pair of black marble panther statues.

King T’Chaka sat on his throne, clad in blue formal attire with silver embroidery, the two rounded spikes on the back of the throne framing his figure. Okoye and T’Challa—his son, the Black Panther—stood beside him. Queen Ramonda sat to his right, and four of the other smaller chairs were similarly occupied by colourfully-attired advisors.

The two other Border Tribe guards moved to flank the door behind us as we approached the central dais. W’Kabi released my arm and stepped stiffly to one side. Okoye stared at me steadily, her mouth curved in a slight frown, and the rest of the gathered officials looked at us with casual curiosity. I bowed deeply, kicking Pietro in the ankle when he didn’t immediately follow suit.

Once we straightened up, T’Chaka spoke a single word in Wakandan: “Thetha.”

W’Kabi looked from his king to me and translated. “Speak.”

I cleared my throat quietly, then spoke the lines I’d been rehearsing in my head for the past half an hour. “Great King T’Chaka, thank you for allowing us the honour of an audience. I hope that our gifts to you have been received in the spirit with which they were given.”

One of the advisors, a man in a green suit with an absolutely massive lip plate and ear stretchers, spoke rapidly in Wakandan. Behind him, Queen Ramonda chimed in with a few words of her own, then T’Chaka nodded and spoke in plain English, smiling warmly at me. “Your gifts are well received. Klaue has evaded justice for too long, and while not all of the vibranium has been recovered, what you have been able to return to us is accepted gratefully.”

I smiled back, the tension in my chest and shoulders starting to loosen. T’Chaka was a reasonable man, I reminded myself. He had never gotten too much screen time, but I’d always gotten the impression that he was affable enough once you got past the layers of ablative security. “As General Okoye has likely already told you, there is another matter I must speak to you of.”

“I am told you have information regarding Prince N’Jobu’s disappearance.” A slight hardness settled in his eyes.

“There are things I dare not speak of openly, even before trusted ears such as these. I trust that, in your great wisdom, King T’Chaka, you understand the truth in these words.” Unsure of what else to do to, I waggled my eyebrows at him a bit. It was almost comical, and made it incredibly obvious to everyone in the room that there was some hidden meaning I was trying to convey, but I really wanted to make sure he understood what I was talking about.

That sparked off a round of heated argument and debate in Wakandan, all of the present advisors and queen weighing in with their own opinions. King T’Chaka spoke only once, in response to a specific comment aired by an older woman in black and gold. After a minute of more back and forth, the king held up a hand and everyone else instantly fell silent. When he spoke again, there was an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “I believe I understand. Speak, but only what you can without causing offense. I will decide if anything requires further explanation.”

Oh, good. This was going to be awkward and difficult. “Your brother’s son—your nephew,” I started, and there were a few scoffs and exclamations in Wakandan from the advisors in response. “I don’t know his Wakandan name, but his American name is Erik Stevens. He knows what happened to his father and has chosen to place the blame at your feet.” T’Challa was staring at me with unnerving intensity, his brows slightly raised in surprise.

T’Chaka sagged a bit in his throne. He looked… sad. Defeated. “Go on,” he said softly.

“He has dedicated his life to revenge and seeks to follow in a traitor’s footsteps. He joined the US military and became an elite black ops agent. They call him the Killmonger. He is coming to Wakanda to challenge you for the throne, so he can use your technology to conquer the world and remake it in the image he prefers.”

Another round of exclamations, but this time Queen Ramonda shot to her feet. “What are these lies?” she spat, in English. “You dare to sully the memory of Prince N’Jobu with this slander?”

“I’m sorry. Your War Dogs should be able to confirm a lot of the details.” I shot King T’Chaka a helpless look. “Killmonger shouldn’t be underestimated. He’s smart, strong, and extremely dangerous.”

The king stood and slowly walked toward me, until we were only a few feet apart, and looked me in the eyes for a moment. I tried very hard not to flinch away from his gaze. “Why are you here?” he asked quietly. “You bring us Klaue, return our vibranium, and now—if what you say is true—inform us of a dangerous threat. You are an outsider. Why have you done these things?”

I steeled myself, inwardly offering up a prayer to whatever gods might happen to be listening. It was now or never. “My brother and I are seeking sanctuary. We have… enemies who are looking for us. We were hoping that Wakanda could be a place of safety for us.”

T’Chaka tilted his head curiously. The River Tribe Elder scoffed again, saying something dismissive-sounding in Wakandan, but quieted at a look from his king.

“King T’Chaka… please. My brother and I have nothing and no one. We are alone.”

I could practically see it—the exact instant he decided to help us. His eyes softened, and he started to nod his head. Which made it all the more devastating when a side door to the chamber burst open and a skinny teenage girl rushed in.

“Father! Get away from that woman!” Shuri practically shouted as she crossed the floor toward us.

The king backed up a step instinctively at his daughter’s words. “Shuri? What is the meaning of this?” As he did, W’Kabi flicked his cloak back, keeping a hand hovering above the sword at his waist. Okoye had stepped forward as well, moving to interpose herself between the king and I, and two more of the Dora Milaje quickly relocated from their posts at the sides of the room to flank us.

Instead of speaking, Shuri just held out her hand in front of her father, a Kimoyo bead in her palm. A holographic projection appeared above it, a hexagonal screen showing the view from a security camera that I must have missed seeing in the chamber where Okoye had initially questioned us. I watched in mounting horror as the image of Okoye sent the guards away so I could speak to her. Moments later, a bridge of visible red chaos magic flowed between the two of us, linking the pendant at my neck to her head, and she stood unmoving for a handful of seconds before the energy faded. I spoke, and then Okoye nodded, agreeing to my request.

King T'Chaka looked back up at me from the recording, his face like thunder. “What is the meaning of this?!”