Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The New Avengers were having a rare day off. A mandatory day off, according to Bucky.

He’d called it a "rest day," though judging by how Walker nearly sprained a muscle arguing about tactical formations at breakfast, Yelena suspected the term was… aspirational.

Still. No training, no missions, no briefings. Just a group of very dangerous people pretending to know how to relax.

And Bob was sulking. Again.

He hadn’t left his room since yesterday’s team meeting, hadn’t changed out of the same gray hoodie in three days, and definitely hadn’t smiled since Walker had helpfully suggested “just embracing the Sentry thing already.”

Yelena had had enough.

Not of Bob. Never Bob.

Of watching someone she—ugh, cared about—waste away in sweatpants and self-loathing.

So, she stood in front of his bedroom door at 10:37 a.m. with a large iced coffee in one hand and a mission-grade glare in the other.

"Robert. You have exactly five minutes to put on real pants. We are going to the mall."

There was a rustle behind the door. Then, groaning. Possibly actual despair.

“I don’t want to go to the mall,” came his muffled protest. “There’s people there.”

Yelena took a long sip of her coffee. “Yes. That is how malls work.”

“Can’t we just watch something here? I can make popcorn. I’ll wear jeans for that.”

“You had popcorn for breakfast.”

Beat. Silence.

Then, reluctantly: “It was kettle corn…”

“Bob.” She let the silence stretch long enough to become a threat.

“Fine,” he muttered, defeated. “But if you try to make me try on skinny jeans again, I will evaporate.”

Yelena smirked, already turning toward her own room. “No promises.”

In her room, Yelena stared at her reflection.

Technically, she wasn’t wearing pajamas.

Technically, they were “lounge pants,” which someone at Zara had charged her eighty dollars for, probably because they had little skulls on them.

But if she was dragging Bob out of his hoodie cave and making him put on real pants, then she should probably set an example. Like a responsible assassin.

She sighed, traded the lounge pants for cargo ones, grabbed a hoodie that didn’t smell like popcorn, and scraped her hair into something that suggested effort. “Fine. Grown-up clothes. We’re really doing this.”

* * *

The lobby was empty except for a ficus, a security guard who may or may not have been asleep, and—

“Wow,” Yelena said as Bob stepped off the elevator. “You’re… clothed.”

He blinked at her. “Thanks?”

“No. Really. I mean. Jeans. Buttons. This shirt has a collar.” She squinted. “Is that—do I see stitching? Did you sew this yourself in a fit of depression?”

“It was clean,” he said flatly. “Also, it’s the only shirt I own that makes me look like I might pay taxes.”

She mock-applauded. “You look very respectable. No one will suspect the cosmic murder potential.”

He grinned, just a little. It was almost smug. Almost. “Says the woman in tactical cargo pants.”

“These are mall casual.”

They made it to the front doors before Bob hesitated. “Are we seriously planning on taking the subway?”

“Yes,” Yelena replied with a grin.

“Yelena—have you been on a New York subway before?”

She shrugged. “How bad could it be?”

Bob stared at her. “I was once asked to pet-sit a pigeon for a guy named Lenny while we were stuck between stations. For forty minutes.”

With narrow eyes, Yelena asked, “Did you do it?”

Bob sighed. “…yes." Then he raised his hands. "But! In my defense, I was very high!”

Before she could reply with something snarky, a familiar rumble echoed up the block. “No. No, no, no—”

Alexei’s modified stretch SUV pulled up like it was rolling into the Oscars.

Windows tinted. Hood ornament aggressive. Bass vibrating like a tectonic event.

“YELENUSHKA!” came the shout from the driver’s side window. “You are going somewhere? Get in, I take you! Bob too! I have snacks!”

Yelena turned to stone. “Absolutely not. No. Walk away. Pretend you do not see him.”

Bob, for his part, waved politely. “Hi, Alexei.”

“Hello, little death cloud! You look like accountant today!”

Yelena glared. “I’m a grown woman. I’ve ended regimes. I do not need a ride to the mall from my—"

“He installed a disco ball in the back seat,” Bob whispered.

A beat of silence before Yelena growled, “Fine.”

* * *

Alexei dropped them off at the front entrance like it was prom. “If they sell weapons, try to buy on a deal!” he bellowed after them. “And remember to hydrate! Water, Yelenushka!”

Yelena tugged up her hoodie and muttered, “I’m disowning him.”

Bob snorted. “You could do worse.”

Inside, the mall was… a mall. Slightly too loud. Smelled like cinnamon and capitalism. Children screamed in the distance like war was imminent.

“Perfect,” Yelena deadpanned.

They hit Sephora first. Yelena played it cool for exactly five minutes before getting way too into a lip gloss trial.

“You don’t need highlighter,” she told Bob, dabbing something on his cheekbone anyway, “but it would be illegal to not try it once.”

He looked at himself in the mirror. “I sparkle.”

“You radiate.”

Next was Hot Topic, where she tried to talk him into black nail polish and a pair of skinny jeans that made him go physically pale. But he did sneak over to the band tee section and purchase something, which he promptly stuffed into a bag and Yelena followed him out without a word.

At the food court, they each got two trays of food (“Don’t judge me,” Yelena said around her second pretzel dog) and people-watched like it was sport.

“That one’s a serial killer,” Yelena said casually, pointing at a man with too many shopping bags.

“No,” Bob said. “He is trying to be a good boyfriend but forgot his girlfriend’s shoe size and now he’s overcompensating.”

“Tragic," Yelena said, shaking her head. She then nodded toward Bob's tray from Chipotle. “Like your burrito-to-rice ratio.”

“It was a structural failure.”

They laughed. Easy. Light.

She forgot for a second that this wasn’t normal. That it didn’t used to be allowed.

That laughter wasn’t something she used to know how to do.

They were walking out of the food court with a suspicious number of churros and zero regrets when Yelena stopped in her tracks.

It was the name that did it.

“Expecting,” the store sign read, soft scripted font curling across glass. The display window was full of powder blue and cotton candy pink and so many impossibly small things—booties, blankets, pacifiers shaped like cartoon animals. A stuffed bear in a onesie was sitting in a rocking chair beside a hand-painted sign that read, Welcome, little one.

And Yelena couldn't move.

She was just standing there, staring, a half-eaten churro still in her hand.

Bob noticed.

“Hey,” he said quietly, not pushing. Just gently stepped between her and the window, blocking the view without making it obvious. His hands ware warm and steady as they landed on her shoulders. “Let’s… maybe take five?”

She didn't answer. Didn’t argue. Just let him steer her down a service hallway nearby, fluorescent lights buzzing above like a bad memory.

When they were out of sight and mostly alone, Bob reached into his pocket for a napkin—crumpled, but clean—and dabbed under her eyes with a reverence that made her stomach twist.

She startled slightly. “Am I—?” She touched her own cheek, blinking fast. “I’m crying? Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Bob said, soft. “You are.”

She snorted wetly. “That’s stupid.”

“Feelings aren’t stupid.”

Yelena leaned back against the cool concrete wall, arms folded tight across her chest like she was trying to keep her insides from spilling out. “I don’t even know why.”

Bob said nothing. Just waited.

And maybe that’s why she kept talking.

“Maybe it’s my childhood,” she muttered. “Or the families I ruined. Or the fact that every single major decision in my life was made for me before I could even spell the word choice. I didn’t get to decide who I wanted to be, or who I could become. The Red Room had my future mapped out before I had a chance to want anything.”

Her voice cracked a little. She didn't stop.

“I was just a kid. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t even have time to think about it. To decide if I wanted to think about it. They told me what my life was. They told me whose life to end. And I did it. Over and over again. No questions asked.”

She swiped at her eyes, frustrated. “I probably wouldn’t have even wanted kids. I mean—I don’t know. I probably would’ve been a shitty mom anyway. But I would’ve liked to have had the option, you know?”

There was a pause.

Bob was still standing there, looking at her like she’s not broken. Like she’s not a problem to be solved.

“I think you would’ve been a good mom,” he said, a little awkward, a little too honest.

Yelena stared at him. “That’s what you got out of that? That’s what you respond to?”

Bob shrugged. “I just… think it’s true.”

She laughed and cried at the same time, a weird hiccup of emotion she’s never sure how to handle. She leaned forward and let herself be pulled into a hug, even if it’s a little too long, a little too warm, a little too nice.

Bob didn't let go right away. And neither did she.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

And she surprised herself by believing it. “Yeah,” she said into his chest. “Now, I am.”

They stayed like that for another beat, breathing each other in.

And then Yelena muttered into his shoulder, deadpan: “Did you actually shower for a change?”

Bob huffed out a laugh, still holding her. “I did. Even used soap.”

“Wow. You’re really pulling out all the stops today.”

“You’re worth the effort.”

Yelena went still again—but this time, it’s not grief or anger or ghosts.

It was something gentler.

And, therefore, more dangerous.

“So,” he said softly, voice finally breaking the silence, “do you want to keep hiding in this janky hallway we’re probably not supposed to be in… or are we ready to go back out there? With, you know. The people.”

He tilted his head toward the door, eyes wide. “So many people. Everywhere.”

Yelena smirked. “I’ll do it if you will.”

It wasn’t exactly a promise. But it was close enough.

Bob held out a hand. She took it without making a big deal out of it—because she was considerate like that—and they stepped out into the blinding fluorescent jungle of the mall.

Bob subtly steered them away from the pastel nightmare that was the baby store, and Yelena didn’t say a word. Besides, she’d already mentally burned that store down once today.

They’d just passed a pretzel stand when both of their phones buzzed.

Alexei. Of course.

[Red Guardian]: ‘Lena! Are you and Bob ready for extraction from the mall?

Yelena groaned. Loudly. “Nooooooo. Why. He is the worst.”

Bob chuckled. “He’s really not.”

She exhaled through her nose. “I know.”

But then the group chat blew up, because of course Alexei had sent the message to the entire New Avengers thread.

[Walker]: You two are at the mall? Thanks for inviting the rest of us.
[Ghost]: Pretty sure getting away from the rest of us was the point.
[Bucky]: How did you get there? How are you getting back?

Yelena stared at Bucky's message on her phone, horrified. “Oh my God. There are two of them.”

Bob was already tapping out a reply. Calm. Collected. Suspiciously functional.

[Bob]: It was an impulsive decision, not planned. Alexei gave us a ride. We're still hanging and gonna take in some sights and make our way back, so we're good thanks.

Yelena blinked at the message like it had personally offended her.

“How did you manage to respond to everyone like that? So nice. So thoughtful. Like—oh, wow. Okay. I’m just now realizing how much I suck at basic human-ing.”

Bob looked at her, and his voice was stupidly gentle. “You really don’t. I think you’re a pretty good human.”

They were just words. Just kindness. But it hit her like a grenade. Not that she’d admit it.

Another ping.

[Bucky]: Roger that. Reach out if any issues.

And then—

[Red Guardian]: WE ARE AT THE READY.

She groaned again. Also, she really needed to get him to stop changing his contact name in her phone.

Then, realized: “Wait. What is this ‘sightseeing’ you say we’re doing?”

Bob shrugged, sheepish. “Had to say something to keep them from sending a chopper for us.”

“You bluffed?” she gasped. “You LIED? Bob!”

He laughed, boyish and unrepentant, and she shoved him lightly in the arm.

Another ping. Bob checked his phone and raised an eyebrow. “We need to stop at Bath & Body Works.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes, looking down and realizing that there were no more messages in the group chat, which meant someone had texted only Bob. “Okay? Why? And who is texting you secret messages now?” (And no, she definitely wasn’t jealous. That would be ridiculous.)

“It's Bucky,” Bob told her. “He asked if we can pick him up some moisturizer. I know the kind he means.”

Yelena followed him toward the store, curiosity piqued. “Why does he need bougie lotion from the place that smells like a hundred bath bombs exploded?”

Bob leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Having a prosthetic arm made of vibranium isn’t exactly comfortable. Apparently there’s some chafing or something.”

“Oh.”

Inside the store, the scent hit her like a punch made of flowers and sugar. Bob navigated the shelves like a man on a mission, zeroed in on a display of Shea + Aloe Ultra Moisture lotions and snagged two bottles. Yelena watched him while pretending not to.

He was polite to the employee at the register. Too polite, honestly—he probably complimented her lanyard or something—and the girl? Full heart-eyes. Dreamy smile. Flushed cheeks.

Yelena watched her watch him walk away, then locked eyes with her from across the store.

The girl paled and disappeared down an aisle like she'd just seen her GPA in danger.

Bob returned a moment later, oblivious. “Okay, all set.”

As they walked out, Yelena nudged him with her elbow. “You know that cashier was totally into you.”

Bob’s eyes widened. “What? No. No way.”

“She was,” Yelena said firmly. “She couldn’t stop smiling. And she stared at your ass the whole time you walked away.”

Bob’s ears turned red. “I—what?”

They stepped onto the escalator, Bob staring determinedly at his shoes.

Yelena leaned back and nodded, mock-serious. “It’s a good ass.”

Bob choked. “What.”

She smirked, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Is that why you don’t wear real clothes? Is your ass your real superpower and the world just can’t handle it?”

Bob speedwalked off the escalator the second they hit the bottom. “I am not debating this with you.”

Yelena chased after him, too loudly, “It’s not a debate! It’s fact! The world is not ready for Bob’s jelly!”

They burst through the exit doors into open air and sunlight, laughing so hard it echoed across the pavement.

After a moment, Yelena wiped at her eyes. “Whew. Okay. But really—how are we getting back?”

Bob grinned, eyes bright with mischief and something gentler underneath.

“You still wanna try the subway?”

* * *

Yelena had been on subways before. In several countries. Dozens of cities. She’d ridden underground transit in Moscow, in Berlin, in Madrid, in Tokyo — usually while tailing someone, or fleeing someone, or prepping for an extraction. She’d never taken the train in New York simply… to go home. Not until now.

That felt strange in and of itself.

She and Bob stood near the entrance to the Lexington Avenue/59th Street Station, juggling their shopping bags. It wasn’t exactly picturesque — flickering fluorescent lights, chipped tile walls, the faint scent of warm pretzel mixed with ancient mold. Yelena stared up at the sprawling map of intersecting rainbow-colored lines, each one squiggling like a drunken bowl of spaghetti.

She squinted. Tilted her head. Glared.

“I am fluent in several languages,” she said finally, her accent curling thick with exasperation. “I can disassemble, clean, and reassemble complicated weapons in under two minutes. I have driven on the autobahn. But this?” She jabbed a finger at the map. “This is insanity.”

Bob laughed, the sound echoing softly in the tiled tunnel. He shifted their bags, consolidating them all into one and swinging it over his shoulder with surprising ease. Then he stepped closer and pointed, tracing a line with his finger. “Okay, see this dot? That’s us. And we need to get over here—two stops west, then switch trains, then head downtown. Easy.”

Yelena gave him a sideways look like he’d just started speaking Welsh. “Easy,” she repeated, skeptical.

He grinned, holding out his hand. “Stick with me. We’ve got this.”

She stared at the hand for a beat longer than necessary. Then, sighing, she took it.

The train was crowded. Not rush-hour packed, but still that vaguely claustrophobic, elbow-to-rib proximity that New York was famous for. They found two seats together, and Yelena flopped down, letting out a breath and fanning herself with a flier someone had handed her outside the mall. Bob sat beside her, quiet.

The train lurched into motion.

Yelena let herself people-watch. There was a guy with a guitar, strumming something vaguely resembling “Wonderwall.” A woman with red glasses and three chihuahuas in a stroller. A teenage couple attached at the lips. The PA crackled overhead, announcing garbled station names in a voice that sounded one coffee away from giving up entirely.

Then she noticed Bob’s leg bouncing. The steady, nervous rhythm of it. He was holding onto the bar above his head a little too tight, knuckles pale.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. Of course. Crowds. Tight space. The noise, the motion, the anonymity of being surrounded yet unseen. It had probably been years since Bob Reynolds had been on a subway — and the last time, she bet, hadn’t been during a happy, or particularly lucid, chapter of his life.

She reached over and placed her hand on his knee. The bouncing stopped. He looked at her, startled.

“So,” she said casually, jerking her chin toward the overhead ads. “These posters. Commercialism or psychological warfare? Because I am genuinely concerned.” One ad featured an idyllic tropical beach with “Escape the Concrete Jungle” in bold font. Another offered a one-way ticket to “Peace of Mind” via yoga retreats in Vermont.

Bob looked up, brows furrowing, then cracked a smile. “Subliminal messaging,” he said. “‘Hey, this place sucks, but if you spend money on this brochure, you’ll be happier somewhere else.’" Then, seeming to re-think it, he added, "Or maybe reverse psychology. Seeing all these posters about leaving might make people double-down, like, 'New York's not that bad!'”

“Mm,” Yelena nodded, as if analyzing intel. “Classic bait-and-switch. Both viable options.”

They were both chuckling when the train stopped at the next station and a fresh wave of people shoved in. One of them was a heavily pregnant woman, standing near them with one hand on the pole and the other cradling her belly.

Bob was up in an instant, gesturing to the seat. “Here, please.”

Yelena stood too, pretending it was just to give the woman more space. Definitely not because she didn’t want to sit apart from Bob. Definitely not.

The woman offered a grateful smile, but before she could sit, two teenage boys — all hoodies, skateboards, and confidence — slid into the seats.

“You snooze, ya lose, lady,” one of them snickered.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed into slits.

The woman just sighed and held the pole, clearly used to New York’s teenage brand of rudeness.

Yelena was not used to it. Nor would she tolerate it.

She stepped forward and kicked the heel of one boy’s shoe.

He glanced up. “Hey, what the—”

“Stand up,” she said, voice low and cool.

He smirked and turned back to his friend.

She moved closer, her presence suddenly magnetic and very dangerous. “I told you to get up.” She nodded toward the pregnant woman. “What if that was your mother? Would you make her stand?”

The boy snorted. “Whatever. She can deal.”

Yelena cracked her neck and grinned. “Wrong answer.”

Before he could react, she grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and yanked him up, slamming him against the opposite wall of the car with a loud thunk. His friend yelped and backed away, shielding himself with his skateboard like it could save him from divine retribution.

“That’s assault!” the kid in Yelena's clutches cried.

Yelena tilted her head. “This? This is gentle manhandling. Assault would require broken bones.” She smoothed down the boy’s shirt and released him. “Now. Tell your friend to move and give the nice lady a seat.”

The boy stared at her, eyes wide and face pale. Then he looked at his friend and mumbled, “Dude. Move.”

The woman sat, flustered but muttering a "thank you."

Bob, meanwhile, grabbed Yelena’s arm and pulled her back toward the other end of the car. “You shouldn’t piss people off here,” he whispered.

“They pissed me off!”

“I know, I know. But this is New York. Everyone’s an asshole. You can’t just go full assassin over a subway seat.”

Yelena placed a hand on her chest in offense. “Excuse me. That was not ‘full assassin.’ That was barely ‘mildly threatening vigilante.’”

Bob sighed, but there was a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

Yelena crossed her arms. “Besides, that wasn’t about me. That was about what’s right. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do, Bob? Us so-called heroes?”

Bob looked down at his shoes, shoulders hunched. “I wouldn’t know,” he muttered. “I’m no hero.”

She opened her mouth to retort — but then felt a tug at her sleeve.

She turned, eyebrows raising, and found herself looking down at two girls, maybe ten or eleven. One had a long braid and a unicorn hoodie. The other wore sparkly sneakers and clutched a Spider-Man plush.

The unicorn hoodie girl spoke, voice trembly with awe. “Are you… the White Widow?”

Yelena froze.

Then, slowly, she knelt down to their level and gave a small smile. “Da, milaya. I am.”

The girls giggled, glancing at each other like they’d just met a fairy tale in the flesh.

“But you can call me Yelena. What are your names?”

“Lina,” said the one with the sparkly sneakers.

“And I’m Zada,” said the other.

“Beautiful names,” Yelena said warmly. “And so polite, too. This is Bob.”

Bob gave a little wave. “Hey.”

The girls chorused, “Hi, Bob,” then beamed.

Lina stepped forward and said, simply, “Thank you. For keeping us safe.”

Then she turned and walked back to the other end of the car where two parents waited. Zada lingered a second longer to wrap her arms around Yelena’s waist in a quick hug, then darted after her friend.

Yelena stood slowly, blinking.

She turned to Bob. “So. Not a hero, huh?”

He rolled his eyes. “They were talking to you.”

Yelena smirked. “Pretty sure they thanked both of us.”

Just then, the PA squawked the next stop. Bob nudged her. “We need to transfer here.”

She followed him off the train, stepping onto the platform like maybe — just maybe — the city wasn’t so terrible after all.

* * *

The rest of the subway ride was... tolerable. Which, for Bob Reynolds, was a freaking miracle. He’d expected his chest to tighten, his palms to sweat, his brain to buzz like a hornet’s nest left out in the heat too long.

But instead, he was too busy listening to Yelena talk.

Not that she was trying to distract him, really. She wasn’t the coddling type. But every time the car squealed or someone shoved their way through, she made some quip. Commented on the mysterious ceiling stain that looked vaguely like Abraham Lincoln. The even more mysterious seat stain that was not chocolate, no matter what the mildly optimistic part of Bob’s brain hoped. She asked him if New Yorkers always looked so angry or if this was some kind of subway-specific evolutionary trait.

And somehow, that kept the static in his head from starting up.

Still, he had a feeling she knew exactly what she was doing. But neither of them commented on it.

Even when they stepped off the train and passed a guy who was clearly tweaking and asked if they were looking for something—or had something—Bob didn’t flinch. Didn't feel the old itch in his veins. Didn’t crave anything but maybe a nap.

"Ugh, I'm hungry," Yelena declared instead, as if they hadn’t just inhaled three pretzel dogs and two churros back at the mall.

“We ate,” Bob said, glancing sideways at her as they emerged into the chaotic symphony of street-level Manhattan.

Yelena shrugged. Her stomach growled audibly, and Bob swore she blushed. Which—no. Couldn’t be. Must be the weird lighting from the street lamps. Or a glitch in the Matrix.

“Okay. Food it is,” he said easily.

That earned him a triumphant smile, and then she spun on her heel. “Oh! I actually know where we are now.”

He didn’t get a chance to respond before she was marching down the block like she was on a mission. Bob followed, still clutching their ridiculous haul of bags. Yelena whipped around a corner and let out a gleeful, mildly villainous cackle before yanking open the door to a sandwich deli.

Bob followed her. Of course he did.

“I need those giant sandwiches,” she announced to the poor, acne-faced teen behind the counter. “The big long ones. With the bread and lots of meat and lettuce and all that shit.”

The kid blinked. “Uh. What kind of sandwiches, exactly?”

Bob stepped up with a gentle smile. “She means roast beef hoagies. Footlongs, with everything.”

The kid looked visibly relieved. “For here or to go?”

Yelena pounced before Bob could answer. “To go. Obviously.”

“Okay... two?”

She laughed.

Bob raised an eyebrow—how many did she want?

Then it clicked. She wasn’t ordering for just them. She was ordering for the whole team.

For the weird, stitched-together, somehow-still-functioning, trauma-bonded mess of people they called the New Avengers.

And Bob’s heart... fluttered.

Weird. Probably just adrenaline.

“Like... twenty-five?” Yelena guessed, looking at him for confirmation. “Bob?”

“Uh—yeah. Two dozen? So. Twenty-four. Twenty-five?”

The poor deli kid—“Jimmy,” according to his name tag—looked vaguely horrified. “You want twenty-five footlong sandwiches?”

“Hero sandwiches!” Yelena crowed, practically bouncing. “That’s what they’re called. And that is what we want. Twenty-five hero sandwiches. To go.”

She slapped the sleek black credit card Val had given each of them on the counter like she was paying for bubblegum. Jimmy blinked at it like it might explode.

“We might not have that much roast beef,” he said nervously.

“Whatever you’ve got is fine,” Bob said quickly. “We’re, uh, taking it back to the office.”

That seemed to satisfy Jimmy. He set to work, and Yelena promptly snagged a bag of chips, plopped down at a table, and started eating them with all the energy of a raccoon discovering a trash buffet.

Bob sat across from her and took a chip when she offered.

“We’ll pay for those, too,” he told Jimmy, who gave him a grateful nod and continued his sandwich war effort.

They sat in silence after that, the kind that wasn’t awkward or heavy. Just... companionable. Quiet, except for the crunching of chips and the hum of the deli fridge.

Halfway through the sandwich prep marathon, Yelena stood and helped herself to two fountain cups.

She returned with drinks and handed one to Bob.

He looked down at it. Iced tea.

Of course she remembered.

He took a sip—sweet, cold, perfect—and felt something relax inside him that he hadn’t realized was still clenched.

While she sipped her drink (Dr Pepper, because she was predictable in the best way), Bob started sorting through their mall haul. He placed the lotions for Bucky on the table, laid his band tee carefully around them, and swapped bags — placing the lotions in the Hot Topic bag, and his t-shirt into the Bath & Body bag.

“You know,” Yelena said, noticing the tee as she watched this process over her cup, “Panic! At the Disco is a music group. Not, like, a suggestion for how to behave at social functions.”

Bob barely glanced up. “I’m pretty sure discos aren’t a thing anymore.”

She gasped in mock outrage. “They absolutely are. Silent discos.”

“I’m sorry—silent what now?”

Yelena set her drink down with dramatic flair. “Silent disco. You wear headphones and dance in a room full of other people also wearing headphones.”

“That sounds... horrifying. And like you just made it up.”

“It’s fantastic. And absolutely a real thing!”

Bob wasn’t convinced. But before she could continue her tirade, he said, “And I know it’s a band. Brendon Urie’s vocal abilities are next-level.”

That earned him a slow, suspicious blink. “Did you just say Brendon Urie’s vocal abilities?”

Bob smirked. “What? I have taste.”

“Okay,” Jimmy called, holding up two overstuffed bags and a receipt longer than the sandwiches.

Yelena stuffed the card back into her wallet, crammed the receipt into one of the bags, and grabbed their sandwich bounty.

“I added extra chips,” Jimmy said, a little dazed.

“Thank you,” Bob offered sincerely.

Yelena reached into her pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill—where did she get that?—and dropped it in the tip jar like it was nothing.

Then she turned to the door, balancing her sandwich bags like a pro. “Bob! My drink. And the door. Please.”

Bob scrambled up, juggling the mall bags and their drinks like some weird domestic courier, and opened the door for her. She marched through, queen of sandwiches, absolute chaos in a hoodie and cargo pants.

And Bob followed her.

Of course he did.

* * *

Bucky was sitting on the couch in the penthouse living room—aka the de facto situation room, snack hub, and place where good intentions went to die—scrolling through his touchpad. His eyes skimmed intel reports and recent sightings flagged by intel. He took another sip of coffee, which had gone cold. Again.

Then the elevator doors whooshed open, and the mood shifted.

“We are back!” Yelena sing-songed like some deranged Disney side character. “And we brought food!”

She dropped two massive deli bags onto the counter like they were trophies. Beside her, Bob looked...happy. Relaxed. Mall bags dangled from his fingers, and Bucky noted—because he noticed everything—that one of them had Hot Topic scrawled across it in emo-chic lettering.

Alexei was already on the move, thundering out of wherever he’d been hiding. “'LENA!” he boomed, grabbing her in a bear hug.

She tolerated it for approximately two-point-five seconds before flailing her arms in a dignified display of discomfort. “Ugh—hands, Alexei, hands!”

Ava and Walker meandered in, summoned by the scent of sandwiches and the siren call of potential chaos.

Bob fished through his bags and made his way over. “Got this for you,” he said, offering Bucky the Hot Topic bag.

Bucky stood, eyebrows raising just a little as he accepted the bag. The contents weren’t visible, but the shape and weight told him it was probably what he’d asked for. “Thanks,” he said, locking eyes with Bob meaningfully. “Appreciate it.”

“Hot Topic?” Ava asked, amused.

“Black,” Bucky said flatly, “like my soul.”

Bob ducked his head, smile twitching, and headed down the hall with a separate Bath & Body Works bag swinging at his side. Bucky’s eyes followed him for a moment before he turned to the table.

Alexei and Walker were—somehow—already halfway through sandwiches the size of tactical duffel bags. Ava took a more civilized approach, unwrapping her food with some manners.

Bucky leaned against the counter next to Yelena, who had a cup in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, eating the chips like they owed her money.

“So,” he drawled casually, “how was your date?”

Yelena smacked him. Hard. In the stomach. Which was kind of her thing.

He grunted, even though it didn't really hurt, and adjusted his stance. “I don’t like what you are insinuating,” she said icily, slurping soda like it was a weapon.

Bucky just nodded, completely unbothered. “Ah yes. Denial. Take a few laps in that river. I’ll wait.”

That earned him a withering glare and another aggressive chip crunch.

Bob reappeared then, offering a hopeful, “Hope you’re all hungry,” right as he noticed the battlefield of wrappers on the table.

“Or maybe… hope you’re not that hungry,” he muttered.

“It’s great!” Alexei mumbled through a massive bite, mayonnaise on his cheek.

Walker gave a grunt of approval, halfway into what had to be his third sandwich.

Ava, at least, had the decency to pat Bob’s shoulder and offer, “Thanks, man.”

“Actually,” Bob said, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his weight, “It was Yelena’s idea.”

The room stilled. Utter silence.

Walker snorted. “Sure. Thanks, Bob.”

And that was all it took.

Yelena’s chip bag hit the trash can with the kind of force that screamed lethal intent, and she stormed out. The sound of her door slamming echoed down the hall.

Bob’s hand twitched like he was going to stop her. Like he wanted to. But in the end, his fingers just hovered, suspended in midair, before falling uselessly to his side.

Bucky turned slowly to Walker, shaking his head. “You’re an asshole,” he said.

Walker blinked. “What’d I do?”

Bucky just rolled his eyes, scooped up the Hot Topic bag, and started down the hall. He paused in his room just long enough to drop the bag on the dresser, then walked a few doors down and stopped outside Yelena’s.

He knocked, gently. Then, in soft Russian, said, “Can I come in?”

A beat of silence. Then, flatly, “Whatever.”

He opened the door.

* * *

Yelena stomped into her room like a grumpy hurricane wrapped in combat boots and emotional avoidance. The door slammed behind her with a satisfying thunk—not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make a point. She peeled off her cargo pants with the grace of a cat caught in a tangle of wires and chucked them into the corner. Hoodie next.

She stood there in her boy shorts and a tank top, stewing in a cocktail of rage and embarrassment and… something else she didn’t want to name.

She hated that Walker had gotten under her skin. Hated more that Bob hadn’t stopped her when she walked off.

A knock on the door pulled her from her spiral.

She paused. Thought about ignoring it.

Then came Bucky’s voice. Quiet. Low. Russian. “Можно войти?"

Yelena sighed, already regretting this. “Whatever.”

The door opened. He stepped inside and gave her a quick once-over, eyebrows arching slightly at her lack of pants, but he said nothing. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

“So. About Walker—” he started.

Yelena rolled her eyes as she grabbed her soft gray lounge pants off the chair and tugged them on. “Walker was being Walker. Nothing out of the usual there.”

Bucky nodded slowly, then moved to sit on her bed like it was his own.

Yelena narrowed her eyes. “Sure. Help yourself to my room.”

“I’m trying to help you, actually,” he said, folding his arms. “What happened today?”

She sighed through her nose and pulled on a fresh t-shirt—slightly oversized, soft cotton, one she may have “borrowed permanently” from the team’s communal laundry so, really, it could be anyone's. She sat down beside him, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them.

“We went to the mall,” she said. “I might have had a tiny emotional breakdown over my trauma bullshit. Bob was… nice to me.”

Bucky blinked slowly. “Okay. So. That’s it?”

She let out a long exhale. “We took the subway. Some teenage idiots were mouthing off. I almost threw hands. Bob didn’t like that. We joked. We got sandwiches. We came back. That’s it.”

Bucky was silent for a moment. Then, “So, what I’m hearing is that most of your day revolved around how Bob reacted to you. And how you reacted accordingly. Like… not wanting him to be upset with you on the subway, for example.”

Yelena glared sideways at him. “You are reading into things.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I call ’em like I see ’em.”

Yelena groaned and dropped her forehead to her knees. “It was just… nice, okay? He doesn’t look at me like I’m broken. He thinks he’s broken, so that’s a whole other problem. But there were these long stretches of time today where we just… were. You know? We joked. We shopped. Like normal people. Like we didn’t have all this tragedy and blood and bodies and problems behind us.”

Bucky’s voice softened. “The wolves weren’t at your door. And if they started to show up, you helped each other keep them away.”

Yelena turned her head, cheek pressed to her knees. “Something like that, da.”

He nodded, resting his elbows on his knees. “Part of me wants to say that I hope you can feel that way with me, and with Alexei, and Ava, and even Walker. We’re a team. We should be able to do that for each other. I think maybe we do. To an extent.”

She shrugged. “I guess.” Her gaze sharpened. “What is the other part of you saying, Grandpa?”

Bucky huffed a short laugh. “I’m ignoring that nickname because you’re emotionally vulnerable.”

She smirked, just a little. “Me? I am the picture of emotional stability.”

“You’re a walking grenade with eyeliner.”

Yelena flipped him off without looking.

Bucky grinned. “The other part of me wants to shake you. Because it’s clear that you like Bob. And I think he likes you. And if you two could just stop hating yourselves long enough, you’d see that.”

Yelena groaned and flopped backward on the bed like a Victorian woman overcome with the vapors. She pointed at the door without opening her eyes. “Get out.”

Bucky stood, slow and smug. “Also,” he added casually, “the sexual tension is starting to get ripe. Like week-old bananas.”

She kicked at him with her foot. “Leave now while you still walk upright, Soldat!”

He ducked with a laugh and held up his hands. “I’m going! I’m going!” He reached for the door, then paused. “You can talk to me, if you need to. Or maybe, better yet… talk to Bob.”

Then he left, letting the door click gently shut behind him.

Yelena lay there in silence for a few seconds, then let out a long groan and threw an arm over her face.

Of course Bucky saw. He knew things.
Of course she liked Bob.
Of course Bob was sweet and gentle and smelled like warm laundry and had very nice arms when he hugged her and—

“Nope,” she muttered into the crook of her elbow. “Shutting it down. Braining it away. We do not have time for feelings.”

And yet, her brain was already spinning.

Because for a moment, in that echoing mall hallway, in the middle of a world that never gave her choices—Bob Reynolds made her feel like she finally had one.

Chapter Text

Yelena didn’t sleep. Not because she wasn’t tired—no, she was bone-tired, every joint and muscle aching from residual tension—but her brain had decided to run laps like it was training for a marathon. That, and the fact that she’d stormed off like an overdramatic sitcom teen without even grabbing a sandwich.

That part stung the most.

So, at midnight—give or take a few tortured sighs and pillow flips—she slipped out of bed and padded down the hallway toward the kitchen. The tower was quiet, save for the occasional hum of electronics and the distant metallic groan of ductwork settling.

She hoped that someone—anyone—had left her at least half a sandwich. Or maybe she could find a slice of leftover cake from Alexei’s recent attempt at “learning the Bake-Off.”

She opened the fridge, squinting into its glow like it might judge her for being both dramatic and hungry.

Two sandwiches sat neatly on a plate, wrapped in wax paper. A yellow Post-It stuck to the top, slightly askew.

“Yelena :)”

In Bob’s handwriting. Crooked, chicken-scratchy, and unmistakably his.

Yelena stared. Blamed her tired brain for recognizing Bob’s handwriting on sight.

She stared at it for half a second too long. He’d intentionally saved food for her.

Not important. Totally not important.

She grabbed a sandwich and took a massive bite as she continued rifling around. Her hand wrapped around a bottle of water, and she turned, still chewing—

—and froze.

Bob was standing in the doorway, rubbing the back of his head and giving her the world's softest wave.

She snorted mid-chew and had to do a little hop-dance to avoid choking. Pulling the sandwich out of her mouth and pointing it at him, she raised an eyebrow. “Are you stalking the fridge now? That’s your new nighttime hobby?”

“I live here,” he replied with a sleepy smile. “Your fridge-rummaging was loud enough to shake the Tower.”

Yelena chuckled and sat at the island, sandwich in one hand, water in the other. “Thanks for saving food.”

“I had to fight Walker for those, by the way,” Bob said, walking past her toward the coffee station. “Alexei ran interference. There was some tactical sandwich diversion.”

“Impressive,” she mumbled around another bite.

He slid a tea pod into the Keurig and hit the button, then glanced over. “Want some?”

She shook her head, uncapping her water bottle. “Sandwich and water. The perfect midnight meal.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the kitchen filled only with the low hiss of the Keurig and the quiet hum of city lights beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Then, suddenly: “I’m sorry.”

Yelena looked up, blinking. “Huh?”

Bob didn’t meet her eyes, busying himself with his tea mug. “For how John acted earlier. He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have assumed you didn’t think of everyone else. Or that I did.”

She frowned, sandwich held halfway to her mouth. “That’s Walker. He always assumes I’m not the team player type. But why are you apologizing for something he did?”

Bob’s shoulders lifted in a sheepish shrug. “I dunno. I do that. Say sorry for stuff.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “Then I’d prefer an apology for not saying something. To him. Or to me. For letting me walk away.”

She didn’t mean to say it. Must’ve been the sandwich talking.

Bob looked stunned for half a second. Then, softly, “You’re right. I should’ve said something. I’m sorry.”

Yelena sighed. “You really do say sorry a lot.”

“I know,” Bob said. “Sorry.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did you just—was that a joke? Like a ha-ha joke?”

Bob sipped his tea, shrugging with the tiniest smile.

“Look at you. Having a sense of humor.” She took another bite and gestured vaguely with the sandwich. “Growth.”

He sat down beside her, and for a moment, neither of them looked at the other. The window glass glowed with the city’s neon heartbeat.

“I had a really nice day,” he said eventually. “With you. That doesn’t happen a lot. So… thanks.”

Yelena turned her head, studying his face. The hard lines that usually marked it—grief and guilt and that heavy thing he always carried—had softened. In the city’s silver light, he looked almost boyish.

“You deserve nice days, Bob Reynolds.”

He blushed, actually blushed, and sipped his tea like it might hide him.

Then the lights outside the tower grew brighter. Flickering.

Yelena squinted. “What the hell…”

An instant later, red light flared through the kitchen like a camera flash—and then the tower’s internal alarms exploded to life.

WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP.
Perimeter breach. External sensors engaged. Defensive lockdown in progress.

Yelena chucked the rest of her sandwich onto the plate and cursed under her breath. “And here I was just starting to like the quiet.”

Bob stood instantly, tea forgotten, muttering, “Next time, we do midnight sandwiches without the surprise attack.”

Yelena was already sprinting toward her room to gear up.

* * *

Within minutes, the team gathered—some more presentable than others.

Alexei stood in his Red Guardian pants and a muscle shirt, shield already strapped to his back like an eager D&D paladin. "We fight! We win! Then we eat pastries!"

Bucky showed up shirtless, metal arm locking into place with a distinct click as he yanked a t-shirt over his head mid-sprint. “What’s going on?”

Walker stumbled in wearing sweats and a long-sleeved tee, his infamous taco-shaped shield under one arm. “It’s go time!” he announced, trying way too hard.

Ava was already suited up, barely breathing heavier than usual. She gave Yelena a knowing look, one that said Yes, I sleep in the suit. No, I will not explain myself.

Yelena was still in her lounge pants and tee, but combat boots and with her weapons belt slung low on her hips and a Glock in her hand. Ready. Annoyed.

And then there was Bob.

In flannel pajama pants and socks, he blinked at the group like they’d all interrupted a dream. “I think I’m gonna head to the panic room.”

Walker groaned. “C’mon, man. Stick around. Maybe you can help. Or… y’know, Sentry could.”

“John. Shut up,” Yelena said without looking at him.

Bob gave a shrug. “Let me know when it’s over,” he mumbled, already disappearing down the hall.

Bucky checked the tablet, scrolling through perimeter scans. “Looks like structural damage to entry point G-7. Motion sensors triggered. Could’ve been more than one person.”

“G-7,” Yelena muttered, snapping the clip back on her holster. “Come on.”

They found the door.

“Watch my back,” Yelena said, easing forward.

“We have the eyes of owls,” Alexei whispered behind her. “With night vision! Watching and ready!”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Inside, nothing. Outside, the door was slightly dented at the handle like something heavy had tried to pry it open. Other than that—more nothing. No heat signatures, no motion. Just silence and scuffed paint.

The alarms cut out as suddenly as they’d started.

Ava phased in from the wall beside them, unbothered. “Scanned the whole east sector. It’s clear.”

Walker shrugged. “False alarm, maybe?”

“No,” Bucky said. “There was something. This isn’t nothing.”

Yelena nodded slowly. “Someone was trying to get in. And gave up.”

“Because our security’s too good,” Walker said. “We responded fast. We scared ‘em off. Great job, team!” He held a hand up for a high-five that went unanswered.

Yelena turned to him with a look. “Nobody gives up that easy.”

“Unless,” Bucky said, rubbing his jaw, “it was a test.”

“Valentina would pull some crap like that,” Ava muttered. “Keeping us paranoid.”

“Or!” Alexei raised a triumphant finger. “It is a distraction. Like a magic trick, yes? The pink fish!”

“…You mean red herring?” Walker asked.

Yelena’s eyes widened. “Bob.”

She sprinted, heart thudding louder than the alarms had. The others barely kept up.

She reached the panic room door and slammed her fist against the controls. “Bob! Are you okay? Answer me!”

The door hissed open.

He stood there, looking confused. “What?”

She grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into a hug before her brain caught up.

“Oh. Good,” she muttered.

The team arrived seconds later, huffing, confused.

Bucky frowned, eyes scanning the hall. “This wasn’t random. Could be someone testing our response time. Seeing how long it takes us to rally.”

“Or maybe,” Yelena said, still holding Bob’s sleeve, “it was about who they were trying to isolate.”

Everyone looked at Bob.

He blinked. “Okay, well… guess I’m living in the panic room now. Great.”

Yelena shook her head and tugged his hand, pulling him gently into the hallway. “You are not hiding, Robert.”

Ava crossed her arms. “We need a plan. Buddy system. Everyone in pairs. Especially Bob.”

Walker gave a lazy salute. “Fine. Unless he turns into The Void mid-mission. In which case, I’d like a head start.”

Bob sighed. “Yay. Teamwork.”

Yelena didn't let go of his hand.

***

Before going back to bed, everyone decided a quick perimeter sweep was warranted. Bucky and Alexei went to check hallways. Yelena headed outside with Walker, while Ava remained in the living area with Bob.

Alexei crept through the hallway, ahead of Bucky. “Red Guardian and Winter Soldier. Partners. Walking the walk,” Alexei provided commentary as he opened a closet and peeked inside. “We could have cool name, yes? Like Cold War Bros? Or Operation: Dad Force?”

Bucky didn’t look at him. “Stop labeling things."

He pulled out his phone and called Valentina. It rang three times before she picked up with an audible groan.

“Tell me this is worth it,” Val mumbled.

“Did you send someone to mess with us?” Bucky asked flatly.

“James,” she purred. “I need more context to adequately answer that question.”

“Perimeter breach. Alarm. You playing games?”

Val sighed. “Sounds like something I’d do. Maybe even brilliant. But no. Not this time.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m more offended that you’d suspect me.”

Bucky inspected a ventilation shaft. “We’re all fine, by the way.”

From further down the hallway, Alexei called, “I am not fine! My beauty sleep is important!”

“I’ll check reports in the morning,” Val said. “Let me know if you find anything. Or die. Whichever happens first.”

She hung up. Bucky pocketed the phone.

“Nothing here,” he said. “Let’s regroup in the morning.”

* * *

Outside, Yelena was still in her comfy clothes and tactical boots. She had pulled her hair in a low ponytail and was armed to the teeth. Walker looked like a gym rat who accidentally wandered into a black ops mission.

“I’m telling you,” Walker said, sweeping his flashlight along the fence line, “this screams Valentina. Or maybe someone else trying to get to us. Ooh—you don’t think it’s Sam, do you?”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Sam is mad about his whole ‘You can’t be Avengers because I’m the Avengers,’ thing, yes. But he’s not a vindictive gremlin who would jump-scare us in the night.”

“His whole thing is so weird. He doesn’t even have a team,” Walker muttered. “We do. Like, what the hell, right?”

Yelena wandered toward the alley, scanning the ground. “This oil stain is fresh.”

Walker kept rambling. “And if you’re right that someone’s after Bob, easy fix—he just needs to go full Sentry. Then he can stop acting like a victim. Problem solved.”

Yelena spun, gun raised. “You’re about to be the problem I solve. And with how insufferable you’ve been lately, no one would even blame me.”

Walker held up his hands. “Okay, okay. You’re not gonna shoot me. Can we tone down the dramatics a scoche?”

Yelena lowered her gun. “Maybe you should tone down how much you harass Bob. He’s scared. And maybe we all have reason to be! If he can’t control The Void and can’t have one without the other, do you really want to keep poking that bear?” Then, she narrowed her eyes and sighed. “And what the hell is a ‘scoche’?”

Walker shrugged. “It’s like ‘a bit.’ A tad.”

“Then say that.”

“What’s up with you being the president of the Bob fan club, anyway?” Walker asked as he shined his light around the alleyway, mostly at random.

“Why do you have to be leader of the Bob bully club?” Yelena retorted, kneeling to inspect the oil spot on the ground. “Definitely recent. Could’ve hit that G-7 side door.”

Walker knelt beside her. “Slight skid marks. Might’ve peeled out fast. Also, you can’t answer my question with a question.”

She stood. “Okay. Someone was here. Let’s go report.” She paused. “I just think Bob deserves kindness. He hasn’t had much of that. And unlike the rest of us, most of his problems weren’t his fault.”

Walker muttered, “Pretty sure his drug use was an active choice.”

Yelena threw her hands up. “See? This is why you always get picked to die in ‘F, Marry, Kill’!”

She stormed ahead. Walker followed.

“My divorce finalized last week,” he said quietly.

Yelena stopped. Turned and looked at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He stared at the ground. “You just said it – you all say it – I’m an asshole. Who cares?”

She turned, glared, then sighed. “We care, dumbass. Because you’re our asshole.”

She held up a hand. “That sounded wrong. But you know what I mean.”

They laughed. Then Yelena reached over and hugged him. Tight.

Walker stiffened. “Are you about to murder me?”

“Shhh. This is a hug. Accept it.” She pulled back. “But tell no one or, yes, I will murder you.”

He nodded solemnly. They walked back inside the tower.

* * *

Bob watched Ava in the kitchen, elbows on the counter, absently tapping her fingers like she was waiting for something to go wrong. Or maybe for someone to tell her it already had.

He hovered in the doorway, unsure. "Uh... do you want me to, like, walk the halls with you or something?"

Ava didn’t look up. “Nah, I already did a full sweep. Nothing but creaky floors and one of Alexei’s guns that somehow ended up in the laundry chute. Again.” She stood, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, then crouched low to retrieve something from behind a stack of cans.

Bob recognized the bottle immediately. Vodka. Russian label. Definitely Alexei’s.

Ava poured a finger of it into the glass and held it up with a smirk. “He thinks I don’t know he keeps this here.”

She took a swig, then offered the bottle toward Bob.

He rubbed his arm awkwardly, eyes flicking to the floor. “Um. Recovering drug addict. Clean and sober’s kind of a combo deal.”

Ava’s eyes widened. “Shit. Oops.” She knocked back the rest of her drink and shoved the bottle back into its hiding spot with a sheepish clunk. “Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Bob said quickly. “Really. Just… thanks for not pushing it.”

There was a pause, not heavy, but not light either. Ava leaned back against the counter, watching him.

"You'll be okay, you know," she said. “We won’t let anything happen to you. You’re one of us.”

Bob let out a bitter scoff. “Yeah, right. You guys were out fighting some, like, weird robot thing up in the Heights last week while I sat here like a 1950s housewife. Except I can’t even bake cookies.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “You’re important. Part of the team. With or without powers.” She folded her arms. “You know I don’t trust Valentina. But she did make this suit for me. Helps me stay stable. Maybe she actually could help you?”

Bob shook his head before she even finished the sentence. “No. No way. She’s not manipulating me or experimenting on me again. Not even a little.”

Ava nodded, unfazed. “Okay. What about Barnes? He’s got contacts in Wakanda. Might be something there?”

“No,” Bob said, more forcefully than intended. He ran a hand through his hair, the edges fraying with something too close to panic. “It’s not worth the risk. Not to the world. Not to… the people I care about.”

Ava didn’t argue. Just nodded again. “Alright. Just ideas.”

He looked at her and felt the knot in his chest loosen a little. “I know. Thank you. For trying. And for being respectful about it.”

She grinned. “Oh, you mean the opposite of Walker?”

They both laughed. Ava leaned back on the counter, eyeing the ceiling. “Hey, how long do you reckon it’d take the Hulk to go nuclear if you put him in a room with Walker?”

Bob smirked, about to answer with a guess somewhere between one minute and one sarcastic quip—when his eyes drifted past Ava to the balcony.

He froze. “Um. Please tell me you also see that.”

Ava turned around and blinked. A red cloak floated on the balcony, just… there. Hovering.

The timing couldn’t have been more cliché: that was when the rest of the team arrived.

“Hey, guys,” Ava said, not taking her eyes off the window. “There’s a cloak. No person. Just. A cloak.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, stepping forward slowly. “Not Strange.”

Walker raised his hands. “How is that not strange?!”

“I mean Doctor Strange,” Bucky deadpanned.

Bob nodded solemnly. “We can recognize whether sentient garments belong to people we know. And we know people with sentient garments. This is my life now.”

Yelena snorted behind him—just a soft, amused breath—but when Bob glanced back at her, her smile was real.

They all jumped as the cloak tapped on the glass. Knocking. Delicately.

Then it slid a scorched, curled piece of parchment under the balcony door and whisked away into the night like it had other appointments.

Alexei stared after it. “That was so cool. But I also might have peed myself. A little.”

Yelena picked up the parchment, her expression shifting immediately. “It smells like – what is that?”

Bucky stepped closer. “Sulfur? Brimstone?”

She unfolded it carefully as everyone gathered around. The paper was still warm, edges singed. At the center was a sigil—roughly sketched in dark ink, jagged lines forming a stylized demon’s head with a hood drawn low over its eyes. A shimmer of red magic bled faintly along the edges like embers that refused to go out.

She read aloud, voice calm but sharp:

"You’re harboring something valuable. That makes you valuable. Cooperate, and things stay clean. Refuse, and they won’t."

It listed a meeting place – some old theater downtown – and time. Then, at the bottom, scrawled in harsh, angular script, was a name.

The Hood.

Bob felt the air shift in the room, tension threading through the silence like a wire pulled too tight. He didn’t have powers—not really—but he didn’t need them to know this wasn’t going to be a quiet week.

Not anymore.

Chapter Text

Bob sat on the edge of the couch, bouncing his knee and staring at the note still lying on the coffee table. The scent of sulfur had faded, but the scorched paper and the red sigil etched into the corner hadn’t. It looked like something out of a demonic Etsy shop—if Etsy sold vague, threatening notes (it probably did).

“Everyone ready?” Bucky asked, checking the chamber on a gun that looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie.

Alexei was tightening the straps on his Red Guardian suit. “I was born ready.”

“You were born in Soviet Russia,” Ava muttered, pulling on her Ghost regulator gauntlets. “That’s not the same thing.”

Yelena walked in last, adjusting the knives on her belt. She gave Bob a once-over. “You good?”

Bob shrugged. “Define good.”

She smirked. “Still snarky? That’s good enough.”

Walker leaned against the wall near the elevator, arms crossed. “Can’t believe we’re walking into some cloak’s creepy fan-theater rendezvous because of a goth ransom note.”

“It’s not a ransom note,” Ava said, exasperated. “It’s a demonic ransom invitation. There’s a vibe.”

“I think I liked it better when we just fought robots and aliens,” Bucky muttered.

“Well,” Alexei whispered, crouching slightly as he led the way to the elevator, “whatever happens—We are Thunderboltsssssss…”

Everyone groaned.

“Please never do that again,” Ava said.

Bob followed, flanked by Yelena and Ava, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He hated this—being the package instead of the delivery guy. Being the reason they were doing this.

“We don’t leave teammates behind,” Bucky had said earlier.

But Bob wasn’t a teammate. Not really. He was a warning label with legs and a therapist's worst nightmare.

As they descended in the elevator, the tension got tighter, everyone quiet, each of them rehearsing worst-case scenarios in their heads. Bob’s worst-case involved the Void getting loose. Again.

They arrived at the abandoned theater ten minutes early, slipping through the broken side door and making their way to the main stage. Dust coated every surface. Light filtered in through broken rafters above, falling in slanted beams onto ripped curtains and half-decayed chairs.

A velvet-cloaked figure waited on stage, perched casually on the edge like he’d just wrapped a matinee.

“You’re early,” he called down, voice dry and amused. “That’s polite. I like polite.”

They moved forward slowly, Bucky in front, Ava flanking left, Walker right. Yelena stuck close to Bob’s side, hand twitching near the knives at her belt.

“Parker Robbins?” Bucky asked.

Parker grinned. "My reputation precedes me."

Ava quirked a brow. "Not necessarily a good thing. You're The Hood."

He gave a little theatrical bow. “In the flesh. Don’t worry, the Hood only bites when I’m bored. Or possessed. Kidding. Mostly.”

Bob studied him. Younger than he expected. Tired eyes. Snark hiding something darker. He recognized the look. He wore it himself most days.

“I don’t usually steal people,” Parker went on, voice casual. “Weapons, tech, the occasional priceless relic—sure. And I've definitely taken hits before. But actually buying and selling people? That’s a weird line to cross, even for me. So, when someone offered me a truly absurd amount of money to snag a guy named Robert Reynolds, I figured I’d do a little research.”

He looked at Bob directly. “And what do I find? You’ve got a team.” He gestured lazily at the others. “A misfit gang of wannabe Avengers, no offense.”

“Offense taken,” Alexei muttered.

“So,” Parker said, standing now, cloak swirling at the edges like a living thing, “I thought I’d come straight to the source. Why does someone want you so badly? And why shouldn’t I take the payday?”

Bob swallowed. “Because I’m a walking apocalypse. And I’d really prefer not to explode on you.”

Parker blinked. “Okay. Weird pitch, but noted.”

Ava stepped forward. “He’s not for sale. Not to you, not to anyone.”

Yelena added, “If you’re thinking of trying, I will stab you.”

Parker held up his hands, amused. “Hey, I’m not saying I’m taking the job." He shrugged. "I am saying if I don’t, you owe me. A favor. For later.”

The room tensed. Even Bob felt it—a ripple of uncertainty.

“That’s not how favors work,” Walker said.

“That’s exactly how my favors work,” Parker replied, grinning.

Bob stood half a step behind Ava and Walker, his hands clenched into fists inside his jacket pockets. The rest of the team was fanned out in a loose semicircle around the stage where Parker Robbins—The Hood—leaned against the lip of the spotlight-scarred boards like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Bob tried to breathe evenly. Tried not to let the pulsing gold behind his eyes flare. His powers were calm—for now. But that could change. Easily.

“You want to explain again why someone’s trying to buy me?” he asked, voice low, even.

Parker smirked. “Technically, the offer was for a ‘secure retrieval’ of a volatile asset. You, sunshine.” He nodded at Bob. “But, like I said, I don’t usually deal in people. Bit outside my moral... meh, let’s call it a guideline. That said—”

He didn’t get to finish. The muffled clank of a grenade clattering onto the catwalk above cut him off.

“Down!” Walker barked.

The explosion hit a second later, raining plaster and rust down like snow. And then came the real storm—operatives dropping from the ceiling rigging and rushing from the balcony doors, faces hidden behind matte black helmets, weapons drawn.

Bob flinched, instincts surging to the surface. Golden light licked at his fingertips.

“No, no, no,” he whispered to himself. “Don’t. Not now. Don’t let it out.”

Ava grabbed his arm, then flickered out of sight just as a blade slashed where she’d been. She reappeared behind the attacker, dispatching them with a swift jab to the ribs and a knee to the neck.

"Stay behind me!" she snapped at Bob.

“Working on it,” he muttered, ducking a flying baton.

Across the theater, chaos unfolded like a grim ballet.

Yelena moved like she was born for it—knives flashing, flipping over railings, elbowing one merc into the orchestra pit without so much as a grunt. Bucky and Alexei, somehow, were coordinating like they’d done this for years. Bucky fired clean, precise shots while Alexei bellowed with delight, swinging a cracked chair leg like a club.

"You mess with the Cold War Duo?!" Alexei yelled, knocking two operatives flat. “You get the Molotov special!”

Bucky, not missing a beat, shot the guy lunging at Alexei's back. “You really need to stop trying to make that a thing.”

Walker held the left flank, shock baton in one hand, pistol in the other. Efficient. Brutal. Focused.

Bob was... trying. But his pulse was hammering. He felt the Void’s claws scraping at the edges of his mind. The glow was getting brighter. Parker, from the stage, turned to look at him.

“Oh no,” the Hood called over the chaos. “We’ve got a glower.”

“Help us!” Ava called to Parker, her invisibility flickering as she fought two more agents.

“I would,” Parker said, eyes flicking to Bob. “But I didn’t get a clear yes on our deal.”

Ava growled, slamming her foot into a merc’s chest. “Fine! Deal! Help us now!”

Parker’s cloak came alive, whipping up like a living thing. He vanished into red smoke and reappeared next to Ava, twin pistols glowing with mystical runes. “Your negotiation skills are subpar, but sure. Let’s dance.”

Together, Ghost and Hood tore through the flank closing in on Bob. Parker’s magic flared hot, blasting through shields and scattering the enemy like bowling pins.

Bullets bent and twisted through the air like they were alive, too. An assassin leapt off the stage toward Bob, but the edge of the Hood reached out and grabbed the attacker's leg and flung him away, whipping back and slicing across Bob's arm like a laser cutter.

Bob grasped his arm and crouched behind a shattered column, shaking. He could feel it—the golden man, the light pressing against his skin. He was trying to hard not to lose his grip.

Then he saw her.

Yelena was backed into a corner of the lower level, five agents converging. She grinned, clearly unbothered—already planting explosives and flipping one guy onto the others with a graceful toss—but still, she was outnumbered. And Bob panicked.

The glow burst free.

“No, no, no—”

Ava spun to him. “Bob. Look at me.”

His eyes were golden now, full Sentry-light bleeding from every pore.

“Focus,” Ava said, stepping in front of him even as Parker shot two more enemies trying to rush them. “You’re safe. We’re safe." She followed his golden-tinged gaze and added, "Yelena is fine.”

But the whispers came. Let go. Protect her. Burn them all down. The Void curled around his brain like smoke.

Parker staggered, a hand to his head. “Okay... okay, that's... not my voice,” he muttered. He looked at his Hood and then at Bob and sighed. “Real tired of the demon commentary.”

Then Yelena was there. Knife in one hand, bloodied, hair pulled back, eyes blazing.

She dropped beside Bob and grabbed his face between both hands.

“Hey.” Her voice was calm. Real. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”

He did. Glowing. Shining. Terrified.

“You're all right?” he asked, voice cracking.

Yelena pressed her forehead to his. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Just breathe. Focus. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

The glow dimmed. Bob sucked in a breath, the heat receding like the tide.

Around them, the last of the operatives fled, smoke rising from Ava’s last blow. Alexei chased one to the aisle, shouting, “And when you come back for round two, make sure you bring snacks!”

Walker holstered his weapon. “Stop inviting them for another fight.”

Bucky walked up, metal arm grinding and gun still raised. “Hood. Was this a trap?”

Parker held up both hands. “Nope. Not me. But I recognize those uniforms. Scourge. Mercs, assassins, weapons runners. Bad news.” He glanced at Bob. “I’d say someone else put out a contract. They’ll keep coming for him.”

“But not you,” Ava said quietly.

Parker nodded. “Not me.” Then, to her: “Thanks for the deal.”

He vanished in a curl of red smoke.

Walker frowned. “What the hell just happened?”

Ava sighed. “I think I just made a deal with a demon.”

Bob was leaning into Yelena now, breath warm against her shoulder. She kept her arms around him, calm and steady.

“Well,” she said, brushing her thumb against his jaw, “we all have trauma. We’re used to demons.” She helped him stand. “We’ll cross that bridge later. For now? Let’s get out of here.”

And no one argued.

* * *

Yelena didn’t notice the blood until they were already in the Tower elevator, the adrenaline of the fight still buzzing in her ears, like a wasp that refused to die. Bob was leaning against the wall, eyes unfocused, clutching his arm — and that was wrong. He didn’t usually need to clutch anything.

“Wait—Bob.” She stepped closer, peeling back the edge of his sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”

He blinked like he hadn’t noticed. “Oh. Huh.”

There was a deep scorch along his bicep, seared red with a strange shimmer under the skin. Not a regular wound. Magic, maybe. Definitely not healing.

“Idiot,” she muttered, and when his face crumpled in confusion, she grabbed his hand and tugged him out the moment the elevator doors slid open. “Medical. Now.”

“But I—”

“No arguments.”

Once in the Tower's med bay, she sat him down none-too-gently and got to work with gauze and antiseptic, muttering in Russian under her breath as she cleaned the wound.

“You let yourself get hit. Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t let anything,” Bob said, wincing. “It was a stray blast. The Hood just, like, side-swiped me—”

“Then Parker owes me a drink. Or his Hood does,” Her voice cracked, and that pissed her off more than anything. She jammed a wrap around his bicep harder than necessary. “You scared me today.”

His expression twisted, like he’d swallowed glass. “I didn’t mean to. I was trying to not be scary.”

“Bob,” she said, exasperated, “I wasn’t afraid of you.”

He looked up, startled. “You weren’t?”

“I was afraid of losing you,” she said, gripping both his hands now, her fingers tight around his. “To The Hood. To those Scourge assassins — who, honestly, don't deserve the name; I'm so much better than them." She let out a sharp breath. "I really don't want to lose you to yourself.”

Bob looked down at their hands, then away again. “I was doing okay. I was holding it back. Ava was talking me down. But then I saw you—outnumbered. You had five on you, and I just—”

“You doubted me, Bob Reynolds?” Her eyebrow arched, mouth twitching.

His eyes flicked up to hers, a reluctant smile curling. “No! I mean—okay, maybe. A little. I know you can handle yourself. But knowing and believing it in the moment are... different.”

She gave him a long, unreadable look, and then turned her attention back to the dressing. “Well. Don’t do it again.”

Before he could respond, Bucky knocked on the doorframe. “Bob okay?”

Bob raised his bandaged arm. “All fixed. Or, well... better, at least.”

“Good. Come upstairs. Val’s here.”

They filed into the Tower’s main floor where Valentina stood, immaculately dressed and entirely unimpressed.

“I’ve got news. Surveillance flagged the attempted break-in last night. Group called—”

“Scourge,” Walker said flatly.

Val frowned. “Yeah. How’d you— Wait, why do you all look like shit?”

“Because,” Bucky began, “if you’d checked your comms, you’d know we went to follow a lead. After we got a semi-ransom note from The Hood. Someone’s targeting Bob. Hood agreed to back off. Then Scourge showed up.”

Alexei folded his arms. “They will not be backing off. I think they were insulted when I used the fire extinguisher.”

Val sighed. “Wait—why did The Hood back off? Do I need to bribe him again?”

“No,” Bucky said as Yelena turned sharply and asked, “Again?!”

“He just... agreed,” Ava added, avoiding Val’s eyes. “Let’s leave it at that.”

Val, who was shady enough to appreciate a good non-answer, simply shrugged. “I’ll look into the Scourge contract. See if we can trace the origin.”

As she exited, Ava muttered, “She’s totally in on it.”

“I will make us some lunch,” Aleksei announced grandly, clattering through the kitchen. “Hot dogs! And 'Lena, look. Macaroni!”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yum. Great.”

Bob bumped her arm gently. “You’re actually so excited for that mac and cheese.”

She scowled at him.

“I feel like the fact Ava made a deal with a guy who’s literally possessed by a demonic cape needs... some kind of debrief,” Bucky said.

Ava crossed her arms. “I didn’t have a choice. I was protecting Bob alone. I needed backup.”

“Yeah? I was fighting alone, too. So was Yelena,” Walker chimed in. “We didn’t make any demon deals.”

“Don’t lump me with you, Walker,” Yelena shot back.

"I'm just saying," Walker continued, "It would have been nice if I'd had some back-up."

"You handled yourself just fine," Bucky told him.

Walker scoffed. "Says the guy who was busy filming the world's weirdest buddy cop movie with his Soviet comrade!"

Bob pinched the bridge of his nose, tired of the bickering, and he slammed his hand on the table. A faint golden spark flared. Everyone froze. Even Alexei at the stove.

“Enough,” Bob said softly. “Just... stop fighting. Please.”

Silence.

“You’re right,” Yelena murmured, stepping back from the table. “Sorry.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. No fighting. And Parker was right. Scourge won’t stop. We need to be ready.”

“But first—food!” Alexei cried, triumphant. “Set the table, sbornoy!”

Bob gave a small, tired smile and slumped into a chair at the table. Yelena moved around the kitchen, grabbing napkins and plates, still watching him.

“Hey,” Bucky said, sidling up next to her. “Give him space.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Gramps.”

“Why does everyone think I’m a grumpy old man?”

Ava, without looking up: “Because you’re grumpy, over a hundred years old, and swear your arm aches when it’s about to rain.”

"Give it a minute," Walker added. "He'll start talking about how music was so much better in the '40s."

Ava snorted as she dropped a bag of hot dog buns on the table and slid into her chair next to Bob. “D'ya think he walked to school in the snow, uphill both ways?”

Bucky chuckled quietly, accepting the jokes at his expense, and the tension finally broke as laughter rippled around the room.

The team gathered around the table — a motley crew of assassins, soldiers, rogues, and whatever-the-hell Bob was — and shared a surprisingly comforting, if nutritionally questionable, lunch.

Yelena took a big bite of macaroni, groaned in that way one does when enjoying good food, and nudged Bob’s elbow. “Okay. You were right.”

He smirked. “You do love your mac and cheese.”

She glared. “Obviously. But how dare you see me.”

He leaned closer, voice low. “You’re not actually that hard to read, you know.”

She smiled, just a little. “Yeah, well... don’t get cocky. I have layers.”

Bob’s gaze flicked to her lips, then away again, face pink. “Noted.”

From the head of the table, Alexei was already proposing a “team lunch tradition” while Bucky muttered about cholesterol. But for a few precious moments, things were quiet. Safe. Almost... normal.

Yelena watched Bob’s shoulders ease. And she told herself it was the mac and cheese making her heart feel warm.

Not him. Definitely not him.

Probably.

* * *

After lunch, Bob declared he was going to take a nap, tired after being jarred awake the night before and then facing assassins at the start of the day.

He could hear some of the others in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch. He'd hoped they could all just take naps and that maybe they'd wake up to discover the insanity of the last 12 hours hadn't been real.

Bob was truly exhausted. And his arm hurt. In his bed, Bob laid on his side, curled in toward the aching throb in his upper arm. The bandage Yelena had placed there was itchy and damp with sweat.

But sleep didn’t come easy.

His room was quiet, aside from the hum of the AC, the occasional creak of old metal, and the low warble of thoughts that weren’t his. He buried his face deeper into the pillow and tried to focus on breathing.

In.

Out.

In—

“Pathetic.”

The voice wasn’t his own. But it wasn’t quite the Void’s either—though that one slithered just behind the new sound, coiled like a snake ready to strike.

“You barely held it together today,” the new voice whispered, velvet wrapped around steel. “You could’ve ended it all in a second. Made them fear you. Made her look at you like she should.”

Bob’s brow furrowed. He mumbled into the pillow, “Shut up…”

But the nightmare had already taken hold.

He stood in darkness—formless, until it wasn’t. Shadows peeled back to reveal the theater from earlier. The smell of blood and smoke clung to the air. Yelena was on her knees, her arms bound behind her by slick tendrils of inky blackness. She struggled, spitting defiance even in her silence.

And the Void loomed behind her, its eyes like collapsing stars.

“She’s always running toward danger,” the Void murmured. “You could protect her. If you let go. If you stopped pretending to be an ordinary man and embraced what you really are.”

“You want to impress her, don’t you?” the other voice chimed in, smoother. Crueler. “She touched your face and you practically melted. You want to be hers. Or maybe you want her to be yours.”

Bob shook his head. “No—I don’t—this isn’t real.”

But dream logic didn’t care.

Yelena looked up at him now, breathless and trembling. “Bob,” she whispered, desperation in her voice. “Please. Save me. You’re the only one strong enough.”

His feet wouldn’t move, but the shadows did. They slithered, peeled open the darkness again—and now they were in his bed.

And dream-Yelena was crawling up his body, straddling his lap, warm palms on his bare chest.

“You could be anything, Bob,” she breathed. “Everything. Just let it out. Show me what you really are.”

He wanted to. God knew, he wanted to.

But then she smiled. And it was wrong.

Too sharp.

Too satisfied.

She leaned in and said, “Because no one would ever want you unless you made them.”

Bob's eyes flew open.

He gasped, bolting upright in a tangle of sheets soaked through with sweat. His hand clutched his bandaged arm—red was blooming through the gauze, the wound reopened. He didn’t remember scratching it, but his nails were slick with blood.

And worse—worse than the ache in his arm, or the taste of ash in his mouth—was the heat of arousal in his body.

Unwanted.

Uncontrolled.

Unbearably real.

Bob collapsed back against the pillows, burying his face in his hands. “God. What the hell is happening to me…”

Outside his window, the city buzzed, oblivious.
Inside, the shadow moved again.

And whispered, “You’re waking up.”

* * *

Bob knocked quietly on the door down the hall. He wasn’t sure if he was praying Bucky was in or not. He didn’t pray much, and when he did, it never felt like anyone was listening.

The door opened a few seconds later. Bucky blinked at him.

“You look like hell.”

Bob shoved past him into the room without answering. He was shirtless, in sweatpants, arms crossed tight across his chest like he could hold himself together by sheer willpower. He was definitely not thinking about the dream. Not the part where the shadows whispered he could have whatever he wanted if he showed his power. Not the part with Yelena on his lap. And especially not the part where she said something she’d never say.

Bucky shut the door and turned around. “Okay. You’re bleeding. And sweating. What’s going on?”

Bob didn’t look at him. Just kept pacing, one hand twitching like it wanted to punch a wall or pull the sun out of the sky—whichever was easier.

“Can you help me out?” he whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to hear.”

Bucky tilted his head, trying to make sense of that, then pointed at the blood dripping down Bob’s arm. “That’s the cut from The Hood, right?”

Bob nodded. “It won’t stop hurting.”

“Then heal it.”

Bob shook his head harshly. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “Okay. Cool. So, you’re… bleeding and sleep-deprived and apparently on the verge of a breakdown, and you’re refusing to use your powers at all. Got it.”

“I just need you to look at it,” Bob said. “That’s all.”

Bucky sighed, motioning to the bed. “Sit down. Let me see.”

Bob sat. His legs were shaking. Or maybe the floor was. Hard to tell anymore.

Bucky grabbed a small first aid kit from his nightstand and sat beside him. “Why are you so sweaty?”

Bob didn’t answer.

As Bucky peeled off the bandage, he let out a low whistle. “Okay. That looks like hell. Like… literally. That color isn’t natural.”

“Yeah. Ava said something about demonic energy, remember?”

“And you didn’t think to mention it was still affecting you?”

Bob stared at the wall. “It wasn't this bad before. I was kind of hoping it’d go away.”

“Well, it didn’t.” Bucky frowned as he cleaned around the wound, carefully dabbing at the raw edges. “This… doesn’t look infected in the regular way. And the way it’s pulsing? Yeah. This is some demonic infestation-level nonsense.”

Bob cracked a tired, humorless smile. “You believe in demons now?”

Bucky shrugged. “I’ve seen The Exorcist. I’ve fought worse.”

Bob’s throat was dry. “I’m bipolar, Buck. And on top of the Void whispering in one ear, I have… something else in the other. Demonic whispers. Lust, power, destruction. Take your pick.”

Bucky’s movements slowed. “Are you… alone in your head right now?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. His eyes were red, rimmed with sleeplessness. “I’m never alone in my head.”

That hung in the air between them.

Bucky eventually said, “Okay. Then we need help. Real help. This isn’t something I can bandage and kiss better.”

“I’m not asking you to kiss it better,” Bob muttered.

Bucky sighed. “I can try to contact Dr. Strange. He’s dealt with this kind of shit before. And if anyone can exorcise your weird demon magic, or at least tell us how bad it is, it’s him.”

Bob tensed. “Don’t tell anyone else. And don’t let him tell anyone.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You want this quiet because of Yelena?”

Bob flinched.

“Thought so.”

Bucky sighed, softer this time. “Alright. I’ll keep this between us. But if Strange says this is serious—and it looks serious—we might need to re-evaluate.”

Bob nodded tightly. “Thanks.”

Bucky grabbed a roll of gauze and antiseptic spray. “This is probably gonna hurt.”

“Fine. I can take it.” Bob looked at him, a little pointed. “No drugs.”

“I know, Bob,” Bucky said. There wasn’t judgment in his voice. Just a kind of knowing.

Bob winced as the antiseptic hit the wound.

“You ever think,” he muttered, “that maybe I’m not supposed to survive this?”

Bucky paused for half a second, then went back to wrapping the bandage. “No. I don’t think that. Not even a little.”

Bob didn’t say anything after that. But he didn’t leave either.

He just sat there in silence, letting someone else take care of him, for once.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough—for now.

Chapter Text

Yelena tapped her fingers against the control desk, the blue glow of the Tower's surveillance feeds painting shadows across her face. The glow-up lights flickered softly with each new alert or camera update, but nothing jumped out at her—no movement, no intruders, no answers.

The same dead ends stared back at her from Valentina’s encrypted data dump: offshore accounts, scrambled IPs, and a growing sense of dread that maybe the Scourge weren’t just some chaotic freelance terrorists. Maybe they were professionals. And somehow, it was all connected.

And Bob… he hadn’t been seen since lunch.

Which wasn’t that odd. Except it was.

Because, at the very least, they texted. Constantly. Snarky commentary about the mission reports, dumb jokes, memes. Even when they were just a few rooms apart, they stayed tethered by blue message bubbles and emoji reactions.

Now? Radio silence.

Yelena frowned and pushed back from the chair, her boots thudding softly against the floor as she stood. Maybe Bob really was just napping. Maybe the chaos from the night before had finally caught up with him and his impossible brain had shut down for a few hours. They all probably needed that.

She exhaled slowly and made her way toward the elevator, already spinning through ways to keep him grounded. If he had to stay in the Tower for safety—after the attack, the ambush, a damn demon—then she'd make it work. Movie night? Board games? Maybe she’d finally give in and let Alexei host a team charades tournament. Hell, she might even participate if it meant keeping Bob from spiraling again.

The elevator doors opened to the penthouse floor, and immediately, she spotted John Walker standing near the hallway. Loitering. That alone was weird enough. But the way he was half-crouched, peeking toward the bedrooms was truly sketchy.

“What are you doing?” Yelena asked, arms folded over her chest.

Walker jumped about a foot in the air, then hissed, “Don’t do that.”

She cocked her head. “You look like a creep.”

“I am trying to stealthily observe,” he said, which somehow made it worse.

Yelena rolled her eyes. “You need to redefine ‘stealthy.’ What are you observing?”

Walker glanced back toward the hallway. “Dr. Strange just showed up.”

She blinked. “The magic cape guy?” Then she paused. "Well, the other magic cape guy?"

“Yes. Master of the Mystic Arts himself. And apparently, Bucky called him.”

Yelena’s brows furrowed. “Okay, well, Ava did make a demon deal with Dollar Store Robin Hood. So, a call to Strange isn’t exactly shocking.”

“Then why,” Walker said, turning to face her, “is it not a team meeting? Why is Strange in Bucky’s bedroom?”

Yelena stiffened. “Wait. Bucky has Strange in his room?”

Walker smirked. “With Bob. Yeah.”

A prickling unease settled in her chest. She glanced down the hall, then back at Walker. “That’s… weird.”

“Hence, the observing.”

Yelena didn’t wait. She stomped down the hall, jaw clenched, and pounded on Bucky’s door with a fist.

“Hello!” she called. “Magical doctor man? Wise team leader? Bob?”

The door cracked open just slightly, revealing Bucky’s unimpressed face. “Hi, Yelena.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Can I come in?”

“No,” he said flatly.

She shoved against the door. It didn’t budge.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Did you really think that would work?”

Yelena smiled sweetly. “I'm afraid we have an open door policy about boys in your room, Soldat.”

Bucky muttered, "bláznivá malá sestra," under his breath.

Yelena slapped at his chest. “I am not your crazy little sister, you grumpy old man," she huffed.

Walker leaned around her. “Okay, but like, real talk—shouldn’t we all be involved if there’s magical inquiry going on?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door swung open fully.

Dr. Strange stood behind him, red-and-gold cloak draped like drama incarnate. Bob sat on the edge of the bed behind them, pale, shirtless, and looking like he’d just been pulled out of a nightmare.

“Unless this is a personal meeting?” Walker added, suddenly doubting his own snark.

Strange rolled his eyes. “Don’t keep secrets from your teammates, Barnes,” he said crisply.

Then to Bob: “That should heal, now. But take it easy. And call me if anything else happens.”

With a dramatic flourish, he opened a portal and vanished, sparks flickering in his wake.

The silence in the room afterward was thunderous.

Yelena folded her arms. “Explain. Both of you.”

Bucky looked back at Bob, clearly leaving the choice to him.

Bob stood, jaw tight. “The cut from The Hood. It was worse than we thought.”

Walker squinted. “Okay… so you called the guy who knows magic and is also a doctor. That makes sense. But why was it a secret?”

“Because not everything is your business, Walker,” Bob snapped. He pulled his shirt over his head before adding, “And I don’t need everyone checking on me and mother-henning me all the time.”

He tugged his sleeve down over his now-healed arm. “Dr. Strange said since the cut from the Hood was magical, it wasn't healing. He fixed it. I’m fine, now. Okay?”

Then he shoved past Bucky, shouldered between Yelena and Walker, and stormed back to his room.

“Bob,” Yelena called, but the door slammed shut behind him.

She stared at it, hurt radiating in her chest.

Walker sighed dramatically. “Well. That was not the reaction I expected.” Then, he turned and wandered away, muttering to himself.

Yelena didn’t even look at him. Her eyes were still on Bob's closed door.

* * *

John Walker hated secrets.

More accurately, he hated not being in on the secrets.

So when Bob stormed off, Yelena stared at the wall like it had personally offended her, and Bucky looked like he'd aged another decade in thirty seconds, John made an executive decision: gather the rest of the team and stir the pot.

He found Ava and Alexei in the gym. Ava was throwing knives at a shockingly accurate doodle of The Hood’s mask she’d drawn on a punching bag. Alexei was benching something so heavy it would have folded a car in half. Casual.

John planted himself in front of them, arms crossed, like a man on a mission.

“We’ve got a Bob Situation,” he announced.

Ava didn’t stop throwing. “Which flavor?”

“Bleeding, magical, and emotionally constipated.”

Alexei sat up slowly, raising one eyebrow. “That is... oddly specific. But also? Not entirely new.”

“Yeah,” Walker said, “but this time it’s different. Strange was here. Bucky brought him in secretly to look at Bob.”

Ava turned. “What?”

“I know.”

Alexei stood. “Why wouldn’t Bob tell us?”

“Exactly my question,” Walker said. “And apparently Bucky was like, cool with keeping it hush-hush.”

Ava scowled. “We’ve all risked everything to keep Bob safe, and now he’s shutting us out?”

“He’s even pushing Yelena away,” Walker added.

Alexei rubbed his beard. “This does not make sense. We are his friends.”

“His team,” Ava echoed, softer.

Walker sighed, the weight of not knowing finally settling into something heavier. “Something’s wrong. And it’s not just his powers. It’s him. He’s scared of himself.”

Ava looked up. “Then we need to remind him he doesn’t have to be.”

Alexei nodded. “But first, maybe… we give him space.”

Walker rolled his eyes. “The guy already lives in a space between sanity and godlike destruction. Are we sure ‘space’ is the answer?”

“Maybe not,” Ava said. “But forcing him to talk won't help either.”

They all fell quiet for a moment.

And then, from somewhere outside the Tower, a thud.

"You all heard that, right?" John asked.

A loud crash sounded and within seconds, he, Ava, and Alexei were on the move.

* * *

Yelena pressed her back to the wall beside Bob’s closed door, arms crossed tight over her chest, the thudding of her heart louder than any surveillance ping. She was used to being shut out. Just, not by him.

Bucky lingered nearby, trying to pretend like he wasn’t watching her sulk.

“Just let him be alone,” Bucky said softly.

She didn’t look at him. “That’s the problem. When he’s alone, he only has that voice in his head. That thing. The Void.” Her voice cracked slightly. “And it doesn’t say nice things.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” She turned to him, anger barely restrained. “You’re not in his head.”

“No,” Bucky agreed. “But I’ve been in my own head. When it wasn’t safe in there either.”

She blinked. That slowed her.

“When you’ve got something whispering in your brain,” he said, “something telling you what to do, how to behave, that you’re a monster… the only person who can shut it up is you. Outside voices don’t help when you’ve stopped believing them.”

Her throat tightened. “Then what do we do?”

“Give him time. Let him choose to come back.”

Bucky hesitated. Then, with a rare hint of a smile: “Treat him like a cat.”

Yelena stared at him. “He’s not a cat.”

“He kind of is.”

She growled. “Cats don’t explode cities when they’re upset.”

Bucky shrugged. “Just, be the sunbeam on the floor he keeps pretending not to like.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. But she wasn’t angry anymore. Just… sad.

She leaned her head back against the wall.

“I just want him to know,” she whispered. “He’s not alone.”

“He’ll hear you eventually,” Bucky promised. “He always does.”

She shook her head. “But what if he doesn’t?”

Then, there was a loud CRASH.

Both of them jerked at the sound.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “That’s outside.”

* * *

Bucky was halfway down the stairs before his legs caught up to his brain. He'd shouted at Yelena to wait, guard Bob.

The crash hadn’t been from inside the Tower. It was outside. Near the perimeter wall.

He pushed through the side entrance just in time to see a blur of white and hot pink zip past the gate. It leapt. Flipped. Landed.

And came up swinging.

“What the hell—”

The blade came at his face.

Bucky dodged just in time, blocking with his vibranium arm. Sparks flew. His attacker landed, grinning brightly.

“Oh, my gawd,” she squealed. “It’s really you!”

Bucky blinked. “What?”

“Winter Soldier. Ex-HYDRA assassin. Daddy Issues: Deluxe Edition!” She twirled the sword. “This is so cool.”

“I—who are you?”

“I’m Gwenpool!” she said cheerfully. “This isn’t personal. I’m actually a big fan.”

Then she kicked him in the chest.

He staggered back, catching himself. “You’re attacking me because you’re a fan?”

“Yup!” She lunged. “It’s complicated. You’ll understand later. Or maybe never! Depends how many chapters we get.”

“What?”

He ducked under another swipe, grabbed her wrist, and flipped her—

But she twisted mid-air and landed like a gymnast. “Oof. Nice! You’ve still got the moves.”

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!” he shouted.

“Surprise villain attack. Welcome to Act Two!”

And just then, the door slammed open again.

“Bucky?!”

Walker’s voice. Bad timing.

Gwenpool pivoted with superhuman speed, sword slashing—

Walker cried out, dropping to one knee. Blood bloomed along his torso.

“JOHN!”

Bucky surged forward, caught Gwenpool mid-spin, and slammed her into the brick wall with enough force to knock the breath out of her. She crumpled, dazed.

Alexei and Ava came sprinting outside.

“Help me get them inside. Both of them,” Bucky barked.

Alexei grabbed Gwenpool under the arms and dragged her into the building.

Ava knelt beside Walker. “You’re okay. It's superficial.”

He hissed. “It still hurts.”

“Then stop talking,” she said, already working on pressure as she and Bucky carried him inside.

Bucky tapped the comm in his ear. “We’ve got a hostile contained. Walker’s hit. I need medical upstairs, now.”

Yelena’s voice crackled through.

“On it. Who was it?”

Bucky looked down at Alexei's feet, where Gwenpool gave him a loopy thumbs-up.

“Someone new,” Bucky said grimly. “Someone very new.”

* * *

The penthouse looked like an underfunded murder mystery dinner party.

John Walker was draped across the couch like a melodramatic prom queen, still bleeding slightly despite a full field dressing. A pink-and-white masked girl in a combat suit was zip-tied, duct-taped, and handcuffed to one of the kitchen chairs. Alexei was halfway through making coffee like this happened every day.

Bucky stood by the windows, arms folded, silently questioning all of his life choices.

Yelena paced slowly in front of the captive.

“Who hired you?” she asked, voice like broken glass wrapped in silk. “And the other goons?”

Gwenpool gasped. “Um, excuse you. Not a goon. And I don’t appreciate the name-calling, especially from the White Widow. How rude.”

Bucky sighed. “Gwenpool, right? What’s your actual name?”

She beamed, completely unfazed by the interrogation vibes. “Gwendolyn Poole! But you can call me Gwen. Or Gwenny. Or The Pool of Gwen. Honestly, I’m flexible.” She winked at him and added, "Very flexible."

Yelena gave Bucky a side-glance so sharp it could’ve sliced concrete.

He cleared his throat and very deliberately looked elsewhere.

Ava, sitting on the arm of the couch, coughed. “O-kay. So… why are you here, Gwen?”

Gwen blinked. “Weren’t you paying attention? I was hired. It’s not personal… You can go back and re-read the last few paragraphs if you need to. We'll wait.”

Before anyone could process that sentence, Walker sat up with a groan. “OW.” He clutched his bandaged side. “That hurt! What the actual hell, dude?”

“Stop being big baby,” Alexei said, without turning from the Keurig. “I was once dragged five blocks behind speeding SUV, broke both legs, and still picked up ice cream for 'Lena and 'Tasha.”

Gwen’s eyes sparkled. “OMG. That is so metal. I love this team already.”

Bucky muttered, “You’re not on the team.”

“I could be!” she chirped. “Every good comic ensemble needs a wildcard.”

Just then, from the hallway:

“Um. What’s happening?”

Bob stood blinking at the chaos like a man who’d walked into the wrong sitcom. “I feel like I say that a lot.”

Walker, still lying half-sideways on the couch, waved vaguely with the arm on his good side. “You didn’t miss much. Just me getting stabbed. And her—” he pointed at Gwen, “—being a lunatic.”

Gwen frowned. “Correction: I am a professional lunatic.” Then, in an exaggerated British accent, she added, "And 'twas but a flesh wound!"

Bob blinked again, eyes landing on the masked girl duct-taped to their furniture. “Is that a… squirrel keychain on her sword?”

Ava muttered, “Yeah, I admit, this looks weird.”

Suddenly, Gwen lit up. “BOB REYNOLDS. You are just adorable. When you’re not a cosmic mega-powered super boss. Or a world-ending void-eater-of-souls. Which is also super metal, bee tee dubs.”

Bob froze. “Um… thanks?”

Yelena stepped forward. The air shifted.

“You’re here for Bob.” Her voice was low and lethal. “You must die.”

Gwen’s eyes widened. “Whoa whoa whoa. Noooooo. I said it’s not personal.”

Yelena leaned very close. “It is VERY personal to me.”

Gwen squinted. “Oh-kay. I’m sensing some unresolved emotions.”

Yelena stood up straighter. “I mean it’s personal to us. All of us.” She looked around at the rest. “As a team.”

There was a pause.

Alexei stepped up with a teacup. “Yes. We are the Thunderbolts!”

Walker raised a finger. “New Avengers.”

Alexei frowned. “You know, if we just went by Thunderbolts, Captain America would not be suing us.”

Gwen squealed. “You guys are a mess! I am so here for it.”

Bucky sighed deeply, pinched the bridge of his nose, and said, “Okay. Back up. You said you were hired.”

“Yup!” Gwen nodded. “Scourge gave me my orders. But they're not the top guys.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Then who is?”

Gwen grinned, teasing. “Do you want the plot-centric answer? Or the existentially terrifying one?”

Ava said flatly, “We’ll take the truth.”

Gwen shrugged her shoulders and softly said, “Let’s just say… the guy who hired Scourge makes other baddies look like Care Bears. You’re not dealing with street-level thugs anymore. You’re on someone's board now.” She focused her attention on Bob. "Those voices you hear are getting louder, aren't they?"

Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

Bob flinched like something inside him had shivered.

Yelena turned to Bob. “You okay?"

He didn’t answer right away. Then, softly: “I… don’t know. But I don’t like the sound of it.”

Gwen leaned back in the chair, relaxed, as if being tied up by super-soldiers and assassins was a casual weekday for her.

“Buckle up, Buttercups,” she said. “Act Two’s only just getting started.”

Chapter Text

“Okay, for real now,” Bucky said, arms folded, boots braced shoulder-width apart. “Who hired you?"

“Ugh, again?” Gwen slumped dramatically in her chair. “You people are exhausting. It was funny the first time. Now it’s starting to feel like lazy writing—like that Dr. Strange cameo earlier.”

“...What?” Ava blinked.

“Nothing.” Gwen winked. “Anyway, yeah, like I said, technically hired by Scourge. But that's not the big cheese. More like a sharp cheddar in a charcuterie of evil. The one you should be worried about is the guy behind them.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. “And that would be?”

“Oh, I could tell you,” Gwen said in a singsong voice, “but then we’d skip, like, so much plot development and tension. Think pacing, Barnes. Keep the angst in suspense. The readers love that.”

Alexei whispered to Ava, “Is she having stroke?”

Gwen sighed. "I'm fourth wall aware. Like Wade Wilson. Think, y'know, a Tumblr blog in combat boots."

Walker groaned. “Okay, I'm gonna say it: she’s useless.”

“Rude. I’m very useful. I brought chaos, didn’t I?” Gwen grinned. “Besides, I gave you clues. You’re being hunted by someone who knows what Bob is. What he’s worth.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes. “Be more specific.”

Gwen turned to Bucky, chin tilted up. “I could be… for a price.”

He gave her a flat look. “Not happening.”

“You haven’t even heard my price.”

“I don’t need to.”

She tilted her head. “You’re so grumpy. I bet you smell like bourbon and guilt. Want to arm wrestle and then make out?”

Ava sighed. “That’s it. She’s going in the spare room.”

“Wait—hold on,” Gwen said quickly, perking up. “One more thing! This whole Sentry-Void situation? It’s not just internal conflict. The General has been watching. Plotting. Probably monologuing into a mirror.”

"That's who is in charge? The General?" Yelena asked.

“The General is just a name that's popped up in a few random redacted files,” Bucky muttered. “Probably a ghost story for washed-up heroes.”

“Well, spoiler alert: this ghost is real. And he’s very interested in your glowy golden boy.”

Bob, hovering awkwardly by the hallway door, flinched when all eyes landed on him.

“Great,” he mumbled. “I’m a collector’s item.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Gwen was secured in the guest room with a snack plate, Netflix, and approximately three layers of reinforced door locks.

“She’s gonna find a way out,” Ava warned.

“Yeah,” Walker said, laying back on the couch, “but maybe she’ll annoy someone else instead of us.”

Bob lingered near the hallway, arms crossed, fingers twitching like he wanted to wring them. He didn’t move until the others scattered—Ava helping Walker, Alexei re-checking security, Bucky grabbing a drink and muttering about headaches.

Then he turned to go.

“Where are you going?” Yelena’s voice cut through the quiet.

Bob stopped.

“…Out.”

“Bob.”

He winced.

“I need to leave,” he said softly, not facing her. “I’m not safe to be around. And if more people are coming after me, then it’s just a matter of time before one of you gets hurt. Or worse.”

“Uh-huh.” Yelena crossed her arms. “Yeah, no. You should totally be out on your own, unprotected, refusing to use your powers, with hired assassins and bounty hunters coming for you. So they can drag you off to some bad guy warlord, or whatever this 'General' is, who’ll absolutely make you use your powers for evil or tear them out of you like candy from a piñata. Good plan.”

Bob paused. “…Well, when you say it like that…”

Yelena groaned and covered her face with both hands. “Bob. Please, I am begging you. Just once in your life, give a shit about yourself.”

That made him turn fully. She was standing just a few feet away, tense with frustration, mouth pressed into a line.

He blinked. “I’m sorry, I… I know you’re trying to help. But I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to be okay.”

“I know. And I know I should treat you like a cat—leave out food, wait for you to come around, let you hide under the bed. But, you're not a cat.”

Bob squinted. “Okay, you lost me when you felt the need to confirm that I’m not a cat?”

Yelena stepped closer, suddenly serious. She grabbed his hands, held them tight.

“I do not do 'subtle,' Bob,” she said softly. “Or patient. I don’t want to play some quiet game of wait-and-see. I want you to want to stay. I want you to care if you disappear.”

He stared at her. Her hands were smaller than his. But they felt strong. Grounding.

“I don’t understand why you’re not terrified of me,” he whispered. “Why don’t you hate me? I hate me.”

She smiled gently. “That’s why. You hate yourself enough for both of us.”

He flinched like the words hit somewhere soft.

“I could never hate you, Bob Reynolds. And I’m only afraid of one thing.”

“What?”

“You shutting down. Or leaving.”

"That's two things," Bob told her.

She ignored him, swallowing hard. “You… you glow, you know that? You shine. And that light has to be strong enough to keep back the shadows. Someone has to believe that.”

He leaned in. Just a little. Close enough to see the freckles on her nose, the honest burn in her gaze.

He could kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her.

But instead—he stepped back. Gently slipped his hands from hers.

“I wish it was that easy, Yelena,” he murmured.

Then he turned and walked back toward the kitchen, leaving her standing alone in the hallway

* * *

Bob stirred his tea slowly, the spoon clinking against the ceramic in a steady rhythm. The sound was soothing, or it should’ve been. The air in the kitchen felt still—too still. Ava was at the island fiddling with her regulator gauntlets, muttering under her breath and tightening something with a screwdriver the size of a pen. Alexei was nearby, elbows deep in a bowl of cereal, spooning it with the solemnity of a priest. Everything looked normal.

But he wasn’t.

The cut on his arm had healed—but it still felt like it had left something behind. A residue. A presence.

She doesn’t know you.

The Void was back. Except, different somehow. Crueler, if that were possible. More cutting. More demanding.

Bob blinked. Kept stirring.

She thinks she does, but she doesn’t. She sees the flicker, not the flame. The glow, not the burn.

He added honey to the tea. Lifted the mug, hands slightly shaking.

She talks about light. But light can’t stop the dark. It just highlights it. The shadows always win, Bob.

He sat at the island, sipping tea that suddenly tasted like ash. His gaze flicked to Ava, still adjusting settings, then back to his mug.

They will all turn on you. Even she will turn on you. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day. When you fail. When you fall.

He squeezed the mug tighter.

You are not the light. You are the hunger beneath it. You are the silence that follows the scream.

“Shut up,” Bob muttered under his breath.

The darkness is truth. And you are mine.

The Void’s voice, once a whisper, was now a roar between his ears. Burrowed into not just his skull but the very fiber of his being. He could feel it pulsing behind his eyes, clawing at the edges of his sanity. Telling him no one truly saw him. Not Yelena. Not this team. Not even himself.

And then—

She would understand. If you showed her. Showed her how powerful you could be. She would finally see you. She would finally want you.

The mug shattered against the counter.

“YOU’RE WRONG!” he shouted.

Bob was on his feet, panting, tea dripping down his hand. He stared at the pieces of ceramic.

A beat of silence. Then a quiet voice:

“I follow the recipe.”

Bob turned. Alexei stood with his bowl, blinking slowly like an affronted moose. “It says, 'Add cereal before milk.’ I add cereal before milk. Always.”

Bob’s heart lurched. “Shit. No. Alexei—I’m sorry—”

His breath caught again, too fast, too shallow. The air thickened. Pressure in his chest. Rising. Drowning.

Then Ava was there, moving like lightning. She grabbed him by the shoulders—deft, efficient, no hesitation. It wasn’t gentle, but it worked. Like a mother cat grabbing a kitten by the scruff.

“C’mon, drama llama,” she murmured, maneuvering him with a grunt. “Elevator. Now.”

They rode in silence. Bob’s hands shook. His vision swam.

Ava guided him to a bench in the gym and pushed his head down between his knees.

“Breathe. Relax.”

Bob tried. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Slowly, slowly, the spinning stopped.

When he finally lifted his head, Ava had already moved her hand off his back and was kneeling in front of him, her expression dead serious.

“The Void’s talking to you, yeah?”

He nodded.

“It’s getting louder.”

Ava nodded back like that confirmed her suspicions. “Let it scream. It’s still bullshit.”

“I wish I was high,” Bob muttered.

Then he blinked. “I haven’t thought that in a while.”

His shoulders tensed again.

“Hey,” Ava said sharply. “Drugs won’t fix it. You know that. And the Void’s gonna say all kinds of trash. But you said it was wrong in the kitchen. That means you know. Now you gotta make it know that you know.”

Bob squinted. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll get there. Look, which voice are you gonna listen to? The one telling you you’re a monster that should just nuke the planet out of spite? Or the one that says maybe—just maybe—you matter. That there’s something worth saving. Even if it’s just yourself.”

He gulped. Didn’t answer. Just nodded.

Ava seemed satisfied with that. “You wanna punch something? Maybe try glowing? Let a little power out in a controlled way? You know. Not explode the floor or kill a dimension or whatever.”

But Bob shook his head. “I don’t want to have to choose. I don’t want powers. I only ever wanted the pain to stop.”

She sat beside him, sighing. “Life is pain, Robert. We don’t get to choose who hurts us. Or when. Or how. We do get to choose what we do with it.”

“I don’t want to be the one causing pain,” Bob said, softly. “That’s what scares me the most.”

Ava nodded. “Then don’t. You’re not your darkness. You’re not your past. But you are the one holding the steering wheel now.”

Bob looked at her. “Are we friends?”

Ava looked honestly hurt. “Of course we are. We’re friends. Teammates. All that jazz. You shouldn't even have to ask that.”

He raised a hand. “That’s a me thing, not a you thing.”

“Exactly. So stop listening to the Void like it’s your pal. It’s not. We are. And it does not know you. We do.”

She tapped his knee gently.

“We don’t get to choose how we hurt. But we do choose who we let in. And who we trust not to hurt us worse. That’s love. Or friendship. Or both. Pick your flavor.”

Bob leaned back. Processing. Heart still racing. Thoughts still stormy. But clearer now. Calmer.

“You love her,” Ava said eventually. Not specifying - she didn't need to.

It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t deny it.

“She loves you, too,” she added. “Or wants to. But you gotta let her. Don’t take her choice from her.”

Bob winced at that. Remembered Yelena’s face at the mall. The rawness. The way she had let him see her—her grief, her cracks. And now he was trying to push her away to protect her. The same thing that had been done to her. Over and over.

He shook his head. “Thank you, Ava.”

“We’re both unstable anomalies,” she smirked. “Gotta stick together.”

They sat there a moment longer in the dim gym light. Not talking. Not fighting the silence.

Just breathing.

And when they went back upstairs, the air still heavy but not choking, Bob felt something new in his chest.

Not peace.

But maybe the start of something close.

Resolve.

And he was sure he was going to need it.

* * *

The HQ’s kitchen smelled faintly like burnt toast, cocoa powder, and despair. Bob rubbed at the back of his neck as he followed Ava in through the side hallway.

Alexei was in the kitchen, clumsily rinsing out a coffee mug in the sink.

“Hey,” Bob said, and then, “Sorry again about the mug. And the yelling. That wasn’t about you.”

Alexei turned slightly, blinking like a sleepy bear. “Eh. Mug is replaceable. You yelling, though? That was very impressive. You want cereal?”

Bob blinked. “I… no, thank you?”

Alexei opened the cabinet. “You will. I make it best way.”

Bob shrugged and dropped into the couch, letting his body melt into the cushions. Ava sat beside him, cross-legged, watching the others file in. Yelena and Walker settled in across from them, Bucky trailing behind as he pushed Gwenpool—cuffed to an office chair—into the center of the room like some unholy game show prize.

“Whee!” Gwen grinned, twisting a little in the chair. “Ooh, interrogation part deux! Love that.”

Bucky dropped onto the coffee table in front of Gwen and scrubbed his face with both hands. “It’s been a long couple days. I’m very tired. Please. Just tell us who The General is.”

Gwen tilted her head, faux-thoughtful. “Mmm. Nope.”

Yelena groaned loudly.

Bucky sighed louder.

Ava crossed her arms. “All we’ve found so far are redacted files. Ghost protocol logs. Physiology experiments. Sentry-related triggers.”

Bob stiffened slightly at that, but kept quiet.

“I’ve seen some stuff in the old HYDRA networks,” Bucky added. “Mostly whispers. Files wiped. Too clean.”

Gwen wiggled her fingers. “Yup! Right track. The General is a master of puppets. Hides in plain sight. Could be anyone. Anywhere.”

Alexei gasped, mid-bite of cereal. “Wait. What if General is here now? Oh, no. What if it’s me?!”

Ava didn’t blink. “It’s not you, Alexei.”

“You don’t know that,” Alexei said, offended. “Maybe I am genius puppet man.”

Walker gave him a look. “Wow. Just. No.”

Bob… listened. He hadn’t said much yet, but something in his chest tightened. The Void had quieted after his outburst, after the words he’d spoken with Ava. But when The General’s name hit the air, something had shifted. A hum. A buzz beneath his ribs. The whisper trying to curl like smoke behind his ears.

Gwen leaned back as much as her cuffs allowed. “You know, the next few chapters? Total chaos. Someone’s going to have to make a sacrifice. Might be Bob, might be Yelena, might be the cereal.”

Yelena sat forward, eyes hard. “If you know so much, know how it ends, why are you even here? Why didn’t you see us coming? Why are you trying if it’s already written?”

Gwen faltered. “Okay, okay, listen. The plot is more like... suggestions. Like IKEA instructions. Helpful, but you can totally wing it.”

Bob finally spoke, voice quiet but steady. “You’re scared too.”

Gwen blinked.

He looked at her. Really looked at her. “You keep talking like you’re outside the story. But you’re not. You’re here. With us. And you’re afraid.”

Yelena picked it up. “We all know what it’s like to feel like someone else is writing the story for you. But you don’t have to be out of control.”

A moment stretched, tense.

And then—

“Oh, wow,” Gwen said. “The casting really is too perfect. I mean, who could say no to those wittle faces?” She motioned at Bob. “And those sad, soft boy eyes?! Fine. Fine! I’ll help, you tragic messes.”

“Great,” Bucky muttered. “So. The General’s actual identity?”

Gwen pursed her lips. “Ooh, no can do, Boss.” She leaned closer to him, faux-whispering and fluttering her lashes. “Do you like when I call you that? We can try other titles. Sergeant? Sarge? Daddy, maybe?”

Ava cleared her throat loudly. “Focus.”

“I am incredibly focused,” Gwen said, deadpan. She leaned back in the chair. “I can’t give you name or full bio. But location? Sure. I can take you on a field trip.”

* * *

Evening settled at the Tower. And everyone was trying to rest, or research, or otherwise decompress, before going on whatever wild goose chase Gwen had planned for them.

The night air was cooler than expected, brushing across Yelena’s arms like a ghost. She leaned against the balcony railing, staring out at the dark city skyline. The others had gone to bed, or at least pretended to. Ava had nudged Bob, communicating something to him in her trademark silent but weighted way, and now—

Bob was hovering at the doorway, shifting from foot to foot like an awkward stork.

Yelena, exhausted, didn’t turn to look. “If you’re going to say something weird or self-loathing, just get it over with.”

He approached slowly. “I’m not trying to take your choices away from you.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Okay…”

“I mean, I didn’t ask to have these powers. I didn’t ask to be some… chosen hero or… monster. But I still get to decide what I do with them. And you—” He swallowed. “You didn’t choose what's happened to you either. But you’re still here. Choosing. And I don’t get why.”

She turned to face him, arms crossed. “You don’t get why I’m here? Or why I stay?”

“Yes.”

That stopped her.

He looked painfully sincere. “I’m just trying to say… I don’t want to be the reason someone else loses their choice again. Especially not you.”

Yelena opened her mouth, something caught between a snarky deflection and something a lot softer—but then—

A crack of sound. A flash of shadow.

And suddenly, Parker Robbins was there. Pale. Blood dripping from his side. The Hood swirling around him like an open wound in fabric.

“I need that favor now,” he gasped. “Tried to leave. They didn’t let me.”

Then his eyes rolled back—and he collapsed forward.

Yelena caught him automatically, arms around his frame as she yelled back inside, “Hey Team?! Little help here?!”

Chapter Text

Parker was heavier than he looked. Yelena staggered a little under his weight before steadying them both, cradling him awkwardly as blood soaked through her shirt. His Hood fluttered, reacting to pain—or maybe fear.

“Hey! Team?!” she yelled again.

The balcony door slammed open.

Bucky stormed out, shirtless, hair a little mussed, dog tags swinging. He took one look at the scene—Yelena holding a barely-conscious Parker like a tired prom date—and muttered, “Of course. Of course.”

Without breaking stride, he bent and hefted Parker effortlessly over his shoulder, like a bloodied sack of potatoes.

“I swear,” he grumbled, “I just want one night. One normal night. Is it so much to ask?”

He turned and marched back inside.

Yelena trailed behind, wiping her hands on her pants and muttering, “You are dramatic.”

* * *

In the kitchen, Gwen was now uncuffed but still fully suited up—minus the mask. She sat on the counter in cross-legged chaos-goblin pose, cereal bowl in hand, listening raptly as Alexei lectured her about optimal sogginess.

“—so you pour half, stir, wait ten seconds, then add rest of milk. No more, no less,” he said seriously.

Gwen raised a brow. “You’re a genius. A cereal savant. I will never eat a bowl the same again.”

Then she heard footsteps—and looked up just in time to see Shirtless Bucky Barnes walk past the doorway, fireman-carrying a half-dead man like it was nothing.

Gwen promptly fanned herself. “Oh lawd. If I had a pulse, it would be all a-flutter!"

Alexei blinked. “He carries people like that all time. You get used to it.”

“If I faint, will he carry me like that?” Gwen asked wistfully. “Asking for a friend.”

“Thunderbolt protocol says no fainting on duty.”

“Oh, pfft. Rules are made to be bent. Like... cereal ratios.”

* * *

Back in the lounge, Bucky laid Parker down on the couch—gently, despite everything. He snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Parker. Hey. Wake up.”

Yelena elbowed him lightly. “Bucky, you are doing the snapping thing again. Maybe do not yell at the wounded man.”

“I’m not yelling, I’m just firmly projecting.”

She gave him a look. “You are tired-yelling. Like angry, but with no sleep.”

“Is there a word for that?” he muttered.

“Grumpasaurus,” Yelena offered.

Walker wandered in, rubbing his eyes and wearing an Avengers t-shirt far too ironic for this hour. “Barnes, we have guests. Maybe put on a shirt?”

Gwen popped her head around the corner. “Please don’t.”

Ava entered behind them, her arms crossed. She scanned the scene: Parker bleeding on the couch, Yelena checking his pulse, Gwen openly ogling Bucky while eating cereal with Alexei.

She pointed at Gwen. “So, she’s like… part of the team now?”

“Yas!” Gwen said, holding up her spoon like a victory flag. “Chaotic neutral, fourth wall breaker, officially a Thunderbird!”

Alexei leaned in, whispering, “Thunderbolt.”

“That’s what I said."

Parker stirred then, groaning. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked up at the blurry crowd of faces hovering over him.

“Cashing in on that deal,” he muttered hoarsely.

Yelena crouched beside him. “What happened?”

He sat up slowly, groaning. As he moved, red sigils bloomed along his torso. Sulfur burned in the air. Flesh smoked and hissed as The Hood stitched him back together, magic coiling like thread spun from blood and fire.

“I told my buyer,” he said, teeth gritted, “I wasn’t taking the job. Told them I don't trade in people. Not like that.”

He nodded toward Bob.

Bob, who stood in the back, ghost-pale. Quiet. Haunted.

“They didn’t like that answer.”

Ava leaned forward. “The person who hired you… did this?”

Parker laughed, short and bitter. “He’s no person. Or… not entirely. Maybe he used to be.”

His eyes met Bob’s.

“There’s something else in him. Something dark. Powerful. And whatever it is… it wants you, Bob.”

* * *

Bob sat on the edge of the low tea table in front of Parker, palms resting on his knees.

Parker looked like he'd lost a fight with a pack of wolves. Or, in this case, maybe hell-hounds. A crimson sigil still glowed faintly on his ribs, stitching sinew and muscle together with arcane thread that moved on its own. His eyes were bloodshot, skin pale under the hood that clung to him like a second, wounded skin.

“What happened?” Bob asked softly.

Around them, the chaos continued.

“Bucky,” Yelena snapped. “Dial down the aggression. And yes—everyone should be clothed.” She shot a look over her shoulder. “Come. Now.”

“Fine,” Bucky grunted, turning toward his room, dragging his grumbling dignity behind him.

“Noooooooooo,” Gwen moaned, dramatically toppling off the kitchen counter like a fainting goat.

Walker stood nearby with a mug of coffee that may or may not have been reheated six times. “Should we have Bucky call Strange or something?”

“No sorcerers yet,” Bob said, still watching Parker. “Just… let’s hear it.”

Parker coughed, wincing as he tried to sit up straighter. Bob stayed where he was—close, but not pushing. Waiting.

“I was hired,” Parker said slowly, “by someone who didn't give a name at first. Seemed like the usual megalomaniac nonsense at first. Money, power, shady demands.

“But when he wanted me to ‘acquire’ people - specifically, you,” Parker looked at Bob with something almost like guilt. "I met with you guys about it, but also had my crew do some digging."

He sighed heavily. "Traced the payments from earlier jobs, guy calls himself the General. No other details or paper trails."

"Shocking," Gwen muttered from the floor.

"And when I said I wasn't working with him anymore, wasn't turning Bob over, he wanted to meet. I went and still said I was out—that's when he stopped pretending.”

Bob frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, he changed. His voice, his face—it wasn’t human anymore. I’ve seen demons, man. I wear one.” He tugged the edge of his cloak. “But this thing? It burned through my wards. My Hood didn’t stand a chance.”

Bob’s heart thudded. He didn’t look away.

The others filtered back in—Yelena and Bucky, now fully shirted (to Gwen’s loud and mournful dismay), Alexei carrying snacks, Ava sipping tea with faint paranoia, Walker muttering about weapons-grade salt rounds under his breath.

Bob cleared his throat. “So… The General is a demon?”

Parker nodded. “Or possessed by one. Something ancient. Hungry.”

Gwen, back in her spot on the counter, leaned in like this was a movie. “Puppet master. Knew it.”

Yelena crossed her arms. “What does he—or it—want?”

Parker turned to Bob again. “You. He wants your power. The Void and Sentry both. Wants to tap into it. Control it. Twist it. Whatever he is, he’s been watching you for a long time.”

Bob swallowed hard. He didn’t speak.

Bucky broke the silence. “Where’d you meet this guy?”

“There’s a warehouse,” Parker said, voice rasping. “Off the wharf. Industrial zone, all but abandoned. Creepy as hell even before demon dude showed up.”

Walker straightened. “That lines up with what the pink-and-white lunatic told us.”

Gwen gasped. “Wow. US Agent is just, like, a full-time asshole, huh?”

“The biggest,” Yelena agreed sweetly.

“In the morning,” Bucky said, decisive, “we go down to that wharf to check things out.”

Parker immediately raised a hand. “Okay, hold on. First of all, I’m not going. I’m half-dead and you’re hiding me. Second, you shouldn’t go either.”

Alexei puffed up. “We do not hide from danger. We punch it in face!”

Ava snorted. “We’re going offensive on this one. But not blindly. I'm going to gather more information.” She tried to phase—

—but just flickered.

It was like a broken light bulb. Ava shifted partially transparent, then blinked solid, then vanished from the knees down while her top half remained visible. She looked at her hand in alarm.

“What the hell?” she said.

Bob stood instinctively, but Bucky beat him to it.

“Didn’t Gwen mention something about quantum experiments? As in, Ghost Protocol?”

Ava groaned as her hand phased through the couch cushion, then quickly yanked it back and focused. After a few strained seconds, she stabilized again.

“I swear,” she muttered. “I—SERIOUSLY?!”

Yelena pointed at her. “Okay. No powers. Just stay normal. Be tangible, da?”

Ava took a breath. “Okay. How is this thing affecting me already? I haven’t even seen the guy.”

Walker squinted. “Has to be some kind of tech interference, right?”

“Or,” Gwen said with a wide grin, “demonic cosmic power.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “No phasing, then. Suit stays on. Gauntlets, too, for regulation.”

He nodded at the files stacked in the corner. “Come on. We’ll cross-reference Project Sentry with Ghost Protocol. Maybe there’s overlap.”

Ava frowned. “I thought I was the only one who survived when the lab blew up.”

“Well,” Parker began, “if someone was dying… they might’ve made a deal to stay alive.”

Bucky and Ava exchanged a look—gritty, tired, and deeply not okay—before heading for the files.

Walker stretched, yawned, and mumbled, “Guess I’ll prep for the mission. If anyone knows what weapons work against science tech demon hybrids, I’ll be in the armory having a crisis.”

“I help!” Alexei beamed, following like an overexcited golden retriever.

Gwen twirled her spoon. “Sure, why not. This is the weirdest afterschool special I’ve ever starred in.”

Back in the lounge, Parker sagged back against the couch. He looked up at Yelena with a tired half-smile. “Any chance I can get, like… Tylenol? Water? Maybe a cheeseburger?”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re pathetic,” she muttered. “Sure. Why not.”

She turned and stalked away.

Bob stayed where he was. Still seated across from Parker. The room had emptied, just enough for quiet to settle again.

Parker exhaled slowly as Yelena returned to the living room holding a bottle of water and a pair of Tylenol. Her expression was tired but composed, her tone casual as she handed them off to the half-conscious man sprawled on the couch.

She held her phone up. "Doordash will be here soon. Security’ll check it and let us know when it's safe."

Parker, pale and still a little blood-smeared, nodded in gratitude. He dry-swallowed the pills, chased them with a swig of water, then flopped back against the cushions with a weary exhale.

Bob got up and disappeared down the hallway, returning a moment later with two blankets. One he gently laid across Parker, who mumbled something appreciative, looking already halfway to sleep.

Then, without a word, Bob dropped down beside Yelena on the other couch and spread the second blanket between them. She glanced at him in quiet surprise, then smiled and leaned into the shared warmth.

Across the room, Parker blinked slowly.

“Does your, um… Hood need anything?” Bob asked, jerking his chin toward the crimson cloth, still faintly pulsing with heat where it wrapped around Parker’s shoulders.

Parker shifted, wincing at something internal. “Nah, it’s fine. Probably best it stays with me. But… thanks for thinking of it.”

Bob rubbed at the back of his neck, sheepish. “I mean, it’s like… alive, right?”

“Sentient, yeah,” Parker explained. “Containing a demonic entity and making the cape semi-conscious, but tomato, tomahto.”

Yelena yawned, then slumped back against the couch. Bob adjusted the blanket up over her shoulders. She blinked at him once, then murmured, “You should rest.”

“You too,” he replied.

But before he could really finish the sentence, she was out—head tilting to the side, cheek resting lightly against his shoulder. Her breathing deepened, soft and slow. She gave the tiniest, gentlest snore. Bob’s whole body tensed, like someone had handed him something breakable and precious and said don’t move.

Across the way, Parker cracked a grin. “Smooth,” he whispered.

Bob could feel his ears turning red. “Shut up.”

Parker chuckled quietly, then shifted to a more comfortable sprawl under the blanket. “You wanna know how I ended up with the Hood?”

Bob blinked. “Sure. Yeah.”

“It just kind of happened,” Parker said. “One day I was nobody, and the next I had power. I mattered. I could do things that mattered. And that… escalated. Fast. Before I knew it, I wasn’t calling the shots anymore.”

He let that hang in the air. Bob glanced down at Yelena’s head resting on his shoulder.

"I thought I was choosing freedom,” Parker continued. “Turns out, I was giving it up. Letting the thing talk me into it. Kill or be killed, power or nothing. The oldest deal in the book. But you?”

He looked at Bob, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

"That thing inside you? It’s clawing for control. I can see it. But you’re still holding it back. You’ve still got fight. You’ve still got a ‘you’ in there worth saving. And I envy that.”

Bob swallowed hard. “I don’t know how long I can keep fighting. Or if it’s even worth it, sometimes.”

“You’ve made it this far,” Parker said. “That counts for something.”

He nodded toward Yelena, now completely curled up against Bob, her legs drawn under her, one hand fisted in the blanket between them.

“Remembering what you’re fighting for? That makes it worth it.”

Bob felt something tight in his chest loosen, just a bit. Like a screw that had been overtightened finally giving half a turn.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Just sat there, letting the quiet settle around them like another blanket.

Yelena’s phone lit up on the coffee table with a soft buzz.

Bob glanced at the screen. “Your Doordash is downstairs.”

Parker groaned without moving. “Yeah, I don’t see any of us getting up for it anytime soon.”

His eyes slipped closed. Bob watched him for a moment. Then, with the weight of Yelena still leaning into him, he let his head fall back against the cushion.

And for the first time in what felt like days, he let himself sleep

Chapter Text

The soft morning light filtered in through the windows, painting lazy gold stripes across the living room. Yelena stirred, blinking blearily, her cheek warm against something solid and… rhythmic?

Her brow furrowed. Then she froze.

She was sprawled across Bob.

More specifically: across Bob’s chest, his arm looped comfortably around her waist, blanket tangled around both of them. He had half-slid sideways in his sleep, head tilted at an angle that screamed future chiropractor visit, but his breathing was deep and even, and his hold on her was—God help her—gentle.

Her entire face went hot.

Very, very carefully, she slithered sideways like a trained assassin—which she was, conveniently—and slid down under the blanket to the floor in a maneuver that probably deserved a gold medal.

She crawled across the rug on elbows and knees, then pulled herself up with the stealth of a shadow. She straightened her jacket, brushed hair out of her face, and glanced around.

Bob was still out cold.

Parker, across the room, snored softly under his own blanket burrito.

Victory.

Then she turned.

And spotted Alexei standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee from a World’s Okayest Dad mug with one eyebrow raised.

Yelena’s eyes widened.

She rushed into the kitchen on socked feet, whispering, “Say nothing. You saw nothing. Do not wake anyone, and I was never here.”

She was about to retreat—make a quick escape back to her room, freshen up, pretend the human pillow incident never happened—when Alexei’s voice stopped her, quiet but steady.

“'Lena, milaya.”

She paused, hand still gripping the doorframe.

“What?” she asked, not turning around.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Yelena blinked. Then, slowly, she turned. “Nothing.”

Alexei gave her a look. One that spoke volumes about how she was absolutely not fooling him. She hated that he’d gotten so good at it.

“If you let someone in,” he said, setting the mug down on the counter. “What is the worst that could happen, if you let someone see you—all of you?”

She scoffed and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “That,” she said, making a vague gesture. “Seeing me. All of me. That’s what happens.”

“And that is so terrible?”

“Yes!” Her voice cracked higher than intended. “Because you know what I’ve done. Who—what—I am.”

Alexei stepped forward, his tone gentle. “You are not what you’ve done.”

“I know what you said before,” she muttered, looking down. “I know how you see me. But that’s different. You’re my dad. You’re supposed to think your little girl is wonderful.”

She looked up, voice quiet. “But other people? They don’t have that filter.”

He sighed and slid onto the stool at the kitchen island, gesturing for her to sit. She hesitated, then joined him.

“You are so smart, so talented,” he said. “How are you so blind?”

“Excuse you?” Her eyebrow arched dangerously.

“Do you not see how everyone here looks up to you?” Alexei asked. “Follows your lead?”

“Bucky is the leader.”

“Yes. In many ways, he is. But when we need someone to call the hard shot, to step into the fire first, to help? That is you, mishka.”

Yelena looked at him, confused and a little disarmed.

“And if you don’t see the way he looks at you?” Alexei added, voice lowering. “The way he believes the sun rises and sets in you? The way the weight on his shoulders lifts when you just walk in the room?”

He shook his head, like the thought was too big to even wrap in words.

Yelena didn’t know where to look. So, she stared at her hands on the counter.

“I don’t know how to help him,” she said quietly. “How to save him from himself. And I can’t lose him. It’s hard enough already. If I let myself feel anything else, anything more—” she shook her head fast, blinking hard. “It’s better to not name it. To have less to lose.”

Alexei rested a warm hand on her back.

“Why do you think you’ll lose?” he asked gently. “You never give up. We run into danger, not away from it. We win. If you think you’ll lose, you already have. Even if you don’t. Because not trying?” His voice dropped, just enough to sting. “That’s losing, too, ‘Lena.”

She glanced sideways at him. “You are too wise Yoda for this early in the morning.”

“I am always wise,” he said, offended. “You just do not always listen.”

Yelena snorted, then sighed again.

“You cannot save your heart by keeping it locked away,” Alexei said. “And that is not fair to him. Or to you.”

She rubbed at her eyes, and he let the silence stretch.

Then he added, softly, “You do not have to save him, Yelena. He loves you because you don’t try to fix him. Because you accept him. Because you see him. He gives that to you. Can’t you give him the same?”

Yelena looked up, her throat tight.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I’ll try.”

* * *

The elevator doors pinged open, and Gwenpool burst into the room with a grin and a cheeseburger in hand. “Guys, this building is amazing. This morning, I found this cheeseburger just sitting at the security desk!” She took a huge bite, oblivious to the team's stares.

Yelena, freshly showered and suited up in tactical gear—cargo pants, black shirt, vest cinched tight—froze at the table where she was finding pouches and pockets for her numerous knives. Her eyes widened. “Is that the burger I ordered for Parker last night?”

Parker, curled up at the edge of the couch and now significantly more put-together, lifted his hand sheepishly. “Yeah… we all kind of crashed before it got here.”

He glanced sideways at Bob, who’d just emerged from the hallway in jeans with a clean shirt and hoodie, rubbing his neck. Their eyes met. Bob’s face immediately flushed pink and he looked down, tugging awkwardly at his sleeve.

Yelena narrowed her eyes at Gwen. “You can't eat that burger."

Gwen snort-laughed. "You underestimate my snacking abilities."

Yelena rolled her eyes and held a hand out, fully intending to take the burger away. "No, really. That burger sat out all night. You’ll get sick!”

Gwen just shrugged, unfazed, and gently pushed Yelena's hand away. “If I were real, that’d be a major concern. But I’m not, so… whatevs!” She took another bite, completely unapologetic.

Ava leaned back in her chair, stretching her shoulder experimentally. “Still can’t phase. So. That’s great.”

Bucky, standing over a laptop at the kitchen island, cleared his throat. “I did some digging last night. Found a name that connects both Ghost Protocol and Project Sentry. A Doctor Taggart. Also found an old AIM file referencing a scientist named Taggart—used to work on Extremis. Died from exposure. Could be family, maybe the same person using aliases. But if there’s a connection, it’s worth checking out.”

Bob drifted toward the kitchen slowly, yawning as he tried to stretch out the crick in his neck. Despite the stiffness, he felt more rested than he had in weeks. Even… hopeful, in that soft, quiet way that didn’t ask for attention. The Void still murmured in his mind, low and hushed like a warning under his thoughts, but he didn’t listen. Not this morning.

Parker, now sitting upright, nodded. “Whatever’s happening at that wharf? It’s got roots. And I’m not touching it. I’m locking myself down here.”

Yelena crossed her arms. “Okay, so we go to the wharf. We find this ‘General.’ And what? Are we prepared to fight a demon-possessed scientist?”

Walker shrugged. “Nope. But we could always call Dr. Strange?”

“We’re not going in guns blazing,” Bucky said. “This is recon. We need to see what we’re dealing with first. Taggart, demon, both… or something else entirely.”

Walker glanced around the room. "Maybe Bob should stay here." Then, he looked at Ava. “If you can’t use your powers, maybe you should stay behind, too. Just in case.”

Ava bristled. “You’re not benching me. I can still fight. Still shoot.”

“I’m just saying, if this thing can mess with your powers—”

“Walker,” Yelena interrupted sharply, “they decide for themselves. Ava, Bob—do you want to go?”

Ava squared her shoulders. “Yes.”

All eyes turned to Bob. He hesitated only a second, then nodded. “Yeah."

Gwenpool pumped a fist in the air. “Heck yes, we are! Gear up, squad. ROAD TRIP!”

She threw her arms around Walker as he stared straight ahead and said, deadpan, “I’m gonna shoot her.”

Gwen grinned. “Go ahead. Might tickle.”

Yelena glanced around. “Should we tell Val? Maybe have someone stay with Parker?”

Ava crossed her arms. “I still think she’s in on it. So, no.”

Parker waved them off. “You’ve got Tower security. I’ll be fine. And if not, I’ve got a couple hiding places no one but me knows about.”

Everyone scattered to grab gear and weapons. Tactical harnesses buckled, ammo loaded, comms synced. The mood was focused but buzzing with anticipation.

Alexei leaned in toward Yelena, nodding toward the rest of the team. “Tell me again they don’t follow you. Or that you don’t care. Or that they don’t have choices.”

Yelena huffed and shoved his face away with both hands. “Stop being sentimental, it’s disgusting.”

Then she turned and made her way to Bob, who was zipping and unzipping his hoodie like he couldn't decide what to do with it. She came to stand in front of him, eyes earnest.

“Are you sure about this?”

He looked up at her, soft and steady. “We’re a team, right?”

She smiled, just a little. “Your neck hurts. I could pop it for you, if you want.”

It was her way of saying thank you—thank you for letting her sleep, for not moving, for holding her when she needed it without asking for anything in return. And he understood that. He nodded and sat down, letting her step behind him.

Yelena placed her hands on his head, careful but firm. She could snap his neck right now, effortlessly. But he trusted her. With everything.

She twisted.

Bob let out a deep, satisfied groan.

Gwenpool, still munching on her purloined burger, froze in place with a French fry halfway to her mouth. “That felt weirdly erotic,” she said. “Also: the subtext is SCREAMING.”

Yelena cleared her throat, face blank. “Okay. Let’s get ready to go.”

Walker rolled his eyes. “I swear, if I don't kill you first, she will, just to shut you up.”

Gwen just winked and tossed her last fry into her mouth. “Worth it.”

Yelena clipped a blade into her thigh holster and turned to Bob one more time, speaking quieter this time, just for him.

“Thank you. For staying.”

Bob, still smiling just slightly, met her eyes. "Of course," he said.

Then, together, they turned toward the elevator, the rest of the team falling into step.

The raid on the wharf was coming. And for the first time in a long time, Bob didn’t feel afraid.

Not entirely, anyway.

Not with her beside him.

* * *

The team stood at the Tower’s underground garage, staring at the sleek, intimidating black cargo van that Bucky had backed into the loading zone like a soldier preparing for battle.

And then they looked at the limo Alexei was opening the doors to, gesturing like a doorman-chauffeur combo — chrome trim gleaming, one of those tiny flags flapping on the hood like it belonged to a diplomatic envoy.

Bucky blinked. “We’re doing recon. Stealth. You want us to roll up to the wharf in that?”

Alexei scoffed and gestured dramatically. “We are following the puppet man’s method. Hide in plain sight. No one expects a limo. They think we are celebrities. Or… bachelor party!”

Gwenpool gasped, clutching her chest. “Oh. Oh. This man is actually a genius. He’s not just muscle. He’s philosophy. He’s poetry with a Soviet accent. We are not worthy.”

Bob rubbed the back of his neck and offered a sheepish shrug. “He’s not… like, totally wrong? It is slightly more suspicious to show up in a nondescript black van than, well, that." He gestured vaguely toward the limo.

Alexei, already sliding into the driver’s seat, beamed. “Come, comrades! Let us ride!”

Moments later, the entire team was crammed into plush leather seats as the limo crept through morning traffic. Alexei, in full Red Guardian suit, set his cowl in the center console and put a pair of aviators on. He adjusted his rear-view mirror and said, “This is where the true team bonding begins. In the field. Shoulder to shoulder in the name of justice. On the open road."

They were stuck at a red light behind three yellow cabs and a food truck.

“This is not the open road,” Bucky muttered from the passenger seat, squinting out the window at a guy juggling falafel.

“But the energy!” Alexei waved one hand dramatically. “It hums with possibility. I feel it."

"We are literally idling." Ava rested her chin on her hand and watched as a wall of jaywalking New Yorkers seemed to collectively throw their hands up at honking taxis.

“It is a metaphor. We are flying swift as falcon, hot on the trail,” Alexei announced grandly, gripping the wheel with theatrical fervor. “The streets of New York cannot hide you, General!”

Gwenpool licked ketchup off her finger and whispered reverently, “He’s a national treasure.”

Sighing, Bucky leaned forward, putting his hands on the dash. "Okay, shortcut through 12th. Next left."

"YES!" Alexei shouted, pointing to Bucky like he was presenting him on a game show. "My navigator! Partner in crime-fighting!" He turned slightly, glanced toward Bucky. "You still poo-poo the Cold War Duo name?"

Bucky just stared blankly. Alexei sighed. "Okay, different cool team name. Like, Rocket and Groot."

"Those are literally just their names," Walker called from the backseat.

"Then we use literally our names!" Alexei cheered. "Barnes and Shostakov!"

Gwenpool leaned forward, "Ooh, that's cute! Although, it does sound like a buddy cop pairing where at least one of you dies at the end."

"But we would live on in the hearts of millions!" Alexei exclaimed, thumping his chest.

"No," Bucky stated.

"Fine, we come up with something else." Alexei snapped his fingers. "Ice Bears!"

Bucky pointed out another turn and said, "Are you pulling names from minor league hockey mascots?"

"It evokes chill and danger," Alexei muttered. Then he said, "What about — Snow Guard? Is powerful, no?"

Still leaning between them, Gwenpool shook her head. "No can do, Soviet Socrates. Snow Guard is taken — Canadian hero. Comic debut in 2018. Very cool outfit. Fur trim collar, oozing with drama."

Snapping his fingers, Alexei said, "Oh! I have got it — Frostbite!"

Gwen clicked her tongue. "Taken! Two separate heroes, actually. Both tragic. Pretty sure one of them actually exploded."

As he swerved through traffic, Alexei groaned. "Why does every good name already belong to someone with tragic backstory?"

"Welcome to the superhero industry," Gwen said as she patted his shoulder. Then she slithered away to the backseat.

In the back, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Yelena, Bob leaned over, "He's been workshopping these partner names for weeks. I actually heard him hyping himself up in the elevator to propose ‘Freezing Fists’ the other day.”

Walker, crammed next to Ava, hummed thoughtfully. “I thought he was closer with ‘Soviet Sandwich.’ Really captured the vibe.”

“Excuse me!” Alexei called. “You will regret mocking this branding once Cold War Duo gets action figures!”

“I will burn the factory,” Bucky said flatly before banging his head against the passenger door window.

Gwen sprawled across the floor of the limo between the bench seats, like they were having a living room slumber party rather than heading toward a potentially demon-infested wharf. She scribbled something down on a clipboard. “Okay! Pre-mission review. Unresolved tension: got that. Questionable partner naming conventions: absolutely. Weapons check?”

Everyone glanced around at the, really, comically large array of knives, guns, and grenades — as well as Gwen’s cartoonish-looking rocket launcher. Gwen gave a brisk nod. “Yup, we have weapons.”

She scribbled some more before saying, "Teams?”

Yelena looked up. “Ava, you’re grounded right now power-wise. You’re still lethal, but we don't know how connected the Ghost-Sentry situation is with this. You and Walker stick together. Cover each other.”

Walker gave a mock salute. “Copy that. And we all know Alexei already called dibs on Bucky.”

Alexei, from the front, spoke like he was making a solemn vow, “He is my Winter Comrade. I protect him.”

"I swear, I will jump out of this car," Bucky muttered.

Yelena rolled her eyes and turned to Bob. “You stick with me. Gwenpool, you’re with us for extra support.”

Gwen threw her fist in the air. “Dream team! Okay, we have weapons, we have teams. We have a loosey-goosey plan that will most likely blow up in our faces. We are vibing!" Then, with a glance toward Bob and Yelena, she nodded before making another check mark on her clipboard, "The Boblena slow burn is Boblena-ing.”

Yelena and Bob blinked. “What?”

“Nothing!” Gwen grinned innocently and chucked the clipboard behind her, where it landed with a thud by Ava’s boots.

Yelena leaned closer to Bob. Her voice dropped to something only he could hear, gentler than usual. “You still sure about this?”

He nodded, fingers laced together on his lap. “We’re at our best when we're together."

Her gaze softened. “Yeah. We are.” She smirked faintly. “The General, whoever or whatever he is, does not stand a chance against all of us."

Gwen slid onto the bench next to Yelena. "Oof, that's adorable. You're wrong. But adorable!"

Ava and Walker exchanged a look.

He leaned over, voice quiet. “You know I’ve got your back, right?”

“I know,” she said. “But I don’t need it. I can still fight without phasing.”

“I know that, too,” Walker replied, tone more serious than usual. “But I also know that we don't know what we're walking into. And I know how it feels, being out of control. Scary. Doesn’t make you weak. Makes you human. We'll figure this out, together.”

Ava’s expression softened. “That was actually… nice.”

“I have my moments.”

“Well, stop. It’s freaking me out.” But she gave him a soft, barely-there smile.

He smirked back at her. “You’re welcome.”

And just then, Alexei clapped his hands together. “We have ARRIVED!”

Chapter Text

The limo rolled to a stop in front of the derelict warehouse, the engine idling into silence. Morning fog clung to the cracked asphalt like ghost breath, swirling around faded graffiti and rusted shipping containers. The smell of salt and something metallic—blood, maybe—hung in the air.

Walker stepped out first, squinting at the warehouse like it had personally offended him. “This place looks like it was condemned three decades ago.”

“I think I saw it on Zillow,” Gwen added, hopping out behind him. “Listed under ‘haunted properties with killer ambiance.’”

Yelena snorted and adjusted her tactical gloves. “Perfect spot for recon, da? Just a nice, quiet walkaround?”

Alexei grinned, slamming the limo door shut behind him. “Yes! Cold War Duo, and associates, at the shadowy docks. Very spy thriller.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and swung his arms to stretch them out.

Bob, pale and visibly jumpy, slipped out slowly. He stayed close to Yelena without saying much. Ava flanked the group from behind, scanning the perimeter.

From the outside, the warehouse looked abandoned, but too perfectly so—like someone had curated the decay. No seagulls. No homeless encampments. No signs of life. The silence was unnatural.

Bucky shifted his weight. “This feels wrong.”

A sharp metallic click echoed around the warehouse.

Then, like shadows peeling from the walls, the first operatives emerged—sleek, masked, armed with batons and pulse rifles, moving in near-perfect silence. Scourge operatives.

“Aw, hell,” Walker muttered. “So much for quiet recon!”

The team barely had time to draw weapons before the first wave hit.

Yelena moved first, fluid and ruthless, taking down two operatives with a sweeping leg kick and a blade to the throat.

Gwen launched herself beside her, dual pistols flaring and shouting, “This is for the Renegade timeline!” even as she kicked a guy into a stack of crates.

Walker and Ava slammed into the front line, both with practiced precision.

“Try not to crush their skulls,” Ava barked, ducking around Walker as he deflected a pulse blast with his shield.

“No promises!” Walker replied, backhanding a soldier into a steel beam.

In the middle of it all, Bob dropped into a crouch, arms over his head, staying low between Yelena and Gwen like a nervous puppy hiding behind its more terrifying siblings.

“I really should have stayed in the limo!” he yelped.

Alexei charged a pair of operatives into some crates with brute-force glee. Beside him, Bucky moved with ruthless efficiency, his vibranium arm snapping bones while his expression stayed cold and grim.

“They’re herding us.”

And they were.

Despite the team’s best efforts, the numbers kept coming—surrounding them, corralling them inside and into the heart of the warehouse like a pack of wolves guiding prey. Soon, they stood in a loose circle, backs to each other, breath visible in the cold air.

Then, a heavy creak overhead.

From the upper catwalk, footsteps rang out. Slow. Deliberate. A man emerged from the shadows in a white lab coat. Not young, but not old. Thin, sharp features. Skin pale as porcelain. His eyes—unnerving, empty and red-rimmed—watched them with eerie calm.

He began descending the stairs as he spoke, voice echoing against metal and silence.

“I have to admit, I was hoping for more of a dramatic entrance on your part. Smoke bombs, perhaps. A jet. Something with style. But this...?”

He smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“This will do.”

Walker raised a brow. “Uh... we’re doing the evil monologue now? Should we take notes?”

“I am Dr. Colin Taggart,” the man said, ignoring the sarcasm. “My father, Jack Taggart, was a pioneer. A visionary. A man betrayed by the so-called hero community. He volunteered for Extremis to save lives—and you let him burn for it.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Your dad was Jack Taggart?”

Colin nodded, still descending.

“And you,” he sneered, “stand there, relics of broken ideals, mocking a legacy you destroyed. I dedicated my life to rebuilding his vision. Joined Ghost Protocol to make something new. And wouldn’t you know it? That project exploded too. Literally.”

He reached the floor with a hollow thunk, lab coat swaying. His arms were lined with surgical scars and faint glowing lines beneath the skin—something unnatural just barely contained.

“I should have died in that explosion,” he said, smiling like he hadn’t quite stopped since. “But someone found me. Something. Chthon.”

Bob flinched at the name. Ava’s shoulders went rigid.

Colin spread his arms wide, like a prophet about to deliver revelation.

“He offered me power. Legacy. Glory. And in return... I gave him the means to shape the world." He gestured toward Ava, then Bob. "Ghost. The Void. The culmination of science corrupted by heroism. And now, here you are—my final subjects. My masterpiece, complete.”

Walker leaned toward Bucky and muttered, “Are we supposed to let him keep going, or can we just shoot him?”

Gwen, eyes narrowed beneath her mask, slowly raised a hand. “Wait. Hold on. I’ve read this part. There should be a transformation or a big reveal here.”

Colin paused.

Then, he smiled wider.

“You’re right.”

The shift was almost imperceptible at first—a shiver under his skin, a twitch in his fingers. But then his bones cracked out of alignment. His eyes rolled back. Something inside him uncoiled and began to push outward.

His voice deepened into a dual, guttural snarl.

“Do you know what it’s like,” the voice rumbled, “to place your trust, your purpose, your very existence into someone named Colin? So ordinary. So unremarkable. And yet... so full of hate.”

The air grew heavy. The lights flickered. Colin’s body bent backward in an impossible arch as something else took control.

“I am Chthon,” the voice said—louder now, whispers crawling under everyone's skin. “And now that the Ghost and the Void belong to me, I will make your world scream.”

His body exploded in red-black tendrils—corrupted energy made flesh, writhing smoke and dark magic that swallowed the man he once was. Chthon hovered, malformed and massive, taking shape between dimensions.

The warehouse groaned like it might collapse. All the lights popped and fizzed, engulfing them in darkness. The air crackled with eldritch pressure. The team stared, frozen, breathless.

Bob whispered, “We’re not ready for this.”

Yelena gripped his arm and said, steady, “We don’t have to be. We just need to stand together.”

* * *

The light vanished.

Where the warehouse had stood, where the metal and the dust and the bone-cracking noise of fists had filled the air just moments before, now there was only darkness. Pure and thick, swallowing even the outlines of the team.

The only illumination came from the infernal red glow radiating from the twisted form of Chthon, suspended mid-air like a grotesque marionette tangled in its own strings. His voice had rumbled low, sinking into their bones, the syllables sounding like they’d been scraped from rusted metal and dead tongues. 

The air turned wet and cold, the smell of ozone and grave dirt mixing with the copper tang of fear.

Then the storm came.

Wind roared around them in a fury, but there were no clouds—just endless, roiling shadow. Thunder crashed, not above them but within them. Shrieking winds tore through the emptiness as illusions began to take form in the swirling dark.

Nightmare fragments.

Bob gasped, stumbling back into Yelena. He clutched her sleeve tightly, white-knuckled. “He’s trying to pull the Void out. I can feel it. It’s like—like it’s itching under my skin—”

“You're not giving in,” Yelena said, firm and calm. “We’ve got you.”

“Ugh, this feels like that one time I tried to microdose but forgot I’m allergic to mushrooms,” Gwen muttered, eyes darting through the storm.

John Walker was pacing in a tight circle, trying not to visibly freak out. “Okay, okay. Random thoughts! Think about cucumbers. Or like… zucchini. Pickles. Anything, really.”

Bucky side-eyed him. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Bob said random thoughts might stop a sneeze! Maybe it helps!”

Bob shouted over the wind, “THIS ISN’T A SNEEZE, JOHN!”

Yelena barely blinked. “People-watching at the mall.”

Bob glanced at her, confused.

She smirked. “And knowing your ass is your real superpower.”

Bob barked out a sudden laugh, shaky but real.

“Ooh, YES! Happy thoughts!” Gwen crowed. “I do believe in fairies, I do believe in fairies—!”

The wind stopped.

Just like that, the sound fell away. The swirling darkness stilled.

"You fight. But you will suffer," Chthon's voice cut through the darkness. "Ghost and Void will belong to me. And through them, the world will burn in righteous torment."

And the six of them now stood on the shoulder of a dark, empty highway.

“No,” Bucky whispered, a cold horror settling in his gut. “Oh no.”

Ahead of them, headlights glowed. A car swerved. A motorcycle veered.

The crash played out in unbearable slow motion—the metal shrieked, the bike flipped, and the world went silent.

Bob’s breath caught. “I’m not doing this,” he said, voice cracking. “I swear—I’m not showing this.”

"The world placed its faith in heroes," Chthon snarled. "But I know the truth. Heroes are the real scourge of the world."

Then the motorcycle rider skidded into the grass, helmet bouncing away—revealing a face none of them could see but Bucky clearly recognized.

Another image began forming in the dark—marble floors, a long corridor, bodies crumpled on the ground. The Winter Soldier stood at the end of it.

“No,” Bucky snapped, his breath quickening. “We don’t want to watch this.”

But Bob was glowing now.

A low hum radiated from his chest, blue and gold veins of energy pushing through his skin like cracks in porcelain. The darkness flickered. The image shuddered.

And then—

Gone.

Everything vanished just before the Starks’ final breath.

The world went still.

Chthon’s snarl rolled in from the ether, low and guttural. "You will break."

Then, a new light sparked.

Golden, precise, and controlled.

A portal sliced through the dark with a magician’s flourish, opening into a sleek interior—the penthouse. And standing in its frame: Dr. Stephen Strange, cloak billowing, magic coiling around his hands.

“Come on!” he called.

Bucky didn’t wait. “Move!”

They sprinted for the portal, Chthon’s roar chasing them like a collapsing building.

Strange raised his hands, casting sigils mid-air, and hurled a crackling blast of golden magic just as Chthon lunged.

The portal snapped shut—

But a shadow made it through.

A thin, writhing tendril of black mist dove under the closing gate, slapping to the ground and skittering across the penthouse floor like oil with teeth.

Everyone froze.

Walker stared. “Well that can’t be good.”

Strange exhaled hard, already casting again. “Magic. Demons. And you didn’t call me?”

The shadow slithered toward the wall. Strange launched a containment glyph after it.

Parker Robbins dove out of the way with a yelp.

A voice cut across the room. “Really. I had to hear from Stephen Strange that my team was fighting demons?”

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine walked in, crisp and unimpressed in a storm-gray blazer and boots that sounded expensive just by echo.

“The Hood doesn’t even have a soul,” she added dryly, “and he knew to call for backup.”

“That felt personal,” Parker said. “Also—demon shadow thing still loose!”

Ava stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “You’re really not involved with Taggart?”

Val made a face. “What? No. I thought he died. Both of them. Colin and his flaming father. I’ve got spooks checking old SHIELD files right now.”

Then Bob pointed toward the tall windows, his voice trembling. “Um. It’s... really dark outside.”

The city skyline had vanished. The sky bled red and black, swirling like ink in water.

Then, with a shatter, the windows imploded, shattering inward.

Tendrils of shadow shot through like spears, snapping around Bob’s torso. Another looped around Ava’s leg, dragging her toward the window.

“No!” Yelena dove after them, catching Bob’s hand.

“Yelena, let go!” he shouted, panicked.

“Nyet!” she snapped back.

But the shadows surged again—and with one awful, whipping pull—

All three of them were yanked screaming into the dark.

Gone.

The silence afterward felt like a held breath.

* * *

The air shimmered with leftover magic, red warning lights strobing in time with the screeching pulse of the demon-laced darkness. The city was waking up outside—the skyline blurred beneath an unnatural gloom—but inside the Tower, adrenaline was already crackling like live wires.

Bucky took a half-step toward the broken window, then turned, pointing two fingers at Valentina. “You need to go. Get somewhere safe.”

She raised an unimpressed brow. “Happy to. Where exactly is ‘safe’ right now? Starbucks?”

He looked over to Parker, who was brushing shattered glass off his coat and trying to keep a boot from touching a steadily-growing shadow. “You still have one of your hideouts?”

Parker snorted. “Always. You want me to play chauffeur?”

“She’s your biggest fan,” Bucky said flatly.

Parker's lip curled. “You’re gonna owe me, de Fontaine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Val sighed. “The Caymans account. I know.”

With a flick of his hand and a swirl of his tattered cloak, they vanished—gone in a rush of sulfur and magic that smelled suspiciously like burnt almonds and unpaid taxes.

Bucky turned to the others—Gwen, Walker, Alexei, and Strange—all of them silhouetted in the flickering light, the Tower’s systems on full red alert. He put his hands on his hips. “I’m open to ideas.”

Walker gestured vaguely at Strange. “You can just… magic them back, right?”

Strange’s hands hovered midair, eyes closed as he probed the space around them. “No. Robbins told me where you were, which allowed me to open a portal to the warehouse and extract you. Now, I don’t know where Chthon took them. If they’re even still in this dimension, locating them will take time. And prying them from his clutches… is another matter entirely.”

“So, we’re screwed,” Walker said, helpfully.

“Yep,” Gwen muttered. “Sorry, boys. This is where everything falls apart. Cue the sad piano. World’s done-zo. End scene. Roll credits.”

Bucky squinted at her. “I don’t accept that. And I don’t think you really believe it, either.”

Gwen made a sound between a scoff and a hum, like she wanted to argue—but couldn’t quite. “Don’t put feelings in my brain, Barnes.”

Alexei stepped forward, fists clenched. “The darkness is still here. Puppet demon thing? Still playing.”

“Right,” Bucky said, gears visibly turning behind his eyes. “If Chthon dragged them somewhere else, why would it still be this dark here?”

Walker crossed his arms. “It said it wanted to use Ghost and Void to make humanity suffer, didn’t it?”

“Technically,” Strange said, opening his eyes and stepping forward. “They could still be here—adjacent dimension. A dark mirror, tethered through Chthon’s presence.”

Alexei clapped his hands. “Then we can still fight! He hasn’t won yet!”

Gwen’s arms sagged. “I wish that were true. But he’s got Ava. He’s got Bob. He’ll twist them into what he needs. Demon: one. People: none.”

“No,” Bucky said, firm. “He’s got Yelena, too. And he didn’t plan for that.”

Gwen arched a brow. “And? He’ll discard her. Or use her. Probably both.”

Alexei growled.

“She can hold Bob back,” Bucky insisted. “She’s the one who helped him before. Ava too. Chthon underestimates them, because he doesn’t understand people. Doesn’t understand how strong we are because we care about each other.”

Alexei pointed at Bucky. “In the warehouse! Nightmare memory! When we were watching the Stark car crash—the glow! It was Sentry.”

Walker’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah… Bob lit up like a freakin’ Christmas tree. Drove the vision away.”

Bucky nodded. “That was Sentry. Controlled. The Void didn’t win.”

Strange paced, muttering arcane syllables under his breath, then said aloud, “If Yelena can help suppress the Void, and Bob can summon Sentry’s power… and Ava can keep from phasing into oblivion… they might stand a chance. But it’s a very narrow one. We can’t help them from here.”

“There has to be something we can do,” Bucky said.

Gwen groaned, threw her hands up, and turned in a circle. “Fiiiiine!” She popped her neck with an audible crack. “You wanna story-fight the demon overlord? Let’s story-fight the demon overlord. Because you know what my superpower is?”

Alexei tilted his head. “Sarcasm?”

“Changing the story,” she said, pointing at herself. “That’s my thing.”

Walker deadpanned. “And we all needed that reminder, I guess.”

“It was a reference, okay?” Gwen said, clearly offended. “Bruce Banner. Avengers. His secret? He’s always angry? Iconic. Don’t interrupt my meta-magic.”

Bucky stepped forward. “Do you have a plan?”

Gwen grinned. “Do I have a plan, he asks, this beautiful man with trauma eyes.” She bounced on her heels, muttering, “Okay okay okay. What themes are we working with? Teamwork? Yes, love that. But the heavy lifting is on Team Inside the Demon Belly. Out here? We’ve got identity, we’ve got choice—but that’s more seasoning than substance.”

She snapped her fingers. “Light and dark. That’s the narrative thread. We pull that!”

Alexei grabbed her by the shoulders. “Little girl, what are you talking about?!”

“We’ve gotta light this place up!” Gwen said, spinning out of his grasp dramatically. “Demon hates light. I bet you five story beats and a deleted scene that the more we light things up out here, the weaker he gets in there.”

She turned to Strange. “You got some kind of magic flashlight spell? Spotlights? Glowing sigils?”

“I can summon radiant magic, yes,” Strange said slowly.

She pointed at Bucky. “Can you trigger the Tower’s security system? Lights, sirens, the whole nine yards?”

In response, Bucky calmly drew his sidearm and fired a single shot into the ceiling. Alarms blared to life.

“Okay then,” Gwen said, pleased. She unslung her launcher and handed it to Walker. “John, hold my rocket launcher.”

“…Okay?”

“When I say the word, light it up.” She turned back to the others. “Let’s go kill a nightmare demon monster.”

“And get our friends back!” Alexei cheered.

“Oh doy, yes, that too.”

Strange opened a swirling portal to the street below—where the ambient blackness was already screeching and curling inward, writhing against the sirens and pulsing floodlights. The Tower itself looked like it had become a beacon, cutting against the gloom.

As the group stepped through, Gwen threw her arms wide and shouted up to the sky:

“Hey Chthon! Welcome to Act Three, sucker!”

And the street roared with light.

Chapter Text

The darkness was thick, not like shadow but like drowning. Yelena gasped—air was sticky, bitter, reeking of ash and copper. She blinked, vision slow to clear. The floor beneath her was warped tile—like a hospital corridor left to rot, flickering lights swinging from frayed wires above.

"Ava?" she called, voice too small. She tried again, louder. "Bob?!"

The hallway groaned.

To her left, a door slammed open.

She saw Bob—or a version of him—kneeling, hands slick with red, staring blankly at something on the ground. He didn’t see her.

To the right, flames licked the corners of the walls, and she heard a child scream.

"Ava."

Yelena clenched her jaw. Of course. Of course he would split them up.

She moved right first. Fire. Always fire.

* * *

Yelena stepped into the lab like walking through a memory she didn’t own—too bright, too loud. Machinery screamed. Glass shattered again and again like a rewound horror reel. At the center: a small girl crying. Ava, flickering between phases.

Ava the child. Ava the ghost. Ava the fury.

She kept resetting—blown apart, screaming, brought back. Each time a little more unstable. Each time a little closer to losing herself.

And behind her, a voice—low, oily, ancient.

“You could go back,” it hissed. “Make them suffer, before they turned you into what they wanted. Or be the savior they never let you become.”

Ava’s back arched. Her form spasmed. She was glitching, vibrating with fury. The heat pulsed around her like a time bomb waiting to collapse.

Yelena didn’t flinch.

She ran.

Through fire. Through static. Through fear.

She knelt beside Ava and grabbed her shoulders—even as they phased halfway through her arms.

“Ava Starr,” she said, voice low but steel, “you listen to me.”

Ava’s eyes flicked to her, flickering between terror and rage.

“You are not that little girl anymore. You cannot go back and save her. You cannot undo what was done. But you are here. With us. With me. So stay. Stay here.”

The flames surged—then faltered.

“You’ve become so much more than they made you,” Yelena said. “So much better. And I swear on my knives, if you phase out now and leave the rest of us to deal with Walker, I will find a way to phase into the afterlife just to kill you.”

Ava blinked.

Then she laughed—just a short, breathless chuckle.

And the phasing stopped.

She was solid. Whole.

“Why is dealing with Walker somehow my responsibility?” Ava muttered.

“Because you're the Asshole Whisperer,” Yelena said. “And now we have to go get our golden boy before he explodes from his own fear and guilt.”

* * *

They stepped into the darkness together—Ava’s hand gripping Yelena’s wrist like a tether, a faint hum of phasing energy flickering just beneath her skin. The world around them was suffocating: shadows pulsed and churned like a living thing, thick with despair, painted in hues of crimson and charred gold. The air stank of blood and fear.

Bob was on his knees in the center of it all.

Golden light flickered weakly around him, spasming against the encroaching black. Shadows crawled up his arms like vines. Behind him—spread in a grotesque tableau—lay the bodies of the others. Alexei. Walker. Bucky. Ava. Yelena.

Ava gagged when she saw herself, slack-jawed and still, sprawled beside Yelena’s broken form.

"This is what you fear, is it not?" Chthon's voice curled through the air. Black tendrils slithered across the floor like spilled oil, reaching for the images of the dead New Avengers. "You have the power to protect them. Yet, you choose not to. Perhaps you deserve to lose them."

“Bob,” Yelena called, her voice slicing through the gloom like a knife. She dropped to her knees in front of him, face barely lit by the glow bleeding from his skin. “It’s not real.”

He flinched. “I know,” he whispered. “But it could be. You don’t get it. It could be.”

He looked up, eyes rimmed with tears, and Ava saw the sheer grief twisting his face.

“Everyone is better off without me.”

“No,” Yelena said, sharp. “I don’t believe that. You don’t either.”

Bob laughed bitterly, gesturing at the nightmare playing out behind him. “How can you say that? You’ve seen what I can do. You’ve felt the pain I cause.”

The air around them turned colder. Chthon’s growl vibrated through the dark, and the Void began to rise behind Bob like a wave. Blood spread across the floor like ink in water, tendrils reaching for them all.

Ava stepped closer, crouching low. “Stop, Bob,” she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. “Stop giving him what he wants!”

Yelena grabbed his hands, forced him to look at her. “Look at me. Listen. No one is better off without you, Bob Reynolds. Especially not me.”

He scoffed. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” she said. Her fingers brushed his cheek, where golden light glowed beneath the skin. “He’s wrong, you know. Your greatest fear is not losing us. You only fear yourself. But you shouldn’t. I see you, Bob. All of you." Yelena gulped. "Just like you see me. Even when I didn’t want you to. Even when I didn’t make it easy.”

Ava added, “You’re one of us. We’re a team. A really dysfunctional family. But we don’t work without you.”

Bob shook his head. “I’m not a hero. I’m not even a good person.”

Yelena cut him off by slapping him. Ava jumped. Bob looked stunned.

“No one talks about Bob Reynolds like that,” Yelena said, fierce. “Not even Bob Reynolds.” Then, softer, her fingers slipped back around his hands. “You save me. All the time. We save each other.”

Ava grinned faintly. “Also, you do the dishes. No one else bothers.”

“And,” Yelena added, “when Bucky needed that bougie lotion? Who did he text?” She arched a brow. “Not me. I was at the mall, too. But he texted you. He trusted you.”

The golden light flared—brighter, stronger. The Void shuddered. The blood reversed course, retreating. Chthon’s growl became a roar.

And then the darkness lashed out.

Ava flew backward, slamming into a jagged obsidian wall with a crack of lightning and the flicker of phasing. Bob hit the ground, glowing like a star dimming under stormclouds.

Yelena barely had time to blink before she was hauled to her feet by invisible claws.

The darkness coiled around her like a predator, and the demonic voice—low, guttural, ancient—slithered out of the dark.

“You,” it said. “The worst of them all. The darkest. The most self-loathing. You think you can save them?”

* * *

Yelena stood alone now, Ava and Bob flung backward by some invisible force, their voices muffled, distorted—like echoes underwater. The sickly crimson fog of Chthon’s realm swirled around her, dense and choking, alive with whispers. Cold pricked her skin despite the sweat clinging to her temple.

She didn't flinch.

A voice like oil and ash oozed through the shadows. “You are the problem. The tether. The glue. Rip you out... and the rest unravel.”

“I’m flattered,” she muttered, eyes scanning the void for a form—any shape she could punch. “You’ve been spying on me this whole time and still missed the part where I don’t unravel.”

“Then let’s test that.”

The world snapped.

Yelena’s boots crunched against dry, dead leaves as she stepped into the clearing.

She knew this place.

The white house stood before her like a memory on rewind—Ohio, 1995. The porch swing rocked in a wind that didn’t touch her. The light in the kitchen flickered, casting warm silhouettes of a family that hadn’t been real even then.

Her breath caught, not from longing, but recognition.

“You’re not clever,” she muttered.

A giggle—her giggle—bubbled from the trees to her left. A child’s laughter. High-pitched, innocent. Too innocent. Young Yelena came running out in a sundress, blonde pigtails bouncing as she clutched a stuffed bunny in one hand.

Yelena crossed her arms. “This isn’t real.”

The child paused, tilting her head, as she called, “Natasha? Let's play!”

“I’m not that little girl anymore,” Yelena said, sharper now. “I cannot save her.”

The wind shifted. The light dimmed. And the child was gone.

The house decayed before her eyes—peeling paint, shattered windows, red seeping into the frame like rot. A shadow fell across the sky, and the trees began to twist.

The Red Room bloomed around her like a nightmare on loop.

Yelena's fists clenched and unclenched at her sides. Her voice trembled, but it was fury, not fear. “I know what I am. I know what I've done.”

The vision twisted again—this time showing her drinking alone at a bar, a half-empty bottle, her hand shaking as she gripped a shot glass.

Then her ledger—literal pages, giant and bound in black, soaked in red ink.

Natasha’s face, smiling before falling. Melina turning away. Alexei locked in a cell.

A thousand failures. A thousand regrets.

Yelena sank to her knees—but only for a breath.

She raised her head slowly, eyes like frost. “You think I don’t know all of this? I beat myself up a thousand times a day already. But I’m still here. Still trying. I cannot undo it. I cannot stop hurting.” She stood. “But I can move forward anyway. Even if I cannot change anything.”

The shadows recoiled for a moment, hissing. Then they changed tactics.

That voice echoed from the dark canopy above her. It wasn’t a sound—it was a presence, the oily chill of something old and powerful pressing against her mind. “But that is what you want? To go back? Change things? To fix them?”

The scent of antiseptic, metal, and pain drifted in like memory. Then the Red Room appeared, cold and sterile—every angle sharp, every sound distant and wrong.

“You remember this, don’t you?” Chthon’s voice slithered through the air like smoke. “The procedure. Yet another moment where they took everything from you. No choice, no voice. You were nothing - a mere weapon. Even your body was not your own.”

Inside the vision of the room, a young girl sat on a hospital bed, her legs dangling, too small to reach the floor. Platinum blonde hair in uneven braids, dark eyes staring blankly ahead. Her hands trembled in her lap.

Yelena stood frozen. Not from fear—but recognition. Resentment. The kind that burrows deep and makes a home under the skin.

“All the choices you never had,” Chthon whispered. “I could give them back. That’s the kind of power I wield. You could choose, Yelena.”

The room shimmered—and changed.

Gone were the white walls. Now she saw herself standing in a soft-lit boutique, pastel colors all around. Racks of baby clothes. Shelves of plush toys. She wore jeans, boots, and a winter coat half-unzipped. Her hands rested gently over a small curve of her stomach. Suddenly, Natasha approached from the side, holding up a tiny onesie with a cartoon bear on the front.

Yelena blinked. She exhaled shakily.

Chthon’s voice returned. “Say yes. Just one word. And it’s yours. I give you what the world never did. A choice.”

Her eyes stung—but she smiled anyway. Natasha said something she couldn’t quite hear, but in the vision, that version of her laughed as she reached out, touched the fabric. A rattle jingled gently from the shelf beside her.

Then the scene shifted again.

A baby shower now. Streamers and balloons. Nat was laughing with Ava over cupcakes, which Gwen was inhaling. Alexei was setting down a ridiculous gift basket full of glitter and a stuffed bear dressed like a miniature Red Guardian with Melina beside him. Bucky stood in the back corner, attempting small talk with John, who looked slightly terrified by the amount of estrogen in the room.

And then Yelena saw herself, seated in the center, one hand resting on her belly. Her other hand held Bob’s. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, fingers laced with hers.

“It’s a nice dream,” Yelena whispered.

Chthon purred, “Say the word, and it’s yours. You could choose that version. Stay forever. Be a mother. Have a sister. Even have the man you love… loving you back the way you want him to.”

Behind her, Bob sucked in a quiet breath. Not a gasp. But something more subtle. A flicker of stunned disbelief. Of wondering.

Yelena stared at the image. Her fingers twitched, wanting to reach. Wanting to hold.

Then she said softly, “I had a sister. She’s gone. You cannot bring her back.”

“But it would feel real,” Chthon tempted.

Yelena turned toward the darkness, expression hardening. “An illusion is not a choice. It would be a lie.”

Yelena looked behind her and held out her hand. "I have a new sister who needs me."

The darkness rippled and Ava stepped forward, taking Yelena's hand, firm and steady. No more flickering. No more fear.

“And if I have to tell someone how to love me or make them love a certain way? That's not love.” Yelena turned to Bob now, hand still outstretched. Her eyes didn’t waver. Bob stepped forward—and took her hand.

She looked up, directly into the pulsing red shadows where Chthon’s form roiled and hissed. Her voice rang out clear.

“Besides,” Yelena added with a small smirk. “I probably would have been a shitty mom.”

Bob laughed. It was startled, amazed—and golden light burst outward from where he stood.

The shadows shrieked and twisted, retreating under the onslaught. Light spread like wildfire, consuming the illusion, shattering the false dream. Chthon howled, red tendrils lashing out violently—but they sizzled and curled in the glow.

Ava tightened her grip on Yelena and Bob. “Hold on, you two.”

She phased.

For a breathless second, everything went white.

And then—

They were airborne.

The dark cloud of nightmare churned below them, thinning and writhing in agony. In the distance, they saw movement on the ground—Walker, aiming Gwenpool’s rocket launcher directly at the cloud, a feral grin on his face. Alexei stood beside him, maniacally lighting actual fireworks and cackling like a kid on sugar and vengeance.

Yelena blinked. “Wait—are we in the—”

Then gravity remembered them.

And they started to fall.

Chapter Text

The sky was rushing past them in a blur of color and screaming. Ava clutched both Yelena and Bob as they fell, her voice cracking as she yelled, “I can’t believe you would choose this!”

Yelena’s laugh was wind-whipped and wild. She squeezed both their hands tighter and looked directly at Bob. “You can fly anytime now!”

Just like that, they stopped falling.

It wasn’t gradual. There was no awkward bounce or jolt. One moment, they were plummeting—and the next, they were suspended midair, held aloft by a warm golden glow that pulsed outward from Bob’s body like a sunbeam set free.

Bob looked down at himself, stunned. His hoodie rippled with the energy vibrating through him, and the shadows that had clung to him earlier were gone. There was no trace of the Void—only light.

“I’m flying,” he said dumbly, eyes wide. “I’m actually—”

“Oh shit,” Ava muttered, just before Bob surged forward like a missile, dragging Yelena by the arm and her by the sleeve as they arced through the air.

The landing wasn’t graceful, but it was solid. They skidded across the rooftop near their teammates, who were very much in the middle of what could generously be described as a battle and more accurately described as chaos. Explosions of magical energy lit up the swirling black clouds as Doctor Strange darted from rooftop to rooftop through portals, hurling radiant spells. Fireworks crackled overhead in every direction.

Walker was setting off another round of Gwenpool’s illegal explosives while Gwen cackled nearby. “You guys didn’t die?” she shouted when she saw them. “We changed the story!”

“Not done yet,” Bob said, his voice suddenly steady—strong. He stepped forward, jeans still a little dusty, hoodie flapping behind him like a reluctant cape, light pouring off him in waves.

Dark tendrils shot from the swirling cloud of Chthon’s essence, lashing toward the team. One shadow coiled around Alexei’s leg and yanked him off his feet, dragging him toward the edge.

“HEY!” Bucky shouted, firing a flare gun like it was a pistol. The shot hit the shadow, which recoiled with a hiss, and Bucky dove forward, grabbing Alexei’s arm and hauling him to safety.

Alexei wheezed, “You saved me!”

Bucky scowled. “No one messes with the Cold War Duo. Not even a shadow demon.”

Alexei’s face lit up. “For real?! It’s happening?”

Bucky frowned. “Don’t make a thing out of it.”

Alexei hugged him anyway, clapping him on the back so hard that Bucky winced. “The Cold War Duo!” he bellowed.

Walker blinked. “That’s sweet but we still have this shadow demon to destroy! Ideas?!”

Bob stepped forward again, glowing so brightly now he was casting long shadows behind them. The air around him buzzed with heat and energy, his hair lifting slightly in the current of his own rising power.

“I’ve got this,” he said.

“You don’t have to do it alone!” Ava said, stepping beside him.

“Oh no,” Gwenpool interrupted, flipping open her phone to start recording. “Actually, he does. For the drama.”

Bob glanced at Yelena. “Did you mean what you said?”

Yelena tilted her head. “Which thing?”

He gave a crooked smile. “About your choice. Wanting real. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s—” He looked down, motioning to himself, the golden glow faltering for a moment as uncertainty crept in—just enough for a tendril of darkness to slither up his arm.

Yelena moved toward him without hesitation, her eyes scanning the swirling war of light and dark across his skin. “Sentry or Void,” she said, steady as a vow. “It doesn’t matter. I choose you, Bob. I choose this life.”

She stepped close, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“Even this,” she added, voice thick, “I choose.”

Bob kissed her back—fierce, golden, desperate and grateful—and then pulled away with a glowing grin.

“Hold that thought.”

He turned and launched himself skyward like a rocket, trailing light behind him in a blazing arc as he soared toward the heart of the storm.

The darkness roared.

The cloud churned.

And Bob Reynolds—Sentry, golden guardian, messy human, and newly kissed—crashed straight through the center of Chthon’s swirling form, scattering tendrils like wisps of smoke, lighting up the sky like a second sun.

* * *

Bob ripped through the heart of the storm like a blazing spear of sunlight. Chthon’s massive, roiling form convulsed, the swirling black cloud fracturing under the shockwave of golden energy. The sky lit up in a burst of brilliant white, and for one long moment, everything went silent.

Then the darkness screamed.

Doctor Strange moved instantly, hands flashing through intricate sigils. Golden threads of light burst from his fingertips and wove into a massive lattice, spinning tighter and tighter until they wrapped the fractured cloud in a shimmering cage. With a single sharp motion, Strange snapped his hands closed—and the cloud folded in on itself with a deafening BOOM.

The blast knocked everyone backward across the rooftop.

When the dust cleared, there was no monstrous form, no swirling storm—only Colin Taggart lying in the center of a glowing golden sigil, bound by luminous chains that pulsed with Strange’s magic.

Walker got to his feet, brushing soot from his jacket. “Well. Let’s get him to The Raft.”

Strange shook his head. “The Masters of the Mystic Arts are better equipped for this sort of corruption. He’ll be secured at Kamar-Taj, where we can keep him under constant watch.”

Nobody argued.

Taggart thrashed weakly against the bindings, his voice a guttural rasp. “You fools! I could have cleansed the earth! I was so close!”

Bucky crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. You would’ve gotten away with it too, if not for us meddling kids.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Taggart’s face. “I… what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Walker muttered.

Strange opened a portal to the Sanctum, where Wong stood waiting, arms folded. Without ceremony, Strange flicked his wrist and shoved Taggart through.

Then Strange turned toward Bob, whose golden light was still burning softly under the soot and blood. “Good news,” Strange said. “The only demons you have are the ones you made yourself. So you’re clear—for now.”

He looked at Bucky, eyes narrowing. “And next time you’re dealing with demons, magic, or anything older than human history, call for backup.”

Bucky inclined his head. “Noted. Thanks.”

Strange stepped forward, the portal snapping shut behind him

A swirl of crimson smoke announced Parker’s arrival—this time with Valentina Allegra de Fontaine in tow. She took one look at the rooftop and raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You actually did it? And nobody died? Minimal property damage? I’m impressed.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Your faith in us is truly inspiring.”

Then Bob descended, still faintly glowing. Val stepped back instantly. “Oh, great. Powered up. Fantastic for the PR machine, but not ideal for me, personally—since you and I still have… unresolved baggage.”

Bob’s gaze was steady. “Yeah. You should go.”

A shadow flickered briefly across his face. Val caught it, hesitated, then turned away, already calling in a maintenance crew to replace the Tower’s shattered windows.

“Damn,” Parker said, looking Bob up and down. “Gold looks good on you.”

Bucky stepped closer. “You good, Bob?”

Bob nodded. “Actually… yes. For now.”

Walker grinned. “That’s great! You can be Sentry!”

“Not all the time,” Bob said. “But… in spurts? Maybe.”

“Maybe you’ll finally take me up on that offer to train in a controlled environment?” Ava suggested.

Bob nodded again.

Alexei beamed. “Yes! Great outcome! Bob will go to gym with us, he did not become shadow monster, Ava did not disintegrate, demon puppet man is gone. And best of all…” He threw an arm around Bucky. “…we are officially Cold War Duo!”

Gwenpool slid between them. “His priorities are way off, but truly epic work, boys.” She batted her lashes at Bucky.

Walker frowned. “Is she staying now or—”

“Oh em gee,” Gwen gasped, “you want me to stay?”

“What? No, I wasn’t—”

“All right, you twisted my arm. I’ll join your team officially.”

Bucky chuckled. “We’ll discuss it.”

“Unstoppable Thunderbolts!” Alexei shouted.

“New Avengers,” Walker muttered under his breath.

Bucky glanced over at Parker. “You didn’t do too bad yourself.”

Parker ducked his head. “I just helped a little. No big deal.”

Bob shook his head. “You were wrong before—you haven’t given up. Not completely. You’re still fighting the darkness.” He glanced around at the team, then back at Parker. “It’s worth fighting for. So don’t stop.”

Parker smiled faintly. “I mean, I’m still gonna do what I do. But… if you guys ever need an assist, I might be open to it.”

Ava opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Actually, nope. Not gonna offer for that to go both ways.”

Parker grinned and pointed at her. “You learn quick.”

The crimson smoke swirled around him. “And hey—I thought about not bringing Valentina back. But figured holding her hostage would be more trouble than it was worth.”

Ava gasped. “Okay, fine—we take it back. You are evil.”

Parker just laughed and vanished.

Bob turned and spotted Yelena, standing off to the side, unusually quiet. He walked over, taking her hands gently.

“You did good, golden boy,” she said.

“I never would’ve survived without you.”

“Same,” Ava chimed in. “Yelena stood up to that demon for both of us.”

“Of course she did!” Alexei declared, sweeping Yelena into a hug she tolerated for exactly three seconds.

“And the way Bob flew in, with Ava and ’Lena riding him—”

“We were not riding Bob,” Ava said flatly.

“So majestic!” Alexei insisted.

Yelena rolled her eyes. Bob chuckled.

Bucky cleared his throat.

“Oh no,” Walker groaned. “Debrief time?”

“I call Bucky!” Gwenpool said immediately—then paused. “Oh. Not that kind of debriefing?”

Bucky smirked. “Actually… I was gonna say we’ve all earned some rest. Eat. Hydrate. Sleep. And if anyone wakes me up for any reason, there will be consequences.”

“Noted, Sarge,” Gwen said, saluting. “No waking you unless the world’s on fire.”

“Nope. Not even then. Let it burn,” Bucky said, already walking toward the Tower.

Alexei hurried after him, promising to stand guard outside his door. And bake cookies.

Walker perked up. “So… eating? That sounded good.”

“YES,” Gwenpool declared. “Shawarma. Pizza. Asian fusion. I’m in for all of it.”

Ava grabbed both Walker and Gwen by the arms and started dragging them inside. "Yes, we will do—one of those things. Somewhere else."

“What the hell, Ava?” Walker asked.

“Nobody needs third, fourth, or fifth wheels!” Ava hissed to John. Then, over her shoulder, she called, “Make good choices!”

“Or filthy ones!” Gwen added. “The readers love that!”

Their voices faded into the Tower, leaving Yelena and Bob alone under the night sky.

“So,” Yelena said.

Bob smiled softly and held out his hand. “Trust me?”

“Always.”

She took his hand, and he slipped an arm around her before launching them into the air. She squealed in surprise, leaning into him as the city sprawled out beneath them.

They landed a few minutes later, and Yelena blinked at the storefront they’d touched down in front of. “Oh. How did you know?”

Bob’s grin widened. “Told you before—you’re not that hard to read.”

The faint golden glow still clung to him as he led her inside the little Italian restaurant. They were bruised, bloodied, soot-streaked—and neither of them cared.

They just sat down, together, and ordered.

* * *

When the plates were empty, Bob and Yelena walked down the sidewalk, bruises still blooming under their clothes, hair tousled, faces flushed with adrenaline—and relief.

“So,” Bob started, voice nervous and low, “we kind of, like, therapied ourselves through that whole demon nightmare scenario.”

Yelena glanced at him, smirking. “Yup. Our actual therapists would be proud.”

He paused, hesitating, then said softly, “But all that stuff we saw. The things you said… was that—did you—”

She stopped and turned to face him, eyes sharp but amused. “I swear, Bob, if you ask me if I meant it or was telling the truth, I will slap you. Again.”

Bob laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Just…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You have to know I find all of it very hard to believe.”

He stepped closer, voice quieter. “I like you, Yelena. A lot. And if you—have, um… feelings for me, too? Well… I don’t really know what to do with that. Because it just seems very impossible to me.”

Yelena’s smile faltered, sadness flickering, then transformed into a playful smirk. She grabbed his hand, kissed his knuckles softly, and said, “Well, maybe I have to just keep saying it, until you do believe it.”

Bob stared at her a long moment before finally nodding. “Okay.”

Hand in hand, they walked back toward the Tower.

* * *

A few days later, the gym buzzed with energy. Bob was glowing faintly, while Ava was throwing knives and phasing to and fro nearby.

Walker jabbed at a punching bag, which suddenly tore loose from the ceiling as Bob sent a stray burst of energy toward it. “Sorry!” Bob called sheepishly as Walker ducked for cover.

Gwenpool clapped from the sidelines. “Fifteen points to Bob Reynolds! And US Agent sticks the landing!”

Ava shook her head, smiling. “Nice one, Bob. But maybe focus more on your target.”

Bob nodded, tension flickering for a moment—he heard the Void whispering. Shaking it off, he powered down and let the golden glow fade, watching a shadow slither away with it.

Yelena appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips. “Bob! Shower and put on real people clothes. There’s something we have to do.”

She grinned and turned, leaving as suddenly as she'd arrived.

Walker raised an eyebrow. “That’s how she invites you out on a date? Dude.”

Gwen punched Walker lightly in the stomach. “Don’t judge their love language.”

Bob chuckled, fist-bumping Ava, then headed for the showers to change.

Later, Bob met Yelena in the lobby—just like their mall event before the demon mess started.

She wore jeans, a sparkly top, leather jacket, and her hair was actually done. Bob’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

She blushed. “Come on.”

"Where are we going?" Bob asked as they walked across the lobby.

"It's a surprise," Yelena told him, pushing the door open.

Outside, Alexei waited by his limo, waving. “Red Guardian here to save you from a boring evening!”

Bob laughed and climbed in. When they stopped at their apparent destination, Yelena said, “Thanks for the ride, Alexei.”

“Of course, mishka. Call if you need a ride back. Have fun!” He glanced at Bob with a mischievous grin. “But not too much fun—you’re on a date with my daughter.”

Bob blushed.

Yelena led him down the street to a place that looked suspiciously like a club.

“Um… I don’t know about this.”

“Trust me?”

“Of course.”

Inside, at the door, Yelena handed over two tickets. A staff member gave them each a pair of earbuds.

Bob hesitated, searching his memory. “Wait. No way.”

Yelena pushed open the door, revealing a large room with a dancefloor in the center and tables around its edges. People danced and talked—and it was silent, except for murmurs from nearby tables.

Turning to face Bob and throwing her arms out to gesture at the space around them, Yelena yelled, “SILENT DISCO!”

A nearby patron shushed her. She whispered, grinning, “Silent discooooo.”

Bob laughed.

Pulling out her phone, Yelena launched Spotify. Bob followed suit.

They slipped on their earbuds and hit the dance floor. Yelena danced wildly, unpredictably, and Bob laughed, caught up in the moment.

She pulled out one earbud, leaned close, and said, “Close your eyes and just dance.”

He turned on his music—“Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time” by Panic! at the Disco—and shut his eyes, feeling her hands find his. She bounced around him. Eventually, he opened his eyes, and they were laughing and dancing like fools.

After a couple of songs, a slow tune came on. Bob paused, held out an earbud. Yelena smiled and removed her earbuds, taking the one he handed her, so they were listening to the same music.

They slow danced, swaying like it was prom night. Yelena rested her head on his shoulder.

“I made a good choice, I think.”

“Yeah,” Bob said softly.

He leaned down, kissed her.

. . . Right before their phones buzzed in unison—Bucky texting: “Attack downtown. Need backup.”

Yelena stood, eyes bright. “Shall we?”

Bob nodded. They raced for the door and stepped outside, laughing as Bob wrapped an arm around her waist.

Together, they took to the night sky—ready for whatever came next.