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Yelena Belova had been an Avenger for exactly eight months now, and she was still learning new things. Mostly that being an Avenger sometimes involved dealing with small-potatoes, decidedly below-Avenger-level threats. Not because anyone actually needed them to, but because good public relations apparently meant being seen helping with the little things, too.
For example, attending a children’s charity Christmas event in full uniform.
And if the Black Widow knew anything about kids?
They were small, tiny terrorists.
Yelena stared blankly at the aggressively festive banner stretched across the community center’s entrance.
No matter how long she stared at it, it still looked tacky as hell, and whoever made it should be fired right away.
All the while, Mel gave the team the basic rundown for what had to be the third time that morning.
“Now remember, no visible weapons,” Mel said, pointing at each of them in turn. She looked close to fainting from the stress, and had it not been because she was under Valentina’s payroll willingly, Yelena might have been sorry for her. “Any question?”
“Mm. Yes. Whose idea was it to put our logo like that? It looks so gaudy,” Yelena questioned, tilting her head, and somehow, the banner looked worse. “Was it Val? Because if it is, I’m not surprised. I mean, why would she go with a skunk-streaked hair strand?”
Mel batted her eyes a few times. “What?”
“It does look bad,” Ava chimed in after a moment, frowning.
Mel’s mouth opened, then closed.
“See? Thank you,” Yelena said, pleased.
John leaned forward, squinting at the banner. “What’s wrong with it?”
Black Widow snorted, shaking her head. “Should have known you wouldn’t recognize bad design even if it were right in front of your face.”
“Right, because bright-blue eyeliner and twelve pounds of utility straps is the height of style,” he countered. Yelena gasped, ready to show him how deadly she could be even without her Widow Bites or a single weapon on her body.
“Guys,” Bucky cut in, rubbing a hand over his face as he let out a deep sigh. “Maybe we don’t start a fight over a Christmas banner five minutes before we have to meet a room full of children.”
“I am not starting a fight,” Yelena said. “He started it!”
Walker scoffed. “What was that, Hot Topic wanna-be?”
Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Say that again, Great Value patriot.”
Ava made a small choking sound that was definitely not a laugh.
All the while, Mel decided in that very moment to shut her eyes and count to ten. When she opened them again, she shook her head hard, as if trying to dislodge the entire conversation from her brain. “How about we refocus, yeah? So… no weapons or…uh, improvised.”
No one missed the way Mel specifically looked over at Alexei, who had somehow managed to look deeply offended despite having a large candy-cane-shaped item visibly tucked into the inside of his coat.
“I do not have any weapons,” Alexei bellowed. “It is a festive cane!”
“I don’t care. Hand it over to Mel, Alexei,” Bucky said, in the same exhausted tone he had used just a few minutes prior when Alexei had tried to bring a flask shaped like Santa’s head through security.
“You people are trying to strip me of all joy,” he grumbled, sighing with the dramatic weight of a man being asked to abandon his child in the wilderness. He reluctantly held the item out to Mel, who accepted it with both hands as if it might go off. “I cannot believe you don’t trust the Red Guardian—”
Mel, perhaps attempting to shift her grip, caught her fingers around the curved end of the cane and gave it a small tug. In an instant, the red-and-white striped hook came clean off with a soft click.
For one long, horrible second, nobody moved.
They stared at the silver blade hidden inside the shaft.
And then, slowly—very slowly—everyone turned to look at Alexei.
“You were saying?” Ava asked, arching a brow.
He lifted both hands. “It is a present opener! Some gifts might be hard to open!”
“Jesus Christ, it’s like twelve inches long.”
Walker snorted, grinning like a twelve-year-old boy.
“That’s what she—motherfu—”
“No cursing,” Mel said sharply, still staring at the blade like it had personally ruined her career.
If it somehow went undetected, it might very well have gotten her fired.
Walker’s mouth snapped shut, glaring at Ava while rubbing his arm. “Right. Ava, you so fondly hit like a silverback gor—”
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Yelena asked, watching Mel’s expression cycle through panic, resignation, and what looked suspiciously like a prayer for a different assignment. “I think perhaps the children would be safer if we simply gave them the presents from behind reinforced glass.”
“No. We have been over this,” Mel said, her voice strained but firm. “You are going inside, you are handing out presents, you are taking a few pictures, and then you are leaving without traumatizing anyone.”
“Traumatizing? It can’t be more traumatizing than sending them in their shame room eight months ago,” Walker muttered and then turned to Bob, who practically shrunk in on himself. “No offense, Bob.”
“Just because you said no offense doesn’t mean it was not offensive,” Yelena clipped flatly.
Bob gave a small, tight smile that did not reach his eyes.
“It’s…uh, okay.”
“It doesn’t have to be okay if it isn’t,” Yelena huffed. “Do you want me to punch him right now?”
Bob’s eyes widened. “N-no!”
“No,” Mel cried at the exact same time as Walker said, “What?”
“Don’t what me. You said it like he meant to do it,” Yelena argued.
“I was making a point!”
“You were making an ass of yourself.”
“Language,” Mel snapped automatically, and Yelena now wondered if she regretted this job.
Probably.
“There are no children here yet,” Ava disputed.
“There will be,” Bucky answered, crossing his arms. “Bob, you okay?”
“Uh…” Bob still looked vaguely alarmed by the offer of violence on his behalf. “Y-yeah.”
Yelena softened, only slightly. “You are sure?”
Bob nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean—yes. Please don’t punch anybody because of me.”
“Fine,” Yelena grumbled. “But the offer remains open.”
Walker huffed. “Well, that’s not comforting.”
She hummed and then grinned at him. “Not supposed to be.”
Mel exhaled slowly through her nose, clutching the event itinerary so tightly its edges had begun to bend. Her gaze moved to Bob and immediately dropped somewhere around his shoulder.
“Bob. Do you…uh…you remember where your designated seat is…?”
“Uh…yeah. By the window. Near the back.”
“Right,” Mel nodded, still refusing to look at him. It’s not surprising, given how she did technically kill him eight months ago and was the catalyst for what happened in New York. “Exactly. Great. You’re more than welcome to go around first to sit.”
“Okay,” Bob agreed and then gave them all a small smile. “Good luck out there, guys.”
With that, he turned and headed into the auditorium first through the backstage doorway.
Yelena watched him weave carefully around a stack of donated toy boxes and a volunteer hauling a tray of paper cups. He kept his hands tucked in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, moving with the quiet, apologetic caution of someone trying not to inconvenience anybody.
Once he was seated, Yelena turned back just as Mel continued, undeterred.
“As I was saying. Let me say this one more time: no swearing. No threats even if you’re joking. No discussing classified missions. No discussing former missions. No discussing prison. No discussing death, murder, brainwashing, government conspiracies, or—”
“Christ, is there anything we are allowed to discuss?” Walker grumbled.
“Christmas?” Mel answered rather pathetically.
Yelena glanced right back out at the barrage of children already waiting behind the glass doors, most of them bouncing on their heels beneath tiny Santa hats. “Ah. Yes. The one subject none of us knows anything about.”
“Hey, speak for yourself,” Walker snickered. “I actually grew up—”
Before he could finish what was undoubtedly going to be a long, self-congratulatory speech about his picture-perfect All-American childhood, Yelena grabbed the auditorium door handle and shoved it open.
The room instantly erupted.
Camera flashes went off almost immediately, bright white bursts popping from every corner of the auditorium. Adults murmured excitedly from behind rows of folding chairs, several already holding up their phones and cameras. At the front of the room, the children screamed and jumped in place right as they craned their necks back.
Yelena paused just inside the doorway, suddenly aware of six pairs of eyes behind her.
Then one child shouted, “Where’s Spider-Man?”
The excitement faltered almost instantaneously.
Another kid stood up on his chair, looking over the team with increasing disappointment.
“I thought Spider-Man was coming!”
Yelena blinked slowly, her mind playing catch-up with what she was hearing.
Wait, what?
Why the hell would they think Spider-Man was coming?
He wasn’t even part of the team.
Behind her, Walker muttered, “Well, that’s a great way to be greeted.”
“Who are you?” another child asked.
“Who are we? We are the New Avengers!” Alexei exclaimed, spreading his hands while he swaggered up the stage as if that should settle the issue. If only he knew that his booming voice had the exact opposite effect. A little boy near the front flinched so hard he nearly toppled backward off his chair. His bottom lip began to wobble.
Then he burst into tears.
For one long, agonizing second, nobody moved.
Alexei’s hands dropped to his sides as Ava let out a long-winded sigh.
“Is it too late to leave?” she asked, and truthfully, Yelena wouldn’t blame her if she did phase out of here and saved herself only. A teacher hurried over to pull the crying child into her lap, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades as he continued to cry into her sweater.
Great start so far.
Mel’s smile flashed on so quickly it looked painful.
“Everything is fine,” she announced to the room just as someone handed her and the rest of the team a mic. “Uh…t-thank you for coming! The New Avengers are just very excited to be here to celebrate the holidays with all of you and support this year’s Children of Bellevue Christmas Drive.”
A few polite reporters and hospital staff members applauded from the back of the auditorium, followed by several parents who seemed more relieved that their children had stopped screaming than particularly thrilled to see the New Avengers.
A representative from the Children of Bellevue Foundation stood near the stage with a clipboard clutched tightly to her chest, smiling anxiously beside a cluster of volunteers in matching red sweaters. Nearby, nurses and social workers from Bellevue Hospital hovered around the refreshment table, passing out paper cups of hot chocolate while trying very hard not to look concerned.
Yelena spotted a camera crew near the aisle, along with two local news reporters and what appeared to be a photographer from some celebrity gossip site.
Perfect.
Their humiliation would be documented professionally.
Wonderful, really.
Mel seemed to take the silence as encouragement rather than the collective, horrified realization that no one had actually agreed to any part of this. “As you all know, the Children of Bellevue Foundation works closely with Bellevue Hospital to provide support, resources, and—most importantly—some holiday joy to children and families receiving care this season!”
Yelena watched the adults nod along appreciatively.
The children, meanwhile, had gone back to staring at the team with varying levels of distrust and disappointment. The Black Widow had to admit she was used to seeing it from adults, but kids?
Yeah, it’s a new and very low blow.
“And since this is a great opportunity to learn more about Earth’s next generation of heroes with some Q&A!”
A few of the adults clapped again at Mel’s introduction.
It was polite, cautious applause—the kind people gave when they had been handed a program and were not entirely sure whether they were supposed to be impressed yet. The local reporters joined in after a beat, smiling for their cameras as one of them panned slowly across the stage.
And not even one of the children clapped.
They sat in complete, eerie silence, bundled in holiday sweaters and hospital blankets, staring at the New Avengers like they had just been presented with a group project nobody had asked for. After what seemed like forever, one little girl clutching a rag-tag bear raised her hand meekly.
“Great, finally. You in the front,” Walker said into his mic, pointing directly at her just as someone came up to hand her the mic. She fiddled with the front of her sweater, her ears turning red as she looked at each of them.
“Is… is Spider-Man sick?”
For a second, the room went still, and Yelena couldn’t help but notice the way all of the kids leaned forward, anxiously waiting for his answer. It was enough that Yelena squinted at Bucky, who was standing beside Ava, stiff in that particular way he got whenever he wanted to look uninvolved in something he was very obviously involved in.
Why were they constantly asking for Spider-Man?
Mel made a tiny, strangled sound into her microphone, and Walker lowered his.
“Uh…what?”
The little girl’s grip tightened around her bear. “Spider-Man. Is he sick?”
Mel laughed, except it came out a little high and wobbly.
“No! No, Spider-Man is not sick! The New Avengers are…uh, well, they’re here today instead!”
The same little one frowned harder.
“But he was supposed to come,” another kid screamed. “I want Spider-Man, not the Avengers!”
Jesus, were kids always this harsh?
Now the children were murmuring amongst themselves alongside everyone else.
“I heard he was gonna come,” another kid insisted from the second row.
“My mom said there would be webs,” a boy announced, sounding betrayed and close to tears.
“Spider-Man always came,” said a third child, who sounded like this was a legally binding annual obligation. At this point in the commotion, Yelena quickly switched places with Ava and glared at Bucky, putting her mic far away from her mouth.
“Why the hell are they asking for Spider-Man?”
Bucky pressed his lips together, staring straight ahead at the increasingly restless crowd instead of looking at her. Yelena reached over and closed her hand around the flesh of his back arm, squeezing hard enough to make his shoulder jerk.
“Jesus,” he winced.
Good.
“Answer me,” she hissed, her smile still perfectly pleasant for the cameras.
“Spider-Man helped at the hospital last Christmas and a few years back before then.”
Yelena’s eyes narrowed because what the fuck did that have to do with anything?
“And?”
Bucky swallowed. “Mel said she put out feelers.”
“Feeler? What’s that?” Alexei asked on the other side of Bucky.
“A feeler,” Bucky repeated, looking like he regretted every word that had come out of his mouth since entering the building, “is when you ask around without making it official. Mel may have mentioned the event to someone who knows someone who knows someone who has worked with Spider-Man before.”
Yelena gaped at him.
“And how did it get out to the kids that Spider-Man is—for some reason—coming for sure?”
“As I said before, Spider-Man had volunteered in the past few years,” he articulated. “One of the volunteers asked if he would be coming again, and Mel said there was a chance. It looked like someone then told the kids.”
“Why didn’t you say anything then?” Yelena demanded, keeping her microphone lowered even though her smile had begun to feel medically unsafe.
Bucky’s jaw worked for a second. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”
Yelena stared at him. “Really?”
“It was a might,” he added, quieter. “Not exactly a promise.”
Yelena groaned internally.
Of course he had thought that. Of course, James “Bucky” Barnes, a man who had spent most of his life trapped in ice and brainwashed, did not understand that a vague possibility could become an ironclad promise the second it reached a room full of sick children.
Her eyes flickered toward the back of the auditorium.
Bob was watching the crowd with that cautious, unsettled expression he got whenever too many people were upset at once, his gaze moving from the chanting children and adults murmuring to themselves to the team gathered at the stage.
Then he looked at Yelena.
In response, she took a deep breath and stepped toward the microphone, deciding that she needed to get this under control before it actually went tits-up. Yelena lifted the microphone to her mouth and waited. The children kept chanting Spider-Man’s name for another few seconds, but the sound slowly weakened when they noticed her standing at the front of the stage. She did not raise her voice or lift her free hand to get their attention either.
She looked at them until the room settled into an uneasy quiet.
“Okay. I’m sure we are all very sad Spider-Man couldn’t make it today.” Several children’s faces crumpled again, but she held up one finger before they could start shouting. “However, he asked for us to come instead in his place because he heard this event was very important.”
She supposed that a white lie isn’t so bad, right?
The vigilante wouldn’t mind that much.
Also, it was his fault for not coming anyway, even though he had the schedule booked, so that’s on him.
“Spider-Man asked you?” the boy in the green sweater asked.
Yelena smiled. “Mm, yeah. Sure.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “And you guys are the…Avengers?”
Okay, great, they're getting somewhere.
Yelena’s smile remained in place, nodding.
“Yes. My name is Yelena Belova, and we are the New Avengers.”
Another kid, a little girl in reindeer antlers, raised her hand. “But I heard Iron Man died.”
The room went awkwardly quiet.
Walker’s face pinched. “Well, that got dark fast.”
“Iron Man did die,” a girl near the aisle said, sounding very matter-of-fact. “My dad said so, and everyone else left!”
“Your dad is correct,” Yelena mended.
The girl considered this. “So you are, like, the replacement Avengers?”
“More like the next Avengers,” Bucky offered. “Hence the word ‘new.’”
Another child leaned toward his friend and whispered much too loudly, “I know you guys! My daddy said they’re all useless!”
Walker nodded his chin at the child. “What's your dad's name?”
“Walker,” Ava said sharply, elbowing him.
“What? I just want to talk to him,” he continued.
“What Walker meant to say,” Ava cut in, stepping in front of him before he could start interrogating a literal child in front of everyone, “is that every team has different people with different skills.” She gave the children a composed, professional smile. “And we are all here because Spider-Man thought we were worthy enough in his placement.”
A boy in the front row squinted at Walker and then hollered, “Wait, who are you?”
“What do you mean? John Walker. I was the former Captain America,” he informed rather proudly.
“Really? I never heard of you.”
Yelena couldn’t help noticing that a few other kids nodded in agreement.
“What? You've never heard of me? You must be new here beca—”
He didn’t get to finish before Ava elbowed him hard on the ribs again.
“Right, introductions,” Ava said, cutting him off before he could start arguing with a child about his own public-relations failure. She stepped forward, clearing her throat. “You've already met Yelena and Walker. My name is Ava Starr. Some people call me Ghost.”
A little boy in the back raised his hand. “Are you dead?”
“No.”
“Then why are you called Ghost?”
“Because I can disappear at will like a ghost,” she answered.
“Like Spider-Man?”
Ava arched a brow. “I beg your pardon?”
The little boy blinked at her. “He disappears too.”
“Spider-Man does not disappear at will,” Ava said, with the quiet certainty of someone who had decided this was now a matter of personal principle.
“He does,” the boy insisted. “One time my cousin saw him jump off a building, and then he was gone!”
“That's because he swings away.”
“Still disappeared, didn’t he?”
Ava stared at him, trying to keep her face neutral.
Walker, standing behind her, folded his arms with a smirk. “Kid’s got you there.”
“Can you show us?” he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Ava looked down at the boy, then at the expectant faces around the auditorium. Without another word, she handed the microphone to Walker, who took it automatically, frowning.
“Uh, what am I supposed to do with this?”
Without answering, she pressed the side of her suit so that the mask clamped over her face. One second she was standing beside him, and the next she was gone. The children gasped in utter delight.
A blur of static shimmered near the refreshment table, then she flashed into view beside the stack of toy boxes before disappearing again. She reappeared on the edge of the stage, phased halfway through a cardboard snowman, and vanished one more time.
The auditorium erupted.
“She’s in the wall!” one kid shrieked.
“No, she’s behind the pillar!” another yelled.
Then, she was back right where she started, standing beside Walker as though she had never moved at all. Ava reached up and pressed a button near the collar of her suit. The mask loosened with a soft mechanical whir before retracting smoothly over her hair and folding back into the neckpiece.
For half a second, the kids only stared at her before the auditorium exploded.
Children jumped up from their chairs, clapping, cheering, and shouting over one another as several adults near the back finally let out relieved laughs. The little boy who had asked her to demonstrate practically bounced in place, pointing at her like he had personally discovered a new species.
“Can you guys do that?!”
“No, but I have super strength,” Alexei announced, stepping forward with a proud flourish to show off next. “In Russia, I am practically their Captain America! I am the Red Guardian! I can lift cars, bend metal, punch through—”
“Spider-Man has super strength too,” the boy interrupted.
Alexei paused.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “But I have more super strength.”
The same little girl in reindeer antlers tilted her head. “How do you know?”
“Because I am larger!"
“That doesn’t mean you’re stronger,” she cut off. “Where’s your shield?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Then you’re not close to Captain America at all," another reported.
Yelena couldn’t help but wonder whether kids had always been this savage?
Alexei looked deeply wounded while Walker snorted into the microphone.
“Step aside, I got this,” he said, handing the microphone back to Ava with the confidence of a man who had learned absolutely nothing from the last five minutes. “Unlike Red Guardian over here, I actually have a shield.”
He then lifted his other arm, proudly displaying his bent shield, and Yelena resisted the urge to rub her temples in dismay, knowing exactly where this was going. The children stared at it for exactly two seconds.
Then, a new boy in the front row squinted. “That is not a shield.”
Walker’s smile slipped. “It is literally a shield.”
The boy stubbornly shook his head. “It looks like a taco. You can’t protect no one with that!”
Several children immediately began nodding in agreement.
Walker looked from the boy to the shield, then back again.
“It does not look like a taco, kid,” he said, sounding genuinely insulted and ready to throw hands at the child. “It is a tactical-grade ballistic steel shield. This thing can literally stop bullets, and I have saved many lives with this.”
“Spider-Man saves many lives too,” another child chimed.
Walker blinked. “Well, was Spider-Man a high school state football champ back-to-back-to-back? Been in the trenches of every war-torn country on this planet, rescued God knows how many hostages and shook the hands of two US presidents?”
A kid raised his hand. “Wait, who are you again?”
“Seriously, how have you all never heard of me?” he groaned.
“I know who you are,” another child proclaimed loudly.
“Thank y—”
“You’re the Captain America from Temu!”
A silence fell over the auditorium before the entire auditorium burst out laughing. Alexei made a noise that sounded suspiciously like he was choking on a laugh. Walker looked ready to fight the children.
His grip tightened around the edge of his shield, and Yelena had to make sure he wasn’t going to actually try to hurdle the damn thing at a bunch of kids. He wouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.
“I am not Captain America from Temu,” he said through clenched teeth.
The boy who had said it smiled innocently.
“Okay, Captain America from Walmart.”
A fresh wave of laughter rolled through the auditorium.
“Listen here, I have led military operations in active war zones,” Walker insisted.
Someone with a cast on her arm raised her hand. “Have any of you ever been to space?”
Yelena cleared her throat. “No."
“Well, Spider-Man went into space before with the Avengers!”
Walker stared at the little child. “That was not a military operation.”
She shrugged. “Space is harder than the army.”
“No, it is not,” Walker snapped immediately.
“You don't know that.” The girl looked him over with unimpressed eyes. “Do you now?”
Walker went silent. Alexei slapped both hands against his thighs and laughed so loudly that several children joined in without knowing why. And then a boy near the aisle pointed toward Bucky.
“What does he do?”
Bucky looked up from the place he had been pretending not to exist. “I can fight.”
“Spider-Man can fight,” the boy retorted.
My God, is this ever going to end?
“I know,” Bucky replied.
“Does your arm shoot webs?” another child inquired, almost excited.
Bucky looked down at his metal hand and then shook his head. “No.”
“Then why is it metal?” the child pressed.
Bucky hesitated. “It’s…complicated.”
“Well, Spider-Man’s arms are normal, and he’s still way stronger!”
Walker made a frustrated noise. “Could you stop bringing up Spider-Man?”
The boy looked genuinely confused. “But he sent you, right? Why can't we bring up your friend? He's your right, right?”
All of them shut up, and Yelena resisted the urge to throw daggers at Bucky for leaving them to clean up the mess he and Mel had created. She’s going to have a few words with them after this, but for now, she had to lean into the little fib.
“Mhm, yes,” she maintained.
The children leaned forward all at once.
“Do you actually know Spider-Man?” the boy near the aisle asked. Yelena smiled, because she had met him a few times over small, baby-potato matters and knew just enough to lie convincingly.
“Yes, I know Spider-Man personally.”
They've spoken a few times, so it counted, right?
Suddenly, the room erupted again.
“Really? What is he like?” the girl in reindeer antlers demanded.
“Is he funny in real life?” another child asked.
“Does he sleep upside down?” a third yelled from the back.
“Have you seen him without a mask on?!”
Well, if they’re all this interested in Spider-Man, then she shouldn’t disappoint.
Yelena raised one hand for silence.
“He is very funny, but mostly when nobody has asked him to be.” Bucky’s eyes shifted toward her in warning. Yelena ignored him and continued because this was his problem. If Spider-Man had a problem with what she said, he should have been here instead. “He also sleeps in a cocoon.”
“A cocoon?” one hooted.
“Mm, yes. Of his own webs,” she declared. “Terrible bed hair.”
The children nodded as though this was valuable, deeply serious information.
“What about his mask? Have you seen him without it?” the child demanded.
“No, he doesn’t take it off at all,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “Unbelievable, right?”
“Does he eat bugs?”
“I can’t say too much on that matter,” she laughed.
“What is his favorite color?” the little girl with the ragged bear asked.
Yelena paused only long enough to look thoughtful. “Red, obviously.”
“Because of his suit?” the girl questioned.
“Yes, but if you ask me? I think it’s a little too basic,” she professed. The kids started laughing, and if she knew it was this easy, she should have just leaned all the way into it from the start.
“Does Spider-Man have a girlfriend?” a boy shouted.
“Or boyfriend?” another asked.
The kids began shouting questions faster than she could answer them.
“Can he talk to spiders?”
“Does he have a pet spider?”
“Has he ever met Santa?”
Yelena looked at the ceiling each time as if receiving divine instruction.
“He cannot talk to spiders,” she declared. “He does not have a pet spider; that’s more of Ant-Man’s thing. And as to if Spider-Man has met Santa? Well, who do you think brought all these presents here?”
For a beat, the children only stared at her. Then every head snapped toward the enormous pile of wrapped presents stacked behind the New Avengers, as if they were actually seeing it for the first time, despite having been there the entire time.
“Santa brought those?” the girl with the ragged bear asked.
“Santa and Spider-Man,” Yelena said, nodding as though this were an entirely reasonable partnership. “Spider-Man handles the roofs and climbing inside, and Santa handles the labor violations.”
Several adults in the back choked on their hot chocolate. Mel let out a faint alarm into her microphone. Bucky looked like he wanted to ask Yelena what exactly she thought labor violations meant to Santa, but he wisely remained silent.
“Are the presents for us?” the boy with the broken boy asked.
“Of course, brought my Santa and Spider-Man himself! How about we all start handing them out?”
“We want you and Ghost to do it,” one of them chirped.
Not a second later, all the children started erupting in agreement.
Alexei’s face fell so dramatically that Yelena nearly expected sad violin music to begin playing somewhere in the background. Walker looked equally crushed, his taco-shaped shield lowering at his side as if it, too, had taken the rejection personally.
“What do you mean, you want Ghost and Lena?” Alexei asked, pressing one broad hand to his chest. “What…what about the Red Guardian?!”
“Ghost can disappear.” The boy in the front pointed at Yelena. “And she knows Spider-Man!”
Then another child shouted, “They’re the cool ones!”
Well look at that.
It seemed Yelena was wrong about children after all.
They weren’t tiny terrorists but tiny ego crushers.
And, apparently, tiny ego rubbers too, because the second they decided they liked someone, they made sure everyone within a five-mile radius knew about it. Behind her, Alexei began loudly demanding a recount while Walker argued that the children had been unfairly influenced by Spider-Man propaganda, with Bucky looking ever so tired and Mel ready to bolt out of there. Yelena decided this was the closest thing to a successful holiday event the New Avengers would ever get.
Yeah, she’ll take it.