Bucky Barnes was having one of those days. You know, the kind where you're trying to keep your sh*t together, but it feels like the universe is just hell-bent on making you remember all the horrible things you've ever done. And Bucky? Yeah, he had a lot of things to remember.
He was sitting in that sterile, bland room—bright fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like they were judging him for every little mistake he'd ever made. The chair he was perched on felt like it was going to eat him alive. Or maybe it was just his brain trying to get him to bolt out of there like a bat out of hell.
Steve Rogers, the golden boy himself, was sitting across from him, looking more stoic than a marble statue. You know, the kind of guy who just looks like he has all the answers. Yeah, that's Steve—calm, collected, Captain America. Also, freaking big. Seriously, the dude was practically a walking muscle advertisement.
But Bucky? Bucky was on the edge. His whole body was taut like a bowstring ready to snap. His fingers were curled tight against the armrest, and his jaw was clenched so hard it looked like it was going to start cracking.
"I don't know how to live with this," Bucky muttered, his voice raw. It cracked like the sound of a branch snapping under too much weight. "How do I make up for everything I've done? I—I don't even recognize myself sometimes."
Steve, being the living embodiment of a motivational poster, dropped to his knees in front of Bucky. If you didn't know Steve, you might've thought he was about to try some weird superhero kneeling thing. But no—he was there, just looking at Bucky like he was the only person in the room. The kind of look that could make a guy feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't a lost cause.
"Buck," Steve said, his voice low and steady, "The first step is forgiveness. And I'm not talking about forgiving them. I'm talking about forgiving yourself." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "You were a pawn. They turned you into something you're not. You were their weapon, but they didn't break you. You are still in there. You're not the villain. And you're not alone."
Bucky's eyes were haunted. He didn't want to believe it, but Steve's words were slowly sinking in.
At that moment, Harry Potter—yes, the Harry Potter, with his flaming black-and-gold dragonhide armor that looked like it belonged in a Renaissance painting, strolled into the room. The dude had an air about him. You know, that swagger that only comes when you've literally been to other dimensions, met a bunch of superheroes, and casually stopped a war with a few snarky words.
Harry didn't even need to sit down to drop the mic on this situation. He stood at the door, arms crossed, grinning like a guy who'd just finished a game of Quidditch and was about to announce the results.
"You're really gonna sit there and do the 'forgiveness' thing, aren't you?" Harry quipped, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Steve, buddy, I love you, but you're just begging for a Hallmark movie. How many times are you gonna use the word 'forgiveness' in one sitting?" He shot Bucky a wink, as if they were in on some inside joke. "Look, Bucky, yeah, you did some pretty dark stuff. Like really dark. But let's be real here. HYDRA had you in a chokehold, man. They made you their personal attack dog. I'm pretty sure you didn't wake up one day and go, 'You know what would be fun? Brainwashing and assassination.' That's a whole other level of messed up."
Bucky snorted, despite himself. Yeah, Harry had a way of making things a little less... dour.
"Exactly," Harry continued, shrugging casually. "And here's the kicker—you're still breathing. Still standing. You're not some tragic fallen hero who's gotta slink off into the shadows. Nah, Buck. You've got a freaking second chance. And you know what? You're probably gonna mess it up a couple times. Maybe even a lot. But that's how you grow. You keep fighting. It's like when I try to get my armor back on after a long day of heroing. Doesn't always fit right, but eventually, you make it work."
Bucky raised an eyebrow at him, half-amused, half-confused. "Are you comparing my mental health crisis to putting on armor?"
"Basically," Harry said with a grin. "But I'm also saying that armor doesn't have to be perfect to protect you. It just has to fit."
Bucky couldn't help it. He laughed, the sound shaky, but there it was. Maybe it was the words, or maybe it was just the way Harry had a knack for making everything sound a little less like a tragedy and more like some kind of absurd adventure.
"Fine," Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. "But I still don't know how I'm supposed to live with... all of it."
"Well," Harry said, walking over and plopping down on the edge of the desk like he owned the place. "First off, you're not alone in this. You've got Captain America here, and, well, me." He grinned. "Plus, I've got an army of magical stuff that could obliterate half the world. So, there's that."
Steve, giving up on his whole serious motivational speech vibe, rolled his eyes. "Great. Now we're getting advice from the guy who could start World War III with a wave of his wand."
"Oh, I would, but I'm trying to keep things civil," Harry shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Anyway, Buck, it's gonna be a long road, but you don't have to walk it alone. You're not a villain. You're a man trying to make things right. And that's a hell of a lot more than most people ever do."
Bucky finally let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. The weight wasn't gone, but maybe, just maybe, it didn't have to crush him anymore. With Steve and Harry by his side, he wasn't just the Winter Soldier anymore.
He was Bucky Barnes. And that counted for something.
—
Tony Stark's lab was a lot of things. Glorious? Sure. Obnoxiously huge? Absolutely. Filled with enough tech to make a geek faint and probably break a dozen laws of physics? Definitely. But what really stood out was the man at the center of it all—Tony Stark, living embodiment of chaos, ego, and the world's finest tequila. At this point, it was hard to even tell what Tony had more of: gadgets or charisma. Both were in excess.
He stood there, grinning like a cat who'd eaten a dozen canaries. "Alright, team," he called out to the Avengers, some of whom were already busy tinkering with their own gear or glaring at their teammates for some reason. "Gather 'round. Time for a very special introduction." He turned in a full circle, striking a pose like he was about to unveil a new line of luxury sports cars. Maybe he was, in his mind.
Steve Rogers, arms crossed and looking like he was one missed workout away from needing a chiropractic adjustment, raised an eyebrow. "Is this going to be another one of those 'I saved the world and now I've built a new suit' speeches?"
Tony just winked. "Oh, Cap. You wound me. This is not just about the suit. This is about a man, a legend. And a damn fine friend of mine." He threw his arm out grandly as if calling forth some mythical figure. "Meet Rhodey. And I mean the Rhodey. War Machine himself!"
And with that, out from behind a giant arc reactor was none other than James "Rhodey" Rhodes, looking like he'd just stepped out of a military recruitment ad, but with a suit that screamed, "Don't mess with me, unless you want a one-way trip to regretville." It was sleek, dark, and had enough heavy artillery to make even Tony feel a little nervous.
"Uh... Yeah. It's that Rhodey," Tony added, a hint of pride in his voice.
Clint Barton, who had been silently inspecting an arrow like it was the world's most important object, glanced up. "War Machine, huh?" He smirked, tossing his quiver over his shoulder. "Sounds cool. Can I take it for a spin? You know, test out the missile-launching capabilities? I've been dying to do some damage in a suit like that."
Rhodey shot Clint a sidelong glance. "Not unless you plan to get shot out of the sky by something bigger than your sarcasm, Barton."
Harry, leaning against a table and looking entirely too relaxed for someone in a room full of superheroes, couldn't help himself. "So, what I'm hearing is that this is basically Tony Stark... but with less bling and more 'I know how to fly a plane without needing rocket boots.'"
Rhodey threw Harry a salute, flashing him a grin that was equal parts friendly and slightly challenging. "You got it, kid. I don't need boots to get airborne."
Tony clicked his tongue. "What Rhodey means is that he can actually take off without needing to be propelled by fire and wasted fuel, but sure, let's all pretend my rocket boots are some tragic flaw in the universe."
Natasha Romanoff, leaning casually against the wall, threw in her own two cents. "Let me guess, you've figured out a way to change the radio stations while in the middle of a firefight too, huh, Rhodey?"
"That's right," Rhodey said, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Unlike Tony, I actually know how to find a decent station."
Clint perked up. "Ooh, I like that. What's the range on this thing? Can it take out a Kree?"
"Can it take out a Kree?" Rhodey repeated with a raised brow, clearly amused. "You mean can I turn it into scrap metal? Oh, absolutely. But what really worries me is friendly fire from the guy who can barely aim at a bullseye with an arrow."
Clint's grin widened. "Touché, my friend."
Bruce Banner, who had been observing quietly like a cat that knew exactly when to pounce, nodded. "You've got some solid upgrades in that suit, Rhodey. It might finally match Stark's ego... but then again, that's a tough feat."
Tony's eyes flashed with mock outrage. "I'm not saying it's a feat, Bruce. I'm saying it's a lifestyle."
Rhodey chuckled, slapping Tony on the back. "Yeah, well, Stark's ego can't save him from a Kree warlord."
Steve Rogers, arms still crossed, gave Rhodey's suit a once-over. "You're sure about this, Rhodey? I mean, this thing looks... intense."
Tony gave Rhodey a dramatic pat on the back, clearly too proud. "Steve, Rhodey was born ready. Why don't you take him for a spin? I'm sure the two of you could have a great little 'let's see who can smash things better' competition."
Steve was less than amused. "Right, because that sounds like the best idea ever."
Rhodey, grinning from ear to ear, shot back, "How about I take it for a spin? You know, before I break it in front of the entire team?"
"You two are like kids in a candy store," Natasha muttered, folding her arms, clearly enjoying the banter but not wanting to admit it.
But Harry? Harry was already stepping up, a wicked grin forming on his face. "You guys are adorable," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I've seen enough armored suits in my time to know that this thing's cute—but can it survive a little something extra? I mean, it's nice and all, but if we're comparing powers, let's talk about what real firepower looks like. Ever heard of a curse?"
The room went dead quiet. Rhodey, arms folded, raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? You're gonna challenge the War Machine with magic?"
Harry leaned back, eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "Oh, I'm not challenging you. I'm just pointing out that no matter how nice your suit is, it's still got nothing on a well-placed Cruciatus Curse."
Tony immediately perked up, waving his hand like a teacher trying to get everyone's attention. "Whoa, whoa. This is my tech we're talking about, Harry. No curses unless you want me to be the first to test out your new magic trick."
Rhodey glanced at Tony, then back at Harry. "Alright, kid. I gotta see this one for myself."
Tony snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Nothing beats the suit, though. Let's get that straight first, okay?"
"Sure, sure," Rhodey grinned, "but I'm driving."
And with that, Tony Stark had successfully introduced his best friend, Rhodey, to the team. As usual, it was fast, it was fun, and it was definitely filled with enough snark to make the whole room uncomfortable—and that was just the way Tony liked it.
After all, what's an introduction without a little chaos?
—
The thing about Bucky's recovery was that it wasn't like flipping a switch—more like trying to find the right button on a vending machine that wasn't working quite right. The progress was slow, and sometimes it felt like he was taking two steps forward, three steps sideways, and then suddenly, BOOM, one giant leap back. But with Steve by his side, Bucky didn't have to worry about getting stuck in the maze. Not anymore.
One afternoon, the three of them found themselves lounging on the balcony, soaking in the kind of sunshine that only made New York seem a little less gritty and a little more... charming. The city below stretched out like one of those giant puzzles you had to piece together. No matter how much Bucky stared, the view didn't seem to offer any answers about what came next. Not that he was expecting any.
Steve, looking like a human-sized ray of sunshine, leaned against the railing with the casual grace of someone who'd been carrying the weight of the world (and a shield) for decades. His smile was about as bright as the sun, but it wasn't the kind that made you feel like you needed sunglasses. No, it was the kind that made you feel like everything might just be okay for a change.
"You know," Bucky said, breaking the silence like a hammer to glass, "I'm not exactly sure what the future holds. But for the first time in a long time, I actually think I have one."
It was a statement that made Steve look over at Bucky like he'd just said something profound—like when a kid finally learns how to tie their own shoes and you're hit with this burst of pride that you didn't even know was in you. Steve cleared his throat and gave Bucky a look that was equal parts pride and relief, like someone had just lifted a weight off his shoulders.
"You do, Buck," Steve said, his voice steady but warm. "And no matter what comes next, you've got two things: this team and me. We're facing it together. Always."
Harry, who'd been casually leaning against the balcony railing, grinned like a cat who'd just knocked something valuable off the counter and gotten away with it. "Yeah, exactly," he chimed in, tossing a look between Steve and Bucky. "You're in, Bucky. We fight for each other. That's the deal. And yeah, that includes you." He pointed at Bucky, making it sound like a solid contract had just been signed in blood—well, magical blood, but you get the idea.
Bucky, who had spent way too many years feeling like a ghost, looked between his two best friends. The words weren't huge, they weren't some grand speech that would bring the house down. But something about it just clicked for him. This wasn't just some team; it was his team. He wasn't just some guy trying to outrun his past anymore. He was Bucky Barnes: soldier, friend, and now... well, maybe even a little more. But he wasn't going to jinx it by getting too sentimental.
"Thanks," he said gruffly, like someone had just handed him a lifeline in the form of an old, rusted bucket. "Seriously. I don't know how I ended up with you two, but I'm not questioning it."
"Good," Steve replied with a grin that practically lit up the whole balcony. "Because I'm pretty sure the universe doesn't care about your questions. It just hands you the best team you've got, whether you like it or not."
"You're lucky I like it," Bucky shot back with a smirk, leaning back against the railing and crossing his arms, looking out at the city like it was finally something worth fighting for. "And if you two decide to do anything stupid, just know I'm in. I might be out of practice, but I'm not dead yet."
Harry grinned at Bucky's comeback, and the truth was, Bucky was starting to look like himself again. Yeah, there were still scars, both physical and mental, but with Steve and Harry at his side, Bucky felt like he was actually gaining ground for once. And that, for a guy who'd spent decades running from his own shadow, was a pretty damn good feeling.
Steve slapped Bucky on the back so hard it was a miracle the guy didn't fall over. "Well, we'll be ready for whatever's next. But just so you know," Steve continued, looking over at Harry like they shared a secret, "we've got a team full of idiots, so you've got company. Might be a little crazy, but that's the fun part."
Bucky couldn't help but laugh at that. "If you guys are the crazy part, I'm in more trouble than I thought."
Harry gave him a devilish grin. "Oh, we're just getting started. Wait until we pull out the real magic. The 'I-shouldn't-have-done-that-but-damn-it-was-fun' kind of magic."
Steve raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress his grin. "You're not getting him any more dangerous than he already is, Harry."
"Don't worry, Cap. I've got it under control. Mostly," Harry said with a wink, making it pretty clear he had absolutely no control over anything at all. But Bucky couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence in that moment. Whatever was coming next, at least he wasn't facing it alone.
And if that meant facing it with a bunch of lovable weirdos who treated every day like an adventure, then hell, Bucky Barnes would take it.
Because when the world has tried to tear you apart, finding a team that doesn't want to break you—that's the kind of future worth fighting for.
—
HYDRA was like that one ex you just can't seem to shake off no matter how hard you try. They'd been knocked down—again and again—but no matter how many times you thought you'd seen the last of them, they just wouldn't go away. It was like they had a secret subscription to "How to Be the Worst Villain Ever" that came with a free 12-months-of-super-villainy guarantee.
And as the Avengers were busy pretending they were all about teamwork and recovery with Bucky (who, let's be honest, was doing way better than anyone expected), HYDRA was busy plotting their next disaster.
Now, picture a secret lair somewhere, deep underground—somewhere so secret that even Google Maps wouldn't be able to find it. The room was bathed in shadow, because apparently, when you're part of an evil organization, lighting isn't your top priority. If there was ever a place that screamed "we're planning something terrible," it was this room. And honestly, the whole scene was just one giant cliché. Dark corners, creepy voices, people who hadn't seen a toothbrush in ages... you get the idea.
The leaders of the HYDRA Shadow Council were assembled around a long table, which may have been made from a repurposed school desk, but I'm not here to judge. The faces of the council members were all hidden in shadow, which made sense because, well, they looked like they had a few too many nights in the HYDRA "all-you-can-eat" stress buffet. Not exactly glowing with health.
The first voice broke the silence, hissing like a cat who's just stepped in something sticky. "Alexander Pierce's capture was... inconvenient. It has disrupted operations. And, frankly, I'm getting a little tired of all this 'playing it safe' nonsense."
Another voice jumped in, sounding like they were auditioning for a role as the villain in the next big-budget movie. "Oh, I agree! So agree. What good are assets if you don't use them? It's time we remind the world that HYDRA isn't just some bad memory. No, we're the kind of present that gets under your skin and sticks there like a bad rash."
The third voice cut in, icy enough to freeze water on the spot. "We need to focus on their weaknesses. Their vulnerabilities. Create enough chaos that they're too distracted to notice us until it's too late."
There was a pause, and then the chair at the head of the table creaked as a figure leaned forward. And let me tell you, this wasn't just any villain leader—this was Viper. She had that kind of icy, "I'm-better-than-you" vibe that was equal parts mesmerizing and terrifying. Imagine if you crossed a highly skilled strategist with someone who could probably kill you with a look. That's Viper for you. And yes, she did think of herself as a Shakespearean villain. She definitely had the dramatic flair for it.
She spoke with a voice that was smooth, calculated, and just the right amount of I'm-about-to-make-your-life-hell: "Operation Serpent's Fang is a go. We'll activate the sleeper agents. Let them get comfortable, let them grow... and then—then—we'll strike. The Avengers are so busy patting themselves on the back and pretending to be heroes, they won't see us coming. We'll have them chasing their own tails."
There was a murmur of agreement, like they'd all just heard the best idea in the world. It was almost cute how they thought they were the first ones to come up with this genius plan. But Viper? She was in a class of her own. She had the kind of confidence that could make even the most seasoned superhero think twice before crossing her. And when she said "Serpent's Fang," you could almost hear the "ominous thunderclap" in the background.
Viper flashed a smile that would've made the Joker jealous—sharp and cold, the kind of smile that let you know she wasn't just planning some petty revenge. Oh no. She was planning something huge. Something that would leave the Avengers scrambling.
"Get our agents in place," she ordered, her voice barely above a whisper, but still full of authority. "When we strike, we strike fast and hard. The Avengers will be so busy putting out fires, they'll be too late to stop the blaze."
One of the shadowy figures nodded—probably because that's what you're supposed to do when your boss has just laid down the most villainous plan since forever. "Understood, ma'am. We'll set everything in motion."
The room buzzed with the energy of a plan about to unfold, but you know what? It wasn't a "good" plan. Not by any stretch. But for HYDRA, it was as good as it was going to get.
And as the shadows deepened, Viper leaned back in her chair with a satisfied smirk, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. "Let's see how well the Avengers handle a little chaos. After all... they can't save the world if they're too busy saving themselves."
With that, the meeting wrapped up, leaving the council members to slink back into the shadows like the overly dramatic, slightly underfed villains they were. Meanwhile, Viper? She just stood there, plotting. Because that's what she did best.
Operation Serpent's Fang had officially begun.
—
HYDRA's plan for revenge wasn't exactly a subtle thing. In fact, it was the complete opposite of subtlety, like if someone took a sledgehammer to a glass vase and then tried to play it off like it was fine art. The plan started unfolding with all the grace of a wrecking ball in a china shop, only the china shop was the entire world.
It kicked off with the kind of explosions you'd usually only see in a Michael Bay film—huge, deafening, and utterly impossible to ignore. Major financial hubs—think Wall Street, London's Canary Wharf, Tokyo's Shibuya district—blowed up real good. The explosions were so dramatic it could've been a firework display at the worst Fourth of July party in history. Buildings crumbled, people screamed, and the air smelled like panic mixed with burning steel and that one weird cologne that villains always wear. You know the one. It's called "Evil Schemes 101."
But hold on, this wasn't just about blowing stuff up. Oh no, HYDRA was just getting started. They were playing 3D chess while everyone else was still stuck on Tic-Tac-Toe. While the world was still recovering from the shockwave of their bombastically orchestrated explosions, they decided to shake things up on the digital front.
And that's when the cyber-attacks hit.
It was like the entire internet decided to take a nap... or rather, a long nap. Suddenly, emails vanished into thin air like magicians in a bad stage show. Social media accounts went rogue, posting weird nonsense, like someone had hacked Twitter just to tweet random conspiracy theories about penguins being secret agents. Basically, if you wanted to find out what your mom was making for dinner, you had to send a carrier pigeon because communication had just gone off the rails. It was chaos. It was messy. And it was so well-coordinated that it felt like HYDRA had hired a tech guru who'd spent a little too much time binging on The Matrix.
Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse—because seriously, who even thinks of the internet when they're plotting world domination?—HYDRA turned up the heat with a round of political assassinations. Yep, you heard me right. World leaders just started dropping like flies at a particularly aggressive fly-swatter convention. The air was thick with conspiracy theories, and governments everywhere were plunged into disarray as countries tried to figure out who was still in charge and who was just a placeholder for an assassin's next target. The world had become a political game of musical chairs, only the music had stopped, and no one was left standing.
It was as if HYDRA had decided to go for the gold medal in the global chaos Olympics. Explosions, cyber-attacks, and high-profile political deaths—all part of their plan to take the world down a few notches. It was a masterclass in evil genius... if "evil genius" meant creating a whole lot of problems and then sitting back with popcorn, watching the world burn.
And the Avengers? Oh yeah, they had their hands full. Way full. They were scrambling like a group of superheroes who'd just realized they'd forgotten to wear pants to a press conference. Steve Rogers was probably shaking his head at the sheer amount of disasters unfolding in every corner of the globe. Natasha was likely flipping through her mental Rolodex of who to call first—because, you know, there's no manual for "Stopping an Evil Organization from Ruining Everything."
The team had to step up fast. With chaos already taking hold, they needed to get their act together or risk being swept up in the wave of madness. And as the world teetered on the edge of total pandemonium, the Avengers had to do what they did best—put aside the insanity of it all and keep their cool while saving the day.
No pressure, right?
The clock was ticking. The world was breaking down. And HYDRA? They were just getting warmed up.
—
New York City was having a moment. And by "moment," I mean it was getting completely wrecked by HYDRA, who'd apparently decided that subtlety was for amateurs. The skies were filled with high-tech drones buzzing around like angry bees on a caffeine binge, explosions were rocking the streets with the kind of force that would make any pyromaniac proud, and general chaos was spreading faster than the flu at a daycare. Oh, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.
Tony Stark, lounging in the Avengers Tower (probably with a glass of scotch in one hand and a tech gadget in the other), was not exactly thrilled by this surprise party. His usual cocky swagger had been replaced by something resembling oh no, which—let's be real—wasn't Tony's usual vibe.
"JARVIS," he barked, sounding less like a billionaire genius and more like a guy trying to figure out how to get out of a very awkward situation. "We've got incoming threats that are more plentiful than the Kardashians at a designer sale. Activate all suits. This is go time."
"Understood, sir," JARVIS replied, his voice smooth as always, but with that little edge of "I'm about to save your skin" in it. "All systems are online, and the suits are ready for deployment."
"You hear that, Avengers?" Tony's voice crackled over the comms, slightly manic. "Suit up, kiddos. It's about to get wild."
Now, this was the part where the Avengers did what they did best: turn from a group of superheroes into a super-powered, caffeine-fueled behemoth. Captain America was already on the move, leading his squad to the financial district, where chaos was spreading like wildfire at a barbeque. The area was a mess—buildings were smoking, people were running for their lives, and no one seemed to know where to go. Perfect for Steve Rogers, the Boy Scout who always showed up early for cleanup duty.
Steve's voice crackled over the comms, steady and calm. "Alright, team. Stay focused. We're going to clean this up—quickly."
In the sky, Iron Man and War Machine were soaring through the air like a pair of angry metal birds, each firing repulsors with enough force to make the Fourth of July look like a backyard party. Drones exploded around them in fiery bursts, the sound deafening, as Tony's voice came through the comms, dripping with sarcasm.
"You know, Rhodey, this would be a lot easier if the drones had better aim. But then again, we're talking about HYDRA, not exactly the gold standard in tech innovation."
Rhodey's voice cut through, sounding like he was trying to avoid a migraine while still managing to be the voice of reason. "You say that like it's not you who programmed the drones last time."
"Fair point," Tony muttered, dodging an incoming missile, "but they didn't explode quite like this last time."
On the ground, Black Widow and Hawkeye were running a tight ship, though, let's be real, it was more like a ship on fire with civilians clinging to life jackets. Natasha was orchestrating the chaos relief like a conductor trying to keep her orchestra from turning into a mosh pit. She barked orders with lethal precision, dodging a stray piece of debris like it was a Tuesday.
"Clint, get over here!" Natasha snapped, her voice a mix of annoyance and 'please don't make me come over there.' "I need you to cover the eastern perimeter while I—"
"I heard you," Clint shot back, pulling an arrow from his quiver and knocking it in record time. "This is what I do, you know. You're not the only one who can turn chaos into an art form."
"Just don't miss this time," Natasha teased, giving him a wink, before going back to pulling civilians out of harm's way.
Meanwhile, Harry Potter was doing what he did best: making people wonder if he was secretly some kind of wizarding superhero. He was standing in the middle of the chaos, wand drawn, face set with the kind of intensity that could probably melt steel. There was a lot of dark magic swirling around, and Harry was feeling it. He raised his arms high, and, with the kind of focus that screamed this is my job, he shouted, "Accio, chaos be gone!"
Okay, maybe that's not exactly what he said. But he definitely would have if he were trying to make this more dramatic. What he actually cast was a massive protective shield, pushing back a wave of arcane energy that had threatened to knock down an entire city block. People stared as the shield shimmered, barely able to believe the sheer badassery of it all.
"Oh, sure," Clint muttered as he watched Harry flick his wrist and save an entire block, "that's fair. I get arrows, Harry gets magic shields." He shook his head, clearly jealous, but secretly impressed. "I'll just keep shooting things, then. That works too."
As Tony's voice came over the comms again, snarky as ever, he added, "So, just to clarify, I'm up here saving the world with firepower, Steve's playing Boy Scout with shield stuff, and Harry's—" Tony paused for effect. "—magic-ing his way out of a Tuesday. Got it. Avengers, keep doing your thing."
"Got it, boss," Steve said, smiling in that way only Captain America could. "Let's wrap this up before it gets worse."
And it was going to get worse. Because, spoiler alert, this was only the beginning.
---
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