The air in the Avengers Compound buzzed with the hum of machinery and the low chatter of the team, but you felt like you were drowning in it. Your hands trembled, tucked tightly into the sleeves of your oversized hoodie, as you stood at the edge of the training room. You weren’t supposed to be here—not with Earth’s mightiest heroes, not with powers you barely understood. The energy pulsing beneath your skin, a volatile mix of light and force, had been your secret for years, hidden from the world. Hidden from him. Your foster father’s voice still echoed in your mind, sharp and cruel, his hands leaving bruises you could still feel. You’d kept your abilities locked away, until the day they’d exploded, destroying the house you’d been forced to call home.

Now, SHIELD had you in their sights, and Tony Stark himself had insisted you join the Avengers to “get a handle on that glow-stick vibe.” You weren’t sure if you were a recruit or a prisoner, but the weight of their expectations pressed against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Alright, newbie, let’s see what you’ve got!” Clint Barton’s voice cut through your thoughts, his grin wide as he strode toward you. Before you could react, his hand landed on the small of your back—a friendly gesture, meant to guide you toward the training mats.

The world tilted. Your vision blurred, your heart hammering as memories flooded in: rough hands, shouted threats, pain. Your energy surged, a faint glow sparking around your fingers, and you stumbled back, gasping. “Don’t—don’t touch me,” you choked out, your voice barely audible.

The room went quiet. Clint froze, his hand hovering in the air, confusion etched on his face. “Whoa, hey, I didn’t mean—”

“Give her space.” The voice was low, steady, cutting through the tension like a knife. Bucky Barnes stepped forward, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind, his metal arm glinting under the fluorescent lights. He didn’t move closer, didn’t crowd you, just stood between you and the others, his posture a silent barrier. Your gaze flicked to him, your breath still ragged, but something in his expression—calm, grounded, knowing—kept you from bolting.

“She’s good,” Bucky said, glancing at Clint, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Just needs a minute.”

Clint nodded, backing off with a muttered apology, and the team slowly resumed their chatter, though you felt their eyes on you. You wanted to disappear, to let your energy swallow you whole, but Bucky’s presence anchored you. He didn’t ask if you were okay, didn’t push. He just nodded toward a quieter corner of the room, where the training equipment was stacked, and said, “Wanna start with something simple? No hands, no contact. Just you and the target.”

You swallowed, your throat tight, but his words were a lifeline. You nodded, following him at a distance, your energy still simmering but no longer threatening to erupt. As they walked, you caught the faint scars on his flesh hand, the weight in his eyes that mirrored your own. He understood, you realized—not just your powers, but the fear of being touched, of being seen.

What you didn’t know was that outside the Compound, a shadow from HYDRA’s past was watching, a scientist with a twisted vision of harnessing your energy to tear the Avengers apart. And as you took your first shaky steps toward control, the real battle was only beginning.