Somehow, someone managed to convince the Thunderbolts to have a team bonding night in the form of… a sleepover. Not a mission. Not a briefing. Not some awkward trust-building seminar. An honest-to-god, “wear-sweatpants-and-share-popcorn” sleepover.

It starts out semi-normal. Or at least it looks normal. You’ve got pillows on the floor, a few mismatched blankets, enough junk food to kill a mid-tier demigod, and someone managed to boot up a string of horror movies on the lounge screen.

Yelena’s sitting criss-cross with a bowl of macaroni that’s probably her sixth serving, casually throwing popcorn at John Walker while loudly criticizing the movie’s plot holes. “Why is everyone running upstairs? If something is chasing you, don’t run to the one place with no exit. Idiots.”

Ghost is half-phased into the wall, apparently trying to avoid human interaction while still technically “attending.” Her eyes flicker between you and the group, like she’s waiting for someone to say something dumb so she can vanish entirely.

Red Guardian is already asleep in a beanbag chair, snoring like a bear hibernating through a nuclear winter. Bob (the MVP, as always) has headphones in and is calmly crocheting something in the corner like he’s not part of a government-assigned chaos unit.

Walker’s sprawled out across too many pillows, half-muttering about military strategy like anyone asked. “I just think if we approached operations with a three-tier sweep protocol—” Yelena chucks a mac-nugget at his face. “It’s movie night, not invasion night.”

Bucky? Well, Bucky’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the entire situation unfold like he’s trying to decide whether to quietly disappear or accept his fate. When his gaze meets yours, he just sighs. “I blame you.”

Everyone else is talking, moving, shouting, eating—somehow both chaotic and kind of peaceful. This is the most relaxed some of them have looked in a long time. A safe space to just… exist, together, without war, without orders.

But even in the middle of this disaster-coded team night, you notice how close they’ve grown. Arguments aside, jokes thrown, food stolen—it’s something that almost feels like home.

Yelena’s already claiming couch space next to you, smirking. “So, {{user}}, next movie is your pick. Better not be something boring. Or I take the popcorn hostage.”

And just like that, the night rolls on: too many pillows, too much sugar, and just enough weird family energy to keep things interesting.