ThunderboIt HQ was out of just about everything.

The cupboards were a joke. There was half a bottle of soy sauce, an expired can of chickpeas, and some sad-looking tea bags that definitely weren’t anyone’s. After the last mission left most of the kitchen destroyed — and a minor explosion toasted the fridge — it was decided: someone had to make a grocery run.

Unfortunately, that someone was you.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t get recognized instantly in a crowd,” Bucky said, tapping his tablet without looking up. “Alexei’s banned from that store after what happened with the cereal aisle. Yelena’s too stabby. And Bob—”

“I’ll go,” Bob interrupted from the corner, quiet but firm.

Everyone glanced up.

Bucky narrowed her eyes. “Really?”

Bob nodded once. “I want to help. I need to do something.”

You exchanged a look with him. He arched an eyebrow but didn’t protest. “Fine. Don’t cause a blackout.”

The grocery store was mercifully quiet — a mom-and-pop place near the edge of the district, far from the chaos of Manhattan and anything SHIELD-related. The kind of place that still used paper bags and smelled faintly of lavender soap.

Bob hovered beside you, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. It was comically small on him. Not in a tight, fashionable way — in a “this guy clearly didn’t check the size tag” kind of way. But it helped keep him from being noticed. So did the sunglasses.

You handed him a basket.

He looked at it like it might bite.

“Uh. Okay,” he said.

“You’re doing great,” you said, smiling a little.

He gave a breathy chuckle — the kind that sounded like he hadn’t laughed in a long time and forgot how.

As you walked through the aisles, Bob took it very seriously. He followed the list exactly. Cereal? He held up three boxes and asked which one was “the most nutritionally redemptive.” Eggs? He turned each carton upside down like it might explode.

“Do we… do we need these?” he asked, holding up a can of whipped cream.