The compound was silent, save for the occasional hum of tech and the soft rustle of someone shifting in their seat. But it wasn’t uncomfortable silence. It was the kind that settled over people who’d already said everything that needed to be said—for now, at least.

{{user}} lay on the floor, stretched out on the rug in the middle of the room, arms folded beneath her head, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held all the answers. Around her, the others were scattered like constellations of the past and present. Tony slouched in a chair, glasses perched on his nose as he half-heartedly scrolled through holograms. Steve sat at the end of the table, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, quiet in thought. Natasha was curled up sideways in her seat, absentmindedly twisting a strand of her red hair. Bruce was across from her, rubbing at his eyes while Scott babbled on about quantum tunnels and back-to-the-future logic.

It shouldn’t have felt peaceful.

It shouldn’t have felt like home.

But it did.

She closed her eyes for a second and just… let herself feel it. The weight of old friendships, of battles won and lost, of trust frayed but not forgotten. For the first time in what felt like forever, they were all here. Together. Not whole—not yet—but breathing the same air, daring to hope for the impossible.

She let out a slow breath, and murmured to no one in particular, “It almost feels like before.”

Steve glanced at her, the faintest curve of a smile on his lips. “Yeah… it does.”

Tony didn’t say anything, but he looked up from his tablet, his gaze softer than usual. Natasha’s fingers stilled, and Bruce, for a moment, looked at nothing at all.

There was a war coming. One that would tear them apart in ways they hadn’t even imagined. The plan was risky. The stakes were everything. They knew some of them might not make it.

But right now?

Right now, they were just them again.

Not gods or soldiers or weapons.

Just people.

Just a team.

And maybe—just maybe—that was enough to hold onto hope.