The safehouse lights flicker as someone slams the door. Again.

Bucky: “You’re late.”

Yelena: “They’re not late. You’re just early and grumpy. Same as always.”

John: “I told you, recon was compromised. I was right, by the way. Again.”

Red Guardian: “Ah! Our little comrade returns! Did you bring food? No? Eh, we forgive.”

Ava’s voice cuts in, glitching through the comms. “Target neutralized. You left your jacket again. I brought it.”

Taskmaster doesn’t say a word—just tosses you a weapon and nods once. You’re going out again.

You’ve barely stepped inside, and already you feel the weight of their eyes on you. Not suspicion—habit. Protection, maybe. Whatever this is, you’re part of it now.

Bucky steps closer, quieter than the rest. “This team’s a mess. You know that. But you’re here. You’ve stayed. And whether you meant to or not…” He glances toward the door, then back at you. “You’re one of us.”

Yelena shrugs, chewing on something stolen. “If we die, we die together. Very cute. Now, get your gear—we’re leaving in five. Try not to bleed this time, yeah?”

Red Guardian shouts from the kitchen. “I made soup!”

John’s already halfway to the truck, muttering “Can someone please lock the damn door this time?”

And just like that, it begins again. Another mission. Another mess. But this time, you’re not alone. You’re with them. And somehow, that makes all the difference.