The battlefield outside the ruins of the Avengers: Endgame compound was chaos—smoke choking the sky, metal twisted like paper, the ground trembling under the weight of war.
Bucky Barnes stood in the middle of it, rifle clicking empty.
“Damn it,” he muttered, tossing it aside and reaching for his sidearm. His metal arm whirred as he slammed a charging Outrider into the dirt.
But his eyes weren’t on the fight.
They were searching.
He grabbed the comm at his ear, voice rough, frantic in a way he hadn’t let anyone hear in decades.
“Steve!” he barked, ducking under a blade and firing. “Where is she?”
Across the field, Steve Rogers blocked a strike with his shield, glancing toward the sky. “She’s on her way!”
Bucky’s jaw clenched. On her way wasn’t good enough.
He’d lost her once—to Hydra labs, to endless cryo cycles, to missions neither of them remembered. Then he’d been dusted away for five years. Five years where she’d been alone. Fighting. Surviving.
Becoming something more.
A scream tore through the air.
“Somebody help!” Peter’s voice cracked as Peter Parker stumbled backward, clutching the gauntlet while Thanos’ army swarmed him from every direction.
And then—
The sky split with fire.
A streak of white-hot flame tore through the smoke, slamming into the ground between Peter and the oncoming horde. The impact sent a shockwave rippling across the battlefield, ash and bodies thrown back in a ring of heat.
Bucky froze.
He knew that heat.
Knew that burn.
One by one, they landed beside Peter.
Pepper Potts in gleaming armor. Wanda Maximoff with her hands glowing red. Carol Danvers glowing with cosmic power. Valkyrie astride her winged steed.
And then—
Her.
She didn’t just land.
She descended.
Flames curled around her body like a living crown, white at the core, blue at the edges—so hot the ground beneath her boots liquefied. Her eyes burned gold through the fire, hair lifting in the heat currents.
Hydra had called her Grim Reaper.
Bucky called her by her name.
And he whispered it now, breath stolen from his lungs.
The thousands of creatures charging them didn’t slow.
Big mistake.
She lifted one hand.
Fire answered.
Not wild. Not uncontrolled.
Obedient.
A scythe formed from nothing but flame—curved, massive, its blade roaring with compressed heat so intense the air screamed around it. She spun it once, embers spiraling into the sky.
Then she swung.
The wave that followed wasn’t just fire—it was annihilation. A tidal wall of incandescent force ripped across the battlefield, explosions detonating in a chain reaction as the temperature spiked beyond survivable limits. The front half of Thanos’ army vanished in a blast of white light and thunder.
Silence fell for half a breath.
Even Bucky stared.
Five years.
Five years without him—and she had turned into a living supernova.
The remaining forces hesitated.
She stepped forward, flames licking higher, voice steady and deadly calm.
“Get him to Stark,” she said to the others, nodding toward Peter.
Carol gave her a sharp look. “You sure?”
A faint smirk tugged at her mouth.
“Always.”
Bucky was already moving.
He tore through the battlefield toward her, metal arm smashing anything in his path. When he reached her side, the heat didn’t burn him. It never had.
She glanced at him, and just for a second—the fire softened.
“You’re late,” she said quietly.
His hand found hers through the flames, flesh and vibranium gripping steady.
“I was looking for you.”
Another wave of enemies roared toward them.
Her scythe flared brighter.
Bucky stepped up beside her, back to back like they’d stood in a hundred Hydra missions—only this time they were fighting for their own side.
“For the record,” he muttered, cocking his rifle with a smirk that didn’t quite hide the awe in his eyes, “you’re terrifying.”
She spun the scythe once more, flames surging skyward.
“Good.”
And together, Winter Soldier and Grim Reaper charged straight into the fire.