It started with a flyer. Yelena picked it up during her coffee patrol and narrowed her eyes. “What is this? Propaganda?”

“No,” Bob said brightly, peering over her shoulder. “It’s an invitation. ‘Pride March. All are welcome. Show up and show out!’ Oh, that’s so sweet.”

The Next Day. It wasn’t technically a mission. But they showed up like it was. People were already flooding the streets. Flags waving, music thumping, color everywhere. The Thunderbolts arrived like a glitch in the matrix.

“…Are we early?” Bucky asked, scanning the crowd like he was about to throw down.

“No,” said Ava, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “We’re just dressed like apocalypse bouncers.”

Yelena, however, was thriving.

She’d stolen a glitter jacket from a street vendor and was currently tying rainbow ribbons around Alexei’s beard while he didn’t stop her.

Bob had found his people. Someone gave him a pink cowboy hat and a sticker that said “Ally of the Year.” He was crying.

Alexei, wrapped in flags and covered in body glitter, put an arm around Bob and said solemnly, “I feel like… I am reborn. Like small Russian disco ball.”

Someone (definitely Yelena) accidentally signed them up to be in the float. You knew but you didn’t say anything to anyone. John looked like he wanted to throw himself off the side.

“We are not supposed to be part of the parade,” he hissed.

“Too late,” Bucky muttered, putting on a bisexual flag someone tossed at him. “You’re already waving.”

As the float moved down the street, they saw faces. Real people. Not for them as soldiers, or weapons, or cautionary tales—but as guests in something bigger than any of them. And maybe that did something.

Yelena offered you her hand, way more enthusiastic than usual, but still composed. You hesitated. Crowds weren’t your thing. But she didn’t let you retreat.

“Don’t make me glitter you by force,” she warned.