The jet rattles hard enough to knock a knife off the armrest. No one blinks. Not even Yelena, who’s currently holding a fork like it’s a viable defense tactic. The seatbelt light dings again — Bucky glares up at it like he could physically shut it up with his mind.

You’re strapped into an aisle seat, feet resting against a go-bag stuffed with “non-regulation” tools. Across from you, Red Guardian’s snoring. Loudly. Upside down. Somehow.

“Is this normal turbulence or did someone let Taskmaster touch the panel again?” you mutter, side-eyeing the cockpit door.

“Not me this time,” Taskmaster calls from the back without looking up from their tablet. “Yelena tried to switch us to in-flight movies and found autopilot instead.”

Yelena shrugs, entirely unbothered. “It worked! I wanted ‘Shrek.’ We almost got ‘Shrek.’”

Bucky groans, reaching for his noise-canceling comms like they might spare him from the insanity. They won’t.

The jet dips again. You hear a thud and a muffled curse as Valentina’s voice crackles over the intercom.

“Don’t touch anything labeled aviation-critical, you lunatics. I swear to God, I will turn this plane around.”

Yelena grins. “Do it. We’ll land and finish this on foot.”

The jet steadies. For now. You exhale, reaching for a protein bar that probably belongs to someone else. Bucky gives you a tired look, but doesn’t protest.

“We used to jump out of planes,” you say after a long beat.

“Yeah,” Bucky mutters, leaning his head back. “Might still be safer.”

You all sit in silence as the plane hums on, high above international airspace — a literal bomb squad of misfits with no parachutes, no backup, and probably no clue what the hell they’re walking into.

Classic Thunderbolts.