Reading Time: 86 Minutes

Title: Unbreak Broken
Author: enigmaticblue
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Dimension Travel, Romance
Relationship(s): Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff/James “Bucky” Barnes
Content Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Beta: thomasina75
Word Count: 100,776
Summary: In a dying world, Steve, Natasha, and Tony decide to use an escape hatch to a parallel universe, one that might need three superheroes. Their arrival shakes everything up.
Artist: startabby

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Part I

Now

The room is lit solely by the candles they found in a linen closet, the flickering light casting eerie shadows against the patchy wallpaper. Natasha thinks that it’s probably ironic that they’re in the basement of a church, since Strange has delved so deeply into dark magic in an attempt to reverse what has become inevitable.

Tony is listless, his tattered peacoat drawn tightly around him, the candlelight glinting off the silver in his short hair and unkempt beard. He has dark circles under his eyes, but then, they all do.

Tony is sunk in his own misery, but Steve is pacing restlessly, running a hand through long, shaggy hair. He hasn’t worn a uniform in months now, his last one finally having given up the ghost, forcing Steve to scrounge for whatever clothing he can find, just like the rest of them.

Natasha tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It’s escaped the braid she normally wears. Given the lack of water it’s not as if they have easy access to showers, and she prefers to have it out of her face.

Strange sits in the middle of a group of candles, tracing complicated patterns in the air with his hands. His third eye is visible in the center of his forehead, and his cheeks are sunken and sallow.

“I think we should still try,” Steve says a little desperately. “We can stick it out. Maybe we can find a solution.”

“In ten years, there isn’t going to be anyone around for you to fuck, Steve,” Tony says sourly, not even looking up. “And we’ve talked about this. To death.”

Natasha snorts. “He has a point.”

“You’re still around, aren’t you?” Steve shoots back, glaring at Tony.

Natasha knows that whatever is between Steve and Tony—partly sex, partly comfort in a decades’ long friendship—it doesn’t prevent them from clashing on occasion, like now. Tony does glance up at that, though, his expression sympathetic. “It’s not like we’re running away from a fight; there isn’t a fight to be had.”

Natasha glances towards the window, seeing the endless twilight that had come from a combination of nuclear war and climate change. “You can’t fight the entire planet, Steve. The war was over long before you got drafted,” she points out.

Strange glances up from his work. “I told you, Captain,” he says, his voice echoing strangely, and not from the acoustics in the room. “There is no future for you here. At best, humanity will survive in some form or another for fifteen years, maybe twenty. Realistically, though, it’s closer to five.”

“If the choice is between dying without effecting any change, or going somewhere we might be able to do some good, I know what my decision is,” Tony says flatly. “You can stay if you want, but I’m going.”

Strange clears his throat. “I can only open the portal once.”

“I’m going,” Natasha says quietly. She agreed with Tony months ago once it became obvious that those were their only options, when Strange admitted there was nothing he could do but send them to a different universe.

That quiet assurance is enough to pull Steve back from his second thoughts. “All right,” he says wearily. “If you’re both going, I am, too.”

“Good, it’s nearly ready,” Strange replies. His silver-streaked hair is pulled back from his face, and the lines around his eyes and mouth seem to be deepening by the second. No one has said as much, but they all know that this is one last sacrificial act by a man who has sold his soul to the darkness in order to attempt to save the planet, and now just to save the three of them.

Natasha doesn’t believe in life after death, but she wonders if Strange does, if he’s hoping that his actions here and now will offset whatever price he had to pay to get the necessary power.

The sigils in the air glow orange, which Natasha is used to, but then turn a bloody red. “I can only give you a few seconds. You’ll wind up in the New York Sanctum Sanctorum, with whoever is the head in that universe. It might be someone else completely, some version of myself who never knew you, or a me that did know the other versions of you. I can’t see that far, I’m sorry.”

“We’ll be fine,” Natasha says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

When the portal opens, Steve takes a step towards it, but Natasha shakes her head. “Me first. Then Tony, then you.”

Steve nods reluctantly, and Natasha quickly steps through. She has the non-lethal weapons Tony made for her, so she doesn’t draw her gun. If there are no threats, she doesn’t want to present one and draw what could be friendly fire.

Tony pops out of the portal behind her, the repulser weapons glowing under the woolen gloves he’d worn to ward off the chill, and then Steve emerges, his shield held defensively in front of him.

The portal winks out, and this is the point of no return.

Natasha glances around, and she thinks she sees a shadow move, but the grand foyer is in better shape than she’s seen it, the window above their heads has its glass intact, and a man steps into view just under it, looking over the railing at the interlopers who have entered his domain.

The man wears a familiar face, and for that Natasha is at least a little bit grateful, since it’s possible that this Strange had been acquainted with at least one of them. One elegant eyebrow goes straight up, and then he begins walking down the stairs toward them, red cloak swirling even though there’s no breeze, wearing blue breeches and a tunic and leather boots. His hair is perfectly coiffed, his beard well-trimmed, and his forehead unmarred.

Natasha wonders if he’ll believe their story since he doesn’t have his third eye open.

Strange holds his empty hands out, palms up, as he descends. Natasha isn’t sure whether he’s preparing to cast a spell or if the gesture is one of peace. “Well, this is new,” Strange says, as he stops in front of them. “Can I assume that you haven’t been brought back from the dead?”

“Safe assumption,” Tony replies flatly. He’s never been a fan of magic, and he and Strange always rubbed each other the wrong way. She hopes that Tony doesn’t put their chances in jeopardy, and she glances past Tony to Steve.

Out of habit, they’d put Tony between them, and if they take a couple of steps farther, they could easily flank Strange. He might be able to stop her bite or Steve’s shield, but not both at once.

She hopes. She also hopes it doesn’t come to that.

“Less of a safe assumption than you might think,” Strange replies, still wearing a superior expression, as though he has three people from a parallel universe show up every day. “So, is this a visit, or had you planned on staying?”

“I hope it’s not a problem if we say we’d like to stay,” Natasha replies, her eyes flicking around the grand staircase and the oddities within the Sanctum, her hand never far from one of her Bites.

“That would depend entirely on why you’ve come in the first place,” Strange replies, but his palms flip over, and he could easily start casting from that position.

Steve clears his throat and lowers his shield. He knows that she won’t let down her guard, and so Steve can appear to be the reasonable one. “Our world was dying, and our Dr. Strange said this one might need us.”

Now Strange’s hands drop, and he takes a deep breath, looking at each of them in turn for a long moment. When his blue eyes meet hers, something in his gaze softens. “You know, you three look like you could use a drink.”

He steps off the staircase and leads the way to a room just off the foyer. It looks like a study of some sort, and Strange waves them to the available loveseat and a wingback chair. Natasha sits next to Tony on the loveseat, while Steve takes the chair.

“Tea?” Strange offers, sitting in the second chair.

“Something stronger?” Tony counters.

A highball glass with a generous portion of amber liquid appears in Tony’s hand, and the same occurs for Natasha. A tall glass of beer appears in Steve’s.

“You seem like more of a beer person,” Strange explains, leaning back in his chair.

“I certainly wouldn’t say no,” Steve replies wryly.

Natasha is trying not to look at the items in the study too closely. She’s fairly certain that one of the cabinets is looking at them. She’d only been in their Sanctum once, and it had mostly been emptied out, so she has no idea what to expect. She doesn’t even know if the two places contain the same or similar items.

“Can you tell me what was killing your world?” Strange asks, steepling his fingers in front of his face with a frown.

Natasha can understand why he’s suspicious; she would be, too. Natasha glances at Tony, letting him take the lead.

“There was a nuclear strike against Russia by the US in 1963,” Tony says wearily. “After an assassination of the US president in 1962 by a Russian asset later identified as the Winter Soldier.”

Strange doesn’t seem to react to that. “And then?”

“Russia sends us a nuke, which took out Washington, D.C. There were cascading changes to the climate, and world governments were unwilling to do anything about it, preferring to build even bigger and better weapons,” Tony continues. “By the time I was in a position to do anything about it, it was too late to reverse the effects. We estimated at most twenty years before everyone on the planet was dead, but it was probably more like five.”

Strange’s expression hardly changes, which Natasha finds deeply irritating. Their Strange could manage a poker-face to be irritating as well, and she’s almost certain that’s what he’s trying to do. “And how did you get here?”

“Our version of you delved deeply into dark magic,” Natasha replies when Tony takes a healthy gulp of his drink rather than answering the question. “Sending us here was his last, sacrificial act.”

That finally pulls a reaction out of Strange, and he rubs his eyes wearily. “Well, that sounds perfectly dreadful. I have no way of knowing whether you’re telling the truth, of course, but—“

Steve straightens, beer sloshing in his glass. “We wouldn’t lie to you!”

Strange holds up a hand. “I didn’t say that I didn’t believe you. I just said that I have no way of verifying your story.”

“What are you going to do?” Natasha asks bluntly.

“I’m going to call in the others,” Strange says quietly. “And I’m going to recommend that we head to the Avengers’ complex where the three of you can get cleaned up, and we can figure out what comes next.”

Water had been at a premium, and reserved for consumption. There had been some non-potable water that they’d been able to use on occasion, but mostly just for a quick splash on the face. Natasha can’t remember the last time she’d had enough water to really, thoroughly, wash her hair.

“I don’t suppose we could borrow some clothing,” Tony hazards. “It won’t make much difference if we’re just pulling on the same dirty clothes.”

Steve tips his head back. “Fuck. I can’t remember the last time I had clean clothes.”

Strange’s expression is sympathetic now. “Then let me assist you.”

All three of them toss back their drinks, and Natasha watches as Strange makes a complicated series of gestures, opening up a portal to—somewhere.

It crosses her mind that he might be taking them to a secure location to imprison them, but she figures there’s nothing they can do about that. They’re guests in this universe, at least until the decision is made that they can stay.

Natasha has no idea where they are when they step through, other than it’s a bright, clean place with lots of glass. Sunlight streams in, and there are several people bustling around what looks like an open lobby with a round desk and several groupings of chairs around low tables.

That activity comes to a screeching halt as each person spots them and then realizes what they’re seeing.

Natasha tucks a lock of hair behind her ear as people stare, apparently too stunned to speak. A Black man comes jogging towards them, and then skids to a halt. He’s wearing gym shorts and a sweat-stained t-shirt, and he says, “FRIDAY said that there was a magical incursion.” And then he gets a good look at them and demands, “What the actual fuck, Strange?”

He seems to realize that there are at least four other pairs of eyes staring at them in the same breath. “Everyone, back to what you were doing! Now!”

That gets everyone moving again, and the man moves to put his head closer to Strange’s.

“You received my report about the multiverse, and the possibility of getting visitors,” Strange murmurs. “And my cell phone was dead. My only real option was just showing up here”

The man rubs his eyes, and then takes a deep breath. “Strange, bring your guests. I’d rather have this conversation away from prying eyes and ears.”

He leads them into a conference room off the lobby and says, “FRIDAY, windows opaque.”

The windows frost over, blocking others’ view into the room, and Natasha plops down in one of the padded chairs wearily. She really had been looking forward to that shower and clean clothes, and she’s disappointed to be denied at least for now.

“Okay, what the actual fuck is going on?” the man asks, looking around wildly. “They’re dead!”

“Technically, your version of us is dead—are dead,” Tony says pedantically. “Should that be plural or singular? Maybe it’s singular if we all died at the same time here.”

The man stares at Tony, and he takes a deep, audible breath before beginning to pace around the room. “Do you know how much craziness this is going to bring?”

“Can we get that shower and clean clothes now?” Steve asks plaintively. “Look, I’m sure you’re super nice, and I’d totally fuck you given the opportunity, but I was promised a hot shower and clean clothes, which I haven’t had in months.”

The man stares at Steve, clearly flabbergasted. “What?”

“Dr. Strange promised us a shower and clean clothes, neither of which we’ve had for months,” Steve repeats pointedly. “So, that would be a great way to get us out of the public eye.”

The man blinks, and then closes his eyes, appearing to gather himself. “Okay. Right.” He opens his eyes and his face takes on a neutral expression. “Let’s go back to the beginning before my mama starts spinning in her grave due to my lack of manners. I’m Sam Wilson, the current Captain America.”

Steve grins that grin that has been devastating to so many. “Steve Rogers, but I figure you already knew that, based on your reaction.”

Wilson inclines his head. “The Steve Rogers I knew wouldn’t have offered to fuck me.”

Steve grins. “His loss, I suppose.”

“Natasha Romanova,” Natasha says.

Wilson blinks, and it’s clear that he recognizes her, but also, that something in her name had changed. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Tony Stark.” Tony’s face is blank, and Natasha can tell that he’s starting to shut down. None of them recognize this stranger, even if he appears to recognize them.

“That part I definitely knew,” Wilson says, his tone wry. “And you’re right. I’m keeping you all from something that you have been promised. I can make sure you have clean clothing, and I’ll work on a hot meal. FRIDAY, I need escorts to quarters.”

Natasha knows that means they’ll have armed escorts, but if they have hot water and clean clothing to wear, she doesn’t fucking care.

Three people in black fatigues appear shortly, and they’re escorted to rooms with en suite bathrooms without a word. At least they aren’t wearing any alarming patches, like the Death’s Head Hydra.

Natasha doesn’t like being separated from the others, but it’s not like they’re going to shower together either, and Natasha is confident of her ability to get past the guard on her door and get to the others if necessary.

The guard stays outside the room, though, so Natasha doesn’t care about much beyond the hot water that has been promised.

There are already toiletries in the bathroom, things she hasn’t had in ages—shampoo, conditioner, lotion. There’s actually real toilet paper, and a glass next to the sink, and she drinks thirstily, hoping that the water out of the faucet is clean, but it seems likely that it is.

Eventually, she gets into the shower, and sees a safety razor, and the water is hot, and the water pressure is amazing. As she stands under the spray, her hair wet and loose around her shoulders, she puts her hands against the tiles and enjoys the multiple shower heads.

She feels guilty. Water had been so precious only a few hours ago, and now she can use as much of it as she likes. She cuts her shower shorter than she would prefer, but she’s clean—really clean—for the first time in ages.

There’s a set of fatigue pants and a t-shirt at the foot of the bed in her quarters, and Natasha pulls them on, going commando. Not like that’s much different. What feels different is being clean.

She looks at the bed longingly, and remembers what Wilson had said about working on food, which suggests that it might take a little time. Natasha knows that she’s going to have to deal with more strangers—some who will seem more familiar than others—and a quick nap is going to help with that.

Natasha isn’t sure what’s expected, so she sticks her head out of the door to see the guard still standing there. “I think I’m going to take a nap. Will you let the others know?”

The guard nods. “Yes, ma’am. I can let the Captain know, too. It’s probably going to be an hour or so before the food is ready.”

“Thank you,” Natasha replies, and she appreciates the time frame. An hour nap will give her enough energy to deal with what’s to come.

Then

Tony waits around the corner quietly, watching for Howard to emerge from the room where they’ve installed the defrosted Captain America. He figures that his dad will deliver the bad news, but Tony wants to get a good look at him.

Howard Stark has been looking for Captain America his entire life, and Tony is curious.

Well, that and he figures that Rogers is probably going to need a pep talk.

He watches as his dad strides down the hallway, and Tony retreats into the shadows to avoid being seen.

Tony has spent his entire life in one compound or another, seeing the sun on carefully orchestrated and safe outings. He knows how to navigate the mostly nondescript hallways, and how to avoid his dad while he’s at it.

Technically, Rogers’ location is supposed to be a secret, but Tony hasn’t yet met a system that he can’t hack.

As soon as his dad turns a corner, Tony heads down the hall and finds the room to Rogers’ quarters wide open. Rogers is sitting on a small settee, elbows on his knees, shoulders slumped. He’s wearing a SHIELD t-shirt that stretches across broad shoulders and a pair of khaki pants, blond hair falling over his forehead.

Tony has seen the newsreels, so he knows that Rogers is physically imposing, but he’s even more impressive in person. And, while Tony knows that Rogers had been born in 1917, he doesn’t look to be that much older than Tony.

“Hey, so I figure you’re probably feeling pretty shitty right about now,” Tony says by way of a greeting.

Rogers’ head comes up slowly, and he gives Tony a hollow-eyed stare, then blinks. “You’ve got to be Howard’s son.”

“Tony Stark,” Tony replies, and holds out a hand. “Welcome to the shit show, I guess.”

That pulls a reluctant smile out of Rogers, who stands. He has a couple of inches on Tony, and his hand envelopes Tony’s easily. His bicep is probably as big as Tony’s head. “‘Shit show,’ huh?”

“Pretty sure Dad gave you the speech about how we’re all fucked if we don’t utilize all our weapons, including you,” Tony replies, sitting down next to Rogers when he waves him to the empty space next to him on the settee.

Rogers draws in a breath. “So, you got that speech, too.”

“Starting when I was four and built my first computer,” Tony admits. “I was supposed to save the world. Dad took a little longer to get around to admitting that it couldn’t be saved.”

Rogers glances at him. “That’s not what Howard said.”

“Yeah, that’s because Howard thinks that bigger weapons will save us all,” Tony says sarcastically. “Although, to be fair, pretty much everyone agrees with him, and he’s got Obie in his ear.”

Rogers leans back against the couch, stretching an arm back behind Tony. “So, are you going to be honest with me?”

“Someone needs to be,” Tony replies with a grin.

And, okay, maybe he’s flirting a little bit, but Rogers is hot like burning, Tony is twenty, and he graduated from MIT two months ago. Tony is also kind of bored, and a defrosted Captain America is about the most interesting thing that’s happened since his graduation ceremony, especially since Tony isn’t interested in making weapons.

Rogers cocks his head. “So, what do you think will save the world?”

Tony realizes that Rogers probably doesn’t even know what a nuclear weapon does to the environment, or what more and more industrialization has done. “I don’t think you’ve been paying attention, Captain Rogers. I’m not sure that we can save the world, but we can live our best lives while we still have them.”

“Call me Steve,” Rogers replies. “And I’d like to hear about what you’re working on.”

Tony slumps against the settee. “Nothing, right now. Dad wants me to work on weapons, and I—don’t. He said I could work on my own projects, but I don’t know what to do. I just know I don’t want to contribute to the giant weapons stockpile that already exists.”

Steve nods slowly. “You know your dad didn’t always make weapons, right?”

Tony frowns. “What do you mean?”

Steve smiles. “The first time I saw your dad it was at the World Fair in New York. He was going to build a flying car. He built a transponder for me—although that broke. He made my shield. You don’t have to build weapons in order to save people, you know.”

It’s the first time that anyone has actually said as much, and it’s not as though Tony hadn’t known that, but the idea begins to crystallize.

Tony can’t save the planet, and he can’t stop the endless wars, but he can at least save a few people along the way, and maybe make his dad happy.

Or at least happier. Tony knows he’s never going to make his dad happy.

“Hey,” Steve says gently. “You know where to get some food around here? Howard basically dropped a bombshell, and I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

Tony manages a grin. “Yeah, of course. I’ll show you.”

Tony wonders what might have happened if his dad hadn’t given up looking for Captain America after that first nuclear strike against Russia. Maybe things would have been a lot different.

Instead, Steve got defrosted because of climate change.

It’s a bit of a plot twist, but Tony kind of likes Steve Rogers already.

Now

Bruce wakes from a restless sleep to his phone ringing. He doesn’t have the manual dexterity in this form to use anything other than voice activation, so he says, “Accept call.”

“Bruce, it’s Sam Wilson. Sorry to bother you, but we have a situation.”

Bruce sits up, hearing the bed creak ominously beneath him. While he had been assured that it would stand up to his green frame, he’s beginning to have his doubts. “What kind of situation?” he asks around a yawn.

“We’ve had three people cross over from a parallel universe,” Sam replies, and he sounds irritated. Bruce can understand why; the last time the borders between various universes thinned, it had nearly caused the end of the world and no small amount of damage.

“Are we talking about another apocalypse?” Bruce asks, standing up and stretching, trying to shake off sleep.

“No, Strange says that’s not the kind of incursion we’re talking about,” Sam says vaguely, and Bruce realizes that he’s dancing around something.

“Spit it out, Sam,” Bruce advises. “You were the one to wake me up for a ‘situation.’”

He knows that Sam can hear the air quotes in his tone. Bruce doesn’t know what sort of situation would result in Sam calling him and then not just stating what it is. He was up most of the night working on a clean energy project for SI, and had just crawled into bed a couple of hours before.

“It’s less about the fact that three people have crossed over and more about who they are,” Sam replies, using the tone of voice someone might deploy when reporting a death.

Bruce feels his stomach sink. “Who is it?”

“Steve, Natasha, and Tony,” Sam replies. “Well, alternate versions of them, anyway.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, somehow unsurprised. “Has anyone called Pepper yet?”

“No, you’re my first call,” Sam replies. “We need to confirm their identities before we tell anyone anything.”

“Are you sure the news can’t get out?” Bruce presses, because he would not want to explain to Pepper, Morgan, or Happy why they saw it on TV first.

Sam hesitates. “I don’t think so. Strange said they appeared out of thin air in the Sanctum, and he used magic to portal them straight to the complex. People here have seen them, but they know what would happen if they leaked the news.”

Bruce sighs and asks, “And why are you calling me?” Then he stops, remembering what Sam said about confirming identities. “You want me to run DNA tests.”

“Who else on the team can do it and keep it quiet?” Sam asks. “And you knew them best once upon a time.”

“Once upon a time, sure,” Bruce agrees. “But I don’t know these people, not really.”

“Bruce, please,” Sam cajoles. “If there’s a way to confirm identities and figure out how to integrate them into this world—I don’t want to tell them they’re confined to the complex. I can’t keep them prisoner without a good fucking reason.”

Bruce blows out a breath. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“I’ve sent a Quinjet,” Sam says. “It’ll be there within the half hour.”

Bruce grimaces and replies, “I’ll pack for a few days.”

He can hear the stress in Sam’s voice. Hitchhiking in the back of a truck, or finding some other means of travel would take too long. The Quinjet is the best option for him when he’s green and needs to get somewhere quickly. “Thanks,” Sam says fervently. “See you soon.”

Aside from his place in Mexico, and a couple of other boltholes, Bruce has a garden level apartment in Manhattan, and there’s a nearby park where he’s been picked up before. Sam would know that, and in fact, that’s where the Quinjet lands about 20 minutes later.

He doesn’t recognize the pilot, but the woman calls out, “Doctor Banner? Captain America sent me.”

Bruce feels hysteria clawing at his throat, and he wants to laugh and ask, “Which one?”

Instead, he smiles and nods. “That’s me. I’m hard to miss.”

“Agent Kellett,” she says with a dimpled grin. “Just sit back and relax, and I’ll have you there in no time.”

Bruce puts his duffel bag down and tips his head back as he sits on the bench seat. Fury had decided to “loan” the Avengers some SABER agents to keep track of things for him on Planet Earth, and coopted part of the complex that had been created as part of Tony’s will.

Tony had wanted the Avengers to carry on in his absence, so Bruce can’t help but show up when asked. He’s no longer hated or feared, and is instead a beloved member of the Avengers. It’s a strange, brave new world.

And he’s going to see three people he loved who had died—at least in this universe.

He wonders what their response to him will be, whether they knew some other version of him, whether he’d been a good guy, whether he’d still been the Hulk.

The Quinjet lands gently, and Agent Kellett turns to look at him. “I hope you had a nice ride, sir.”

“If there were an app, I’d give you five stars,” Bruce replies with a grin.

She laughs. “No one said you were funny.”

“It’s a closely guarded secret,” Bruce says wryly, and ducks low as he walks out of the back hatch with his bag.

Sam and Strange are waiting for him in the hangar bay. Sam’s arms are tightly crossed, his face set in a scowl, and Strange’s hands are clasped behind his back, looking contemplative.

“So, more weird shit, huh?” Bruce asks with a wry smile, knowing how each of them deals with that sort of thing.

Strange snorts. “Wait until you see them. It’s a mind-fuck.”

“How so?” Bruce asks, following them inside the complex. He does like the space here; it’s one of the few places—other than Mexico—he doesn’t feel hemmed in.

“Have you ever seen Stark less than perfectly coiffed?” Strange asks.

Bruce flashes back to a late evening in the lab, during one of Tony and Pepper’s “breaks,” that he will never, ever talk about. Tony’s hair had been sweat-damp and disheveled, shirt rucked up, pants around his ankles, Bruce fucking into him in rough strokes.

“Not in recent memory,” he says honestly.

Sam shoots Bruce a look, but he knows that Bruce and Natasha also had something of a thing. “Tony was wearing a peacoat that was destroyed,” Sam says. “He looked more like a homeless guy than Tony Stark. You’ll see.”

Bruce sucks in a breath, understanding the significance of that. “Yeah, I can see why that would be notable. What about the other two?”

“Well, Steve said he wouldn’t mind fucking me,” Sam admits with a laugh that doesn’t hold much humor as he begins leading the way into the complex and down a long hallway. “Which is why we want DNA confirmation.”

Bruce sighs. “You do realize that we have no evidence that our counterparts from other universes share the same DNA.”

Although, he has to admit that he’d have paid to be a fly on the wall when Steve propositioned Sam, just to see it for himself.

“It’s the only thing that we do have,” Sam replies. “And if it looks like a duck, and has a duck’s DNA, it’s definitely not a chicken.”

Bruce glances down at Strange, who looks vaguely miffed.”There’s nothing you can do magically?”

“When I first encountered them there was the suggestion of dark magic around them, but that’s as much as I could see,” Strange admits. “They’re here now, and we may not be able to send them back to their own universe, even if we wanted to.”

“Do you know how?” Bruce asks, mostly out of curiosity as they turn a corner. He’s been here often enough that he recognizes that they’re heading towards one of the common areas used most often by the Avengers when they’re in residence.

“They said my counterpart used dark magic, and I’d prefer not to resort to that,” Strange replies sourly, looking up at Bruce.

Bruce inclines his head, figuring that dark magic is probably bad, just in general. “Where are they now?”

“Getting cleaned up, and probably sleeping,” Sam replies. “That was the other thing: they smelled awful and looked exhausted.”

Bruce has a hard time imagining that. Even after a protracted battle, covered in sweat and grime, Bruce can’t remember Tony smelling bad. Same with Natasha and Steve. And he’d been close enough to all three of them to know.

He can still remember the scent of Tony’s cologne, and—when he wasn’t wearing it—the sandalwood soap Tony favored. He puts that aside quickly. Bruce has to brace himself for what’s to come.

“I guess I’ll work on making something for them to eat, while you two fill me in on the rest of it,” Bruce says. “I want to know everything that you know.”

Strange rattles off what he’d been told about the other world and why they’d left, and how they’d been able to escape. Bruce takes a deep breath; his own, recent projects had been directed at climate change and clean energy. It’s a cause near and dear to his heart.

Hearing about a dying world, even if it had been kicked off by nuclear war, scares the shit out of him.

“How did they appear physically?” Bruce asks, because that’s going to determine what he makes for them to eat.

“Thin, but not completely malnourished,” Strange says. “They appeared to be in fair health.”

“FRIDAY, any indication that they brought an illness with them?” Bruce asks. He knows that the sensors in the complex are sensitive to such things.

“They aren’t exhibiting any signs of illness, disease, or recent injuries,” FRIDAY replies.

Sam frowns. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

Bruce shrugs. “We can keep them here and relatively isolated while we run the tests and decide what we’re going to do. By then, we should be past any danger, and FRIDAY’s sensors are good.”

Bruce starts cutting up a cantaloupe that he finds in the fridge, while Sam takes over cutting up an onion and peppers and grating cheese. It’s late morning, and Bruce figures omelets and fruit will be easy to digest.

Natasha is the first to appear, escorted by one of the agents stationed at the compound. She’s wearing black cargo pants and a black t-shirt, probably taken from the uniform stores they keep for SABER agents. Her boots are battered, though, and there’s black electrical tape around one of the toes. She doesn’t look all that different physically, other than the red braid going most of the way down her back.

Plus, the new lines around her mouth and the dark circles under her eyes.

If he didn’t know better, he might have thought she was the Natasha he once knew, and he feels that same warm bolt of affection. He hadn’t been in love with Natasha when she died, but he had loved her.

But he hears her sharp intake of breath and sees the alarm in her eyes as she takes him in. The last thing he wants to do is to scare anyone. Bruce hadn’t even thought about the possibility, so he focuses on changing.

He prefers being green these days, but that doesn’t mean he has to be.

He watches as her shoulders drop and her fists unclench. Bruce is glad that his wardrobe has been doctored with nano particles, so he’s not swimming in his shirt and trousers.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting…“ Natasha trails off.

She doesn’t finish that sentence, and Bruce manages a smile. “Hey. I take it you recognize me.”

She inclines her head. “I do now. Tony knew you better. It’s—going to be harder on him.”

Bruce takes a deep breath. “Then maybe it’s easier for me to appear like this.”

“I don’t know how any of this is going to be easy,” Natasha replies, but she manages a smile. “But easier, yes.”

Steve is the next to show up, also escorted by an agent, dressed much the same way as Natasha. He has long hair that reaches the collar of his black t-shirt, brushed straight back from his face. His beard is full, and his blue eyes narrow when he spots Bruce. “Dr. Banner.”

“So, you know me, too,” Bruce comments. “Or a version of me.”

Steve hitches a shoulder. “Yeah, glad you’re not dead here.”

He sounds more indifferent than Natasha had, but he and Steve had never been especially close, so that doesn’t bother him.

And then Tony comes in, also dressed in black fatigues, and he stops dead when he sees Bruce. His hair is buzzed short and his beard is thick and unkempt, and Bruce can understand why Sam and Strange had thought Tony’s appearance was the most telling.

Tony makes a punched-out sound, almost a whimper, and then he seems to pull himself together, drawing his shoulders back, and tipping his chin up. “Dr. Banner, I presume.”

Bruce hitches a shoulder. “That would be me. Did you all know some version of me?”

Tony takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Yeah, you could say that. Did you—were we—?”

“You were my friend, and then you died to save the world,” Bruce replies. “Everything else can wait for right now. Are you hungry?”

“Are those—are those fresh vegetables?” Tony asks, eyeing the cutting board with the onion and peppers.

“They are,” Bruce says. “I thought I’d make omelets.” He figures it will be easy on malnourished stomachs, but also provide sufficient sustenance.

“Fresh eggs?” Steve asks, his face brightening.

Bruce figures that a dying world probably doesn’t have much in the way of fresh food. “Yes.”

“Can I help?” Steve asks eagerly. “I mean, I kind of suck at KP, but I can take directions.”

“You’re our guests, so sit,” Bruce replies. “This won’t take long.”

When in doubt, distract with food, Bruce thinks, and reminds himself that these aren’t the people he’d known. They are, however, people who have apparently been through a lot, and he can do for them what he can no longer do for his friends

Bruce leans in close to Sam as he finishes chopping the onion. “Did you call Barnes?”

“Yeah, right after I called Barton,” Sam whispers back. “They’re both on their way here, and it sounds like Barton’s bringing his protege.”

Bruce shrugs philosophically. “He could have brought the entire family, and you know how hard he took Natasha’s death.”

Sam nods. “True.”

Bruce cracks and then beats about a dozen eggs, and then starts making omelets. They don’t take long to cook, and he puts one after another on plates and passes them to their three guests.

An awkward silence had reigned until Bruce starting serving the food, and then there’s just the sound of cutlery scraping across plates as Steve, Tony, and Natasha begin eating.

Sam drinks a pre-made protein shake, and Strange makes toast for himself, both of them keeping an eye on their guests. Bruce pours coffee all around before starting up the pot again. He figures they could all use the caffeine.

“I haven’t had the real stuff in years,” Tony mutters, wrapping his hands around his mug. “Do you have to ration?”

“You can have as much as you like,” Bruce replies. “There’s plenty, and there’s more where that came from.”

Steve frowns. “No rationing at all?”

“No, not here,” Sam insists. “The Avengers complex is well stocked, and we can always order more supplies.”

All three of them put down their forks with obvious reluctance, and Bruce pushes the bowl of cut fruit their way. “I know it will take time to acclimate, but there’s food in the fridge if you get hungry, so feel free to help yourselves whenever you like.”

Steve spears a piece of cantaloupe with his fork and just shakes his head. “What is this?”

“Cantaloupe,” Bruce says, a little surprised that Steve doesn’t recognize it. “It’s a type of melon. It’s sweet.”

Steve pops it into his mouth, and then closes his eyes and lets out an almost pornographic moan. “God, how long has it been since we had any fresh fruit?” he asks.

“About as long as it’s been since we had fresh eggs or vegetables, or anything else that didn’t come out of a can,” Tony says, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t reach for the fruit.

Natasha takes a cautious bite, and she also closes her eyes, and Bruce can see the pleasure drift across her face. “Tony, you should really try some.”

“I’m full,” Tony says, his tone almost short.

“Hey,” Bruce says gently, recognizing the signs of an exhausted Tony Stark who’s about to shut down out of self defense. “You guys want to get some sleep?”

Tony shakes his head and meets Bruce’s eyes. There’s an expression on his face, an emotion in his eyes, that Bruce can’t quite name. “Fuck, I probably should. I’m goddamn punchy, but I don’t want to right now.”

“Then how about a tour of the facility?” Bruce suggests. “And while we’re at it, I can take run the DNA tests.”

“Is that necessary?” Steve asks dubiously.

“Frankly, yes,” Sam says bluntly. “We’re not going to be able to keep your presence here quiet forever. If we can say that you’re identical versions from another, parallel universe, it will be an easier sell.”

Tony glances at Bruce, who shrugs. “I promise, we’ll destroy the samples once I’ve run the tests,” Bruce says.

That seems to settle them down, and Tony nods. “Well, if you’re anything like my version of Bruce, you’re as good as your word.”

Sam straightens. “We’ll leave them in your capable hands then, Banner.”

“They always stick you with the shit jobs?” Steve asks as Sam and Strange leave.

Bruce raises his eyebrows, both at the profanity and the classification. This version of Steve seems looser, but also warier. There’s a cynical tilt to his smile that Bruce has never seen before. “I wouldn’t call this a ‘shit job,’” he replies mildly. “It’s a necessary one, and I can do it while maintaining the utmost discretion.”

Tony huffs a laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely you.”

“You didn’t see him earlier,” Natasha mutters. “He was big and green.”

Bruce realizes that he might not have been the Hulk in that other universe. “It’s a long story, but Natasha was uncomfortable, so I changed my complexion. Come on. I can clean up the dishes later.”

“Can I see?” Tony asks, and his eyes light up with that same excitement Bruce is so used to seeing on Tony’s face.

Bruce nods and can’t help smiling. “Later, I promise.”

He’s not sure why he wants privacy for that bit of show and tell, but he does.

And then the memories of Tony surface—fucked out and sweaty and sated, jokingly carving their initials into the bar, the hesitation in his voice when he told Bruce that Pepper was pregnant. Bruce resolutely pushes that aside; Tony Stark has always been the person who sees him, and Bruce refuses to believe that this version is going to be any different.

Tony doesn’t question it, merely nods and says, “Lead on, good doctor. Do you still have a ridiculous number of Ph.D.s?”

His Tony had given him a hard time about that once or twice, and Bruce chuckles. “Depends on what you define as a ridiculous number.”

“More than two,” Tony says. “Mine had three.”

Bruce feels himself flush. “Let’s not talk about it. This is a different world.”

“So, more than three,” Tony says knowingly as Bruce leads them out of the kitchen area.

Bruce wonders if there’s a universe where Tony doesn’t needle him, and figures there probably isn’t. He’s not sure he’d know what to do with that sort of Tony even if he did exist.

“Enough,” Steve says quietly. “We’re guests here, Tony.”

Bruce expects Tony to bristle, but instead Tony’s shoulders slump. “Yeah. Sorry, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce feels that like a rock in his stomach. “I don’t mind. I’ve had a similar conversation with my version before. It’s fine.”

But he wonders how many of these land mines he’ll need to watch out for, and it’s clear that the dynamics between these three are very different then what Bruce had been used to.

~~~~~

Tony keeps glancing at Bruce out of the corner of his eye, looking for differences. Bruce’s curly hair has more silver than it had when he’d last seen Bruce alive. He has stubble that’s also shot through with silver, and there are new lines around his eyes and mouth.

But there’s a lightness to him, too, a sparkle in his eye and a spring to his step that Tony doesn’t remember ever seeing. His kindness is familiar, though, and his steadiness.

Tony remembers the days when he’d leaned heavily on both, when Bruce had been a rock to him, keeping him grounded, when he’d thought Bruce would be his entire future.

“Sam stays here part-time,” Bruce is saying. “Fury keeps us staffed from SABER, mostly so we can deal with any emergencies that come up. None of us stay here permanently, and it’s rare for so many of us to be under one roof since…” He stops, trailing off, then takes a deep, audible breath. “Since Thanos, anyway.”

The name doesn’t mean anything to Tony, and he can see Natasha and Steve exchanging a look. “Thanos?” Steve prompts.

Bruce shakes his head. “I’ll tell you about it eventually. He’s dead now, but his actions led to your deaths, either directly or indirectly. The world is still suffering from those scars.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but Tony has to wonder what sort of trauma had been caused when there’s plenty of food and water available. Then again, Tony knows better than to compare scars; someone can always one-up you.

Bruce shows them the main areas of the complex: the common areas, the hangar with various cars and high-tech planes, the training room, and then the lab. There isn’t much in the way of decoration or defining features, but it’s clean and spacious and bright.

Tony blinks at the space—the clean, tiled floors, the glass that rings the room, the machines that he doesn’t recognize. “What is this?” Tony asks.

Bruce glances at him. “I recreated the lab you designed. I come here sometimes when I need more specialized equipment.”

“What, um, what do you do?” Tony asks.

Bruce takes a deep breath. “I mostly do contracting work, with a few things on the side. Stark Industries is committed to clean energy, and—I’ve taken on that mantle as much as I can.”

Tony feels as though he’s had the wind knocked out of him. “There’s—what do you mean Stark Industries is committed to clean energy?”

Natasha puts a hand on his arm. “Easy, Tony.”

Tony just shakes his head, and his knees go weak.

“Somewhere to sit?” Steve says tersely.

Bruce slides a stool under him, and Tony sits down heavily. He buries his head in his hands and focuses on taking deep breaths.

“I’m not sure what I said,” Bruce begins uncertainly.

“Just give us a minute,” Natasha says. “It’s nothing you said. It’s the understanding that in this universe, Tony got to do what he always wanted.”

Tony doesn’t even look up. He’s trying to figure out how to process that information. “Fuck.”

“We hoped things would be different, and they are,” Steve says quietly, resting a hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezing gently as Bruce retreats to the other side of the room. “We’re probably going to have a lot of these hard moments, Tony. Maybe this is how you save the world.”

Steve has been talking Tony off the ledge since he was 20, and he lets Steve’s words sink in. How different would the world have been if Howard Stark had focused on something other than the arms race? Tony has wondered that a hundred times, and it seems he’s poised to find out.

Natasha murmurs something in his ear in Russian, and Tony has learned enough out of self-defense that he can parse it. “You’re fine. Just breathe. This Bruce is also clearly susceptible to your charms.”

That makes Tony chuckle, and he feels the panic subside. “Sorry.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

Bruce has busied himself in a corner of the lab, and now he glances over, calling out, “Everything okay?”

Tony nods.

Bruce seems to take that at face-value, and he says, “Well, I’m ready to run the tests.”

Tony has to admit that that he’s wildly curious as to whether his DNA will match the version of himself from this universe. He’s the first to volunteer to give a cheek swab, and Natasha and Steve follow suit.

“Shouldn’t take too long,” Bruce says absently. “The technology has advanced enough that it’s only going to take a couple of hours. You guys are welcome to stick around, or I can take you to the training room or one of the common rooms? Or you can get some sleep?”

Bruce is clearly hesitant, and Tony thinks he knows some version of Bruce well enough to know that he doesn’t want to cause any more upset.

“Is there a quiet place we can relax?” Steve asks. “Maybe nearby?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bruce says. “There’s a space not far from here.”

Down one long corridor, there’s a another room with a large television and several low couches. “I need to get things set up, and I can either leave you guys alone, come back, send an escort…”

Bruce is clearly anxious, and Tony hastens to reassure him. “It’s fine if you want to come back. I mean, there are probably things we should discuss, right? And I don’t really want an escort.”

Bruce nods. “Well. Um, if you decide to watch TV, the remote is around here somewhere, or you can ask FRIDAY. She basically runs the place. Shouldn’t take me long to get it started, but if you need more time—“

“It’s fine,” Tony says quickly. He’s pretty sure that no matter what universe he’s in, he’s going to find Bruce’s presence a comfort.

Bruce’s expression softens, and he nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be back. I’m not going to ask you not to wander, but—“

“Don’t wander?” Steve asks wryly.

Bruce shrugs. “If you’re anything like the people I knew, an escort wouldn’t prevent that anyway. But your word is good enough for me.”

Bruce leaves after that, and Tony drops down on the couch, tipping his head back with an explosive sigh. “How fucked up is it that the thing that’s rocking me the hardest is the fact that Stark Industries isn’t making weapons in this universe?”

Steve sits next to Tony and rests a hand on Tony’s bouncing knee. “Not so fucked up. I mean, it was what caused your last big fight with Howard. And with what happened with Obadiah…”

Tony isn’t ashamed to accept Steve’s proffered comfort. “What about you?” Tony asks in a bid to change the subject.

Steve shrugs. “Honestly, the expression on Wilson’s face when I offered to fuck him. In any sane universe, I would have already banged him like a drum. What was wrong with me?”

Natasha snorts as she sits down on the other side of Tony, propping her feet up on the low table in front of the couch. “He might be straight, you know. Plenty of people are.”

“Why on earth would you limit yourself to just half the population?” Steve asks.

It’s an old argument, and probably makes sense given how small their population had been. Here, based on what they’ve seen, people have a lot more options.

Although, Tony agrees with Steve. No need to limit your options when sex is so much fun.

“There are some people who just don’t swing both ways like you two,” Natasha says, like she almost always does.

“And like you,” Tony feels compelled to point out, just like he always does.

“I’m smart enough to know that not everyone can be as enlightened as the three of us,” Natasha says dryly.

“What kind of mess have we gotten ourselves into?” Tony asks rhetorically.

Steve shrugs and leaves his hand on Tony’s knee. “Doesn’t seem too bad so far. Unlimited hot water and food? Things could be a lot worse.”

“And if we get stuck here?” Tony counters. “I mean, here, here. Unable to leave here.”

Steve shrugs. “Pretty sure your boyfriend was right. We could figure out a way.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Tony mutters.

“He’s into you,” Steve says knowingly, in that completely insufferable and yet endearing way he has. “Maybe you were the love of his life in this universe.”

“I would fucking hope not,” Tony replies. “Because that would just be shitty for him.”

And, of course, Bruce chooses just that moment to enter the room. “For the record, you were my best friend, and we fucked around a few times when you were on a break from your girlfriend. Which is the thing that I should probably talk to you about before we get too deep into this.”

Tony has a sinking feeling as Bruce sits down on a free chair facing them. “Oh, god. Please tell me I didn’t procreate.”

Bruce sighs. “You didn’t, but he did. Cute kid. Name’s Morgan. She’s as smart as her parents, so she’ll probably understand that you’re a version of Tony Stark from another universe, but it would be best to have a conversation before it hits the news.”

Tony scrubs his hands over his face. “Look, I don’t mean to be a fucking monster or whatever, but I’m no one’s father.”

“You’re right,” Bruce replies. “And while I don’t think anyone would expect you to take up that mantle, it’s going to require a conversation with Pepper. That’s your—his—wife.”

Tony figures that he can do a conversation if he has to. “Just as long as no one expects me to parent.”

Bruce shrugs. “I agree that it would be too confusing. But it does warrant at least a phone call. I can make the arrangements. We’re friendly.”

“How fucking irresponsible was I?” Tony demands, the very thought of having a kid causing panic to claw at his chest.

Bruce sighs. “Less than you probably think. It was—well. There was a lot that went into it, and I can’t really speak to his motivations. We—“

Bruce looks away, and Tony can see the naked hurt on his face. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, and I know the difference,” Bruce replies brusquely. “But I should probably warn you guys, too.” He looks at Natasha and Steve. “We have others incoming. Clint Barton is on his way, and Bucky Barnes—also known as the Winter Soldier—is right on his heels.”

Tony can feel Natasha stiffen, and Steve goes completely still. “I’m not sure we knew Barton in our universe,” Tony says slowly.

“I did,” Natasha says faintly. “But he was killed shortly after I joined SHIELD. I didn’t know him well. I did know James quite well, though.”

“I didn’t,” Steve mutters. “At least, I didn’t know him after the war, and based on Natasha’s stories, he was a different person than the one I knew.”

Bruce frowns slightly, but he nods as though he understands, or at least understands enough. “Well, Barnes was close to our version of Steve, and Barton was close to our Natasha.”

“So, fraught emotions all the way around,” Tony jokes.

Bruce shrugs. “A bit. But you had to expect that, smart as you are.”

“I’m not sure we really stopped to think about it,” Tony admits with a crooked smile. “It’s not like we had a lot of options, it was all do or die.”

Bruce returns the smile. “It’s probably going to be a couple of days before the gang is all here, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I hate surprises.”

Tony raises his eyebrows. “All surprises?”

“Maybe not all of them,” Bruce admits.

And Tony meets Bruce’s warm brown eyes, and he can’t help but think how much he’s missed him—his voice, the warmth of his hand, the way he looks at Tony, like Tony is everything.

None of that has changed, and Tony could get lost in the feeling all too easily.

Then

Natasha feels the warm, solid weight of James on her body, his right hand on her shoulder, left hand on the bed next to her. Natasha wraps her legs around his waist, urging him on, to go faster, harder, and he complies.

“Yes,” she hisses, keeping her voice down. The rooms aren’t sound-proofed well enough to be noisy, not when such an assignation breaks about a dozen rules.

No fraternization being the primary rule, and one that can carry serious consequences. Natasha just hopes that their skillsets, and all they’ve done for Mother Russia, grant them some leeway.

But there’s no sense in inviting disaster by making what they’re doing obvious.

His right hand moves from her shoulder to her clit, rubbing it in the way he knows will make her come, and she shudders through her orgasm.

James follows quickly, resting his forehead against hers, as his body softens, then curls next to her. He props himself up on his left elbow, running gentle fingers over her side, ghosting over her most recent injury.

She marvels that such deadly hands can can bring her so much pleasure without a hint of pain.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” James asks.

“No, of course not,” Natasha replies. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

“Better than fine, even if you’ll have another scar to add to the collection,” James says with the hint of a smile on his solemn face.

She glances at the clock. As much as she would like to linger here for hours, just like this, she knows that it’s tempting fate.

He presses his lips to her forehead. “Yeah. I should go.”

Not for the first time, Natasha thinks about suggesting that they flee, leave all of this behind. As deep into Russian secret intelligence as they are, she and James are well aware that the propaganda proclaiming Russia’s coming victory is a lie. In fact, no one will be victorious—the world will burn itself down in a few decades.

But Natasha also knows that James’ programming and the fact that he’d assassinated a US president will make defection difficult, if not impossible. The best they can hope for is to eke out stolen moments here and there, to make whatever life they can.

James rolls off of her bed gracefully and quickly begins to pull on his discarded clothing. He presses another quick kiss to her lips, and then opens her door just a crack, glancing around before slipping out.

Natasha’s skills and seniority within the Black Widow organization has provided her with a private room and bathroom, and she uses the sink for a quick wash.

She’s put herself back in order—uniform pristine, hair pulled back in a braid, out of her face, and when she exits her quarters, she sees Yelena standing across from her door, her arms crossed tightly.

“You are breaking the rules,” Yelena says crossly.

Natasha isn’t going to give her any quarter. “I have no idea what you mean.”

She would brush past, but Yelena starts walking ahead of her, but backwards, so she’s facing Natasha. “You are fucking the Asset, taking him away from his duties and his mission. Taking you away from your duties.”

“No one has spoken to me about a lack of care for my duties, and no one has been unhappy with his performance,” Natasha replies. “How could they be? They ask him to kill someone, and that someone ends up dead.”

“They will notice,” Yelena counters. “They always notice.”

Natasha snorts and waves off the faux concern. “I suggest you mind your own business and your own missions. I heard your last one was a failure, and you know how our superiors feel about failure.”

She shoves past Yelena, who snaps, “You’ll regret this.”

“I regret nothing,” Natasha replies, just as sharply.

But that turns out to be a lie.

Now

Bruce studies the test results in front of him, and is unsurprised. There are minute differences, probably influenced by the differing environments, but in all other respects their guests are exactly who they appear to be.

“FRIDAY, would you ask Sam to join me in my lab?” Bruce asks.

“He’s on his way, Dr. Banner,” she replies.

“Where are our guests?” Bruce asks.

“They’re in the small lounge down the hall,” FRIDAY replies. “Do you want me to ask them to join you as well?”

Bruce sighs. “No, it can wait. Thanks.”

Sam enters the lab. “FRIDAY said you had the results.”

“There are minute differences, but in any court of law, the DNA would be considered a match,” Bruce replies. “They are exactly who they say they are.”

Sam sighs. “Well, it’s what we expected, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Bruce agrees. “But it still doesn’t tell us what we’re going to do with them.”

Sam grimaces. “I figure we can punt on that question until Barton and Bucky are here, then we can sit down and decide as a group. But even if we had been inclined to try to keep this a secret, or to keep them here, this says we can’t.”

Bruce hadn’t been inclined towards either scenario, if he’s honest. There’s no way he’s going to keep any version of Tony a prisoner. Retreating to Mexico is still on the table, though.

Sam claps him on the shoulder. “Thanks for doing that. It’s going to be a while yet before we’re all gathered, so maybe you can keep them entertained?”

He says this just as Tony comes wandering back into the lab. “Hey, what’s up?” Tony asks, sounding a little anxious.

Bruce offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile, even as Sam leaves the lab with a wave. “DNA is a match, other than very minute differences probably caused by differing environments. So, pretty much exactly what we thought.”

The problem, as Bruce sees it, is that they can’t make any decisions about the future until Barnes and Barton arrive, but they also can’t rely on the security of the complex to prevent word from leaking out.

Bruce doesn’t really care about the rest of the world; they can deal with that. He worries about Pepper and Morgan and Happy, though, and their well being.

And it’s going to be hours yet before Barnes arrives, time enough for word to leak.

“Why that serious look?” Tony asks him. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

Bruce sighs. “Yeah, well, I’m afraid that word is going to get out before we’re able to make a decision on what to do next.”

Tony shrugs. “No big deal. I’m not all that anxious to leave as long as you’re here.”

It’s been a long time since Tony has shamelessly flirted with him, and Bruce can feel his face heat up.

Actually, Bruce doesn’t want to think about how long it’s been since anyone flirted with him. The green tends to discourage that sort of attention, not that he ever had much of it to begin with.

Tony’s delighted grin tells Bruce that he’s noticed the reaction.

Bruce takes a deep breath. “It’s not so much about you guys staying here for a little bit, it’s about who might find out.”

Tony grimaces. “You’re talking about the people who knew me.”

“Pepper and Morgan, yes,” Bruce confirms. “And also Happy. But I’m most concerned about Pepper and Morgan.”

Tony stares at the floor for a long moment. “We should just rip the bandaid off, then. Give her a call, and let her know what’s going on. Do you have to work with her?”

Bruce nods. “I do have some projects for Stark Industries, yes.”

Tony meets his eyes. “Then let’s get it over with.”

Bruce shoots off a quick text to Pepper to see if she’s free, knowing that she’ll likely make time for him. Bruce doesn’t text her very often, and it’s usually something of an emergency when he does.

He’s not surprised to get an incoming video call a couple of minutes later. “Bruce? Is everything okay?”

Bruce glances at the time, and knows that it’s around noon in California. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“You’re not a bother,” Pepper replies firmly. “But you didn’t answer the question, and you’re not green. Did you get hurt?”

“I’m not hurt,” Bruce assures her. “No one is—but there’s been a development. We—the rest of the Avengers—are all gathering to make a decision, but I was worried about the news leaking.”

Pepper frowns at him. “Spit it out, Bruce.”

“There are multiple universes,” Bruce says bluntly. “I won’t bore you with the theory, but there was a universe where the world was ending, and those versions of Tony, Natasha, and Steve used a portal to come here.”

Pepper stares at him. “Tony is alive?”

“That universe’s version of Tony is,” Bruce says firmly. “He’s not the same man we knew. He’s here with me if you want to see for yourself.”

Pepper takes a long, audible breath. “Yes, I would.”

“Give me a second,” Bruce puts her on hold and hands his Stark Phone to Tony. “Do you want me to stay?”

Tony nods quickly. “Please.”

Bruce takes the stool next to him, and Tony takes Pepper off hold. Bruce can hear her gasp, and he watches as she glances away from the camera, clearly trying to compose herself.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says helplessly.

Pepper turns back to the camera. “It’s not your fault. Can I ask—“

“There may have been a version of you, but I never met her,” Tony says, more gently than Bruce expects. “Which was my loss, I’m sure.”

Pepper lets out a watery chuckle. “It’s definitely your loss. I don’t want to be rude, but—“

Tony hands the phone back to Bruce without further comment, and beats a quick retreat out of the room.

Bruce takes a deep breath as he turns back to Pepper. “I probably should have prepared you better.”

“There’s no way to prepare someone for that,” Pepper says sharply. “I know you said the others were gathering, but do you have any idea what that decision will be?”

Bruce shakes his head. “We’ll integrate them as best we can, but Sam and I agree that we don’t want to keep them prisoner here.”

“I understand,” Pepper says. “I know it’s going to be hard, but I just have one request.”

“Name it, and I’ll do my best,” Bruce promises.

“Try to keep his picture out of the press,” Pepper asks, her tone almost pleading. “I’ll speak with Morgan, but I think it would be too confusing for her to see him until she has a little time to digest it.”

Bruce thinks about Tony’s reaction to the idea that Stark Industries wasn’t making weapons, and the cause of their world dying, and he says, “I think we’re going to need more clean energy projects. We can stay here or at my place in Mexico and do science until we all feel better about the situation.”

Pepper smiles sadly. “That would be good. I’ll see what I can do about funding.”

“I’ve got enough for both of us,” Bruce counters. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just focus on Morgan.”

Pepper nods. “You still owe us a visit, you know, but take care of him. He—he looked as though he needs it.”

“I think he does. Take care of yourself and Morgan, Pepper,” Bruce says, and then he ends the call.

He puts the phone aside and rubs his eyes. “Fuck, that was awkward.”

“Sorry?” Tony says from the doorway.

Bruce turns to look at him. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, and it doesn’t suit you.”

“You know, my dad told me once that a real man never apologizes,” Tony says, sitting down on the stool next to Bruce. “But my dad was a real dick, so I try not to listen to him. I think Steve was probably right, and you get stuck with the shit jobs.”

Bruce laughs. “No, that would probably be Barnes, if I’m being honest. I mostly just do science, and sometimes I cook.”

He doesn’t want to think about how the Avengers splintered after their losses, how Tony’s generous gift had clearly been meant to keep them together, and now the complex is just a fancy meeting place.

Tony gives him a sympathetic look. “Things don’t always turn out how you want, do they?”

Bruce snorts. “Yeah, no. Pretty much never. Although, being the Hulk is working out—kind of. I probably won’t be green around Natasha or Steve, though.”

Tony brightens at that. “But you’ll show me?”

“Promise you won’t freak out?” Bruce asks, and he probably sounds like he’s twelve, but Tony pulls that out of him.

Tony smirks. “Promise. Show me what you’ve got, impressive doctor man.”

Bruce laughs. “Seriously?”

“How many Ph.D.s do you actually have?” Tony asks. “I’m being serious.”

“Seven,” he admits reluctantly. Going green is a distraction from the teasing he knows is coming, so Bruce focuses on finding that balance between him and the other guy and lets it expand in him. Once again, he’s grateful that his clothing has been treated with nano particles. Tony had done that for him.

“Fucking hell,” Tony says, wonder lighting his eyes. “This is what you always should have been, Bruce.”

Bruce blinks. “What?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t let you fuck me when you’re green, because I’m pretty sure you’re proportional, but you wanted to save people, didn’t you?” Tony asks.

Bruce nods. “Yeah, I did. I wanted to protect people from radiation, come up with something like a vaccine. Something like what protects Steve.”

“Well, it looks like you accomplished it,” Tony comments. “I like the look.”

Bruce reverses the change easily, not wanting to risk startling Natasha or Steve should they come to the lab. He figures that if he and Tony get away—to Mexico, or if they stay at the complex and the others leave—he might stay green, or at least be green more often.

Tony’s expression is wistful, and he says, “I don’t mind it, you know.”

Bruce laughs. “You never did.” He’s reminded of being in the helicarrier, meeting Tony for the first time, and feeling seen. Tony had always seen him. “How are you doing? Do you need sleep, or maybe something to eat?”

“I should be asking you that,” Tony counters. “You were the one who had to make that phone call.”

Bruce frowns. “Yes, but—“

Tony quickly shakes his head. “I’m sorry for her, of course. I’m sorry that was probably really hard, but I don’t know her. I never even met a version of her.”

Bruce understands; for Tony, there’s no emotional connection to Pepper. “It’s not like we’re more than just friendly acquaintances.”

“Did she know about you two?” Tony asks.

Bruce snorts. “If she did, or if she suspected, she never let on.”

Tony yawns widely then, and Bruce asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to take a nap?”

“I don’t want to let you out of my sight,” Tony admits. “I don’t want to wake up and find out that this was a dream.”

“Let’s go to the lounge,” Bruce replies, referring to the TV room near the lab where he’s caught a nap or two when he didn’t feel like going to his quarters. “You can stretch out on the couch, and I’ll put a movie on, something we don’t have to think about.”

Feeling daring, Bruce puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony rolls his stool closer. Bruce slides his arm around and pulls him close, Tony resting his forehead on Bruce’s shoulder, and they sit just like that for several long minutes.

Bruce feels as though he’s getting a little piece of his life back.

~~~~~

“We haven’t talked about him,” Steve says bluntly.

He and Natasha are in the lounge near the labs that they’ve taken as their own. It’s a good place to hang out, especially since they have time to kill.

Natasha doesn’t mind the delay. Bruce has been good about feeding them, and they all need sleep and rest.

Not that Tony has been all that willing to rest, but at least he has some time where he can rest if he ever takes his eyes off Bruce.

Maybe once Bruce insists on sleep, Tony will have no other choice.

“Don’t ignore me,” Steve says, poking her leg with his foot.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Natasha replies mildly. “I’m considering my answer.”

“There wasn’t a question,” Steve points out. “I just said that we haven’t talked about him.”

Natasha snorts. “There’s no reason to speak of the dead; it just ensures they haunt you longer.”

Steve pokes her again. “Natasha.”

She sighs. “What is there to say? He was very important to me, and now he is dead, and he is not coming back. The man you loved is dead, and he is not coming back. This version of him that we will meet is not that man.”

Steve tips his head back with a deep sigh. “Yeah, I know. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that, to be honest.”

“Treat him as if he were a stranger, no matter what he looks like,” Natasha advises. “That’s what I plan to do. I cannot assume that he even knew me, based on what we’ve heard.”

“Fuck, Nat, I haven’t seen him since 1944,” Steve replies. “I don’t know anything about him. I know how much I’ve changed since then. I don’t presume to think he’s anything like the man I knew.”

Steve is astonishingly naive about some things, but infuriatingly wise about others. This is one of those things.

Natasha sighs. “So, we are agreed.”

“We treat him like the stranger that he is, and go from there,” Steve replies.

“Do we need to worry about Tony?” Natasha asks.

Steve barks a laugh at that. “Are you kidding? With the way Bruce was looking at him? I think he’d follow us back to our world for Tony, even if it meant certain death.”

“Or that he’d live a long time even after everyone else died,” Natasha murmurs.

She can’t disagree with Steve; she just wants confirmation of her own instincts.

“I think Bruce will protect him,” Steve says quietly.

Natasha remembers how quickly Bruce had changed as soon as he’d seen her discomfort. “I would agree.”

Tony comes wandering in with Bruce in tow, and Bruce prods him onto the couch, saying, “It’s nap time for all good scientists. I’m going to put on the most boring thing I can find, and you guys can stay or go.”

Steve smirks. “We’ll stay for the sight of someone wrangling Tony.”

“Oh, I’m not wrangling anything,” Bruce says mildly. “I want a nap, too. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

That may or may not be true, but Tony gets comfortable on the couch and shamelessly puts his feet next to Bruce’s thigh. Bruce moves Tony’s feet across his lap and says, “FRIDAY, I need something about cooking. Something boring.”

Natasha has no idea how FRIDAY works, but the TV comes on, and the screen shows a kitchen where people are apparently decorating cakes, something that Natasha had heard about but had never seen.

“What is this?” Steve asks, sounding a little bit horrified.

Bruce winces. “Okay, bad choice. FRIDAY, I think we need penguins.”

The screen changes to a field of white, with a line of black and white penguins with orange beaks waddling across the screen.

A soothing voice says, “These penguins are heading to the sea to find fish to prepare for nesting season. Once the females have laid their single egg, the males will incubate it.”

Bruce starts to rub Tony’s stocking feet, and Tony sighs and falls asleep between one breath and the next.

“He does that,” Steve comments. “He’ll run himself into the ground, and then just crash.”

Bruce smiles. “I know how to handle an exhausted Tony Stark. The cooking channel used to work, but maybe nature documentaries are the way to go from here on out.”

“I like penguins,” Steve murmurs, and his eyes are sliding closed, too. “The narrator has a nice voice.”

“David Attenborough,” Bruce says once it’s clear that Steve has also fallen asleep. “British naturalist. He does have a very soothing voice.”

“You’re really good at handling him, even if you don’t acknowledge it,” Natasha says.

Bruce takes a deep breath. “I hope I am. I wish I’d taken better care at times. What’s the consensus on Barnes?”

“We don’t know this version, and we’re not going to pretend that we do,” Natasha replies.

Bruce hums and nods. “Fair. In this universe, Barnes murdered Tony’s parents. Anything to worry about there?”

Natasha shakes her head. “It was Obadiah who arranged the murders. James—he was ordered killed by the Russian government. There was no connection.”

“Fuck,” Bruce says. “Well, you want to go back to cakes, or do we stick with penguins?”

Natasha looks at the clean, white expanse of Antarctica, which had mostly been decimated in her universe, and the dapper forms of the flightless birds waddling across the ice. “Penguins.”

Bruce smiles and curls a hand around one of Tony’s ankles. “Penguins, it is.”

~~~~~

Bucky is in fucking Belgrade when Sam calls him, tracking down a terrorist cell trying to sow unrest in Eastern Europe. He still doesn’t have a bead on what they’re planning next, so he’s irritated at the interruption. Sam is one of the few people whose calls he’ll answer on a mission if he can answer at all, though, so he picks up.

Not that he’s happy about it.

“What the fuck, Sam?“ he answers.

“You need to come to the complex,” Sam replies, his tone serious, without even a comment about Bucky’s language.

“I don’t need to do any fucking thing I don’t have to,” Bucky growls. “I’m not done here.”

“It’s about Steve,” Sam says.

Bucky frowns. “Fuck off. Steve is dead.”

That’s still a sore spot for him, and Sam knows it.

“Our Steve Rogers is dead,” Sam agrees. “But you read the report from Strange after that thing with the kid, and then Spider-Man.”

“Fuck,” Bucky says. “Fucking fuck.”

He remembers the report about the multiverse, and he’d been pissed off at the time. There had been a part of Bucky that had known, just known, it was going to end up biting them all in the ass.

“Is fuck your favorite word?” Sam asks, half-amused, half-disapproving.

“It’s a great word,” Bucky replies. “It can be used as a noun, a verb, an adjective, and I could probably find a way to make it into an adverb if I tried.”

Sam takes an audible breath. “You’re fucking with me.”

“It’s our thing,” Bucky replies. “I’m always going to fuck with you.”

“And now you really are fucking with me,” Sam replies.

Bucky smiles, even though it doesn’t feel as though that expression belongs on his face. “It’s like you get me. Tell me that it’s not Steve from another universe.”

“It’s Steve from another universe,” Sam says in his Captain America voice. Bucky knows that voice; it’s the same one he uses when he’s delivering bad news, or tries to convince you to do something you really don’t want to do.

Bucky runs his hand through his hair, which he’s grown out, more out of laziness and a long mission than anything else. He’d worn a lot of hats while he was at it, but he’d been in Siberia, so it’s not as if anyone noticed.

“Okay, so it’s Steve,” Bucky mutters. “Is it still him?”

“He’s…different,” Sam admits. “I haven’t spent a lot of time with him yet, but—you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

Bucky doesn’t like the sound of that, but he knows Sam well enough to know that he’s not going to get any more information right now. “Fine. Anything else I should know?”

“Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff also came with him,” Sam says. “And Stark, at least, is very different.”

“Is he going to try to kill me?” Bucky asks. Not that Stark would be able to kill him, but he likes to know what kind of situation he’s walking into.

“Based on what I saw, he’s out of gas just in general, but he knew Banner, and he definitely has googly eyes,” Sam replies.

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen the two interact, so he’s not sure what that means, but he’s hoping he won’t have to deal with an angry Stark at least. Natasha—

He’d had run-ins with her, of course, but they hadn’t actually known one another, and Steve—he doesn’t want to think about Steve at all. He still feels a sense of abandonment when he does. He can’t afford to allow those feelings to cloud his assessment of this version of the man.

“I’ll catch the next flight out,” Bucky finally says.

“Good, because there’s one coming your way,” Sam replies. “I’ll text you the details.”

Sam hangs up before Bucky can reply, and he waits for the text to come through. Figures that the plane is not only in the air, but two hours out, which is not nearly enough time to allow him to finish his mission.

“Fuck,” Bucky swears. It means that he’ll have to come back, but there’s nothing for it. The mission has gone to hell because of fucking Steve, of all people.

Bucky really thought he was past this.

He’s in the sniper’s nest he’d set up when he got into town, and he quickly begins to gather his things. Bucky likes to travel light, so he just has to grab his backpack and his gun case, and then make his way to the field where the Quinjet is picking him up. He doesn’t want the paper trail that calling a taxi would create, so he has to hoof it to the outskirts of town to meet his ride.

Bucky figures that it’s probably a good thing that Fury has decided to co-opt the Avengers complex. Bucky has no idea where Fury is getting his funding, but he supposes it’s the same source as the funding for SABER. And having SABER agents on hand means Quinjets and spare pilots for situations like this one.

He reaches the field where the Quinjet is landing about five minutes prior to its arrival. The pilot must see him standing there, because the back hatch opens immediately.

“Agent Summers,” Bucky says as he gets on board. “It’s nice to see you again. Sorry you drew the short straw.”

Summers throws a smirk over her shoulder. “Who says it was the short straw, Sergeant Barnes? The scenery really can’t be beat.”

Bucky doesn’t mind the frank admiration. He’s been the subject of that in the past, and he’s never had a problem with it. Plus, he knows that Summers is happily paired with another agent. “The scenery isn’t bad from my point of view either.”

Summers grins at him. “Always nice to see you, sir.”

Bucky clears his throat. “How is everything going? Any scuttlebutt?”

“They’re keeping the news locked down. I don’t think anyone outside the complex knows yet,” Summers replies. “But the chatter on the coms is that Dr. Banner dropped the green thing for our guests, and everyone thinks they look they could stand to eat a few more good meals.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “What does it mean that Banner’s not green?”

“It means that he’s not big and green right now,” Summers replies. “Beyond that, I have no clue.”

“Did you see them?” Bucky asks.

Summers shakes her head. “I wasn’t so lucky. But I heard they looked rough.”

“You want me to fly for the first half?” Bucky offers. “I know it’s already been a long day for you.”

Fury may have stationed a few agents at the new Avengers complex, but there aren’t so many that they can spare two for a retrieval mission, especially when Bucky is fully capable of piloting.

Summers smiles. “Yeah, that would be great. I didn’t want to ask, but I’m wiped.”

Bucky hasn’t slept in 24 hours, but he can put that aside; he doesn’t need as much sleep as most people. “No problem.”

He’s honestly grateful for the quiet when Summers stretches out on a bench in the back of the Quinjet as he points the nose towards New York. He could use the time to gather his thoughts and lock down his emotions.

Bucky has mostly made peace with Steve’s decision in the years since defeating Thanos. That’s not to say he doesn’t miss his friend, but Steve wanted something Bucky couldn’t offer, some version of the white picket fence life Bucky had long ago given up on.

Having some other version of Steve around is a weird idea, and Bucky has no idea how to feel about it. He tries to push all of that aside. At the end of the day, he doesn’t know any of them, and his feelings aren’t relevant.

They’re somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, having just passed Greenland to the north when Summers emerges from the back of the Quinjet, straightening her uniform jacket. “Do you want to get some sleep, Sergeant Barnes?” she asks.

Bucky knows he won’t be able to sleep, not until he’s able to assess the situation for himself, but he figures if it looks like he’s sleeping, he can discourage further conversation. “The stick is all yours.”

He stretches out on the bench and closes his eyes, resolutely shoving all thoughts of what he might be walking into to the back of his mind. It doesn’t matter who they look like, or what they look like; Bucky is meeting three strangers. That’s what he has to focus on.

“We’re approaching the complex, sir,” Summers calls as she executes a perfect landing and pulls into the hangar. “Good luck.”

“Never a dull day, is there?” Bucky jokes, shouldering his bag.

Sam is waiting for him inside the hangar, and he offers his hand to Bucky, who accepts it and doesn’t even mind the slap on the back he gets from Sam’s free hand. “How was the flight?”

Bucky shrugs. “I took the controls for half of it, since Summers wasn’t fresh.”

Sam grimaces apologetically. “Yeah, sorry I couldn’t send a second as relief, but we’ve got the place on lockdown until we come up with a strategy.”

“Has anyone contacted Fury?” Bucky asks, following Sam inside.

Sam hesitates. “Not yet. I wasn’t sure whether he’d opt for the nuclear option.”

Sam leads Bucky down a long hallway to a small common area, and Bucky drops his bag on the floor and makes a beeline for the coffeepot. “He probably would,” Bucky says.

Sam drops down into a chair at a small table and waves at the second chair. “Yeah, well, why do you think I haven’t called him? And Banner has the results. He says that in any court of law, the DNA would be a match.”

Bucky sips his coffee and sits down in the second chair. The room isn’t much to look at—dark blue industrial carpet, white walls, gray and chrome counters and appliances. The whole complex is devoid of character, probably because there had been no one interested in making the place into anything approaching a home.

Granted, Bucky had never been to the original Avengers compound, which had been destroyed in the final fight against Thanos. He’s heard Sam complain about the lack of charm for this complex, though.

Bucky hasn’t had a place to call home since he’d given up his New York apartment, and the complex is clean and has comfortable beds and palatial showers. He has no complaints.

Oh, and coffee. Bucky has no idea who stocks the coffee, but they get the good stuff.

“Who else is here?” Bucky asks after his first sip.

“Banner, of course. Strange went back to New York pretty much right away. I tried to call Rhodes, but he’s currently unreachable,” Sam says after a moment. “Barton is on his way, but they hit an unexpected snag.”

Bucky has heard a few stories about Barton. “What sort of snag?”

Sam winces. “What do you know about Yelena Belova?”

“Another Widow, now a free agent,” Bucky says readily. “I’ve run into her a few times.”

Sam rubs his eyes, and he looks tired. Bucky figures it has to be quite the mind-fuck to take on the mantle of Captain America, and then have another Captain America turn up. “Did you know she and Natasha were close? Our version of Natasha, I mean.”

Bucky shakes his head slowly. “No. I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well, Barton was just going to bring his protege, and he told Kate what was going on, and she texted Yelena,” Sam says wearily. “Because they were apparently like sisters, and Kate thought Yelena deserved to know.”

Bucky can’t help it; he snorts—loudly. “So much for operational fucking security.”

Sam throws up his hands. “I know! We’re going to have a fucking convention, and I don’t even know what our strategy is here. I mean, do I just hand the shield over? Do we pretend the rumors of their deaths were greatly exaggerated? I don’t have a playbook for this, Buck.”

Bucky finishes up his coffee. “Have you talked to them about what they want to do?”

“I think Banner might have,” Sam admits. “I haven’t seen much of them since I left them in his capable hands.”

Bucky does the math in his head, and realizes that it’s been at least two days of Sam hiding out. He shakes his head. “Coward.”

“You didn’t see them, and it’s not like they knew some other version of me,” Sam says, defending himself. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Bucky realizes that Sam is honestly asking him, and Bucky has no answers. There’s a reason the Wakandans called him “the White Wolf,” and it’s not because he’s particularly adept at leading people. He’d always been content to follow, and to stick to the shadows.

“I don’t think we can lie to people,” Bucky finally says. “I mean, they know about alien invasions and the Snap. Parallel universes aren’t much of a stretch. Granted, we might have people wondering why they can’t raid a parallel universe for their lost loved ones, but if we’re clear that they came here…”

Bucky stops and really thinks about it. “Maybe for some, the idea that in another universe they still have that person, or the person they lost is happy, will prove to be a comfort. You never know.”

“Is it a comfort?” Sam asks.

“Well, not really for us, because based on what you’ve said, their world is fucked,” Bucky replies wryly. “So maybe it can be an object lesson at the same time.”

Sam barks a laugh. “Yeah, well. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’m ever going to be,” Bucky admits. He knows that he needs to see them for himself, to make up his own mind, and then maybe he can help Sam come up with a plan.

Hell, maybe this version of Steve will have a few good ideas. Miracles happen every day, or so they say.

“FRIDAY, can I get a location?” Sam asks.

“Yes, sir,” the disembodied voice of FRIDAY says. “Dr. Banner is with Mr. Stark in his lab. Captain Rogers and Agent Romanova are in the lounge closest to Dr. Banner’s lab. Those seem to be their favorite locations now that they’ve made themselves at home.”

Sam seems to know exactly where that is, because he leads the way down several hallways confidently, even though every hall in the complex looks exactly the same.

“Who was in charge of decorating this place?” Bucky asks.

Sam snorts. “No one. The contract to build it didn’t specify any sort of decoration, and when no one is in charge, this is what happens.”

Bucky just shakes his head, because he knows how that goes. If no one is responsible, then it will never get done.

“Is any of this actually legal?” Bucky suddenly asks. “I mean, can our decision come back on us?”

He’s just gotten clear of his own term of probation, and he’d rather not risk going to prison.

Sam shrugs. “Hell if I know. Fury’s still got some pull, and—we’re all playing things by ear.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess.”

He and Sam will take missions from the DOD, or from Fury, and sometimes missions that just appeal to them, but they’re mindful of what tore the Avengers apart the first time.

Bucky thinks there’s a possibility that this could tear them apart again if not handled correctly.

“I’m aware,” Sam says, as though reading his thoughts. “This could have the potential to ruin everything we’ve managed to rebuild.”

“Not if we play our cards right,” Bucky says determinedly.

And then they’re in one of the small lounges, and Bucky braces himself.

Steve is sprawled on the couch, and he’s still recognizably Steve, although his hair is long, and his beard is full. He has an arm thrown carelessly over the back of the couch behind Natasha, who is leaning against him in a position that is definitely comfortable, but not intimate.

Natasha has her legs drawn up, her bright red hair confined in a braid over one shoulder. Both of them are wearing the black fatigues of the SABER agents Fury has stationed at the complex, probably the best they could do at a moment’s notice.

Bucky just drinks the sight of them in. They might not be the people he’d known, but they look enough alike that there’s part of him that thinks it doesn’t matter.

Steve and Natasha seem to realize that someone is at the door at the same time, and they both look up.

Steve frowns, as though he doesn’t recognize him, and then his expression clears. “Buck.”

“Hey,” Bucky replies. “I guess it would be fair to say ‘long time, no see.’”

“Haven’t seen you since 1944, so I’d say so,” Steve replies, getting to his feet. He crosses the distance between them, and when he hesitates, just briefly, Bucky pulls him in close.

Steve hugs him like it’s his job, and his fingers tighten at Bucky’s back, around his waist. “I’m sorry,” he says.

Bucky hugs him back, because even if this isn’t his Steve, it’s still some version who is holding on to Bucky like he’ll never let him go. “Why are you sorry?” Bucky asks. “I know we don’t really know each other, but…”

“It’s a mindfuck, isn’t it?” Steve murmurs, and clings a little tighter. “I didn’t mean to do that to you.”

Bucky hears Sam choke on his spit, and he knows that Steve had tried to portray an image of goodness and light in this life, but Bucky had known him as a mouthy little shit from Brooklyn who swore more creatively than he did.

Hell, Bucky had learned a lot of his curses from Steve.

“Little bit,” Bucky admits, and then pulls back, looking at Steve for a long time. “Did you lose your razor?”

Steve laughs, full throated. “I could ask you the same thing, but you look good, Buck.”

“You, too, jokes aside,” Bucky replies. He takes another step back and looks at Natasha. “I don’t know if you knew me.”

“I knew you,” she says in Russian. “I knew you well.”

He glances at Steve and realizes that Steve is fine with him talking in Russian, maybe because he understands, maybe because he’s simply comfortable with it. ““I didn’t know you as well as I wished I had,” Bucky admits.

“Then we will simply have to get to know each other,” Natasha replies with a gentle smile.

Bucky shrugs, because she’s right about that. Whatever they had been to each other in her universe, they’re strangers now.

Steve clears his throat. “Dr. Banner seemed to indicate they were waiting on you to make a decision on what to do with us.”

Bucky glances at Sam. “Were you waiting on me?”

“You and Barton,” Sam replies. “I thought about contacting Lang, but he doesn’t have the same stakes we do.”

“We’ll have a meeting once Barton gets here with his guests, then,” Bucky replies. He glances at Natasha and asks, “Did you know Yelena Belova in your universe?”

Natasha glances away, clearly troubled. “I did. She died.”

“What was she to you?” Bucky asks in Russian. “Because our own version is coming here.”

“She was my sister,” Natasha says flatly. “And that is all I will say.”

That suggests some significant trauma, and Bucky nods. “All right. Then I guess we’ll figure things out when they get here.”

Steve hesitates and then asks, “Did they—I mean, I’m assuming you’re still you, Buck.”

Bucky knows exactly what Steve is asking, but also that he wouldn’t know the history. “Yeah, I found some folks who helped me get Hydra out of my head years ago.”

Steve’s expression is clearly relieved. “That’s great. I’m glad you were able to escape.” There’s the implication that the Bucky in his own universe hadn’t.

Bucky really isn’t sure what to do or say to that. Steve and Natasha look familiar, but different, and Bucky suddenly understands exactly why Sam had dumped them on Banner and retreated.

He doesn’t feel as though he has that option, though.

Banner appears just then with a very different Tony Stark in tow. “FRIDAY said you’d arrived,” he says. “And that Barton is about an hour out.”

Bucky nods politely, unsurprised that Banner isn’t big and green after his conversation with Summers. “How’s it going, doc?”

Banner shrugs. “Well enough.” He turns to Stark. “Tony, Sergeant Bucky Barnes.”

Much like Steve, Stark’s beard is full, but his hair is cropped close to his skull, silver threading through both. His expression remains neutral when he holds a hand out for Bucky to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

Bucky shakes his hand with a firm grip. “Same.”

He notices that Banner is keeping a close eye on events, and when the interaction goes off without any rancor, Banner says, “I thought I’d make dinner for everyone. I’ve always found that difficult conversations are better when there’s food involved.”

Bucky grasps at that lifeline like a drowning man. He wants a distraction, and cooking will do it. “Do you want some help?”

Banner’s lips quirk up in a wry grin. “Sure, if you’d like.”

“What are you making?” Stark asks, and Bucky realizes that Stark’s eyes haven’t left Banner.

“I don’t know,” Banner says cheerfully. “I’ll have to see what we have, but it will have to feed a crowd since there are three others joining us.”

“Let me know if you need me to make a supply run,” Sam offers.

Banner touches Stark’s arm. “Do you want to stay here or keep me company?”

Stark glances at Natasha and Steve, and Steve just nods. “Go. Watch Banner cook. You always liked watching him work.”

Bucky finds that telling, and Natasha says, “We’ll stay here. I need to speak with Steve.”

Bucky wonders what she’s going to say, but he knows that FRIDAY will tell them what they need to know if necessary.

“We’ll let you know when the food is ready or when Barton gets here,” Banner replies. “Whichever comes first.”

Bucky follows Banner and Stark out of the room, and Stark leans in to whisper, “Pretty sure they’re making plans for what to do in the event that things don’t go our way.”

“I figured,” Banner says placidly. “I’d expect nothing less. Why didn’t you stay behind?”

Stark just shakes his head, not responding, but Bucky can guess.

Stark isn’t going anywhere, not unless he’s with Banner.

Then

Tony stares at the computer monitor, but that’s not what he’s seeing. No, he’s back in Ukraine, riding in the back of a Humvee, joking around with the soldiers escorting him.

“So, what sort of toys are you working on for us?” Private Meyers asks.

Tony manages a smile that he hopes doesn’t look too forced. “I think there’s a new guided missile in the works. My dad is the one who finalizes all the projects.”

The Marines in the convoy look impossibly young to Tony, although he probably only has about ten years on them. The higher ranking soldiers are with his parents two vehicles ahead of them.

Tony hates being here, hates watching young Americans throw their lives away on a pointless struggle that isn’t going to matter in another couple of decades. In twenty years, Tony doesn’t think that the Earth will be habitable. They’d be better off trying to prevent environmental disaster, but his dad is intent on weapons, on the war against Russia.

“What are you working on, sir?” Private Anderson asks. She’s young and pretty and a brunette. “I heard you were a whiz with robotics.”

Tony shakes his head. “I’ve been working on robots that will be able to handle IED disposal without risking soldiers’ lives.”

It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. Tony has been working on measures to protect soldiers, but also on ways to clean up radiation from the environment.

Anything else he might have said is cut off by the sound of an explosion, so close that it rocks the Humvee they’re in, followed closely by another.

Their Humvee gets hit next, and it’s thrown into the air. Tony is grateful that the Marines insisted he wear a seatbelt as the vehicle rolls. The vehicle lands on its side, and Private Anderson manages to get the door open. She slices through Tony’s seatbelt with her K-bar, and then hauls him out by the back of his suit jacket.

“You need to stay down!” she shouts at him, over the sounds of weapons fire and explosions.

Tony is dazed, confused, and he looks for his parents. Howard and Maria had been in one of the Humvees ahead of them, and Tony’s heart is in his throat when he sees Maria crawling free of the vehicle.

And then an RPG hits it, causing another explosion. His mother’s body is thrown, her limp form like a rag doll’s, and the vehicle burns.

Tony lurches to his feet and starts to move towards his mom’s lifeless body, but Anderson keeps hold of him. “You can’t!”

“Tony! Tony!”

The call of his name brings Tony back to the present, and he takes a deep, sharp breath.

“Where were you just now?” Steve asks as he enters the workshop.

Tony turns to look at Steve, who wears an expression of deep concern. “Ukraine.”

He doesn’t need to explain; that location can mean only one thing.

Steve responds by wrapping a hand around the back of Tony’s neck and pulls him in close. Tony has known Steve since he’d been defrosted, when Tony was twenty. Steve has been a constant in Tony’s life, more solid than either of his parents had ever been.

“You’re okay,” Steve says quietly. “You’re safe. You’re in a government facility in upstate New York.”

“I know,” Tony says. “Sorry.”

“You’re allowed,” Steve replies, pulling back. “The guy the DOD sent is here. Are you up to meeting him?”

Tony scrubs his hands over his face. It’s not ideal, and he’d prefer to be in a better state of mind, but this guy is supposed to be a whiz with radiation, which they need. “Yeah, of course. It has to be done, right?”

“It doesn’t have to be done right now,” Steve says. “I could say you’re indisposed.”

Tony shakes his head. “No, let’s get this over with.”

He’s not expecting much. The DOD is still more interested in building weapons than in doing anything to actually save the world, and most of their so-called experts have been useless. They just tell Tony that there’s nothing they can do, that the cascading effects of climate change is irreversible, and the best thing they can do is find ways to survive in increasingly harsher environments.

Tony follows Steve out of his lab and down the hall to the reception area they use for visitors. Tony knows that he’s the final word on whether this guy gets accepted into the program, and when he enters, all he sees is the back of a man about his height with broad shoulders.

Steve clears his throat, and the man turns, curly brown hair falling down his forehead, just beginning to go gray. He has strong features and warm brown eyes, and when he smiles hesitantly, Tony feels a bolt of attraction.

“I’m Bruce Banner,” the man says, holding out a hand in greeting.

“Tony Stark,” he replies, closing the distance between them. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Bruce smiles. “I could say the same. I’ve been given reports about what you’re working on here, and I’m excited to join you.”

“We’re glad to have you here,” Tony replies. “Have you met Steve Rogers?”

Bruce shakes his head. “Not yet. Nice to meet you, too. What—what should I call you?”

“Steve is fine,” he says. “I’ll let Tony take over from here.”

He claps Tony on the shoulder and squeezes, and then he departs, probably because he knows Tony well enough to know Banner is exactly his type.

Tony thinks that even if Bruce Banner is as useless as the rest of them, he won’t mind the scenery.

“So, I have some ideas,” Bruce says. “But I don’t want to step on your toes.”

“Come back to my lab,” Tony invites. “I’ll show you around, and we can discuss.”

Bruce offers a shy smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And Tony feels a little bit like his old self in that moment, when he says, “I think we’re going to have fun together, Doctor.”

“Call me Bruce,” he says.

“Tony,” he counters, and he’s bold enough to rest a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce doesn’t shrug him off. He just smiles a little wider. “Well, then, Tony, lead the way.”

It’s the beginning of a beautiful relationship—at least until it ends.

Now

The news that Yelena is coming rocks Natasha, but she tries not to let on to it. She knows that she can’t react to this version of Yelena as she had in their own universe, and she needs the space she knows a conversation with Steve will give her.

Besides, after more than a full day in Banner’s presence, Tony is clearly smitten, and unwilling to let Bruce out of his sight.

Natasha understands. If James had known her, if they’d had a close relationship here, she would want to recapture a little bit of that, however faint, however counterfeit.

“What about this is fucking with you?” Steve asks bluntly, gently nudging her back towards the couch. “Is it Bucky?”

Natasha shakes her head. She had been honest with Steve about her relationship with James. Tony knows about it, too, but the information had been interesting, nothing more.

No, the James she had seen walk into the room had been very similar to the one she remembered. Bearded, yes, and with longer hair, but with a familiar light in his blue eyes when he looked at her. Maybe they hadn’t known each other in this universe, but Natasha thinks there’s potential—it had probably always been there.

Steve frowns. “Not Barton, you said you barely knew him. Yelena.”

Natasha takes a deep breath. “She was the reason James was killed. I never told you that. I never told anyone that.”

“Well, shit,” Steve says slowly. “You didn’t think to mention that?”

Natasha just shakes her head. “She was dead. What was I to say?”

“Are you going to be able to deal with it?” Steve asks. “Do you want me and Tony to be a buffer?”

Natasha shakes her head. “I doubt you could be. Yelena is persistent.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve offers.

Natasha doesn’t want to do that either. “I just need someone to know so if I have to leave abruptly, you can prevent anyone from following me.”

“Anyone?” Steve asks with the hint of a smile.

“I will accept you, Tony, or Dr. Banner,” Natasha admits. “But not James. I cannot tell him what happened, not yet.”

Steve lets out a noisy breath, and loops an arm over her shoulders. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I think I need the outline at least. All you’ve told me in the past was that you knew him, and that he died.”

There are minefields in all their relationships, Natasha thinks. And this has been a stretch of ground that she and Steve never crossed.

“We were lovers, I told you that,” Natasha reminds him.

“Buck was always good with the ladies, and you’re exactly his type,” Steve counters. “That’s the least surprising thing about the whole story.”

Natasha laughs. “Yelena found out about us. Our relationship was against the rules, and she thought it was a distraction from the mission. Or perhaps she wanted revenge after one of her own failures, or she was jealous of me. I don’t know, but she told our superiors about the relationship, and they decided I was more useful, so they had him killed.”

“You’re certain about that?” Steve presses, sounding worried.

Natasha rests her forehead against his shoulder, grateful for Steve’s strength. “That is what they told me, and I have no reason to doubt it.”

The arm around her shoulders tightens, and Steve says, “Yelena got Bucky killed.”

“She gloated about it,” Natasha whispers. “I defected as soon as I could after that.”

She feels Steve press a kiss to her forehead. “Ah, Natasha. I’m so sorry.”

“I want to believe that there is some version of my sister who is innocent, and perhaps she is here, but I don’t know that I’ll be able to look at her without thinking about the betrayal,” Natasha admits.

“How could you not?” Steve asks, holding her tightly.

Natasha has never really been interested in sleeping with Steve, but she likes his hugs. He gives the best hugs, like he would take the weight of your problems on his own shoulders.

“I’m sorry for burdening you with that,” Natasha says.

Steve snorts. “She betrayed you, but neither of us know her here. We don’t know what your relationship in this universe was. You may see her and have a visceral reaction, but that’s about a past we left behind us.”

“I know,” Natasha says. “But I—there are things that I miss.”

She doesn’t miss the world they left behind. She doesn’t miss the lack of food and clean water and sunlight and real seasons and all of that. But she misses the certainty she had, knowing who and what she was, and what her relationship to that world had been.

“Come on,” Steve replies, standing up and pulling her with him. “We’ll go outside and stare at the sky for a while. You’ll feel better, and it’s a reminder of why we’re here.”

No one has told them that they can’t go outside, and the complex is located in a relatively deserted area. There are several exits, one of them close to the labs and lounge where they’ve been spending most of their time. That exit opens to a patio that has a couple of weather-beaten lawn chairs and a few cigarette butts that suggests what it’s typically used for.

Outside, the sun is shining brightly overhead with wisps of clouds. It’s early autumn, and the trees surrounding the compound are starting to turn yellow and red and orange. The air is warm with the hint of a bite, and the plain black uniforms are actually helpful in that regard.

Natasha tips her head back, and has to admit that Steve was right. Going outside is a good reminder of what they’d gained.

“You know you don’t have to be friends with her, right?” Steve asks after a few silent minutes. “You don’t have to have any sort of relationship with her. That might be hard or confusing for her, but her feelings are her own to manage.”

Natasha laughs. “And who did you learn that language from?”

“I dated one of the SHIELD therapists for a while,” Steve admits. “Not my therapist, of course, but she helped me work through some of my feelings about Howard.”

“What do you think about Tony’s response to Bruce?” Natasha asks.

Steve shakes his head. “You know, Tony once subjected me to a lecture about entangled particles, and how he thought he and Bruce were entangled. I don’t know that I believe it, but you weren’t there when they met the first time. It was like there was no one else in the room.”

“So, nothing has changed,” Natasha comments.

“I guess we’ll see,” Steve replies.

“What about you and James?” Natasha asks.

Steve turns his head to look at Natasha. “I had a long time to mourn, you know? The Bucky I knew died in 1944, and I didn’t even know he was the Winter Soldier until after his death. The guy we just met looks a lot like my friend who died in 1944, and I’m just glad to have some version of him back.”

It’s a typically perceptive comment from Steve, who has lived a very long time without showing a hint of aging. “Thanks for coming with us.”

“I might have had some second thoughts, but I was never going to stay behind,” Steve says. “If you two are here, this is where I belong.”

Natasha takes a deep breath. “Shall we join them?”

Steve stands up and offers his hand, and Natasha allows it.

It’s not hard to find their way to the kitchen, even though the halls are nondescript. She and Steve are used to moving through Spartan government facilities, and there’s the scent of cooking meat to follow.

When they enter the kitchen, there’s a pot on every burner bubbling away, and a couple of pans sitting out on the counter. Tony has been put to work shredding cheese, which Natasha knows from experience is about his speed.

“What are you making?” Steve asks, peeking into one of the pots.

“Baked ziti,” Bruce replies. “And garlic bread. You can help Bucky with the veggie tray.”

Steve smiles. “Yeah, sure, whatever I can do to help.”

James is peeling carrots, and he hands Steve a knife. Natasha can’t help but steal a carrot for herself. The freshness is startling to her tastebuds, the crispness of the vegetable tantalizing.

Bruce puts out a large platter with a small bowl in the center and says, “Just pile the vegetables around however you want.”

“What’s in the tub?” Steve asks curiously.

“Veggie dip,” Bruce says. “Try it, maybe you’ll like it. If you don’t, then don’t bother with it.”

Steve cautiously scoops some up with a piece of celery and takes a bite. His eyes light up, and he says, “Oh, that’s good.”

“Banner makes some of the best veggie dip I’ve ever had,” Sam comments from a chair where he’s sitting out of the way.

“It was the one time,” Bruce replies. “And it was an experiment.”

“Still really good,” Sam says unapologetically.

Natasha follows Steve’s lead and scoops some up with a carrot stick. She has heard the term “herbaceous” before, but never had a context; now she does. Natasha wonders just how many additional words related to food she’ll learn in the course of events.

“What’s in it?” Natasha asks.

“Greek yogurt, mayonnaise, and a bunch of herbs, plus some lemon juice,” Bruce replies. “Nothing too exotic.”

Natasha snorts. “Fresh herbs?”

“Of course,” Bruce replies.

Natasha knows that the people from this universe will never understand just how rare fresh food had become, and just how long they’d done without.

And then Bruce glances at her with a smile. “I’ve used dried before, but I figured you’d appreciate the fresh.”

“Thanks,” Steve says sincerely. “It’s really, really good.”

Natasha knows that it’s not just the dip, but also the veggies, and the sense of being among friends. The scent of the pasta sauce and garlic, the way that James moves around Bruce in the kitchen, replenishing the veggies as Steve makes inroads.

Then, the disembodied voice of FRIDAY says, “Dr. Banner, Agent Barton and his guests have arrived.”

Natasha feels her gut clench, but she knows there’s no way out but through.

She recognizes Barton as he enters, although the hearing aids are new, and he’s a couple of decades older than when she last saw him. Natasha finds herself on her feet, and she watches as he blinks at her.

Barton looks away, rubbing at his eyes. “Nat. I mean, I’m sorry. I know you’re not the same person.”

“You were dead in my universe,” Natasha offers. “You died saving my life.”

“Well, I did that right then,” Barton mutters, managing to meet her eyes for the first time. “Because you saved my life here.”

Natasha smiles. “Shall we call it even?”

Barton extends a hand, and Natasha takes it, and then she allows him to pull her into a hug. He clings tightly for a long moment, and Natasha doesn’t protest.

Barton steps back and says, “Sorry. You’re probably not a hugger.”

“Exceptions can be made,” Natasha replies. She glances over his shoulder at Yelena, who is vibrating with excitement and hiding it poorly.

Well, she’s wearing a bored expression, but Natasha finds that she can still read her like a book.

“Hello,” Natasha says in Russian.

Yelena cocks her head, and Natasha knows that because they had been raised in the same way, Yelena is just as good as she is at reading people. They just show it differently. “Did you know some version of me?”

“I did,” Natasha admits.

Yelena blows out a breath. “Was that version of me just as big of dick as you were in this universe?”

That startles a laugh out of Natasha. “I refuse to believe I was a dick here.”

“Little bit of one,” Yelena replies, holding her fingers about an inch apart.

Natasha spreads her hands about half a meter apart.

“I didn’t kill you, did I?” she asks.

“My boyfriend,” Natasha replies.

Yelena lets out an explosive sigh, and replies in English, “You win. I am the bigger dick.”

Natasha laughs again, and she hadn’t thought Yelena would ever be able to do that, not after she got James killed. But Yelena smirks at her, and Natasha is reminded of being in the program with Yelena as a child, when she’d followed Natasha around like a puppy.

“Perhaps we can both work on not being a dick,” Natasha replies.

“Deal,” Yelena replies, holding out a hand for Natasha to shake, which she does.

There are no hugs, but Natasha thinks a handshake is about as good as it’s going to get.

There’s also a girl who’s hovering near the doorway with a one-eyed dog on a leash, clearly unwilling to intrude. Natasha can read poorly-suppressed excitement on her face.

Bruce wipes his hands on a towel and says, “Clint, you want to introduce us to your friend?”

Barton has been watching the exchange between Natasha and Yelena with interest, but he holds out an arm with a warm, paternal air. “This is Kate Bishop. Kate, this is Dr. Banner, Sergeant Barnes, and Sam Wilson from our universe. You know who the others are already.”

Wilson is the first to reach Kate, and he offers a friendly handshake. “I’ve heard good things.”

She flushes and switches the leash from her right to her left hand. “Nice to meet you, um, Captain?”

“Sam is fine,” Wilson replies, clearly amused.

“Right,” Kate says. “Because that would probably get confusing.”

“Nah,” Steve says easily. “Because I’m just Steve.”

Kate looks about ready to swallow her own tongue as she shakes Steve’s hand, and when Bruce approaches, she says, “Dr. Banner, I thought—“ She cuts herself off. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s just Bruce,” he says. “And there are times when it’s easier if I’m not green. Welcome, Kate. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you.” He kneels down to greet the dog, and Natasha can’t remember the last time she’d seen a dog in person. “And who is this guy? Does he need food or water?”

Kate grins. “Water would be great, but I brought his food. And this is Lucky.”

“Lucky, huh?” Bruce asks, enthusiastically rubbing the dog’s ears, who tries to lick his face in return. “Lucky to be alive, is he?”

“That’s it exactly,” Kate replies.

“Let’s get you some water,” Bruce says to the dog, and she finds Tony staring at him in fascination. Maybe that makes sense, though. None of them had much of a chance to be around animals before, and so Tony wouldn’t have known how Bruce would respond.

Kate unclips the leash, and the dog follows Bruce happily.

Bruce finds a bowl for the water and puts it down on the floor, and Lucky starts to slurp happily. Bruce washes his hands and gets back to work, and Natasha is somehow not surprised that Lucky sits at his feet and watches intently.

“Kate, what do you know about cooking?” Bruce calls.

“Pretty much nothing?” Kate hazards.

“Good time to learn then,” Bruce replies. “Wash your hands, and come help me.”

Kate jumps at the order/suggestion with more alacrity than Natasha expects, but when Barton sits down at the long table, she joins him. It’s clear that Bruce is trying to give them some space to talk.

“Recent recruit?” Natasha asks, and Barton just nods.

Steve, Yelena, and Sam join them; Tony leans against the counter next to Bruce to watch him cook. James goes back to prepping the garlic bread.

“What’s going on with her?” Natasha asks quietly.

Barton grimaces. “It’s a long story, but she’s good with a bow. Might end up being even better than me. But her dad is dead, and her mom is kind of a supervillain, so I took her home with me, and she just stayed?”

Natasha frowns, then glances over her shoulder at Bruce, who’s talking Kate through stirring the sauce, and the importance of each element. “Is this okay?” Kate asks.

“You’re doing great,” Bruce replies with a reassuring smile.

“Didn’t know Banner was that good with kids,” Clint comments.

“He seems to do okay with most things,” Steve says mildly. “Cooking, handling situations, kids…”

Barton chuckles. “Oh, I know that Banner has layers. But we were never so friendly that we’d just hang out, and he wasn’t always so Zen.”

“Was he always interested in Tony?” Steve asks.

Barton glances over and snorts. “To hear Nat—“ He stops. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Natasha replies. “I don’t mind. Go on.”

Barton swallows hard and audibly. “To hear Nat talk, they shook hands and the pool started on when they’d fuck. No one ever collected on that bet.”

Yelena clears her throat. “So, why have you come here? Did you know your counterpart died?”

Natasha takes a deep breath. “To answer your second question, yes. Our Dr. Strange worked hard to ensure as much, knowing that it would make things at least marginally easier.”

“And my first question?” Yelena asks in a challenging tone.

“Our world was dying,” Natasha says bluntly. “Nuclear strikes, destabilized governments, cascading effects of climate change, and three emerging novel viruses that attacked an already weakened populace. There was nothing left to save.”

Yelena curses in Russian, using a few combinations Natasha hadn’t heard before. “Then you had no choice.”

“None,” Natasha replies. “Not if we wanted to live and try to effect change somewhere.”

Barton grimaces. “Did you have red in your ledger there, too?”

“Too much to measure,” Natasha replies, and then glances at Yelena, who makes a face.

“I think I’ve saved the world at least twice now,” Yelena offers.

“Come on,” James says, setting the platter of vegetables and dip on the table. “You’re exaggerating. I was responsible for at least one of those.”

Yelena straightens and says, “Bite your tongue. You showed up five minutes before the bomb went off.”

Wilson looks alarmed. “What bomb? You didn’t tell me anything about a bomb. I thought you didn’t know Yelena.”

James shrugs unrepentantly. “I take plenty of missions without you, you know, and I told you I’d run into her. I never said what the circumstances were.” He shoots Yelena a superior look. “And I’m usually getting her out of a jam.”

“Two times!” Yelena protests. “I have been in many situations before that I got myself out of.”

James shrugs. “There probably aren’t any witnesses.”

Yelena then curses him out in Russian, and it’s creative.

James’ smirk grows wider. “The point could be made.”

To that, Yelena flips him off—with both hands.

“We’re ten minutes out on the food,” Bruce says, taking a seat at one end of the table, in the seat closest to the kitchen. Tony sits down next to him, and Kate sits down next to Barton, pressing her shoulder to his briefly.

“Did you learn something?” Barton asks her.

“Bruce said he’d teach me to make pancakes tomorrow,” Kate replies. “He said every college student should know how to make them.”

That causes Barton to beam. “You’re going back?”

“Next semester,” Kate admits. “I thought about what you said, and someone has to be able to manage things. I like the idea of being a girl boss by day, superhero by night.”

“You’ll be great at it,” Barton replies. “And, of course, you have our full support.”

“I can get you in touch with Pepper, too,” Bruce offers. “She’d certainly have a conversation with you.”

Kate ducks her head. “Yeah, that would be amazing. I don’t—that would be great.”

“Of course,” Bruce says. Lucky rests his head on Bruce’s knee, and he says, “And not just because you brought this good boy.”

The dog’s tail swishes hard, and he whuffs softly. In return, Bruce scratches his ears.

Kate grins. “Lucky is the best, and I am not ashamed to use him to gain entrance.”

“Not necessary,” James says. “Barton vouches for you, so you’re in. We may need you.”

Kate flushes. “Thank you.”

James looks at Sam. “We should talk about what we’re going to do after the doc teaches Kate to make pancakes.”

“I promised to keep Tony out of the news,” Bruce says. “Pepper asked for that, at least for a while.”

“I could see how it would be confusing,” Tony says quietly. “And I don’t want to make a big splash.”

James clears his throat. “Sam?”

“Doesn’t have to be a big splash,” Sam says. “We could just announce that Avengers from another universe have come here, and they’re staying. We could name them but say that Tony desires privacy at this time.”

Bruce glances around the table. “I have a lab in Mexico, and Pepper said she’d send us clean energy projects.”

“I like that idea,” Tony admits. “I don’t think I’ve ever really spent time at a beach.”

“Wherever you feel most comfortable,” James replies. “We’ll make sure you have transportation.”

Natasha frowns, feeling a little on the back foot. “What’s going on?”

“You’re Avengers,” James says simply. “We’ll make an announcement, and then deal with the fallout as necessary.”

That simple declaration, Bruce and Wilson’s nods, Yelena’s shrug, and Natasha realizes that she’s suddenly part of a larger group. It’s not just the three of them any more; they’re part of a constructive whole, a force for good in the world.

She meets Steve’s eyes, and she sees her own relief mirrored.

“I’m in,” Tony says, his eyes on Bruce, although he glances away to look at her and Steve.

“I’m in,” Steve says quickly.

Natasha smiles. “I’m definitely in.”

It’s a brave new world.

---