Chapter 9

The Quinjet touched down on the Avengers Tower landing pad with a soft thud, and the team disembarked like they were all coming home from the world's weirdest group project. They were all sporting that particular brand of tired that only comes from fighting Nazis—sorry, HYDRA—in underground bunkers. But there was also this wave of relief, like that feeling you get when you finally kick off your shoes after a long day.

As they stepped into the tower, the familiar hum of high-tech wizardry welcomed them back. JARVIS, the AI who was basically the housekeeper, personal assistant, and security guard all rolled into one, greeted them in his usual calm tone. It was like being welcomed home by your super-organized, never-stressed-out best friend.

Captain America, ever the responsible one, took charge. "Debrief in the common area, team," he said, his voice that perfect mix of authority and friendly camp counselor. The twins they'd rescued were already on their way to the medical bay, with Bruce Banner hovering like a worried parent who also happens to be a genius scientist. If anyone knew how to handle the complicated cocktail of trauma and injuries, it was Bruce.

The team shuffled into the common area, exchanging those silent, weary glances that said, "Yeah, that was a thing we just did." Captain America, or Steve if you were on a first-name basis, stood at the head of the table, his expression serious but not without warmth.

"We did good work today," he began, his voice steady. It was the kind of voice that made you want to stand up straighter. "But HYDRA's not down for the count. We've got to keep the pressure on, take out their operations, and bring their leaders to justice."

Everyone nodded along, though there was this unspoken agreement that the words "good work" didn't quite cover the fact that they'd just faced off against a bunch of heavily armed, totally deranged bad guys.

That's when Tony Stark, the guy who could turn a tense moment into a cocktail party, decided to lighten the mood. "Let's not forget to pat ourselves on the back," he said, flashing one of his trademark smirks. "I mean, we did just take down a bunch of Nazi wannabes. If that's not a reason to crack open a bottle of something expensive, I don't know what is."

The team couldn't help but chuckle, the tension in the room easing just a bit. Leave it to Tony to find the humor in a situation that most people would find overwhelmingly grim.

And as they settled into their seats, preparing for a well-deserved break and a round of storytelling that would probably get more exaggerated with each retelling, the Avengers knew they'd be ready for whatever came next. After all, they were the ones who ran towards the danger, armed with nothing but courage, a handful of superpowers, and a pretty decent sense of humor.

—

Amidst the chatter and the occasional Tony Stark one-liner that could make even a robot crack a smile, Harry's voice sliced through the room like a well-aimed spell. "Hold up, everyone," he said, his tone so serious that it was like someone had just announced they were out of shawarma. Instantly, all eyes were on him.

Harry stood there, looking like he was about to drop some seriously heavy truth bombs. "Yeah, we took down HYDRA," he acknowledged, "but we've got a bigger problem on our hands. Those twins? Their story's way more complicated than we thought, and we can't just brush that off."

You could practically hear the gears shifting in everyone's heads as they turned their attention away from joking about Nazi wannabes and focused on Harry. Even Cap, the eternal Boy Scout, gave Harry a nod, like he knew exactly where this was heading. "He's right," Cap agreed, sounding like a wise old mentor—which, let's be honest, he kind of was. "The twins' connection to HYDRA? That's not something we can just ignore. We need to dig deeper, figure out where their loyalties really lie."

Harry took a deep breath, like he was about to dive into the deep end of a pool filled with some seriously dark memories. "Their names are Pietro and Wanda Maximoff," he began, and you could feel the weight in his voice, like he was carrying their entire tragic backstory on his shoulders. "Their parents were killed in a terrorist attack, and get this—the weapons used? Stark Industries specials."

The room went so quiet you could've heard a pin drop—or, you know, a repulsor blast charge up. Tony's usual smirk vanished faster than a snitch at a Quidditch match, replaced by something much darker. "Not only did they lose their parents," Harry continued, "but they were trapped in the rubble with a Stark missile that could've gone off at any second."

Silence. The kind that makes you want to fidget and look anywhere but at Tony, who was suddenly wearing an expression like someone had just told him he'd accidentally turned Pepper's birthday present into a toaster. "I had no idea…" Tony started, his voice cracking just a little, which, coming from the guy who could talk his way out of a speeding ticket with a wink, was saying something.

Cap, ever the leader, placed a hand on Tony's shoulder—no sarcasm, no jokes, just pure, solid support. "It's not on you, Tony," he said, though it was clear Tony wasn't buying it. "Right now, what matters is helping those kids."

Natasha, the queen of cool, nodded. "They've been through hell," she pointed out, her voice as soft as it ever got. "It's going to take time and patience to earn their trust."

Bruce, always the voice of reason when he wasn't, you know, turning green, glanced around the room. "We need to approach this with care," he suggested, the understatement of the century. "And be ready for whatever comes next."

Harry took the floor again, this time with a plan. "Maybe it's best if Tony stays clear of the Maximoffs for a while," he said, with the kind of quiet authority that made everyone else nod like, "Yeah, that's probably a good idea." Tony was already drowning in enough guilt to sink the tower, and throwing him in front of the twins right now would be like tossing gasoline on a fire.

"I'll stick with them," Harry added, his tone firm. "They need to see a familiar face, someone they can maybe—just maybe—start to trust."

Cap gave him one of those earnest nods that only he could pull off without looking cheesy. "Thanks, Harry. We'll take care of things on this end. Just let us know if you need anything."

With that, Harry turned toward the medical bay, his resolve as solid as the look in his eyes. Sure, they'd just beaten HYDRA, but this was a whole new battle—and he was ready to fight it, one step at a time.

—

"Alright, team," Captain America started, his voice cutting through the post-mission haze like a sharp vibranium shield. He was all business, the kind of business that made you sit up straighter and maybe reconsider your life choices. "Let's debrief and figure out what we're dealing with at that Sokovian HYDRA base. We need to know what's coming and how to punch it in the face."

Natasha Romanoff, aka the Black Widow and unofficial Queen of Snark, nodded in agreement. Her eyes, sharper than Hawkeye's arrows, scanned the room. "From what I saw, the place was locked down tighter than Tony's liquor cabinet," she quipped, though her tone was dead serious. "We ran into heavy resistance. HYDRA operatives were armed to the teeth, and those teeth were gnarly."

Bruce Banner, who was doing his best to stay in Banner mode and not go full Hulk, added his two cents. His brow was furrowed like he was trying to solve a particularly tough Sudoku. "There were signs of some pretty nasty experiments going on," he said, looking grim enough to make a thunderstorm seem cheerful. "We're talking major human rights violations. HYDRA's gone full Mad Scientist, and not the fun, cartoonish kind."

Tony Stark, who usually had a quip ready to go, was surprisingly all business. He was tapping away on a tablet like it was a video game, but the look on his face said this was anything but fun. "We pulled some data from their systems," he reported. "HYDRA's been busy playing Dr. Frankenstein with enhanced individuals and weapons tech. And trust me, these guys aren't just building oversized paperweights."

Clint Barton, who had somehow managed to look both laid-back and deadly at the same time, weighed in next. "We've gotta hit them hard and fast," he said, his tone urgent. "If we give HYDRA time to catch their breath, they'll come back swinging. And trust me, you don't want to be around when they do."

Cap took it all in, nodding like a proud dad at a particularly insightful science fair project. "Good work, everyone," he said, and somehow managed to sound both humble and like the guy you'd follow into a volcano if he asked. "Now, let's figure out how to take HYDRA down for good—and make sure no one else ends up on their mad scientist operating table."

With Cap at the helm, the Avengers got down to the nitty-gritty of strategic planning. It wasn't all just doom and gloom, though—there were plenty of witty remarks, a few pop culture references, and more than one moment of self-deprecating humor. After all, they were the Avengers, and if they couldn't save the world with a bit of style, what was the point?

But beneath the banter and the back-and-forth, there was a steely determination. HYDRA had messed with the wrong team, and now they were about to find out what happens when you push Earth's Mightiest Heroes too far.

—-

After the meeting, Tony Stark found himself in the last place he wanted to be—alone in his lab with nothing but his thoughts and a bunch of blinking lights that really didn't care about his existential crisis. He paced around, trying to shake off the gnawing sense of unease that clung to him like a bad cologne.

"Jarvis, pull up all records of Stark Industries weapon sales to known terrorist groups," Tony ordered, his voice tight with urgency. This wasn't just a stroll down memory lane; this was more like diving headfirst into a shark tank.

"Certainly, sir," Jarvis replied in that annoyingly calm tone. Of course, Jarvis wasn't the one reliving his nightmares.

Just then, Pepper Potts walked in, looking every bit like she knew exactly what was going on in Tony's head. Which, to be fair, she usually did. "Tony, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice soft with that mix of concern and 'oh no, what did he do now?' that she had perfected over the years.

Tony sighed, which is Stark-speak for 'I'm about to drop some emotional baggage, brace yourself.' He ran a hand through his hair—hair that was doing a fantastic impression of a bird's nest. "It's everything, Pep," he admitted, and there it was, the Tony Stark patented guilt trip. "The things Obie did in my name... I don't know if I can ever make up for it."

Pepper, being the amazing person she was, didn't roll her eyes or tell him to snap out of it (even though she probably wanted to). Instead, she just put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You've already done so much good, Tony," she said, her voice full of that no-nonsense reassurance that somehow made you believe her. "You can't change the past, but you can make a difference now."

Tony nodded, feeling a bit better, though not entirely convinced. "I just… I need to do better," he said, and in his head, he added, like, a lot better. "For everyone we've hurt, for everyone counting on us to protect them."

Pepper gave his shoulder a squeeze, the kind that said, 'I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere.' "We'll figure it out together, Tony," she promised, her voice like a warm blanket on a cold day.

Tony looked around the lab—his fortress of solitude, though it was more like a fortress of flashy gadgets and questionable life choices. But with Pepper there, it felt a little less lonely. Surrounded by the hum of machines and the glow of monitors, Tony found something that was almost like peace. Or at least the next best thing.

—-

When Nick Fury strode into Avengers Tower, the room practically went on high alert. Even the coffee machine seemed to perk up. Harry, who had been enjoying a rare moment of peace (translation: trying to find a decent TV show that wasn't about aliens or magical schools), felt a jolt of anticipation mix with a dash of concern. When Fury showed up unannounced, it usually meant one thing—trouble with a capital T.

"Avengers," Fury began, his voice like a verbal exclamation point. "We've got a situation on our hands."

Harry's brow furrowed as he braced himself for the inevitable bad news. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to sound like he was ready for anything. (Spoiler: He wasn't.)

Fury didn't waste time with small talk. "We've uncovered a HYDRA operation," he said, his expression doing that thing where it went from grim to grimmer. "And it's bigger than anything we've dealt with before. The head of HYDRA is none other than Alexander Pierce, Secretary of the World Security Council."

There was a collective gasp. Well, maybe not a gasp, but definitely some shocked blinking. Natasha's eyes widened like she'd just discovered that her favorite coffee shop had been taken over by hipsters. "Pierce," she repeated, as if saying it out loud would make it less insane. "But he's... he's a friend of yours, isn't he?"

Fury's jaw clenched. It was the kind of clench that said, I really need to punch something, but I'm too professional to admit it. "He was," Fury replied, the words tight and tense. "But now he's a threat. And we need to stop him before he unleashes whatever plan he's cooked up with HYDRA."

Harry felt his stomach drop, like he was on a roller coaster and just hit the big loop. "What's the plan?" he asked, because apparently, he had a strong survival instinct and a terrible sense of timing.

Fury's gaze turned steely, like the kind of steel you don't want to run into in a dark alley. "We're assembling a team to take down HYDRA and bring Pierce to justice," he explained, because when Fury gives you the plan, he really gives you the plan. "And we need you, Clint, and Natasha on it."

Harry didn't hesitate. (Okay, maybe a tiny bit, but he was really good at hiding it.) "I'm in," he declared, with a confidence that was at least 80% real. "Just tell me what you need."

Natasha and Clint exchanged a look, then nodded in unison. They were clearly in too, though Natasha probably had about a hundred questions she'd save for later, and Clint was mentally figuring out how many arrows he could carry.

Fury nodded, his expression saying good, now don't mess this up. "Meet me at the rendezvous point in one hour," he instructed, because apparently, time was more of an enemy than HYDRA at the moment. "We'll brief you on the details there."

As Fury turned to leave, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that his peaceful, semi-normal life had just taken a swan dive off a cliff. The hunt for HYDRA was far from over, and with Pierce at the helm, the stakes were higher than Tony Stark's credit card limit during a tech binge. And just like that, Harry was gearing up for another mission that could probably use a little more planning and a lot fewer life-or-death stakes.

—

As Harry, Natasha, and Clint made their way to the rendezvous point, it was hard to shake the sense of déjà vu. It seemed like every time Harry turned around, there was another high-stakes mission with a chance of getting spectacularly blown up. And given his particular brand of immortality, it wasn't exactly reassuring to think about how many times he might get blown up before this one was over.

Natasha and Clint were by his side, each bringing their own brand of comfort to the otherwise unsettling situation. Natasha, with her hawk-like vigilance, was scanning the Tower's corridors as if she expected an army of HYDRA agents to pop out of the walls any second. Clint, ever the archer, had that air of readiness that suggested he could shoot the legs off a chair while blindfolded. It was comforting in a grim sort of way, like having an extra layer of Kevlar when you were already wearing enchanted armor.

Harry tried not to dwell on the irony of it all. Immortality was not as glamorous as it sounded. In fact, it was more of a cosmic joke with a punchline that involved endless battles, personal trauma, and an ever-growing list of people he'd outlived. So when Natasha broke the silence, her voice laced with concern, Harry was reminded that despite everything, at least he wasn't dealing with this alone.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Natasha asked, her eyes narrowing in a way that said she wasn't buying any of his bravado.

Harry forced a smile that felt as natural as wearing a suit made out of sandpaper. "I'm fine," he said, though it was more of a mantra than a truth. "Just... processing everything."

Clint shot him a look that said he'd been down this road himself and knew all the words in the world wouldn't make it any easier. "It's a lot to take in," he said. To Harry, it felt like Clint was offering a rare bit of empathy amidst the chaos, the kind that only comes from someone who understands the weight of living through countless near-death experiences.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his voice quiet. "But we've got a job to do."

They pressed on, their footsteps echoing through the empty corridors like the tick-tock of a cosmic clock. Despite the grim reality of their situation, Harry knew that with Natasha and Clint by his side, they stood a better chance against whatever HYDRA was planning. And if not, well, at least he'd have the dubious pleasure of surviving yet another disaster. One could only hope that immortality would come with some perks, eventually. But for now, it was just another day of trying to make a difference while feeling like the universe had a personal vendetta against him.

---

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