mcu_kink_meme | Prompt Post #1

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!prompt post

Prompt Post #1

Welcome to the brand spanking new MCU Kink Meme!

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Here, all of Steve's team was imprisoned. They were all subdued at the airport and brought to the Raft. After some discussion on what's to be done with team cap, Ross comes in and tells them they shall be transformed into an animal of their choosing, and Tony's team has the right to look and care for one of them in their animal state or end up getting sent to some zoo or pet shop.
So one by one, Steve's team faces the place where they are to be transformed, gives the animal they want transform into and then returned to their cells as said animal. Tony's team, who are witnesses to this process, decide they will each take one of the transformed members and look after it, regardless if someone chose to be something as simple as a dog or as wild as a tiger. I don't mind who chooses to get who, so long as Tony decides to get Steve after he's transformed, (not because they were romantic).

I urge you to let Steve and his transformed team keep their human minds as animals, but you can make them a complete animal in conscious if you want.
Express a lot of nice reactions, to the process of the transformation and the teams seeming them in animal form.
This fic was also partially inspired by another prompt on here with 'pet play'

“Mr. Stark? What do you want us to do now?” Peter asked into his headset, shooting a glance at Black Panther as he stalked between the subdued ex-Avengers.

“I’ve called an ambulance, they’re on their way for Rhodes,” Tony’s tight voice relayed through the crackling speaker. “The military’s on their way, too, to pick up the...the criminals. Just make sure none of them try to run off before then. We’ve already lost two.”

“All right, Mr. Stark. I’ll make sure they all stay put until the military gets here. You stay with Mr. War Machine. War Machine. Colonel-”

“I got it, kid. Just…keep an eye on them.”

Peter hefted a sigh as the line went dead, glancing up as he heard the shift of air currents above him.

Vision hovered over, Wanda’s unconscious form cradled in his arms, and landed beside him without a sound. The boy cast a wary look at the Scarlet Witch, then up at Vision, who was staring down at her in what seemed to be deep concentration.

Peter glanced away. That was one complicated emotional situation that he wanted no part of.

“If she wakes up, you’re in charge of keeping her here,” Peter muttered to Vision. The synthetic being nodded.

Leaving Vision to watch over the girl, Peter looked around for the others, making sure they were all accounted for.

Scott was still moaning on the ground over by the plane wreckage, Sam fighting the thick spider webs that encircled him a few feet away. Natasha was on the ground as well, trying to recover from a taser shot, and Clint was just starting to wake up from T’Challa’s punch.

The Panther guy was perched on the wing of a nearby airplane, surveying the scene with the cool air of a predator. So no guarantee of help there. With another sigh, Peter turned and webbed up Hawkeye and Black Widow. He winced at their cries of protest.

“Sorry guys, but I need to make sure you don’t try to run off…And I thought you were on our side,” he said to Natasha, not quite able to keep the betrayed tone from his voice.

“Bug off, kid,” Black Widow growled, shooting a glare up at T’Challa. “I’m not on anyone’s side.”

“S-sorry…” he muttered, turning to look for Scott.

Another moan pointed him in the right direction, and Peter made quick work of webbing up the Ant Man as well.

“Oh come on, kid, really? I’m already down, leave me what little dignity I have left…” Scott groaned.

“Sorry. Precautions. Mr. Stark’s orders.”

Scott muttered a string of curses, and Peter turned to pace among the others. Most of them were giving him rather vicious glares, Falcon in particular, and Peter sighed once more.

He hoped the military wouldn’t be too long.

Sam glanced up as the doors to their holding bay were opened.

It had only been a few hours so far, but Clint and Sam were already circling their cells like caged tigers, tense and angry. Scott was sprawled back on the cot, tapping out an abstract rhythm on his legs, and Natasha was staring unblinking into the security camera, as if trying to see through the other side. Wanda had curled herself into the back corner of her cell, exhausted and sore from trying to fight her way free of the straitjacket and being zapped with the shock collar for using her powers.

None of them had made much of an effort to talk after the first five minutes, save for an occasional random question from Scott or a “you sure you’re okay?” from Clint when Wanda made a small noise in pain.

Now they were all dead silent, staring at the entryway and waiting for whatever was coming.

A pair of guards positioned themselves at the open door, leading the way for an armed escort. Their faces were set but they were clutching their guns tight, and they kept looking back at the figure in blue that they were leading into the holding area.

Another prisoner, then.

Sam circled around to the front of his cell, trying to get a good look at who it was. He caught a glimpse of blonde hair as the guards led a woman through the door in handcuffs, and his stomach dropped.

“Sharon?” Sam called. The new prisoner looked up in surprise, slowing to a stop as she stared.

“Sam?”

“Shit, they got you too?” Sam asked her, pressing his hand to the glass.

Before she could reply, one of the guards prodded her in the back with a growled “get moving.” She lowered her gaze to the ground, allowing herself too be led to one of the cells and locked inside.

“Wait, who’s she?” Scott asked. Sam didn’t reply for a long moment, watching the guards file out of the room. Once the holding bay doors had been closed he let out a breath.

“Sharon Carter. One of Steve’s friends,” Sam explained to Scott, shifting to better see their new block mate from his cell. “How did you wind up here? I thought you got away?”

“Wasn’t quite that lucky,” Sharon sighed, crossing to sit with her back against the glass. “Someone had a tracker on my car, and there were half a dozen cops waiting for me a few miles up the road.”

“How’d they get a tracker on you?” Clint asked from across the room, his brows drawn.

“Someone saw me take the shield and Falcon suit. Turned me in before I even left,” she said with a helpless shrug. “They had security cameras on the equipment. I didn’t think to check the room. Dumb rookie mistake.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. We’re all making dumb rookie mistakes today, apparently,” Sam shrugged, leaning back against the glass.

“Like getting taken out by a kid with silly string in his gloves?”

“Scott, I swear to God I will dig through this wall and kick your ass.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t get the Star Wars treatment…”

“This sounds like a hell of a fight that I missed,” Sharon said with a little smile. “Although I can’t help but notice the head count is a bit different than when I last saw you.”

“Steve and Bucky got away,” Sam reassured her.

“I let them get away,” Natasha called with a bitter grin. “Why do you think I wound up here?”

Sharon turned, resting one hand on the glass as she tilted her head, examining Natasha.

“I recognize you. You’re Black Widow – Steve talks about you a lot.” She glanced at the next cell over, where Clint was standing. “And you’re Hawkeye.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned her gaze to the next cell down, raising a brow. “Who are…?”

“Scott. Scott Lang. I’m Ant Man. You might have heard of me.”

Sharon tried to hide a grin as Scott puffed out his chest.

“Sorry, can’t say that I have.”

The man deflated instantly, and Sam had to bite back a laugh.

“Damn…” Scott muttered, slumping back onto his cot. “Just when I thought I was getting famous.”

Sharon turned her attention to the final prisoner, and Sam saw her brows draw in sympathy.

“Who’s she?” Sharon asked softly, nodding to the far cell.

“Wanda Maximoff. You might know her as Scarlet Witch,” Clint sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the front of his cell. “And because of me, she’s stuck here with the rest of the fail squad.”

“Not your fault.” Wanda’s raspy, broken voice was almost too soft to hear, and Clint visibly winced.

“Yeah it is, kiddo. I should have left you at the compound. You were safe there.”

“I was still a prisoner. Just with a slightly nicer cell.”

“Oh, don’t let Ross hear you bashing the accommodations,” Sam said with a forced grin, hating the defeat he heard in her voice and trying to cheer her up. “He might put pink curtains up in your cell.”

The comment actually earned a snort of amusement from Wanda, and Clint visibly relaxed.

“As long as it’s not too obnoxious a color, he can add whatever furnishings he likes. Personally I wouldn’t mind a stereo system,” Wanda replied.

“Do you think he takes requests?” Scott asked. “Cause if I could get a beanbag chair-“

The man was cut off by the doors to their holding bay sliding open once more, this time revealing the figure of Tony Stark. The man looked fairly put together despite the slowly healing bruises on his face, and he seemed distracted, playing with something on his watch as he walked down the hall.

Everyone was silent for a long moment, staring as the familiar billionaire stepped into the room and the doors slid closed once more. Tony looked around slowly, his eyes narrowing a bit as Sam met his gaze with a defiant sneer.

“Well. This place certainly filled up quick,” Tony observed with fake cheeriness, folding his hands together with a clap. Wanda muttered something darkly in another language as Tony walked into the center of the room, and Natasha nodded, shooting the man a displeased look.

Sam clenched his teeth and went back to pacing, ignoring Clint and Scott as they riled at Tony.

If this guy thought he was gonna get any info on Steve’s whereabouts, he had another thing coming.

Sam would die before he sold his best friend out.

“Mr. Stark!”

Tony stopped, his fist a fraction from Bucky’s face, and glanced over his shoulder.

T’Challa was standing on the far edge of the room, Zemo lying unconscious a few feet away. Neither man seemed worse for wear, and the Wakandan king was focused on him with an intensity that made Tony uncomfortable.

The last he’d seen T’Challa, he’d been standing in an airport in Germany, waiting for a private jet to take him home. How he got here, to Siberia, or managed to find Tony at all, was a mystery.

“I’m a little busy,” Tony said, waving a hand at Barnes when the other man continued to watch him.

“Tony, this is not the way,” T’Challa said gently.

For a moment Tony could only stare in disbelief.

This was the man who had vowed revenge on Barnes for killing his father. The man who had attacked the Winter Soldier on multiple occasions and had only failed to kill him because Steve and the goody-two-shoes patrol had stopped him at the last second.

And now he was here, trying to talk Tony down from doing the same thing.

A flash of rage hit hot and sharp in Tony’s chest, and he slammed Bucky into the ground before rounding on T’Challa.

“I don’t care! He killed my mother!” he shouted. The Black Panther didn’t respond, his eyes pitying.

Beneath him, Tony could feel the Winter Soldier struggling, trying to pry the glove of the Iron Man suit from around his neck, and he clenched his hand tighter with a growl, reveling in the choking noise the man made.

Payback.

“Revenge will not bring you peace, Mr. Stark. It will only lead you down a road of destruction.”

Tony scoffed, turning away.

“I don’t need this lecture from you…You were trying to kill him all damn week, in case you’d forgotten!” he spat.

“I have seen the error of my ways. Tony,” T’Challa started, stepping around Cap’s unconscious form to approach. “As someone who has spent the past week simmering in his rage and letting it blind him, I advise you to take a step back and re-evaluate if this is truly what you want to become. Because once you are a killer, Tony, you cannot go back.”

“You make it sound like I’m plotting to murder someone.”

“Are you not?”

“He’s a mindless killer! I’m…I’m saving other people from being hurt!” Tony shouted back, but somehow he found himself unable to meet the eyes of the man struggling for air beneath him.

“Tony,” T’Challa said, his voice slightly scolding, and the billionaire hung his head.

“He killed my mom.”

“Hydra killed your mother,” T’Challa corrected gently. “Using his hands to do it. Do not redirect your blame.”

“Like it’s that easy.”

“I never said it was easy,” T’Challa said, shaking his head. “It is, however, what is right. Come, Tony. Let your anger go.”

Tony stared at the Wakandan king for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. The man certainly did seem a lot more calm and logical than he had been for the past few days.

But he hadn’t just seen his parents strangled to death.

Tony’s hand cinched tighter around Barnes’ throat, and the man gurgled out a little sound, grasping desperately at the suit with his remaining arm.

“Tony,” T’Challa said more sternly, frowning at him. “I cannot let you kill him. You will regret doing so.”

The billionaire held his position for another long second, but then let out a shaking breath.

“Fine,” Tony muttered. “Fine. You want me to stop, cat man? All right. We’ll do things your way.”

Tony reared back and punched Barnes as hard as he could, knocking him out. He let the man’s collar slip through his fingers, dropping him on the floor, and staggered to his feet.

“You’re both getting jailed,” he spat at the Winter Soldier’s unconscious form in disgust, sparing a second to glare at Steve as well. “And then I’m going to go get wasted.”

Bucky drummed his fingers against his knee, glancing around.

They had all been pulled from their cells about ten minutes ago, led into this side room, and been told to stand quietly and not cause any trouble “or else.”

The girls were seated together on one side of the room. Wanda was tucked between Sharon and Natasha, drugged into near unconsciousness, but with the straitjacket finally removed. Sharon had one arm around her protectively, the girl’s head resting on her shoulder, and Natasha was glaring at any of the guards who got too close.

On the opposite wall the boys were lined up, most of them scowling at the man in a lab coat who stood in the center of the room flipping through papers. Scott was fidgeting nervously, tapping an off-beat rhythm on his leg as Sam crossed his arms and shifted his weight. Steve was looking around at his team, agony in his blue eyes.

Bucky knew Steve blamed himself for all of them being here, and he wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. His team had come to help him because they loved him, he hadn’t forced their hand. But Steve would never believe that. He was the leader – he would take all the blame in a heartbeat.

“All right, settle down, the lot of you.”

With a sigh, Bucky turned his attention to the lab tech as the man spoke. Beside him, Steve tensed.

“Now listen closely, because here’s what’s about to happen,” the man started. “Each of you is a wanted criminal with a track record. Normally, crimes such as treason and mass murder would be punishable by death,” he said, giving pointed glances to the girls, Steve, and Bucky. “However, you are useful. All of you. So we can’t afford to kill you. As such, there is a procedure that you are all about to undergo that will render you harmless until such a time as we need you.”

“And what exactly would this mystery procedure be?” Clint asked, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as his eyes flicked to Natasha and Wanda in worry.

“You will each be turned into an animal of your choice, and will remain as such until you are needed.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky asked, his voice nearly drowned out by the reactions of the others. An animal? There was no way this was legal, and in fact he wasn’t even sure that it was possible, but he didn’t like the idea of being stuck in the body of some animal where he would be helpless if anything happened. The others seemed to share his opinion, if Sam’s colorful string of curses was anything to judge by.

The lab tech raised his hands to silence the outcry of the prisoners, glaring around until they had quieted down.

“This is not an option. You will all go through with this procedure.”

”And once we’ve all been changed into fluffy little woodland creatures, then what happens to us?” Natasha demanded. “You box us up and ship us off to the nearest zoo? Pet shop?”

“The Avengers who signed the Accords will have the option to claim responsibility for you. If not, well…we will decide from there.”

“Will it hurt?” Wanda asked quietly before anyone else could speak.

The lab tech’s gaze softened slightly as he turned to her.

“It should be painless. Disorienting, but painless. And you will have the option of what you wish to be changed into.”

“Ooh! Dibs on tiger!”

The solid smack of Sam’s hand connecting with his forehead followed Scott’s comment, and Bucky felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

“Now,” the lab tech cut them off, flipping the folder open and thumbing through the first few pages of paper. “Let’s go in alphabetical order, shall we? Mr. Barnes. You’re up first.”

“Yippee,” Bucky deadpanned, stepping forward as the laboratory doors were opened.

A man and a woman in lab coats were waiting and fell into step on either side of him as he entered the lab.

The space inside was all white and stainless steel, and smelled strongly of disinfectant. Bucky took a deep breath, trying to push down the lingering wariness from his time with Hydra. It would be okay. They weren’t here to hurt him.

The room they led him into looked a lot like a vet’s office, with jars of treats on the counters and crates of varying sizes stacked against one wall. The two scientists followed him into the room, the man moving to prepare a syringe of near-glowing purple liquid as the woman paced over to the counter.

“Do you have a particular animal in mind?” she asked, indicating a chair with a tap of her pen on the arm rest. He sank down onto the worn leather seat, glancing around.

Bucky’s thoughts drifted to a favorite childhood pet as he spotted a leash hanging on the wall, and he turned back to the woman with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

“They won’t have their powers still, will they? Like, I’m not about to get some super-soldier gerbil that can punch its way out of a cage, or the most terrifying telekinetic rabbit in existence…?”

“No, Mr. Stark. The super powers will not carry over to their animal forms. Miss Maximoff is a worry, as hers is mentally linked, but so far we have not had any trouble with the others.”

“I will care for Wanda, if her powers are a concern,” Vision said, bowing his head.

“Just…don’t get smashed through the floor this time, please. I hate dealing with repair crews,” Tony muttered, turning back to the nurse. “How many of them are there, total?”

“Eight.”

“Hm. That could be a problem. There’s five of us, plus I called Laura to come get Clint. That leaves two. Someone’s going to have to take multiple. At least for now.”

He looked around, one eyebrow raised in question, and the others all looked away.

“…what, no takers?”

“I’ll have enough trouble getting Aunt May to let me have one pet…” Peter muttered, looking at his feet.

“And I only have international travel permission for one,” T’Challa added.

Tony frowned. He had been hoping the Wakandan king would take at least two…

“Okay, so a ‘no’ for Parker and His Royal Catness. Vision, you’ll probably have your hands full as it is, and Laura’s got the kids to worry about as well,” Tony said, ticking off his fingers as he turned a glance toward the remaining member, ignoring T’Challa’s half-hearted scowl at the nickname.

“Rhodes?”

“Tony, I’m gonna have enough trouble looking after myself,” the man said with a raised brow. “You’re adding an animal to the mix. I definitely can’t take two.”

“Guess that means I’m the lucky winner,” Tony quipped with a wry smile, crossing his arms and sitting back down. “Yay!”

He would have to tell Friday to have the mansion prepared for multiple new pets.

He’d already prepared one room for whichever Avenger he’d wind up taking home, and had a hold on pet supplies at the store – everything from a hamster ball to a dog bed big enough for a Great Dane – that he planned to sort through and have shipped as soon as he knew what type of animal he was getting.

Now all that was left to do was figure out who was going home with who.

Tony didn’t trust himself with Barnes just yet - even as an animal - so the Winter Soldier would have to go to one of the others.

Not T’Challa, though.

Despite what the king had said, Tony didn’t quite trust him with Barnes yet, either.

Maybe Parker.

Now that Tony thought about it, this was probably a good time to discuss that…

Tony cleared his throat, folding his hands together with a clap.

“So…does anyone else want the scary, potentially-magic animal? Or have we all agreed that Vision is taking her?”

Steve watched in concern as the scientists called Sharon’s name, the blonde shifting Wanda carefully into Natasha’s arms before standing, tugging her prison-issued clothing into place, and striding after the people in the lab coats with her head held high.

He let out a shuddering breath as the doors swung shut on the third member of his team, swallowing her deeper into the facility.

This was what he’d sentenced them to.

They were all going to be turned into animals and split up. They would all be helpless.

If anyone outside of the Raft knew about this, there would be no guarantee of his team’s safety. Someone could go after Bucky. Or Wanda. Get vengeance, and hurt or abuse his teammates while they could do noting to fight back.

None of them should have been here.

He should have been able to get them out.

He was the leader, he was supposed to make sure that bad things like this didn’t happen to them. They had trusted him and followed him, and he had led them astray.

A hand landing on his shoulder snapped his attention up, and Sam gave him a half-smile that was only a little bit forced.

“It’s not the gallows, Cap. They can reverse it.”

“Unless something happens to any of you in the meantime, while you’re helpless,” Steve said gently.

Sam offered a little shrug.

“We all knew we were working outside of the law on this. We knew there would be consequences.”

“Yeah, so did I, but not consequences like this,” Steve said, shooting a glance to where Natasha was smoothing a hand over Wanda’s head, her expression carefully blank. “Sam, if anything happens to any of you…”

“You’ll never forgive yourself. Yeah, I know,” he murmured, clasping Steve’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, though. I’m sure it will be.”

“If I hadn’t gotten you all into this situation…”

“Hold on a second,” Sam cut him off, raising a finger to poke at him. “You know every single one of us chose to follow you of our own free will. Don’t act like you dragged us into this.”

Steve shook his head. “You can’t expect me to think that you all willingly picked me over the UN…”

“Why are you surprised?” Natasha asked quietly, startling both of them. When they turned to her she had a little smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Given a choice between you or the people who tried to solve an alien attack by dropping a nuclear warhead on New York? I’m picking you every time.”

“Me too,” Wanda murmured, looking up at him with a smile despite the drugged glaze to her eyes.

Steve shot the girls a fond smile, his heart aching as Wanda’s shock collar flashed a little red light.

“Same here,” Scott added from behind him, and the man gave Steve a thumbs-up when he turned around.

Steve looked around at his team, feeling a warm surge of pride and gratitude thread through him.

“You’re taking this a lot harder than the rest of us are. Really,” Sam said, bumping him with his shoulder. “We’ll be fine.”

Before Steve could answer, the doors swung open again.

“Scott Lang?”

“Present!”

Scott smiled cheerfully back at the withering look the lab tech gave him, and Steve huffed out a tiny laugh despite himself. Scott hopped to his feet, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt before turning to face Steve. Snapping his heels together in what was quite honestly the sloppiest attempt at a salute Steve had ever seen, Scott beamed at him.

“See you on the other side, Captain.”

Without another word, the man turned on his heel and all but marched into the lab, the scientist following a step behind him, shaking her head.

The closing swing of the doors hollowed the sound out of the room like a vacuum, and Steve’s voice dropped to a whisper once again.

“Sam…”

“We’ll be okay, Cap,” the man murmured, letting his hand slip from Steve’s shoulder. “We’re all a lot tougher than you give us credit for, I promise.”

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured, looking around at the last few stragglers who sat pale and deathly silent in the waiting room once more. “But you shouldn’t have to be.”

Vision looked up as a pair of guards opened the laboratory doors and a man came into sight carrying a small pet crate.

He had been waiting nervously for exactly thirty eight minutes and fourteen seconds since the men in lab coats had led a stumbling, drugged Wanda into the back room and closed the door. He didn’t know by exactly what process the transformation would be occurring, nor did he know what animal Wanda would choose, and he had been searching for nearby pet supply stores the entire time as he waited, trying to keep his mind occupied.

He had located seventeen within driving distance of the compound, as well as three exotic pet supply stores in the general area just in case she chose something unusual. He was prepared.

Now, however, he was about to get her back, and he had something like nerves coiled tight in his lower stomach.

Vision hovered to his feet as the man in the lab coat stepped fully into the room, the doors swinging closed behind him.

“Here she is. Ready to go home,” the man said, and Vision leaned to peer into the crate as he crossed the room.

A small, indistinguishable lump of black fur was lying in the back corner of the cage, perfectly still, and he felt a thrill of worry run through his circuits at the thought that she might have been hurt.

“Wanda?” he asked softly, threading a finger through the front bars of the cage. The tiny creature shifted at the sound of his voice, a little head poking up to blink at him with big green eyes.

Feline, his processors supplied, and Vision ran a search for cat care as he twitched his finger slightly.

Wanda stared up at him, her ears pinned flat with nerves, and she flicked her tail a few times but didn’t otherwise move.

“Does she still understand me?” Vision asked the lab technician, who nodded.

“She still has her mind, just with a few extra instincts and a different body. She won’t be able to talk to you, but she can understand everything you’re saying. The magic, thankfully, did not carry over, so that won’t be a concern.”

Vision turned his attention back to the carrier, bending to look through the bars.

“Are you feeling all right, Wanda?” he asked her gently.

The cat blinked at him slowly, then bobbed her head down in a nod. Vision smiled, putting his finger through the bars again. The digit was just long enough for him to touch her, and he traced his fingertip down the few inches of her spine that he could reach. She rewarded him with a stuttering purr, and Vision felt his heart do something strange and pleasant in his chest.

“I will take very good care of you,” he promised, accepting the carrier from the lab technician. “Let us go back home, Wanda.”

Peter sat on the bench, his hands folded in his lap as his heels pounded out a steady beat on the wall behind him.

He was going to be getting the Winter Soldier to take care of, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. He had asked Aunt May in the vaguest of terms if he could bring home a friend, and had received an off-handed “sure, why not” that he planned to use to his advantage.

After all, he had no idea what kind of animal he would be getting.

He just hoped it wasn’t something too big.

Would the Winter Soldier decide to become a polar bear…?

“Mr. Parker?”

“Yes?” Peter yelped, scrambling to his feet as a lab technician poked his head through the door.

“He’s ready to go home.”

The man stepped fully into the room, a leash in his hand, and pushed the door open to reveal Peter’s new charge.

A beautifully patterned Husky was on the end of the leash, and Peter caught his breath in excitement.

He had always wanted a dog.

Bucky was standing still, head bent so he could sniff at the metallic front leg on his left side. The mechanics shifted and whirred softly as he moved it, and the dog’s ears perked in surprise.

Peter smiled as the lab technician gave a light tug to the leash, leading Bucky out into the room.

The dog walked out at a slow pace, carefully testing his weight on the metallic leg. His tail flipped haphazardly, trying to keep his balance as he took a few stiff steps, but then he sat, flicking his ears back unhappily, and refused to move.

“It will take a bit of getting used to,” the lab tech said with a smile, and Bucky let out a snort.

“C’mere, boy,” Peter called gently, dropping to a knee and holding his arms out. Bucky looked up, cocking his head in confusion, but his tail began to wag when he caught sight of Peter. “Come on, come here. I know you can do it,” he coaxed again.

Bucky tested the leg one more time, leaning his weight into it, before walking over to Peter at a nearly-steady pace.

“That’s it!” Peter grinned, throwing his arms around the dog’s neck. “Good boy!”

Bucky cocked his head, catching Peter’s eye with a look that was downright bemused.

“Right…sorry…” Peter mumbled, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “It’s just, you’re a dog and-”

Bucky interrupted him by licking a long stripe over his cheek, and Peter laughed out loud.

“Right. Well, buddy, are you ready to go home? Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow.”

Bucky barked, wagging his tail happily, and Peter took the leash from the lab technician.

“Aunt May is gonna love you, I just know it.”

Natasha bared her teeth and pressed herself into the back of the carrier as T’Challa crouched to peer in at her.

No way.

She was NOT going with him.

Not after the airport – after she’d tased him to let Steve and Bucky escape.

There was no way she could trust him to treat her well after she essentially backstabbed him.

She had asked to be changed into a ferret – small and agile, with paws that were relatively dexterous – in order to give herself the best mobility and use of her new body that she could. Something she could use to escape, if the need arose.

She had expected to be sent home with Tony, or maybe that Parker kid.

Not T’Challa.

“Come now, Natalia,” the man murmured with a smile, touching the bars cautiously with a finger. “There is no need to be frightened.”

She hissed at him, curling herself tighter into the corner, and he chuckled.

“Very well. We will see if you have calmed down by the time we reach home.”

He vanished from her view and a shadow fell across the carrier a second before it began to move. Natasha pressed herself flat on the bottom of the crate in fright.

This was not going to end well.

God, she wished that she’d chosen something a bit bigger…

Laura looked up as the double doors leading to the lab swung open, a large grizzly bear lumbering into the waiting room, his head low as he sniffed at the ground.

“Clint?” she whispered.

He perked up a little when he realized that he was not alone, his ears twitching forward as he raised his head. Laura stood slowly.

“Clint..is that you?”

The bear’s mouth pulled back a little in something that resembled a smile as he sat back on his hind legs and opened his arms expectantly. Laura cautiously crossed the room, looking him over. The bear’s fur was the same color as Clint’s hair, and it was begging for a hug like a circus animal, eyes soft.

Yes, this was definitely him.

She crossed the last few feet to him at a run, sinking a little in the thick fur on his front as she wrapped her arms as far around his ribs as she could reach.

“You big idiot,” she muttered into his chest as he curled his paws gently around her in return.

He snuffled the top of her head, his warm breath blowing in her hair as he checked her over. A concerned little sound escaped his throat – much too deep and firm to be a whine, but far from a roar – and Laura realized she had tears running over her cheeks.

“I’m all right. I’m just glad that you’re okay,” she murmured. “I’ve been worried.”

Clint grunted in reply, letting her slip from his hold and step back to wipe a hand over her eyes as they stung traitorously. She looked him over as he dropped back to all fours, feeling a smile spread across her face despite herself.

“You couldn’t have chosen something a bit smaller?” she asked, choking out a laugh. Clint snorted in reply, rubbing his head up against her side.

“No, you never could just make my life easy, could you? You get too much enjoyment out of inconveniencing me.”

He gave a small grunt of agreement, and she grinned, reaching a hand out to stroke him.

“You’re un-bear-able.”

Clint actually lifted a paw to slap across his face at that, and Laura laughed out loud.

“Oh come on, you know you deserved that.”

Clint nodded begrudgingly, nudging his head up into her insistently when she stopped petting him.

Laura ran her hands through the thick fur of his scruff, watching the wiry hair weave between her fingers in fascination. She’d seen plenty of bears, and even helped the neighbors skin and clean one when they shot the bear that had been attacking their livestock, but she’d never been close enough to pet one before.

Clint seemed to enjoy the attention, leaning his head into her side and rubbing his muzzle against her.

Laura sighed in relief, leaning her weight into him.

To say she’d been surprised to get a phone call from Tony Stark would be an understatement. She’d just spent a week getting her family back underground after the capture of her husband and Tony’s reveal of her and the children’s existence to Ross, so Stark was the last person she’d been wishing to talk to, but when he’d told her that Clint was in trouble she hadn’t hesitated.

The kids were staying with her mother while she was away, somewhere they would be off the radar until she picked up Clint. Needless to say, having him back safe was a huge relief. Even if he was a bear.

Although, if she was being honest, he wasn’t the only Avenger that she was worried about.

“Are Wanda and Nat okay?” she asked him softly. “I didn’t see either of them in the waiting room.”

Laura’s heart sank when Clint dropped his gaze to the ground, hunching his shoulders in as close an approximation to a shrug as he could manage. “You don’t know?”

He gave a small grunt in reply.

Laura worried her lip between her teeth as she reached a hand out to stroke Clint’s head once more. The two women were just as much a part of her family as any blood relatives, and she wished that she could have brought them home with her as well, but with two children and the new baby, she was overwhelmed as it was, and wouldn’t have been able to give the two additional Avengers the care they would need now that they were animals. It wouldn’t have been fair to anyone involved.

She let out a little sigh, tweaking Clint’s ear.

“Well, Tony said that he was sending you all home with one of the other Avengers, so they should be okay, right? I bet he’s going to bring the two of them back to his mansion. Natasha will have a blast waking him at six every morning in revenge,” she smiled, the action only a little bit forced.

Clint bobbed his head, ears flicking.

They could only hope.

Laura looked up as a man in a lab coat entered the room, scribbling something on a clipboard.

“Ah, I see you’ve already found each other. He’s good to go whenever.”

“Thank you,” Laura said, placing a hand between Clint’s shoulder blades as she led him out of the room. The bear turned obediently to follow her, matching her pace.

“Don’t think this gets you out of chores,” she said, nudging him in the direction of a hallway that led back to the jet. “You can still load hay bales with those paws.”

Clint let out a sound that could best be interpreted as a groan, and Laura smiled.

Rhody groaned as he settled himself in a chair. The hike through the lab had been rough – he was still trying to get used to the new braces – and he wasn’t looking forward to the return trip.

He stretched one leg out in front of him, massaging the muscles in his thigh before repeating the move with the other. He was discovering that emotionally, being partially paralyzed was more frustrating than anything else. Things that had once been mindless actions now took great effort and concentration. Getting out of bed to use the bathroom at night was no longer a matter of cold vs bladder. Having the remote on the coffee table was no longer an inconvenience of laziness. Trying to balance while carrying anything was a feat in and of itself.

Not to mention that the braces were still rubbing in a few places that he and Tony hadn’t gotten around to fixing quite yet.

Rhody leaned back, looking around at the empty walls with a raised eyebrow.

“Bit dreary in here…”

The whole building was dreary, if he was being honest. Although, to be fair, it was a prison.

A faded blue door with a port-hole window was cut into the wall opposite him, and Rhody let his gaze go unfocused on it as he waited.

He was going to be taking Sam home, the others having decided that the rambunctious soldier was somehow the best fit for a man with external prosthetics on his legs and the balance of a newborn deer.

Rhody looked down at the braces again, wrinkling his nose. The silver devices looked so clunky and graceless. He should see about getting a coat of paint on them…maybe in blue…

Rhody looked up as he heard footsteps, and a second later the lab doors swung open, revealing a man in a lab coat, leading a German Shepherd by a red leash.

“Sam?” Rhody asked softly before the lab tech could speak, and the dog perked up.

The man was almost pulled off his feet as Sam bounded over to Rhody, tail wagging, to lick his face.

“Okay, okay, easy there, buddy. I’m happy to see you, too.”

The dog ducked his head to sniff at the braces with a whine, and looked up with sorrow in his dark eyes.

Rhody ruffled a hand against the top of his head. It didn’t take a translator to know what was on the dog’s mind.

“I’m okay, Sam. It’s not your fault, okay? You tried your best to catch me, I saw you.”

The dog let out a whimper, laying his head on Rhody’s knee.

“Accidents happen, buddy,” he soothed, stroking a hand over Sam’s head. “I forgave Vision, and I’m forgiving you too. Besides, it’s not that bad. I can still walk, kinda. With the braces.”

Sam stared at him for a long second, then tilted his head to the side so that he could reach to lick Rhody’s hand once more.

“All right. You’re good to go,” the man in the lab coat informed him, finally managing to untangle himself from the leash. “He’s been given the all-clear.”

“Okay, Sam,” Rhody groaned, gathering the leash in one hand before clumsily pushing himself to his feet. “Let’s go home, buddy.”

The dog fell into step beside him, watching his every move closely, and Rhody let one of his hands rest on top of Sam’s head.

“We’ll be just fine together, won’t we, Sam?”

Sam barked once in reply, tail wagging furiously.

“Really, Lang? A goddamn TIGER?” Tony demanded, hands on his hips as the large cat rolled onto his back, blinking big golden eyes up at him. A lazy yawn was his only response, and Tony looked heavenward. “You’re lucky I don’t ship you off with T’Challa. He’s the one who actually likes cats.”

Scott let out a little half-roar, flipping right-way up and crossing the room to butt his head up against Tony. The billionaire stumbled a bit from the force of it, one hand dropping to balance himself against the big cat.

“Okay, easy there. Go sit down. You’re apparently not the only one I’m getting, so we get to wait.”

Thankfully, the tiger did as he was told, pacing over to the bench and flopping down in front of it with his tongue lolling out between his bottom front teeth in a grin. Tony followed suit a few seconds later, dropping onto the open bench and turning a half-hearted scowl on the tiger.

“You realize that you have completely thrown off my order form, right? PetSmart does not carry tiger chow.”

Scott rubbed his head against Tony, knocking him sideways across the bench.

“Don’t act cute, I’m mad at you,” he informed the overgrown feline with as much disdain as he could muster.

Lang had the gall to start purring.

Tony drew himself up in irritation. “Now listen here you sorry excuse for a throw rug-”

“I see you’ve already collected Mr. Lang.”

The two of them looked up sharply as a lab technician entered the room, a folder of paperwork in her hands.

“Yeah, you could say that. Who else am I going to be responsible for?” Tony asked, scratching Scott behind the ear so he would stop rubbing his head on Tony’s leg.

“As far as we know, it will be Lang, Rogers, and Carter.”

“Well, I’ve already got a tiger. What else am I taking home?”

The lab tech flipped through the few loose pages in the folder.

“Miss Carter requested to be turned into a horse, and Captain Rogers is a golden retriever.”

Tony shrugged.

“A dog, I can take care of. A horse will require a bit of research. And of course, Mr. Brilliant over here-” He waved a hand in Scott’s direction, and the tiger chuffed out a sound that wasn’t quite a roar but certainly wasn’t a meow.

Tony made a face. “The other two about ready to go?”

“Captain Rogers is on his way, and Miss Carter will be finishing up shortly. She had trouble deciding on a species.”

“You couldn’t have suggested a rabbit?” Tony muttered under his breath. Then, slightly louder so the woman could hear him, “Great. Thanks. Send ‘em out as soon as they’re done.”

The scientist nodded, and Tony watched until she had vanished back into the lab before turning a murderous glare on the tiger.

“Let me establish some ground rules right now. If I catch you clawing the curtains? I’ll have you stuffed.”

Lang flexed his claws a little, but settled down obediently.

Tony slouched back against the wall with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and letting his head rest against the concrete as he waited.

It was only a few more minutes until the lab door opened again, and both he and Scott looked up as a dog was led into the room.

The golden retriever had his head and tail drooping, a defeated, sad look to his expression, and Tony felt pity welling up in his chest.

“Steve,” Tony called, sliding off the bench and crouching as he offered a hand to the dog. The retriever glanced up, staring for a moment before he walked over obediently. Instead of sniffing the hand, however, Steve rested his muzzle in Tony’s upturned palm, blinking blue eyes up at him. Tony gave him a bitter smile, reaching to rub him between the ears.

“You certainly got yourself into a mess this time, didn’t you?”

Steve let out a whine, glancing at Scott.

“The others are okay,” Tony reassured him. “The rest of the team came here to collect them. Well, except for Clint. I sent him home with Laura.”

Steve let out a little huff of breath, his eyes closing in what looked like relief. Tony ruffled his ears again, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, come on, Cap. Just cause I don’t like Mister Guyliner doesn’t mean I’m gonna let our friends get shipped off to a zoo…” Tony muttered, pushing himself to his feet. “Now cheer up a little. The sad sap act doesn’t work when you’re human, but as a dog you’re breaking my heart.”

Steve sat down, a slow wag starting in his tail as he attempted to look more cheerful.

“There’s a good boy. We have one more to pick up, so just sit tight. Friend of yours, I believe.”

Tony once again settled himself on the bench as Lang stood and padded over to Steve, the two sniffing each other curiously. Steve’s ears perked up a bit, the canine drawn out of his melancholy by his natural curiosity, and Tony watched the two through one half-lidded eye as he relaxed back against the wall.

“Another ground rule, Stripes,” Tony called as Scott pawed at Steve, trying to get a reaction from the dog. “No roughhousing!”

To his surprise, Scott was not the only one to throw him a disappointed look.

“Cap, come on, don’t give me that. You’re supposed to be the well behaved one.”

Tony swore that the dog raised an eyebrow at him right before he decided to prove Tony wrong by jumping on Scott. Tony rolled his eyes as the two tumbled on the floor, play-growling.

“I am not with either of you.”

Tony pretended to ignore them for a few moments as they scuffled, watching out of the corner of his eye to make sure that neither was getting too rough.

Steve’s ears perked suddenly, as did Scott’s, and the two broke apart to turn to the doors of the lab. Tony listened hard, but it took him a long few seconds before he could make out what they had heard. A steady, off-beat clop, heavy and hollow, echoing up the hallway. It got steadily louder, and Tony pushed himself to his feet as the doors finally swung open.

The horse – Sharon – was a soft cream color with a few darker flecks on her flank, and a long white-blonde mane and tail. The coloring of her coat got a bit darker as it moved down her legs toward her hooves, and her liquid brown eyes had a frightened sliver of white that showed whenever she glanced to the side.

Steve stood, his tail starting to wag in earnest as the horse walked cautiously into the room, her nostrils flaring as she took in the new environment. The retriever let out a little whine to catch her attention, and she seemed to visibly relax as Steve trotted over.

The lab tech that walked alongside her held a rope that had been wound around Sharon’s head in a simple bridle, and he stepped forward to offer the loose end to Tony.

“Here you are. Ready to go.”

“Sharon?” Tony asked, reaching for the lead. “Is it okay if I call you Sharon?”

The horse gave a little snort, tossing her mane and dipping her head in a motion that Tony took as a yes.

“All right then. That’s the three of you accounted for.”

Steve and Scott both joined Sharon in looking at him expectantly, and Tony held up a hand, ticking off fingers as he took stock.

“Barton went home with Laura, T’Challa took Natasha, Parker took Bucky, Rhodes took Sam, and Vision took Wanda. I think that should be everyone?”

Steve barked, and Tony nodded.

“Right then. Let’s go.”

He turned, leading the way back to the jet. The sound of Sharon’s hooves on the metal flooring all but drowned out the click of Steve’s nails and Tony’s own footsteps. Lang followed without a sound.

“I’ll tell you, the weirdest part about all of this will be that I’m the only one talking, and you’re all actually listening for once,” he said, shooting a smile at Steve, who barked sharply in reply. “And even better, I get to make up what you’re saying, so I can always make you agree with me!”

A low growl from behind him made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, and he shot a look over his shoulder at the tiger.

“Kidding, Lang. Kidding.”

Sharon snorted, giving a little tug to the lead, and Tony scowled.

“Everyone’s a critic… Just get on the damn plane.”

The jet, in retrospect, could have been bigger, but that didn’t deter Sharon or Steve or Scott as they obediently made their way up the ramp and settled in as best they could.

Tony followed them, shifting some luggage around to make room for Sharon to stand in the back corner before unwinding the rope from her head and throwing it aside. She tossed her mane in appreciation as Tony crossed to one of the seats.

Steve sat down over by Tony’s feet, and the billionaire called “pick a spot and sit down” to Lang as he circled the holding area impatiently. The tiger pinned his ears back and puffed up his chest indignantly, giving him a long look before going to stand by Sharon.

Tony stuck his tongue out at the tiger’s back.

Once the three seemed to have gotten comfortable, Tony set course for California, looking around one last time to be sure they were all settled. “We good? Good. Take us home, Friday,” he called, settling into his seat as the jet engines roared to life.

Sharon stirred uneasily at the sudden noise, taking a few nervous paces away from the wall, Lang dropped into a crouch with his fur standing on end, and Steve pinned his ears back and ducked his head with a whine. Tony glanced at the three, trying not to smile.

“It’s all right, guys. Come on, it’s just a jet.”

His companions slowly eased back into their previous position, relaxing as the jet hit altitude and leveled out. It took another few minutes for them to relax again, and then Lang was pacing about once more, poking his nose into everything.

Tony winced slightly as the tiger pawed a box off a shelf and it fell to the floor with a rather expensive-sounding clatter.

“I’m gonna need some help looking after you three,” Tony muttered, ruffling Steve’s ears as the dog panted and wagged his tail.

He looked around again, watching Scott balance on his hind legs so that he and Sharon were nose to nose, the two sniffing one another curiously. Her mane was falling over his head, his orange fur giving the blonde an almost strawberry hint to it, and Tony felt a little pang of something like longing start up in his chest.

“Hey, Friday?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?”

“…Call Pep for me.”
_________________________________________________________________________

Author's Note: Tigers actually cannot purr. My mistake. *shrugs*

Vision stood back as he opened the crate, allowing Wanda plenty of space to leave the cage.

He had read that cats could be very skittish in new environments, and that the best thing to do was give them space and quiet to explore on their own time. And while the compound wasn’t exactly a “new” environment for Wanda, it would certainly look and feel different from such a small height.

“Here we are,” he said gently. “Home.”

After a few long seconds with no response from the little cat, he added, “it is safe to come out.”

It was another moment before Wanda crept out of the crate, her belly low to the ground and her ears pinned back as she looked around.

“We are back at the compound,” he informed her, trying to ease her tension. “It is only the two of us for the time being.”

She sniffed the air for a second, her ears flicking, and then turned around and meowed up at him.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “I realize this is likely a very strange perspective for you, to be so small, but it should not take you too long to get accustomed to it.”

Wanda slunk over to his side, crouching with her front paws on his shoe and her tail curled around her. She looked so small and pitiful, Vision bent to pick her up.

She went rigid when her feet left the ground – he had almost forgotten that she was not fond of heights after the Ultron incident – and Vision shifted to better support her with his hands as he turned to leave the room.

“Come,” he murmured, tucking her up against his heart. “Let’s try somewhere more familiar.”

She began purring in distress as he walked through the facility, tucking herself into the crook of his neck and grounding herself to his sweater with her claws. Vision gently stroked a hand down her back, murmuring to her soothingly.

The synthetic man couldn’t help but wonder if she was still suffering the after affects of whatever drugs she had been dosed with at the Raft, and if that was causing her current confusion. If that was the case, then he could expect her discomfort to lessen considerably as they wore off. In the meantime, he would do his best to soothe her.

He opened the door to her room, crossing to her bed as he gently unhooked her claws from his sweater. She made a soft sound in protest as he drew her away from the safety of his shoulder, and Vision murmured “it’s all right,” as he settled her on the pillow.

She looked around for a second, her ears twitching as she took in her surroundings. The tension slowly started to leave her, however, as she recognized the room.

Vision settled himself at the foot of her bed, watching Wanda pace the length of the mattress, sniffing at the covers. He could not help the corners of his mouth pulling up as she kneaded at the quilt for a moment, her little claws lifting the material before she retracted them and let it drop again.

“You seem to be much more relaxed in here,” he observed softly. She trilled out a tiny sound in reply, and he smiled.

Vision watched as she paced to the edge of the bed and stepped up onto the dresser.

Wanda wove cautiously between the few assorted items that she kept there, pausing to sniff at a doll she had gotten as a present from Clint’s children and paw at a tassel hanging from a Chinese lantern that Natasha had given her.

“Be careful,” he cautioned gently as she stepped a little too close to the edge and wobbled a bit before righting herself. She purred a small sound in acknowledgement, doubling back to leap clumsily onto the bed.

Yes, she still appeared to be at least partially drugged. He would have to watch over her closely until it had worn out of her system. In the meantime, it had been a number of hours since he’d picked her up from the Raft, and he suspected that she might be hungry. He didn’t dare leave her on her own just yet, so he would have to bring her to the kitchen with him, but after that they could spend the afternoon in her room until she was feeling more like herself.

Vision glided to his feet, hovering over to the head of the bed where the little cat was pouncing on wrinkles in the pillowcase.

“Come, Wanda,” he said gently, catching her up in his hold. “Let us find you something to eat.”

The look she gave him was nothing short of skeptical, and Vision could not help his smile.

“Do not worry, there is canned tuna in the cabinet. Even I cannot prepare that incorrectly.”

“Yes!” Peter shouted, pumping a fist in the air. The husky beside him barked happily, giving him a lopsided grin as his tail wagged.

“Rules!” Aunt May said sharply, cutting him off. “Listen to the rules before you celebrate!”

“Rules, right. Listening.”

Peter tried to tone down his smile as his aunt held up a hand, counting off on her fingers.

“You are responsible. That means you get to feed him, walk him, clean up after him, and pay for vet bills and food and any other supplies he needs-“

“Yep! Understood!”

“Training!” she snapped, pointing to the floor in front of her as Peter turned to walk away, and he slunk back with a sheepish smile. “I do not want him making a mess inside, or barking at all hours of the night, or tearing up the furniture. And there will be no begging for table scraps!”

“Yes, Aunt May.”

“Messes. You will bathe him if he gets dirty, you will brush him so he doesn’t shed on everything, you will not allow him to track mud into the house, and if I find any dead animals on he front doorstep, he’s out. Got it?”

“Got it, Aunt May.”

“Finally, I want to know a little bit about this dog if it’s going to be living here. First off, what’s with the metal leg?”

“Oh, he was…uh…attacked by a panther. In Germany. And lost a leg. Mr. Stark made him a new one. Isn’t it cool? It’s waterproof and everything!”

Aunt May raised an eyebrow in mild disbelief but let it slide.

“Is he a purebred?”

“Yep, Siberian Husky.”

“Has he gotten all of his shots? Has he been fixed?”

“Shots, yes. Fixed…uh…”

If he didn’t know better, Peter would have sword that Bucky raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m…uh…not allowed to fix him. Cause he’s purebred and all. Something about breeders needing him to…uh…father more pups.”

The husky at his side snorted, and Peter resisted prodding Bucky with a foot to shut him up.

“And what is his name?”

“His name…uh…his name is…Bucky.”

“…Bucky.” Aunt May repeated in a deadpan, one eyebrow raised. “Like the Winter Soldier?”

“Yes! Cause of the metal arm…leg…thing…Mr. Stark thought it was funny to…to name him…Bucky. It’ll be Buck for short,” Peter shrugged in sheepish defeat. Aunt May stared long and hard at Peter for another moment, and he smiled winningly up at her as Bucky wagged his tail.

“Fine,” she sighed, waving them out of the room. “Go figure out where Bucky is going to sleep.”

Peter let out a whoop, giving his aunt a big hug before running for his bedroom, shouting “come on, Bucky!”

The dog trailed after him, tail wagging and collar jingling merrily with each trotted step.

Natasha clung to the bars of the cage, balancing herself on her hind legs as she tried to make note of her surroundings. They were in a palace, as far as she could tell. A very, very large palace.

Her crate had been carried from the plane to a car, and set on the floor for the ride, so she had no idea of her location outside of that it was somewhere in Wakanda. The king had spoken with someone on the phone for most of the trip, in a language she recognized but could not translate, so she could only guess at what they were saying. She had, however, heard him use her name a number of times, and she was getting nervous.

The carrier was set down with a jarring thump that nearly knocked Natasha over, and she looked around sharply at their destination. The room they were in was small and unfurnished, but movement from above cut her perusal of it short.

Natasha scrambled back from the bars, hissing a warning as a hand came into view. She pressed herself into the back corner of the crate, baring her teeth as T’Challa opened the door and knelt to peer inside.

The man watched her for a long second, his expression giving nothing away. Natasha hissed at him again for good measure, and the king chuckled.

“Still hissing at me, little assassin?” he asked. Natasha tucked her limbs in tighter, coiling her tail up along her belly. The corner of T’Challa’s mouth quirked up. “Come now, don’t hide. You cannot stay in your crate the entire time.”

Natasha pressed herself to the ground, settling her weight. Oh yes, she could.

T’Challa watched her for another moment then shook his head and stood, and Natasha looked up worriedly as she heard him circle the crate.

“Is this because of what happened at the airport?” he asked, flipping the latches on the side of the cage. Natasha hissed as he lifted the lid, scrambling into the opposite corner, but T’Challa was quicker.

He grabbed her gently around the middle, lifting her into his arms, and Natasha writhed, twisting to get away. His hold was firm, however, and he caught her muzzle in his opposite hand before she could try to bite him and escape.

She scrabbled at his fingers with her paws, distressed, but he simply tucked her up against his chest and began walking.

“Hush, pet,” he soothed, his thumb stroking over her head. “I mean you no harm.”

Natasha looked around as she was carried through the palace, her paws wrapped around his fingers as she tried to free her muzzle. Was this the hallway they’d come in through? Or just a similar one? She hadn’t seen which door he’d used.

The little ferret pinned her ears back in frustration with herself. She’d gotten distracted and allowed herself to get turned around. Now she would have to search for the way out.

Natasha tried to wrench herself free once more, shoving at his fingers with her paws, but couldn’t seem to get even the slightest bit of slack to work with. T’Challa, feeling her movements, slowed his pace and looked down at her.

“Natalia…I can feel your heart pounding against my palm. There is no need to be frightened.”

Oh, like hell there wasn’t…

He began walking again, his thumb stroking a steady rhythm over her head as he tried to soothe her, and Natasha closed her eyes in frustration.

All her fighting was having no affect on his grip - she would not be able to get away. Natasha tried to kick at him with her back legs, but to no avail. T’Challa simply readjusted his hold on her so she couldn’t reach.

“Calm,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over her head again. “Do not fight.”

Natasha hesitantly forced herself to go limp under his touch, and to her surprise T’Challa rewarded her by releasing his hold on her muzzle.

“There. See? Not so bad as you thought.”

Natasha refused to meet his gaze, rubbing her paws over her face to smooth the fur back into place. She debated biting his hand and trying to make a run for it, however the floor looked very far below, and the thought of falling was enough to cinch her stomach with nerves. She didn’t want to risk getting dropped, so she would have to wait until they arrived wherever he was taking her.

T’Challa turned into another doorway, this one arched up high with grand carvings on the frame. The room opened up on the other side, a large domed ceiling covered in gilded murals curving overhead and a marble floor glistening like ice out before them.

A raised platform sat in the front of the room, centered, and a small flight of steps led up to it.

This would be the main hall.

T’Challa crossed to the dias, gracefully climbing the steps. Natasha tensed as she felt his hands shift beneath her, and she once again tried to twist free of his hold.

“Easy now, just a moment,” he murmured to her.

T’Challa set her down gently in a wicker basket, and Natasha took a moment to get her bearings. There was a cushion beneath her feet, a plush, rich material that dipped under even her slight weight. The walls of the basket were just tall enough for her to poke her nose over if she stood on her hind legs and stretched to her full height, and Natasha immediately scrambled up to look around the room.

It had the appearance of a throne-room-gone-meeting-room, with a large, ornate chair for T’Challa at the head of a wooden table, and a television screen mounted on the opposite wall. Her basket was set on a little stool beside his chair, and she quickly ducked back down inside of it as T’Challa sat.

She watched cautiously as he settled himself, then scrambled up to look over the edge of the basket once more.

A few people were milling around the edges of the room, heads bowed slightly and dressed in simple white outfits. Servants, she guessed.

T’Challa called out to one of them in a language that she did not recognize, and the servant left the room with a bow. He returned a moment later, a bowl in his hands, and he offered it to the king.

T’Challa took something from the bowl, and Natasha scrambled to the opposite side of her basket as he reached his hand down into it.

“Are you hungry?” he asked her softly, turning his hand so that she could see the hard-boiled egg yolk he held between his thumb and forefinger. “Go on. It’s all right.”

Natasha watched him warily for a moment, sniffing as she eyed his hand for any sudden movements. He was perfectly still, however, and she felt hunger draw her toward him against her better judgment.

Natasha slunk forward, settling her weight a good few inches from his hand and reaching a paw out for the yolk. T’Challa allowed her to roll the treat out of his hold, and she quickly grabbed it in her mouth before retreating to the far side of the basket.

Curling in a little ball around her prize, Natasha settled her weight and bit off a large mouthful, working her new teeth for a moment before she got the hang of chewing. The first mouthful that she gulped down was a bit rough, and she made sure to take a slightly smaller bite the second time.

The yolk was tasty and easy to bite through, and Natasha happily munched her way through half of it before she even remembered that she was not alone.

She about choked on a mouthful of egg when she felt something brush her head.

Natasha hissed, rolling over onto her side as she prepared to bite whatever had touched her. T’Challa was frowning slightly from above her, his hand half in the basket.

“Natalia, come now,” he scolded gently.

He reached to pick her up, and Natasha – finding herself backed into a corner – reacted the only way she knew how.

By fighting.

When he tried to pick her up she whipped around onto her back and latched her teeth into his finger, biting down hard. Natasha felt him flinch as her teeth punctured skin, and she scrunched her eyes closed as she waited for his reaction, bracing herself for pain.

But it never came.

After a few long seconds of feeling his blood drip into her mouth, Natasha hesitantly looked up. T’Challa had an eyebrow raised, his hand perfectly still where she was wrapped around it, and a little thrill of terror was enough of a cue for her to release her bite. She tried to squirm away, but the way she had twisted herself beneath his hand when she’d attacked had left the majority of its weight resting on top of her, pinning her in place on her back.

She squirmed for a minute before realizing it was futile and going limp, giving in to whatever he planned to do to her.

After a long moment he let out a sigh.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked gently, twisting his hand to stroke his fingers gently over her side. She grabbed one of the digits with her paws, her back legs coiled up to kick him away, but he simply kept stroking her. “You have no need to be so defensive, Natalia. Notice that you have drawn blood, and yet I have not reprimanded you in any way.”

His hand lifted slightly and Natasha quickly unwound herself from his fingers, cowering guiltily against the far wall of the basket. T’Challa simply shifted closer so that he could continue to stroke her.

“I did not bring you here to harm you, little assassin.”

She flicked her ears back, distrustful, as T’Challa ran a finger gently over her head and down her spine.

“I have forgiven you for what you did at the airport. Steve is your friend, and I was a fool to think that you would hand him over to a stranger that you knew wished his friend harm. I brought you here for reconciliation, not revenge.”

He withdrew, and Natasha watched him uncertainly. His fingers soothing over her spine had actually felt very nice, and she almost wished he would continue.

“I wish only to take care of you. But I need you to cooperate in order for that to happen. I cannot see to your needs if you will not let me near you,” he scolded gently.

She glanced down and away, unsure how to feel about this. Unsure if it was safe to trust him.

She tensed when he reached into the basket again, but he simply retrieved the remainder of her egg yolk and offered it to her. Natasha hesitated for a long moment before slinking over to take it from him, and he withdrew his hand once more.

He allowed her to finish her meal undisturbed, but Natasha couldn’t help glancing up at him every few seconds. He was staring off into the room, his brows drawn and a troubled expression on his face. Blood was slowly seeping through the tissue he’d wrapped around his finger.

She let out a little breath, her ears drooping.

Perhaps he was telling the truth…

She finished the last bit of egg, crossing to the front of the basket and standing on her hind paws to look over the rim.

Most of the servants had cleared out, leaving one waiting by the doors should their king have need of anything. The table blocked some of her view, so she scrambled up a bit higher, pulling herself partially over the edge of the basket. The television across the way was playing some news story on low volume, but T’Challa wasn’t watching it.

Natasha started in surprise as she felt his hand close around her middle, his hold gentle and loose, but to her surprise he just set her back in the basket, retreating to rest his hand on the rim as he once again turned away.

Natasha stared up at him, her ears slowly drooping when he did not so much as look back at her. She almost felt bad. He was doing what he could to make peace, but she kept pushing him away.

She circled the edge of the basket, debating.

As much as she hated to admit it, she was fairly helpless in this form. She would need his protection and care if she was to survive long enough to get used to her new body, and he was willing to put their previous encounter behind him in order to provide that care for her.

Natasha shook her head, making her way to where his hand rested on the basket and balancing up on her hind paws.

If he truly wanted to reconcile, then she would make an effort to as well.

Natasha closed her eyes, hoping desperately that she would not regret what she was about to do, and slowly nuzzled up into T’Challa’s touch.

When she opened her eyes, she found him looking down at her in surprise. She didn’t retreat as he moved to trace a finger over her head, and he smiled.

“There’s a good girl,” he murmured, stroking his hand gently over her back. “We’ll make this work out, I promise. You simply have to place some trust in me.”

Natasha nodded and relaxed into his hold, her eyes slipping closed as he worked his fingers down the length of her spine once more.

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Dad?” Cooper asked, hesitant.

Laura watched as Clint dipped his head with a little snort, trying to appear as non-threatening as a bear could.

She had warned the kids that he wasn’t quite himself, but hearing that your dad was a bear and having an adult Grizzly walk into your living room were two very different things.

Where Cooper seemed unsure, Lila wasn’t quite as put off, her eyes bright with curiosity as she edged closer with a little hand reached out. Clint stayed perfectly still as she got near, not wishing to risk frightening her away, and Lila gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

“Daddy?” she asked softly, and he nodded again. “You’re a bear.” Another nod.

“Is this because you all got caught in Germany?” Cooper asked, his voice small.

“Yes,” Laura answered softly, reaching a hand to rest on Clint’s head. “They were all turned into animals temporarily as punishment.

“What about Aunt Nat and Aunt Wanda?” Lila asked. “Did they get turned into animals too?”

“Aunt Nat sided with Stark,” Cooper interjected, but Lila turned to him with her hands on her hips.

“Aunt Nat wouldn’t side against Dad and Aunt Wanda. It was clearly a trick to make sure they didn’t get caught!”

“Well it didn’t work,” Cooper muttered, eyeing Clint once again.

“Are they, Mommy? Are Aunt Nat and Aunt Wanda animals too?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Laura said gently. “But we were only allowed to take Daddy home with us. Your aunts are with the other Avengers.”

“Oh…”

Laura forced a smile, stepping close to pick Lila up and settle her on her hip.

“They’ll be okay. I promise. Maybe after things settle down we can go visit them.”

Clint nodded his agreement from beside her, and the little girl let out a sigh.

“Okay…”

“Your fur is all stiff,” Cooper said, prodding Clint’s shoulder. Her husband snorted in reply, turning to rest his head on top of Cooper’s as the boy laughed nervously.

Laura set her daughter down, and the little girl skipped over to Clint’s side, a grin playing on her face. Clint dipped his head to snuffle at her hair, making her giggle. Laura smiled as her husband sat down, giving their son a one-pawed hug as Lila tried to scramble up onto his shoulder.

“Mom, he’s like Baloo! From the Jungle Book!” Lila cried excitedly, grabbing Clint’s lip to look at the sharp teeth beneath. “Ooooooh…”

“That’s actually pretty cool,” Cooper admitted, petting a hand through the coarse brown fur. “Can you give us piggy back rides?”

“Please!” Lila added, her little hands still wrapped around his lower teeth. Clint bobbed his head, and Cooper let out a whoop as he scrambled up onto the bear’s back.

Clint lowered his front half down so that Cooper could haul his sister up as well, and Laura smiled as she crossed to the other side of the room.

“Nathaniel’s still napping, keep it down,” she scolded gently.

“Yes, Mom,” the children whispered in synch. Shaking her head, Laura went to go check on her youngest child.

The nursery had the blinds drawn, throwing the pale blue room into warm shadow. Nathaniel was just beginning to wake up, his eyes closed and little eyebrows pinched together as he fussed quietly in his crib.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh,” Laura murmured, scooping him up to rock him in her arms as laughter echoed from the other room. “Hello darling. Mommy’s home.”

The little boy calmed, soothed by her rocking, and blinked bright blue eyes up at her. He made a little cooing sound, reaching one tiny hand up to her face, and Laura leaned down so that he could reach.

He giggled as his palm landed on her cheek, and Laura smiled.

“I suppose nap time is over…”

Rocking the boy on her hip, she grabbed the empty bottle off the dresser and made her way back into the living room. Clint looked up as she came back, a happy little grunt leaving his mouth as she approached with Nathaniel. Her older two glanced up as well from where they clung to the thick fur on his shoulders, smiling sheepishly.

“You woke up the baby, everyone’s grounded,” Laura teased, grinning as she received two ‘but mooooooom’s from her children and one similarly-toned groan from Clint.

Nathaniel gurgled in her arms, reaching for Clint.

“Does he look like your teddy bear?” she cooed, holding the boy close so he could clumsily pet Clint’s face. In response, her husband made a low-toned chirring sound that was somewhere between a cat’s purr and a boat’s motor rumbling. Her youngest child shrieked in delight.

“All right, love, you can pet Daddy later, I need to get you your bottle.”

Clint nosed a little kiss to the boy’s cheek and Laura turned to leave the room.

Nathaniel flapped his little arms at her as she carried him into the kitchen, smiling. She set the empty bottle in the sink – miraculously clear of dishes – before turning to get the formula from the refrigerator.

Her mother had apparently been busy while Laura was gone, because the fridge had been stocked with a number of large Tupperware containers, each containing a quick heat-and-serve meal, and Laura smiled as she grabbed bottle of formula off the shelf.

“Bless that woman,” Laura murmured, setting the bottle on the counter and turning the stove on beneath the kettle to heat some water.

As Clint growled out a complaining noise from the living room and her older two children laughed, she made a mental note to thank her mother again for not asking too many questions about her crazy life.

“C’mon, Sam,” Rhody called, turning his key in the lock and holding the door open for the German shepherd as the dog trotted after him with his tail wagging.

The man had taken rather well to his new canine body, and had spent the short cab ride from the landing pad back to his apartment with his head sticking out the window. On the walk up to the building, Rhody had only just barely avoided being tripped with the leash as Sam bounded circles around him excitedly, exploring his new home.

Rhody watched as Sam wove through the doorway, pausing to sniff at a half-wilted potted plant languishing in the front hall that he really needed to get around to watering, before making his way inside. The entryway was bare save for the plant, a coat rack, and a little bench, which he carefully made his way over to.

Rhody had rather quickly figured out that too much clutter did not make for easy movement, and had recruited Tony and Vision (the latter of which had been infinitely more helpful than the former) to help him do some organizing. His house was now ordered, clutter-free, and stripped down to the barest amount of furniture he could manage with.

It felt a little model-home-y but it made getting around so much easier.

Rhody called Sam over to his side, bracing his hand on the wall for balance and bending over to catch hold of the dog’s collar.

“There you go, buddy,” he murmured, unclipping Sam’s leash and coiling it up. He let the dog go and set the leash on the bench, sitting down to unlace his shoes and shed his jacket.

Sam watched him for a moment before coming over and scooping his leash up in his mouth, glancing up at Rhody before turning and beginning to walk away with it.

“Don’t go anywhere with that,” he called after the dog, “I need it to take you out. The complex has a leash rule.”

Sam continued trotting away, tail wagging, but before Rhody could call him back a second time the dog stopped before the coat rack, looking up at it.

“What are you doing, bud?” Rhody called, prying one of his boots off a numb foot and setting it aside.

As he watched, Sam pushed himself up on his hind legs, hanging his leash over one of the hooks before dropping back to all fours and turning to Rhody with a tongue-lolling, open-mouthed grin.

“Hey, that’s a neat trick,” he smiled as Sam trotted back to him. He ruffled the German Shepherd’s soft ears when Sam rammed his head into him, his collar jingling with the movement. The dog turned away and began to poke around again as he waited for Rhody, sniffing at the walls and the sparse furniture.

Rhody leaned to unlace his other boot and glanced up barely a second later when he heard a snort, only to find that Sam had his muzzle stuffed in his shoe, sniffing curiously.

“Aw, man, get your nose outta that, that’s nasty,” Rhody said, catching him by the collar. “Come here, sit still for a minute.”

Sam obediently sat down at his side, head tilted imploringly.

Rhody made quick work of pulling off his other boot and stood again, making his way haltingly toward the kitchen. Sam trotted at his side, looking up at him every few steps. He could tell that the dog was itching to go look around by the way he stared into the rooms they passed, ears perked, but he remained by Rhody’s side.

His kitchen was decently sized, as far as apartments went, with a lot of counter space that went mostly unused and a large top-of-the-line fridge Tony had gotten him as a present looking jarringly out of place among the other practically antique appliances there. The tile was a black and white checkered mess that probably had been laid in the seventies, and a few of the cabinets had bad hinges that kept them from closing all the way, but it was homey and Rhody liked it.

“You hungry?” he asked his new housemate, pulling open the fridge and leaning heavily on the door as he looked over the bare shelves. Forgot to shop again. Damn.

Rhody pulled out some lunch meat, rolling up one slice and tossing it to a very eager Sam before rolling a second one and stuffing it in his own mouth. The first two cabinets he pulled open were fairly barren as well, and he sighed in defeat.

“Gonna need to do some shopping,” he muttered, looking around for his grocery list. “Need food. You’re gonna need pet stuff, too. Like a dog bed.”

Sam licked his lips and sat nearby, tail wagging.

Rhody finally spotted the notepad on the far side of the kitchen, by the phone, and he haltingly made his way over to it as Sam nosed open one of the lower cabinets to see inside. Halfway across the room, however, his brace locked up.

Rhody cursed as he stumbled, grabbing for the counter, and barely managed to catch himself before he hit the floor. Sam was at his side in a second, whimpering in concern as he nosed at him.

“I’m all right, I’m okay,” he panted, resting a hand on the dog’s head. “Just give me a second to get my feet back under me.”

The braces whined and clicked as he tried to straighten up, and Rhody used his fist to give a solid smack to the one that had locked up. Being good old American technology, the movement jarred the jammed part of the brace back into its proper position, and the machinery let out a soft whir as it straightened out.

Rhody braced one hand on the counter, the other on Sam’s back to balance, and slowly pushed himself upright as the dog pressed against his leg to steady him. It took him a moment to get balanced on his feet again, but it didn’t take as long as it usually did. Slowly, he was getting better at this.

“There we go. Thanks, man,” he murmured, patting Sam on the head. The dog barked, tail wagging, but didn’t lose the concerned look.

Ignoring the long stare he was getting, Rhody grabbed up the list and a pen, turning back the way they’d come.

“Need to get off my feet for a bit,” he muttered to the dog by way of explanation, making his way toward the living room. Sam turned and followed on his heels, watching his steps carefully.

The living room, like the kitchen, could have been newer. The curtains had probably been hanging in the same position since they’d gone up, and the blinds were more gone than there. The carpet was worn with foot traffic save for a little square in the corner where they’d taken out an end table and a large square by the window where he’d gotten rid of the recliner in favor of more floor space. Like most of his house, however, the old decor was dotted with new accents, mainly courtesy of Tony. The antique wooden entertainment center had a shiny new flat screen television set up in it, as well as about four different gaming consoles. The old, faded furniture was outclassed by the designer sofa that had been set up in front of the television, and the dusty nick-knacks on a shelf in the corner had been rearranged to surround a digital picture frame that scrolled through photos of his friends and family. Currently it was displaying a shot of him with some of the Avengers from after one of their early training sessions at the compound.

Rhody and Sam stood off to one side of the frame, laughing, as Natasha pinned a giggling Wanda in a gentle headlock with a smirk and Steve stood at the opposite edge of the frame, looking on with a soft smile. Vision had taken the picture, using Sam’s phone. It had been the only one out of about thirty that could be used because when Wanda had explained to the synth how to use the camera, she had forgotten to mention that he had to keep his fingers off of the lens. Even now, Rhody could see the hint of blurry red in the top corner of the shot.

Vision and Rhody had not really spoken since the airport, aside from a simple greeting or Vision asking how he was feeling. Things had been tense between them, and Rhody had been putting off the inevitable discussion about what happened in favor of spending time with Tony and getting his braces up and running. Eventually he would have to confront the synthetic man, but right now he had other problems that required his attention, so he once again put it out of his mind.

Rhody dropped down onto the couch with a groan, leaning his head back and closing his eyes before letting out a long sigh. His eyes snapped back open again, however, when he felt the cushion beside him dip sharply.

“Hey, no. Off,” Rhody scolded as Sam settled himself on the sofa. “No dogs on the furniture.”

Sam rolled over, talking back in a long, whining yelp as he settled himself more comfortably.

“Don’t sass me,” Rhody muttered, giving Sam a little shove. “You are covered in fur, and shedding. I don’t need that on my sofa. This was expensive.”

It took two more shoves to get the German shepherd on the floor, and Sam shook himself before turning back to Rhody with a pleading look and a bark.

“No.”

Sam wasn’t deterred, and stepped forward to lay his head on Rhody’s knee with a whimper, ears and tail drooping.

“Aw hell no, don’t give me that.”

Sam gave another long whine, this one accompanied by a slight head tilt and pinched brows, and Rhody let out a sigh.

“Break my heart, why don’t you? Fine. You can get on the sofa, but let me put a blanket down first.”

He went to get up but Sam was already bounding off, tail wagging and ears perked. The dog was back a moment later carrying a folded blanket from the foot of the bed, which he awkwardly tossed up onto the seat of the couch. Sam waited patiently as Rhody spread the blanket out, hopping up onto the sofa as soon as he was done.

Rhody watched with a smile as the dog turned around in a little circle and flopped down at his side, tongue lolling. “There. Happy?”

Sam barked, bobbing his head, and Rhody ruffled his ears before reaching over to the coffee table and grabbing the remote.

“Good. Now just stay there and keep out of trouble. And don’t even think about trying to get me to change the channel,” Rhody grouched, settling himself back and clicking open the pen as he started in on his grocery list.

Sam just gave him a troublemaking grin.

Sharon looked around nervously as she walked through the barn.

She’d never really met Tony before, so she wasn’t sure what to expect outside of what she’d seen in the past week, which – if she was being completely honest – wasn’t exactly the most shining example of his personality.

The ride back to Mr. Stark’s mansion had been fairly uneventful. Tony had chatted aimlessly about deliveries and pet supplies and ordering Greek Gyros, and if animals were allowed to have baklava or not, and she had stood quietly in a corner, waiting for the inevitable fallout.

Because there was no way in hell that there weren’t any hard feelings between Tony and Steve.

Their disagreement had been enough to split the team down the middle, make each of them pick a side and fight one another over it. He’d made it clear that he still cared about his friends, despite the argument, and while that was nice to know and lessened her worry about the rest of the rebel Avengers, that didn’t exactly leave her in a wonderful position.

Tony had no reason to be kind to her. She was no one to him. This was the first time they’d actually met; he had no idea what she even looked like as a human. True, she doubted that the spider boy knew any of them very well, or King T’Challa, but if they had volunteered to take one of the Avengers home with them then they must have at least cared.

Tony probably hadn’t even realized that she was being counted as a part of the rebel team.

True, he probably hadn’t expected Lang either, but at least with Scott, Tony was dealing with another superhero. Sharon was nothing.

So far Tony had been cordial if a bit cool, and Steve had seemed relaxed, so she’d tried to stay calm, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t going to stay peaceful for long. And that worried her.

Sharon peeked into one of the stalls as she walked past, dipping her head over the low wall. There was fresh straw piled on the floor, as well as in a hanging trough on the side wall. There was another trough with water along the back wall, and fresh apple slices had been left in a bucket for her.

The latch on the door was simple enough, and after a few tries Sharon was able to flip it up and let herself in.

She stepped into the stall and dipped her head into the bucket of apple slices, struggling for a long moment before successfully grabbing one. It was crisp and sweet, and she ducked her head for another immediately after.

The feel of the stall around her was familiar, and against her better judgment Sharon felt herself relaxing. Her great aunt Peggy had taken her horseback riding as a child, and the memory was one of her favorites. It was what had influenced her decision when the lab techs at the Raft had asked her for an animal. It had been a tough tie between a horse and a fox - which she’d always had an inexplicable love for - but in the end it was Great-Aunt Peggy’s passing that had tipped her decision in favor of the larger animal.

Of course, now that she was actually a horse, she was debating whether her idea had been quite as bright as she’d thought it to be. She was big, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing: it made her less tempting of a target, and she could readily defend herself with a good kick or nip. She was also fast.

What she lost, however, was the mobility. She couldn’t really take stairs, she couldn’t go inside easily, and she couldn’t fit in a car. She was stuck out in her little pasture with nowhere to go.

Sharon let out a huff of breath, tossing her mane as she slowly backed out of the stall.

“You don’t like it?”

She startled at the sudden voice from behind her, a little whinny escaping her throat as she shied a few steps to the side, but it was only Tony, leaned against one of the walls with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I can have it re-done, if you’d rather,” he shrugged. “Bigger, or brighter colors, or more windows. I’m not really sure what a horse wants, or what you personally like, but I can make adjustments, no problem. I just want you to be comfortable here.”

Sharon flicked her ears, uncertain, and Tony pushed himself upright, crossing the floor to come lean over the door of her stall.

“I mean, the work crew got it up in a couple hours, I’m sure little adjustments should be no problem.”

She glanced down and aside, backing into the aisle the rest of the way. It was spacious enough in the little barn, bright and sunny and rather welcoming if she was being honest. It felt a bit removed from the other two, and that made her nervous, but it was…nice.

A bark caught her attention, and Sharon perked her ears with interest as Steve trotted into the barn, tail wagging in a golden plume out behind him. The dog glanced around, spotting the two of them, and turned to cross to their side.

He was rather adorable as a golden retriever, she had to admit, and she leaned down to snuffle him in greeting as he came to a stop before her, tongue lolling.

“That’s where you got off to,” Tony quipped. “What, did you just leave Sher Khan all on his own somewhere? I’ll have you know that I’m holding you responsible for any damage he causes.”

Steve shot him a look, one eyebrow raised, before turning to press his nose gently against Sharon’s side.

Comfort. Reassurance.

Letting her know that everything was okay.

Sharon gave a little snort in response; resting her head on Steve’s back.

Letting him know that she trusted him.

They both looked up as Tony cleared his throat from behind them, pushing himself to his feet and stretching his arms up over his head.

“Anyway, was that a yes on the redesign?” he asked.

Sharon looked around again, at the little barn that the man had put up for her.

It was so much more than she’d expected, and she was rather touched that he’d bother with that much effort for someone who was essentially a stranger.

She shook her head, tossing her mane with a snort. She was happy with the way it was.

Tony nodded. “Well, if you change your mind just let me know. I’ll leave you on your own to get settled in. Right now, I have three hundred pounds of striped attitude to find before it destroys my house.”

With that Tony cast one final assessing look around the building before clapping his hands together and turning toward the door.

Sharon watched him leave, Steve staying for a second longer to nose her side affectionately before the dog trotted off after their new owner.

She stood where she was for a long second, listening to Tony’s fading voice as he made vague threats about fur rugs and Steve barked at him admonishingly, before tossing her mane with a snort and turning to explore the rest of the barn.

Well, things certainly weren’t going to be boring.

Scott hopped up onto the king sized bed, sniffing the comforter for a second before flopping onto his side and rolling over.

Stark’s mansion was enormous.

He’d already located the kitchen, the pool, the entertainment room with the bigscreen TV, and a locked room that he suspected was Stark’s lab but that couldn’t break into for lack of thumbs.

He was currently in what he had to assume was the master bedroom.

The design was very modern, the light colors and sharp angles a pointed contrast to the turn-of-the-century mansion that Hank Pym had. Although, he did find that he rather preferred the large windows of Stark’s home. At least this particular billionaire could do his brooding in proper lighting.

Scott rolled over again, rubbing his jaw along one of the pillows.

Hank Pym’s warnings about not being able to trust a Stark were ringing loud and clear in his head, even though Tony hadn’t really done much to either prove or disprove that statement so far.

Scott wasn’t sure if that was necessarily a good thing.

It meant that Stark was either:

A – biding his time on the whole revenge thing, or

B – had something far worse planned for them all and was gleefully setting them up for it.

He straightened up with a snort, standing and stretching before hopping to the floor, leaving the covers all rumpled in his wake. Scott padded over to the master bathroom, nudging the door open with his head and slipping inside. The floor was white tile, one wall consisting of a thick, marbled glass that let in light but warped any images into smears of color, and a huge Jacuzzi tub that sat in the center of the room, just begging to be used.

And who was Scott to turn down an invitation like that?

It only took him a two tries to nose on the water, and he reached a paw into the tub to press down the drain as the bath began to fill. Adjusting the temperature was a bit more of a task, but he figured that out as well, making sure it was nice and warm, and turned to poke around the cabinets as the water ran behind him.

There were a dozen or so bottles of flowery shampoo and bubble bath mix, which he had to assume one of Tony’s girlfriends had gotten for him, and Scott considered dropping one of the bath bombs into the tub. However, doing so would mean picking it up in his mouth to carry it over, and if it tasted anything like it smelled, he didn’t want that anywhere near his tongue.

In the end, he decided that plain water would be just fine.

Scott let the tub fill just over halfway before turning off the faucet, not wanting to overflow it when he got in, and nosed at the little button on the side until the bubbles turned on. The jets came to life in a gurgling whirr, and Scott took a moment to look on in self-satisfaction before crawling into the bath and letting the warm water wash over his sore muscles.

The airport fight had really taken it out of him, and his bruises were only just starting to lighten up. Of course, being at the Raft hadn’t helped the muscle strain or general battering he’d received, and the deep inner ache from using the Giant Man stunt had yet to go away, but the warm water felt like heaven.

The jets felt strange blowing through his fur, and he made a small lap around the edge of the tub before settling down with his head rested on the edge and his eyes closed in content.

He was just starting to doze off when the sound of a door slamming jolted him awake.

“Lang!”

Scott perked up as the sound of Tony marching into the master bedroom reached his ears, and for a second he debated hiding.

Of course, if he did, that would mean he would track water everywhere, which would get him in even more trouble, so he simply sat down in the middle of the tub and waited.

Steve actually found him first, the dog poking his nose through the door as he followed Scott’s scent, and he chuffed out a little greeting to the Captain happily. Steve was a little less enthusiastic with his greeting, glancing over his shoulder as the sound of footsteps approached.

Tony pushed his way into the bathroom a second later, one eye twitching as he took in the scene before him, and Scott gave in to the strange urge to begin licking his paw.

Play it cool, Lang. Play it cool.

Stark watched him for a long moment, unmoving save for the little twitch, but eventually huffed out a sigh and crossed his arms.

“I knew I should have sent you home with T’Challa,” Tony grumbled, grabbing a towel off the counter and spreading it clumsily on the floor for Scott to get out on. “At least you had the sense to stay out of the bubble bath mix.”

The billionaire turned and left the room again, rubbing a temple as he muttered to himself, and Scott turned to wade another lap around the tub happily.

“And make sure to dry off before you leave that room!” Tony called. “You track water through the house and you’re dead!”

Scott gave Steve a sheepish glance, but the golden retriever simply wagged his tail, amused, before turning to follow Tony.

Steve flopped down onto the floor by the sofa, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

He’d gone with Tony to make sure that Sharon and Scott were settled before he let himself relax, but now that he was sure they were both okay he could take a moment to rest and settle in himself. There was still an uneasy feeling that he couldn’t seem to shake, an itching worry in the back of his mind for the rest of his team, and it was putting him on edge. He knew that they were all with someone who would take care of them, but he couldn’t help but wonder how safe they would be.

“Well, there’s that taken care of.”

Steve looked up as Tony entered the room, tilting his head as he watched the billionaire cross to the couch and drop into the cushions with a groan, his cell in his hand. The man reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers, massaging it for a long moment, before opening one eye to glance down at him.

“I’m far too sober for this, Cap,” Tony told him, and for once Steve had to agree.

This whole situation was a bit of a trainwreck.

There were so many what ifs…what if he’d told Tony about his suspicions earlier, so the man had a chance to calm down before facing Bucky? What if he’d stayed and fought to keep his teammates out of prison? What if he had been able to power down Tony’s suit during their fight in Siberia and escape? What if he’d been strong enough to protect them all?

He let out a little whimper, resting his head on the floor with his ears drooping.

“What’s wrong, Cap?” Tony asked, and Steve flicked his gaze up as he felt a foot gently nudge his side. He didn’t lift his head from the floor as he met Tony’s concerned stare, and the billionaire let out a sigh.

“C’mere, Steve,” Tony muttered, patting the couch at his side, and Steve sat up, turning obediently to lay his head on the sofa beside the man’s knee.

“There’s a good boy,” he murmured, ruffling Steve’s ears. The retriever shot him a bemused look, and Tony shrugged. “You’re a dog. Get used to it.”

Steve huffed out a breath that was most certainly not a pout and lay down at the foot of the couch once more, pretending to ignore Tony.

For another long moment there was silence between them. It wasn’t the comfortable, tired silence that usually hung around the compound after a mission, though. It was tense. It was a sharp, uneasy thing that hung delicately in the air, waiting to shatter, and Tony did so after only a few minutes.

“I really am sorry that they did this to you guys. You all deserved so much better.”

Steve glanced up in surprise and Tony shrugged, rubbing a hand over his face as he glanced away.

“I mean yes, you’re a stubborn ass, but I see where you’re coming from. Kind of.”

Steve rolled his eyes, settling his head more comfortably on his paws, but Tony wasn’t done.

“It still wasn’t very smart of you. And you really should have left the others out of it. I mean, honestly, going against the entire UN was dumb. You couldn’t have possibly hoped to win. Not even with the Incredible Inflatable Man and Miss Magica on your side.”

Steve snorted, feeling irritation rush through him, and got to his feet, turning to glare at Tony.

“Don’t give me that look, Steve, we’re talking about the United Nations here. You against all of the biggest countries in the world. I don’t care if you’re Captain spangle pants, you weren’t going to win that.”

Steve let out a little growl, sitting down hard as he glanced away. Tony was right, as much as he hated to admit it. Any soldier could have told him that those were terrible odds. But he hadn’t started this particular fight because he thought he was going to win it.

Trusting the kind of power that the Avengers had to any organization with their own agenda – even an organization like the UN - was dangerous.

They had all had enough trouble trusting SHIELD when they first signed on, and that was as an organization that existed to actively seek out super-powered humans and keep people like HYDRA from getting their hands on them. Well, at least until SHIELD had become HYDRA. But that only gave Steve another reason not to trust large organizations making his calls for him, for his team.

If the UN got a hold of someone like Vision, or Wanda, and wanted to experiment with the scope of their powers? If there was another world war? How could he guarantee their safety?

He’d already seen what the UN’s idea of confinement and punishment were.

Shaking himself, Steve turned a doleful glare on Tony and barked once, wishing he could speak. Tony offered a shrug in return, dropping an arm along the back of the couch on either side of him and leaning back into the cushions.

“I mean, I realize that Ross is a scumbag, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t find a work-around. Everything else was fine. You were even gonna sign it for a while there.” The man lifted his head, looking down at him with a little shrug. “You may not think so, but we need restrictions, Steve.”

Steve barked at him again, letting his irritation show in a little growl at the end.

Tony just didn’t get it.

It wasn’t about operating without limits or restrictions, and it most certainly wasn’t about dodging responsibility for their actions. He was fine with owning up to their mistakes. He was fine with accountability. What he wasn’t fine with was someone he didn’t know or necessarily trust calling the shots.

He didn’t want his team being treated like weapons.

He’d already been through that exact situation with Bucky, and similarly when Wanda and her brother had been weaponized against them by HYDRA and Ultron. They weren’t treated like people – kept in little glass cages and brainwashed into doing what they were told – and dehumanizing someone like that was something he could never justify.

Not even if it was the United Nations behind the trigger.

And the fact that it was the UN only made it worse. In his life before the plane crash, how many times had he seen the UN turn a blind eye to what the Nazis were doing? How many times had he been told to stay out of a fight? To sit on the sidelines and wait for permission from higher up as he watched people suffer? And it wasn’t like they’d changed much since he’d been frozen, either. Hadn’t the UN’s idea of a solution to the New York invasion been to send a nuke at the city?

How could Tony expect him to trust himself and his friends to people like that?

With a growl Steve stood and turned, pacing stiffly away from Tony. He was getting frustrated, and couldn’t even hold a decent argument in this form. The mature thing to do was to leave the room before the little temptation to give Tony a sharp nip on the leg manifested itself into an action that he would regret.

“Oh come on, Steve!” Tony called after him, exasperated. “You lost, okay? You were wrong, so there’s no point in getting all huffy about it.”

Steve threw what he hoped would translate into an irritated look over his shoulder but didn’t slow his pace. This was getting nowhere fast, and he would not be baited into an argument that he had literally no say in.

“Don’t walk out like this is my fault!” Tony shouted after him, and Steve heard the man scramble to his feet behind him.

Steve whirled around at that, his patience running out, and let out a sharp bark.

“No, you listen!” Tony snapped. “You should have signed the damn papers! If you didn’t like them we could have changed them! It wasn’t a final copy, it was hardly a damn draft! Nothing was set in stone, and if you’d been able to think of anything besides your precious Bucky-”

Steve cut him off with a snarl, feeling his hackles rise.

“You left me no choice!” the man shouted back. “I didn’t want everyone to fight, but it was either we come get you, or do nothing and wait for the military put you down! And I didn’t ask for any of you to be punished like this, either! Hell, I didn’t even know they planned to lock you guys in the Raft until they’d already done it, and by that point there was nothing I could have done! I hated seeing Wanda in that shock collar as much as you did, and having you guys split up and supervised by the others was the best I could do to get you out of there! I’m trying, okay?” Tony shouted, throwing an arm out to the side in a sweeping gesture.

Steve didn’t back down, a growl rumbling in his throat, but something changed about Tony. It was as if all the fight suddenly went out of him, his gaze dropping to the floor and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Tony’s voice was a near whisper when he spoke again, his posture deflating. “I’m-…I’m trying. To keep us together. To keep us safe.”

Steve felt his tail starting to droop as the anger went out of him as well, a hollow sadness filling his stomach. He let out a little whine, and Tony sank onto the couch with his head in his hands.

“This isn’t at all what I wanted… I wanted you all back as yourselves, not…God, not like this.” He looked up, a hysterical little laugh escaping his lips. “Hell, I’ll be surprised if Natasha or Clint ever speaks to me again.”

Steve slowly padded a few steps closer, his eyes on the miserable man before him.

“It’s too late to fix anything, but I thought that I could do damage control,” Tony admitted with a shrug. “Get you all back with us until the media cools off a bit. Then maybe we can get you back into your own bodies.”

The soft whimper in his throat drew the other man’s attention to Steve, and he wagged his tail slowly a few times, sympathy in his eyes.

Tony reached a hand out, gently stroking it over his head, and he leaned into the man’s touch.

“I’m sorry, Steve, but this is the best I could do.”

Steve nodded, settling himself at Tony’s feet once more as he felt exhaustion and stress creeping over him, leaving an aching weakness to his muscles. The billionaire leaned over to continue stroking him.

“I didn’t…I don’t mean to shout at you. You just frustrate the hell out of me sometimes, and it feels so damn good to know that my father’s favorite messed up, I can’t help myself. I’m sorry, bud,” Tony murmured, and Steve turned his head to nose up against the man’s palm, giving little kisses to his fingertips.

“You’re a good boy, Steve.”

The room fell into silence once more; both of them quiet save for the occasional white noise of one or the other of them moving. Steve tried to relax, aware that he’d been running for almost thirty-six hours without sleep, but he felt too wound up – like something was nagging at him, and he just couldn’t place it. He let out a huff of breath, and the hand that was stroking along his back slowly stilled.

Tony let out a long sigh, the man sitting back and looking around as his stomach rumbled.

“I suppose we should find food for everyone.”

Steve let out a sharp breath, dipping his head a fraction, and Tony pushed himself to his feet.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Get me some take-out food options for myself and our guests. I’m thinking three steaks and a nice, big salad.”

“Right away, Boss.”

Steve glanced up at Tony with a raised eyebrow, and the man shrugged.

“Hey, if nothing else, I’m going to use this opportunity to spoil the shit out of you guys while you can’t complain about me spending money on you.”

Steve snorted out a little sound in amusement, dropping his head back to his paws as FRIDAY pulled up lists of take-out menus and Tony paced out of the room with his cell to his ear. He could hear the faint sounds of the man trying to place an order one room over as he settled himself comfortably and finally, finally, allowed his eyes to close.

Vision glanced up over the top of the newspaper he was flipping through as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and was in time to catch a flash of dark fur vanishing behind the sofa.

A little smile tugged at his lips, and he turned his attention back to the page as he heard a soft scramble of movement from that direction.

Wanda had spent most of the afternoon re-exploring the compound, climbing up on the furniture and squeezing her way beneath and behind everything where she found a space that she could fit in.

Surprisingly, Vision had only needed to rescue her once so far - when she had gotten herself stuck on top of the curtain rod because she had been afraid to jump down.

Once the drugs had run through her system, she had appeared to be more at ease in the compound, and had begun bounding from one room to another with what seemed like unbridled energy. He had worried, at first, that she may hurt herself, but Wanda had proved to be rather resilient, shaking herself off whenever she fell and going right back to playing.

He had not yet obtained any toys for her, but she seemed perfectly content to pounce on the fluttering end of his cloak, or to bat little bits of fluff around the floor, or to tangle herself up in the shoelaces on Mr. Stark’s Oxfords. (He’d had to put a stop to that rather quickly, however, when she started to chew the laces.)

As far as Vision could tell, she seemed healthy and happy and highly energetic.

And yet, he still couldn’t shake that little feeling of worry…

A trilling meow from beneath him was his only warning before Wanda shot out from under his chair, tangling herself in his cape as she tried to simultaneously pin it to the ground and hide in it. He chuckled, reaching to tug on the fabric and watching in amusement as her pupils widened, hunting instincts kicking in as her “prey” tried to escape. After a second of waiting with her muscles locked rigid, Wanda whipped around and scrambled a few feet away, tail fluffed up, before walking a few paces back toward him with stiff legs. She batted his cloak with a paw before whirling around again, and Vision chuckled as she vanished under the sofa once more.

Being a nocturnal creature, her energy level would naturally be highest around bedtime and continue through the night, although coming from a human’s daytime REM cycle, Vision suspected that she may not follow that exact pattern.

Not two minutes later, as if to prove his theory, Wanda slunk out from beneath the sofa, sat down in the middle of the floor, and let out a little yawn; her ears folding back as she tipped her head, showing tiny white teeth and a curling tongue.

Vision was sure he was grinning like a fool at how adorable she was.

Pausing to stretch, she crept over and hopped up onto the chair where he was sitting, ducking beneath his arm so that she could curl up in his lap. Vision glanced down at her in mild surprise, but allowed her to settle herself without comment.

He turned his attention back to the paper, lazily letting his optical processors scan the page and take in the information as Wanda kneaded gently at his leg with her tiny claws. Most of the news was dull and he only half paid attention, the other part of his focus completely taken up with the way that Wanda’s little sides moved ever so slightly in time to her breath.

She put a tiny paw out to stop him when he tried to turn the page, however, and he couldn’t help his smile as he patiently waited for her to finish looking it over before turning it.

Her ears were pointed forward with interest as she read, the tip of her tail twitching ever so slightly. Vision watched the slight turn of her head, timing his page turns so as not to rush her. When he turned the next page, however, her ears pinned back and she was quick to look away.

Vision felt his mouth tug into a concerned frown and glanced down to the article she had seen.

It was about the fight at the airport, titled “Avengers Gone Rogue?” and featured a grainy picture of her standing before the ruins of the hotel in Lagos with the caption “Scarlet Witch kills eleven, wounds dozens – Sokovia Accords seek to prevent more needless bloodshed.”

Vision folded the paper and set it aside, looking down in concern for a long moment. She was still upset about the bomb, and all of the subsequent fighting between the Avengers certainly couldn’t have helped the self-hatred he knew she struggled with.

“It was an accident,” he soothed, placing a finger on top of her paw in lieu of holding her hand. “There was no good solution to dealing with that bomb in the way that it was presented. You did what you could, and misfortune struck. Do not blame yourself as if you had intended to cause harm.”

Wanda let out a breath, allowing her head to droop down against his leg with her ears pinned flat in misery. He responded by tracing his fingertip up the bridge of her nose and back between her ears.

“There, there,” he murmured. She looked so sad, and he desperately wished that he could take that sadness away. Wanda flicked the tip of her tail to acknowledge him, but made no effort to raise her head.

Vision couldn’t help but suspect the surroundings were also contributing to her melancholy, as she was once again locked in the compound with him as her caretaker.

Cautiously, Vision stroked a hand down the length of her back.

Wanda trilled out a little noise of surprise at his touch, but relaxed as soon as she realized what he was doing. Encouraged, he gently rubbed the soft fur behind her ear and Wanda purred in content, letting her eyes droop closed.

“Everything will be okay,” he promised softly. “I am here, and I will not leave you.”

He would watch over her, and try to cheer her up. He would protect her.

Vision stayed where he was, stroking his hand over her back until she fell asleep, her purr a warm rumble against his leg.

The whir of mechanics filled the otherwise silent room as Bucky shifted his weight, settling himself more comfortably at Peter’s hip. The boy had fallen asleep almost ten minutes ago, but not before making sure that Bucky was comfortably settled for the night.

The two of them had spent the afternoon out shopping with a credit card paid for by Tony Stark. (Tony had gifted Peter the credit card and informed him that it was to cover any expenses incurred while taking care of his new “pet,” but that he was not to use it on anything else – “Yes, Parker, ‘anything else’ includes a computer. Maybe for your birthday.”)

Bucky now had new food bowls, a second leash, shiny new tags on his collar, a little box of chew-toys and tennis balls, a cabinet full of dog food and treats in the kitchen, and a new dog bed (not that he used it) in the corner of Peter’s room.

Bucky let his eyes droop closed, nudging his head into Peter’s side as his tail wagged lazily.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this free of worry.

He’d been thrilled to hear that the new animal part of his brain would override any traces of the Winter Soldier during the transformation, as the natural instincts would take over the same part of the brain that the Hydra Assassin was stored in. That meant he was finally safe, as well as all the people around him. He was no longer a walking weapon, just waiting for a new user to say the code sequence.

He could be Bucky again.

Well, he could be Siberian Husky Bucky.

Being a dog wasn’t ideal, of course, but he was warm and dry and fed (dog food wasn’t so bad, especially after a stint with HYDRA’s “nutrition mix” meals), so he didn’t really have much to complain about. He was content.

Bucky nudged his nose under Peter’s hand as the boy stirred in his sleep.

Peter reminded him a lot of Steve when they’d been younger, and he felt that familiar old urge to protect the kid from the world whenever he looked at him. Peter could more than protect himself, and Bucky knew this, but that didn’t make a difference. He was still a little kid trying to pick a fight with the entirety of the big bad world, and Bucky would more than willingly follow him into any back-alley fight to save his ass and patch him up again.

He may not be able to watch Steve’s back from here, but he was determined to at least keep this kid safe.

Peter mumbled something in his sleep, turning over as he wove his arms around Bucky, and the husky shifted himself closer as he settled his head on the boy’s stomach.

Content, he closed his eyes and fell asleep with his tail wagging.

Peace at last.

Natasha blinked up at T’Challa as he carried her through the palace, her front paws curled over his finger to steady herself.

Night had long since fallen, and she had been starting to yawn by the time T’Challa finished up business for the day and scooped her up out of the basket.

She looked around as he turned into a room, bare of furnishings save for a chair, a wooden storage chest in the corner, and a large golden cage that stretched from the floor to nearly the ceiling.

Clearly, this was her room.

She looked up at the king questioningly as he crossed to the cage, her nerves starting to get the better of her again. The idea of being closed in somewhere - even if she knew she could escape it - set her on edge. T’Challa stroked a finger over her head soothingly as he reached to open the latch on the little barred door, and she let him gently maneuver her inside.

T’Challa set her down in the cage, and Natasha sniffed around as he withdrew his hand. The floor had been covered in fresh straw - the sweet, warm smell a comfort as she nestled into it. A pair of bowls, one with water and the other with food, had been set out for her. Little treats had been placed in strategic locations about the multi-story cage, most likely to tempt her into exploring her new environment instead of sulking. One wall had a system of tubes winding from it, and Natasha twitched her whiskers with interest as she looked them over.

He had certainly spared no expense.

Natasha ignored the sound of the king closing the cage door behind her and instead crept closer to the food bowl. It had been filled with an assortment of small, dried fish and cooked meats, and it smelled delicious. A few additional items had been scattered around the cage as well - balls and blocks and puzzle toys to keep her entertained – and a cushioned bed was set up on the top platform, visible from where she was.

Below her was another level with what looked like a miniature hammock strung from the cage bars and a scattering of paper towel tubes that she had the strange urge to go climb through and shred.

Natasha looked up in concern as she heard a click from behind her, and caught a glimpse of T’Challa pocketing a tiny key. Something was clipped to the door of the cage, and Natasha scrambled up to examine it as the king took a step back.

It was a lock.

The device was small but sturdy, and even though she could grab it with her paws, she was not strong enough to break it. She glanced up at T’Challa in fright, and the king pressed the back of a finger up against the bars near her.

“Do not fret, Natalia,” he soothed. “I will let you out again in the morning, but I cannot risk you running away while I sleep. You might get hurt.”

Natasha sank back to the floor of the cage, her ears pinned back in a ferret’s version of a frown.

“It is only a few hours,” he reassured her, turning to leave the room. “Sleep well, little assassin.”

Natasha let out a huff as he left the room, watching the door for a long second before turning away with as much of a pout as she could manage.

There went her escape plan.

Damn him.

With nothing better to do, she turned her attention to one of the puzzle toys – two nails twisted in an interlocking loop. This was a classic; she’d solved similar puzzles a dozen times before, and she was almost insulted that he would leave her something so easy.

Natasha grabbed the puzzle up clumsily, trying to balance the pieces between her front paws as she caught the end of one of the nails in her mouth and tried to turn it. The angle was all wrong, however, and after a long few seconds of struggling she set it down with a skeptical glance.

Oh, this was going to be a lot harder than she expected…

Laura barely resisted a snicker as Clint tried for the third time to tug the sheets up over a giggling Lila, a frustrated growl rumbling in his throat.

“Almost got it that time,” she teased. Clint snorted, once again grabbing a mouthful of the covers and trying to tug them over his daughter. He managed to get it up to her chin, but only on one side, and when he tried to tug it up higher to even it out, the bottom of the sheet came un-tucked from the end of the bed. Laura snickered as Clint smoothed a paw across it, pointedly ignoring the bottom of the sheet.

“Daddy, it’s all wrinkled…” Lila said, pressing her hands to her mouth to hide her smile.

Clint buried his head against the mattress in frustration, letting out a groan.

“All right, let me give your father a little help,” Laura chuckled, moving to properly tuck her daughter in for the night and press a kiss to her forehead. Her husband gave her a doleful look, which she returned with a teasing smile. “I’m sure the attempt was appreciated, dear.”

Clint ignored her comment and moved to snuffle a kiss to Lila’s face, making the little girl giggle.

“Goodnight, darling,” Laura called as Clint turned to shuffle out of the room.

“Goodnight Mom, goodnight Dad!” Lila called, snuggling down under the blankets with a smile, her stuffed bear hugged close. Laura switched out the light on the way out, closing the door over before following Clint to the living room.

“That was quite fun to watch,” Laura said teasingly to her husband, grinning mischievously when he glanced over his shoulder with a bemused expression. “I was bear-ly able to contain my laughter.”

Clint stopped, turning to fix her with a long look, then gently head-butted her onto the couch.

Laura laughed as he climbed up beside her, settling himself with a huff. She leaned into him, running her fingers through his fur, and Clint leaned his muzzle on top of her head as he relaxed into her touch.

“Well, at least the kids took to this well enough,” she murmured, and felt Clint nod.

She had honestly expected a little more hesitance from the children, but they’d seemed more excited and curious than worried. Although, she supposed, when your father was constantly fighting aliens and demi-gods and evil robot AI’s…was transforming into a bear really that much more of a stretch?

But just because the children had taken it well didn’t mean that Clint was.

She had been catching glimpses of it all day, from the way his ears flicked back when he was faced with something that he could no longer do to the way that his entire posture seemed to deflate whenever he caught sight of his reflection.

He was trying not to show it, but he hated not being in his own body.

“You’re a very cute bear,” she said, pressing a little kiss to the tip of his nose. Clint snorted in response, and she stroked a hand over his head. “I’m sure they’ll decide after a while that you’ve been punished for long enough and turn you back,” she reassured him. “They can’t intend to keep you like this forever.”

Her husband nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

Laura settled herself against his side, enjoying the warmth radiating from him as they fell into a comfortable silence.

“I wonder what animals the others chose,” she mused softly at length, but frowned when she felt her husband wince. “Clint? What’s wrong?”

He looked up at her with a little whine and sad eyes, tilting his head, and she felt a frown tug at her lips.

The others.

He was worried about Natasha and Wanda.

And honestly, she was rather worried about them as well. Natasha was practically a sister to her, and Wanda had become a sort of daughter in the months following the Ultron fiasco. Not knowing where the two had wound up after the Raft was stressful, to say the least.

Some poking around and a few phone calls earlier that day had pinned Wanda in upstate New York with Vision - safe at the Avengers compound, to her relief - but she had yet to hear anything definitive about Natasha’s whereabouts. All Tony had told her was that she was with “the cat man” and that he had his hands full at the moment, could he call her back?

“We’ll poke around some more tomorrow,” she promised Clint. “See if we can find where they sent Natasha."

He made a small, rather despondent noise in reply.

“I’m sure she’s okay,” she tried to reassure him, her fingers weaving through his fur. “Stark wouldn’t send her with someone who would hurt her.”

…would he?

If what she’d heard was right, Natasha had switched sides on the team at a critical point in the fight, and Tony wasn’t likely to be happy about that. If he’d decided to take his revenge in a subtle way, by sending Natasha with someone who couldn’t be trusted to be kind to her while she was helpless…

Laura shook her head.

Tormenting herself with what-ifs was useless. She would make more calls tomorrow, perhaps to Fury or Maria, and see if someone could track down the assassin’s whereabouts. Until then there was no point in worrying herself sick.

Burying her face in Clint’s shoulder, she let out a heavy breath.

At least she knew that he was safe.

“I’m glad to have you back,” she murmured, taking his front paw in her hands and playing with the rubbery pad. “Even if you are a bear, I’m glad to have you back.”

Clint grunted questioningly, and she gave him a wicked little smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely going to be certain things that I’ll miss,” she said, and Clint raised an eyebrow at her, glancing down suggestively.

Laura laughed and gave him a little shove. “No, that’s too weird, even for me.”

Clint huffed out something that sounded like a chuckle and leaned his head on her shoulder.

A yawn caught her by surprise a moment later, and Clint nosed up against her insistently when she let her eyes close over.

“I know, I know, bed time,” she murmured, nuzzling up against him. “It’s late, and Nate has taken to making sure that I’m up by six every morning.”

Clint nodded, nudging her to her feet, and Laura took a long moment to stretch before turning to her husband with a little frown.

Being a fully grown male Grizzly bear, Clint was rather large, and quite heavy. Even now the cushions of the sofa were dipping heavily under his weight. Their four-poster bed was sturdy enough for two humans, but not something she wanted to test with an additional six hundred pounds of muscle.

“I’m not sure that you’ll fit in bed…” she told him apologetically.

Clint gave a little shrug and settled himself more comfortably on the sofa.

“You sure?” she asked, and he nodded, leaning to snuffle a few little kisses to her cheek. Laura stroked a hand over his head, pulling him close in a hug.

“Goodnight, love,” she murmured. “See you in the morning.”

With a final kiss to the top of his head, Laura headed off to bed.

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