The sky over Tokyo was dark, rain pouring down in sheets that glistened under the neon glow of signs in Kanji. The narrow alleyways were slick with water and shadow, reflecting a city still running in fragments—order maintained by those who had the power and the will to take it.
Natasha Romanoff walked with purpose, her hood drawn up, blending in with the late-night crowd. She moved through the backstreets with practiced ease, her eyes sharp, knowing exactly where to go.
It didn't take long to find the carnage.
A dozen bodies lay sprawled in silence near a private club—a front for a powerful crime syndicate that had thrived in the vacuum left after the Snap. Blood mixed with rainwater in small rivers at the edge of the pavement. All of them armed. All of them dead.
Natasha's lips pressed into a grim line. She stepped through the wreckage and into the building beyond.
There, standing in the middle of a luxurious hallway under shattered chandeliers and flickering lights, was Clint Barton. Or rather, what was left of him.
He no longer wore the familiar S.H.I.E.L.D. gear. His new armor was darker—tactical, efficient, ruthless. A dragon symbol stitched on his shoulder. His face was partially masked, but Natasha could still see the haunted emptiness in his eyes.
He was wiping a bloodied katana clean when he looked up, instantly recognizing her presence.
"Nat," Clint said simply, his voice tired. Hollow.
"Clint," she replied, stepping forward. "I've been looking for you."
"I didn't want to be found."
"You're not the only one who lost everything." Her voice was steady, but held a softness only he would catch.
Clint turned away, staring at the city beyond the smashed windows. "These people… they were monsters. After the Snap, they filled the void. Took what wasn't theirs. They didn't deserve to survive when my family didn't."
"I know," Natasha said quietly. "But this… this isn't who you are."
He laughed bitterly. "Isn't it? Because every time I cut one of them down, I don't feel regret. I feel... like I'm balancing something."
"I came because we have a chance to fix it," she said, stepping closer. "To bring them back. All of them."
Clint's breath caught for a second. She saw the flicker of pain in his eyes.
"We found a way," she continued. "Tony, Bruce, Scott—everyone's working on it. And we need you."
Clint looked at the blood on his blade, then at the rain slowly washing it away. His shoulders dropped slightly.
"Do you think it'll actually work?" he asked, his voice rough.
"I don't need any false hope"
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." Natasha came near him saying as she added" Me too, I would rather die than give you a false hope"
There was a long silence between them, filled only by the sound of rain and distant sirens.
Then Clint finally sheathed his sword and turned fully toward her.
"…Alright," he said. "I'm in."
Natasha nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. For the first time in a long while, she felt hope press through the grief.
They left Tokyo together, shadows trailing behind them—one more piece of the puzzle falling into place.
***
Far from the remnants of bustling cities and fallen empires, nestled along the rocky coastline of Norway, lay New Asgard—a quiet, resilient fishing village. Waves lapped gently against the shore, and small boats bobbed near the docks. The place had none of the grandeur of the old Asgard, yet there was a solemn dignity in its simplicity.
Steve Rogers stepped out of the truck and onto the muddy road that led through the village. The air was crisp, salt-filled, and quiet—too quiet. He walked past homes built from repurposed materials and fishermen hauling in the day's catch. Children played in the mud, their laughter soft but real. Life here had continued, in its own small way, trying to heal.
Valkyrie spotted him first.
She leaned against a post near the edge of the dock, a fishing net slung over her shoulder and a drink in hand. She looked like she hadn't slept in a few days, but her expression was alert.
"Captain," she said with a faint smile. "You're a long way from the stars and stripes."
"Valkyrie," Steve nodded. "Is he here?"
She scoffed. "Oh, he's here. Just not the Thor you remember."
Steve raised a brow. "That bad?"
She gestured toward one of the larger cabins sitting higher up the hill, near the cliff's edge. "See for yourself. Just don't bring up the past… or beer. He's already had plenty."
Steve made his way uphill, boots crunching over gravel and damp grass. The cabin was weathered, smoke gently rising from the chimney. The door was partially open, and from within came the flickering glow of television light—and the unmistakable sound of video game gunfire and shouting.
He stepped inside.
The living room was a mess. Beer cans, pizza boxes, empty mead bottles, and Asgardian relics all jumbled together. The God of Thunder himself sat slouched into a massive recliner, wearing sunglasses and a robe, a blanket draped over his lap.
Thor had changed.
His once-godlike physique had softened; his beard was bushier and unkempt. He held a beer in one hand, a game controller in the other, and shouted, "Noobmaster69! You foul beast! I smite thee again!"
Korg, the rock-skinned Kronan, sat beside him with a bowl of chips. "Oh, hey man, you're getting him this time. Don't worry, he rage-quits all the time."
Steve stood there in silence for a moment before Thor finally looked over.
"…Steve?" he blinked, lowering his sunglasses. "You're alive. Or am I dead? Hard to tell these days."
"You're alive, Thor," Steve said gently. "And we need you."
Thor sighed and leaned back. "Yeah, well… the last time I was needed, I failed. Half the universe, Steve. I had the shot… and I didn't take it."
Steve stepped further in, his tone firm but understanding. "You're not the only one who lost, Thor. But we've found something. A way to fix it."
Thor didn't answer at first. He looked down at the can in his hand, then toward Mjolnir's replacement—Stormbreaker—resting quietly against the wall.
"You're saying… we can bring them back?" Thor finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Steve nodded. "We think so. But we can't do it without you."
Thor looked away, staring out the window toward the sea.
"I'm not who I used to be."
Steve offered a faint smile. "None of us are. But you're still worthy, Thor. You always were."
The God of Thunder closed his eyes for a moment. The silence stretched… until finally, he stood, wobbling a little, pushing the robe aside to reveal his armor—still fitting, though a bit tighter.
"…Alright," he said. "Let's get the damn team back together."
***
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