122 Next Step

Dorea had made a royal decree, complete with the imperious tone and finger-wag that made everyone, including Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, straighten in their seats during lunch. “Today,” she said, in the voice of someone who brooked no dissent, “there will be no talk of work. No brooding over killer robots. And absolutely no ‘Avenger faces’ until after dinner.”

She scanned the group with a mock sternness that dared anyone to argue. “Tonight,” she declared, “we’re having a proper campfire. Laughter, music, and good food. The world can wait until tomorrow morning.” It wasn’t just a suggestion. It was an order. And in the strange, unspoken hierarchy of the Barton farm, Dorea outranked everyone when it came to domestic matters. Even Tony, who could usually make a counterpoint to anything, just nodded at the matriarch’s words.

Assignments were handed out like mission orders—though these ones came with far more seasoning, both literal and figurative. Steve and Tony were put in charge of the firepit, while Bruce and Charles were tasked with setting up chairs in a ring. Natasha and Laura began prepping the long folding tables for the food, while Clint found himself roped into hauling the big cooler of drinks from the porch.

Harry’s task was to secure dinner. Which, in true Harry fashion, did not mean picking up takeout from the nearest restaurant. It meant promptly vanishing from the backyard with a sharp pop and reappearing in Austin, Texas, outside the legendary Franklin Barbecue. He stood in line for all of three minutes before deciding that wizardry had its privileges. A few discreet spells, some persuasive charm work, and a hefty tip later, he was walking away with enough smoked meat to feed a small army.

By the time he returned with arms laden with foil-wrapped treasures, the scent of glistening briskets, fall-off-the-bone pork spare ribs, jalapeño-cheddar sausages, slow-smoked turkey, and wings so fragrant they made even Steve pause mid-log-chop had filled the Barton backyard.

The sides were equally indulgent: creamy potato salad, tangy coleslaw, soft, fluffy bread, velvety mac and cheese, and jars of pickled cucumbers that Harry swore were “absolutely necessary.” He’d even managed to charm a large case of craft beer into his haul, all kept piping hot or icy cold thanks to a few stasis charms.

Meanwhile, Steve and Tony had finished the firepit. Steve took the role of log-master, stacking logs, while Tony, after being explicitly told that a flamethrower was not an acceptable lighting method, settled for a long match and a muttered complaint about “caveman technology.” Sparks crackled, embers caught, and within minutes, the flames were dancing high, painting the circle in shades of amber and gold.

Bruce and Charles had taken the chair setup seriously, spacing them with a mathematician’s eye for even distribution. Occasionally, Bruce would pause to glance at the growing fire, with a genuine smile tugging at his lips. Charles, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the whole process immensely, humming quietly as he worked.

By the time night settled over the Barton farm, the backyard had become a little oasis of chairs circled around a firepit, sending up sparks that drifted into the dark like tiny fireflies; tables groaned under the weight of Harry’s Texas bounty; and the smell of woodsmoke mingled with beef fat, smoked spices, and the faint green scent of fresh-cut grass.

Dorea’s “royal decree” had worked its magic.

Platters were passed from hand to hand, the feast disappearing almost as soon as it was unwrapped. Beer bottles clinked, and someone—probably Tony—had commandeered a portable speaker, queuing up a playlist that swung from old rock anthems to shameless pop hits.

The conversation meandered away from the shadow of their recent battles. Instead of tactical plans and enemy dossiers, they talked about vacation spots they’d always wanted to visit. Thor’s name came up more than once—someone suggested that next time he should host on Asgard, which led to a spirited debate about whether their insurance would even cover such a trip.

Strange meals became another topic, with Harry contributing several questionable wizarding dishes (Clint still wasn’t convinced “spotted dick” was a real dessert) and Steve recalled some of the more… dubious… field rations he’d been served over the years. Inevitably, the conversation turned toward Steve’s “bucket list,” and the general consensus was that it was woefully underpopulated. The man had saved the world multiple times but still hadn’t been to Disneyland, eaten a deep-fried Twinkie, or learned to salsa dance.

Harry, spotting the opportunity, offered to rectify the last one immediately. Lila, giggling at the absurdity, was swept into an exaggerated waltz across the grass. Dorea, with mock severity, dragged Cooper into her own dance, swaying him dramatically while he tried not to drop his chicken wing.

Natasha, leaning back in her chair, began singing along to the old tune playing through the speaker. Her voice was low, smooth, and hauntingly beautiful, enough to make even Tony pause mid-bite. Encouraged by the applause, Tony decided to contribute a song of his own, which… let’s just say earned more laughs than claps, though he seemed perfectly fine with that outcome.

Clint, perhaps feeling the need to restore some dignity to the proceedings, produced three apples from somewhere and began juggling with showman’s flair. Not to be outdone, Steve launched into a magic trick with a deck of cards. His sincerity was charming, but the “reveal” drew polite smiles rather than awe. After all, for kids who grew up around actual magic, sleight of hand didn’t exactly measure up.

Laura and Bruce clapped after every attempt, though their styles differed: Laura’s enthusiasm was infectious, loud and wholehearted; Bruce’s was quieter, but his smile lingered longer than usual, a small warmth that made it clear he was enjoying himself.

As the fire burned lower and the night deepened into a canopy of stars, the laughter softened into murmurs. Someone opened another round of beers. A breeze moved through the trees, carrying with it the smell of woodsmoke and the Ohio fields.

The moon hung high over the Barton farm, casting long shadows across the grass.

Eventually, Dorea stood, brushing crumbs from her hands. “All right, you lot,” she said with a yawn. “We’re taking the little ones in before they turn into pumpkins.”

Charles helped her gather up blankets, and Laura corralled the yawning children with promises of more stories tomorrow night. Cooper, rubbing his eyes, still insisted he wasn’t tired. Lila asked if Harry could make the fire “keep glowing” for her to see from her bedroom window. He winked and whispered something, and the embers obligingly flared brighter for a moment.

The screen door creaked, then shut with a soft click. The last hints of giggling faded into the hum of night insects and the crackle of the fire.

Only the Avengers remained.

For a few moments, no one spoke. The air was still warm, the glow of the fire catching in their eyes. It was as if the spell of the evening wasn’t quite ready to break.

Then Harry leaned forward, his expression losing its playfulness. “We’ve got to talk about Ultron.”

The shift was immediate, not jarring, but unmistakable. The warmth of the night didn’t vanish, but it receded, leaving the sharper edges of reality exposed once more.

“Artificial intelligence. Really.” Nick Fury was just there. One second, the food counter was unattended except for the empty foil platters; the next, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was standing behind it, cracking open a beer like he’d been serving food throughout the night. The firelight caught the gleam of his one good eye as he took a long pull from the bottle.

“I would’ve liked a heads-up, you know,” he added.

“Aw, come on,” Tony groaned from his chair, leaning back like a teenager being scolded. “It’s been a really long day—like, Eugene O’Neill long—so how about we skip to the part where you’re useful?”

Fury ignored the jab, his gaze sweeping the circle before landing—unsurprisingly—back on Tony. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re going to shut him down.”

“We will,” Harry said before Tony could open his mouth.

Still, Fury’s attention never left Stark, as if Harry’s reassurance was background noise compared to the one answer he wanted.

Tony, for his part, seemed deeply invested in the beer bottle in his hand, the fire, the grass, basically anything in the general vicinity that wasn’t Nick Fury’s glare.

Steve shifted in his seat but said nothing; Natasha merely crossed her legs and waited, her expression unreadable. Clint leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes flicking between the two men like he was watching a poker game about to get interesting.

Fury took another slow sip of his beer. “What was your nightmare?” he asked coolly. “The rest? I can piece together easily.”

He started counting them off on his fingers like he was reciting a grocery list. “Potter saw something that rattled him about the magical world. Romanoff? Had to be the Red Room. Thor probably got a front-row ticket to the end of Asgard. Rogers? I’m betting on a dance hall about the dance he never got and a war he never finished fighting. Banner… that one’s easy. He's losing control, and wreaking havoc.”

Fury leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough to make the firelight feel a little colder. “But you, Stark… you’re the one I can’t figure out.”

Tony didn’t flinch, but he suddenly found the label on his beer bottle fascinating. “Who said anything about me getting affected? The witch never got to me,” he deflected, tone a little too casual.

Fury’s eyebrow climbed a fraction higher, the kind of look that could strip paint. “Don’t play with me. I know she got to you in Sokovia. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gone all in on Ultron. No matter how democratic that process might have been. If it were you post Afghanistan, the last thing you would have wanted to do was use unknown alien technology to rush into making artificial intelligence. You would have studied it for sure. Tried to replicate it, but not make something new and unknown out of it.”

Fury took a step closer. “You didn’t build that thing out of boredom. You built it because you saw something that scared the hell out of you. And I don’t need to be a telepath to know it’s still chewing at you right now.”

Around the fire, no one said a word. Even Clint had stopped fidgeting.

Harry’s voice cut through the heavy silence. “Tony?”

Tony exhaled, his eyes fixed on the fire like he could see it replaying there. “I’m the man who killed the Avengers,” he said finally. “I saw it. All of them. Dead. Because of me. Because I wasn’t ready. Because I didn’t do enough.”

Fury shook his head. “The Maximoff girl—she’s in your head, Stark. She’s working you. Playing on the fear you keep under lock and key.”

Tony’s gaze snapped to him. “No. I wasn’t tricked. I was shown. I felt it. I held Steve’s dying body in my arms as he gasped his last breath. And the whole damn planet was going to be overrun with the Chuitari. You think it was some nightmare? No. It was a prophecy. My legacy. The end of the line for us.”

The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks into the air, and for a moment, Tony’s face was all shadow. “You’ve made a lot of things, Stark. Some damn impressive. War isn’t one of them.” Fury reasoned with Tony

“I watched my friends die! I saw everyone here die before me.” Tony’s voice cracked on the last word, the sound raw and unpolished. He stopped, swallowing hard. “You’d think that’d be as bad as it gets, right? Watching them go down one by one. But that wasn’t the worst part.”

Fury didn’t blink. “The worst part is you didn’t die with them.”

The words landed like a hammer blow, and for a long moment, even the fire seemed to burn quieter.

Tony stared into the night sky as if the sky would split open again like New York.

Fury took a slow pull from his beer, letting the silence hang. “Alright. Enough ghosts for one night. Ultron didn’t just stroll off after that little Shipyard stunt; he took you all off the board to buy himself breathing room.”

He scanned each face in turn. “And he’s been busy. My analyst says that he’s building something. And it’s big. The amount of Vibranium he made off with, I don't think it's just one thing.”

Harry leaned forward thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s various bodies for himself.”

Fury swirled the beer in his hand. “Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Not saying it’s impossible, but that’s small-time thinking for a machine with his processing power. Multiple bodies? Sure, that’s insurance. But that much Vibranium? That’s something else.”

Clint spoke up. “You’re saying metal bodies wouldn’t cut it.”

Fury nodded. “Vibranium’s not just tough, it’s rare, damn near sacred in Wakanda. Ultron’s smart enough to know that turning it into a bunch of smashable tin cans is a waste. Once you take one down, that material’s gone for good. And machines, no matter how shiny, are still machines. Break them, and it’s over. I don’t think he’s looking for expendable.”

“What about Ultron himself?” Steve asked.

Fury’s eye flicked towards him. “Ah. He’s easy to track; the problem is, he’s everywhere. Guy’s multiplying faster than a Catholic rabbit. You can find traces of him in every system worth hacking, from satellite feeds to your grandma’s toaster. Still doesn’t give us an angle on his endgame.”

“He is still going after nuclear launch codes?” Natasha asked, leaning back in her chair.

“Yep,” Nick said, “but he’s not making any headway.”

“I cracked the Pentagon’s firewall in high school… on a dare,” Tony said casually, earning a few raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, well,” Nick countered, “I reached out to our friends at the NEXUS about that.”

“NEXUS?” Steve asked, clearly lost.

“World internet hub in Oslo,” Bruce explained. “Every byte of data passes through it; fastest access on the planet.”

“So what’d they say?” Clint prompted.

“Ultron’s obsessed with the missiles, but the codes keep getting changed. No one can access any nuclear codes right now.” Nick’s tone carried a note of relief.

“By who?” Tony asked, intrigued.

“Parties unknown.”

Natasha’s eyes lit up. “So… we might have an ally?”

“Ultron’s got an enemy,” Nick corrected. “That’s not the same thing. But I’d pay folding money to know who it is.”

“Folding money?” Clint muttered. “Who even says that anymore?”

“I do,” Nick shot back.

Tony smirked. “Guess I’ll need to take a trip to Oslo. Find our ‘unknown’ and buy them a drink.”

“Well, these are good times, boss, but I was kind of hoping when I saw you, you'd have more than that.” Natasha sighed.

“I do, I have you. Back in the day, I had eyes everywhere, ears everywhere else. Here we all are, back on earth, with nothing but our wit and our will to save the world. So stand. Outwit the platinum bastard.” Nick replied.

“Steve doesn't like that kind of talk.” Nat chided.

“You know what, Romanoff? Maybe it’s time we all tackled this like adults by doing something reckless, dangerous, and just crazy enough to work.” Steve called back.

Nick folded his arms. “So what’s his play?”

“To improve,” Steve said. “Better than us. Every time he shows up, he’s in a stronger body.”

“Humanoid bodies,” Tony added. “Which is odd, because biologically speaking, humans are clunky, inefficient, and prone to making terrible coffee. But he keeps circling back to it.”

Natasha arched a brow. “When you two programmed him to protect humanity, you somehow skipped the part where he doesn’t want us to be there.”

“They don’t need to be protected; they need to evolve,” Bruce remembered. “I think, Ultron’s going to evolve.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“What’s the next step from a metal body?” Clint wondered aloud.

“A synthetic body,” Steve answered.

Bruce turned to Tony. “Do you think he’s headed to Korea?”

Tony tilted his head, considering. “It’s possible.”

“What’s in Korea?” Harry asked.

“One of Stark Industries’ biotech partners has been working on a regenerative graft,” Bruce explained. “It bonds a synthetic layer of organic tissue to living cells, heals wounds faster than nature ever could.”

“You mean U-Gin Genetics Research Lab and Helen Cho,” Harry said.

Bruce nodded. “With Ultron’s processing power, he could hijack that tech and grow himself a body that’s both synthetic and natural.”

“You might be on to something,” Nick replied thoughtfully as he pointed to Bruce.

Steve straightened. “Then we can’t waste time. I’ll take Harry, Natasha, and Clint. We’ll check out Korea. Strictly recon, though, until we know what we’re walking into.”

“Alright,” Tony said, already pacing like his mind was racing ahead of the conversation. “I’ll hit the NEXUS and find this parties unknown that is waging a cyber war with Ultron. I’ll link back up with you as soon as I can.”

“If Ultron’s building a new body,” Harry added grimly, “he won’t just be more powerful than any of us; he might be more powerful than all of us combined. An android, designed by a robot, fueled by vibranium? That’s a nightmare in the making.”

Steve let out a humourless breath. “You know, I really miss the days when the weirdest thing science ever made was me.”

“That’s one angle,” Natasha said, leaning forward. “But what else would he be using the vibranium for? He’s too smart to bet everything on one upgrade. There’s a bigger picture here.”

Bruce rubbed his temple. “I’ll go back through everything we know, our notes, his code fragments, the pattern of his attacks. If there’s a master plan, it’s hidden in there somewhere. We just need to see it before he makes his next move.”

Nick nodded. “I’ll drop Banner off at the Tower.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Fury. “And what about you?”

Nick’s lips curled into a sly grin. “I don’t know. Something dramatic, I hope.” He gave a small wink.

The team exchanged quick nods. No more words needed—every second was now a countdown to whatever Ultron had planned.