The restaurant tension didn't boil over into fists—barely. Both sides sat simmering until a comm buzzed on Walker's belt. He checked it, grimaced, then muttered to the others.
"Back to the tower. Orders."
Red Guardian groaned dramatically. "Always with orders! Can we not have one night with food and vodka?"
Yelena shot him a glare. "Shut up and move."
The new Avengers filed out, Bucky lingering for a heartbeat longer. His eyes flicked over Alex, Deadpool, then Butcher—like he wanted to say something but couldn't. Then he turned and followed the others into the night.
Butcher drained the last of his glass, slamming it onto the table. "Good riddance."
Deadpool leaned back, stretching like he'd just finished yoga. "Well that was fun. Nothing like breaking bread with people who may or may not want to murder us later. Five stars. Would dine again."
Alex groaned. "Come on. Let's just get home."
The Apartment – A Different Kind of Horror
When they got back, Alex braced himself for dust, mold, and cobwebs. The apartment had been a mess when they first returned.
Instead… it was spotless.
Like, actually spotless.
The couch was vacuumed. Dishes were stacked neatly in the rack. The fridge hummed—repaired. There was even a faint lemony smell in the air.
Butcher froze. "...What the f***."
Deadpool gasped dramatically. "Oh my god. Did we… break into the wrong apartment? Are we about to get shot by some angry New Yorker with a shotgun?"
From the kitchen came the sound of clattering bags.
"Oi! About bloody time!" Frenchie's voice carried through.
Alex blinked. "Wait. What—"
And then out walked Hughie, juggling grocery bags like his life depended on it. He stopped mid-step, glaring.
"Where the hell were you guys?!"
Kimiko followed, arms full of vegetables, tossing them on the counter. Frenchie appeared behind her with a bottle of wine in one hand and a wrench in the other.
Butcher pointed at them, still dumbfounded. "You—you lot—cleaned?"
Frenchie looked offended. "Of course we cleaned. Someone had to! You leave us here for hours, say nothing, and we come back to house like bloody crack den. So we fix. You're welcome."
Hughie dropped the groceries onto the counter with a thud, glaring at Alex. "Seriously. We're gone half the day getting food, fixing the fridge, cleaning up—and you three are just out… what? Having fun?"
Deadpool immediately jumped in, arms wide like a Broadway star. "Fun?! FUN?! We were interrogated, threatened, humiliated, and dragged to dinner with a Russian Santa Claus and Captain America knock-off with a taco shield. Fun my ass!"
Butcher muttered, still scanning the gleaming countertops like they were cursed. "This ain't right. Not one bit. Frenchie's cookin'? Hughie's grocery shoppin'? Kimiko… actually smiling? Somethin's gone terribly f***in' wrong."
Kimiko flipped him off, smirking.
Alex rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, okay… long story short—we ran into the new Avengers."
Hughie dropped his jaw. "Wait, WHAT?!"
Frenchie immediately lit a cigarette. "...Mon dieu."
Deadpool plopped himself on the couch, kicking his feet up. "Yup. Face to face. Taco Shield, Ghost Lady, Winter Daddy, Murder Barbie, and Mother Russia. Whole squad. They hate us already. It was adorable."
Hughie groaned. "We were gone a month, and you've already picked a fight with Earth's Mightiest Heroes 2.0?!"
Alex sat down heavily, the weight of it all pressing on him. "...Not a fight. Yet."
Butcher finally snapped out of his trance, grabbing a beer from the newly fixed fridge, muttering. "Whole f***in' city's upside down. But at least we've got cold beer now."
Deadpool raised a hand like he was in a classroom. "Correction: you've got cold beer. I'm stealing the vodka Frenchie bought."
Frenchie: "That is my vodka, you degenerate clown."
Deadpool: "Correction again—it was your vodka."
Butcher cracked his beer, sighing. "Bloody hell… this is only the start, innit?"
And Alex sat back, staring at his system window faintly flickering before him. No answers. Just more questions. And now—two worlds breathing down their necks.