New York was a goddamn mess. While Clint suspected the Skrulls were to blame for the latest bout of chaos on the streets, he honestly wasn’t certain. For all he knew, the stress of not knowing if the guy sitting next to you on the subway was an alien or not had finally gotten to people. It’d been a matter of time, really, and Clint would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t suffering from some of that paranoia himself. But, unlike most of New York’s population, Clint was an Avenger. And when the chaos overtook the city, the Avengers fought back. 

They didn’t do so alone, of course. Going in blind and without backup was stupid. A few years ago, that probably wouldn’t have deterred him much, but these days, he was different. He was trying to be better. Plus, it always gave him a rush to have Captain America fighting beside him. 

"This is terrible,”  he commented, looking around with a low whistle. “This is just --- Geez. This is fucked, Cap. What are we gonna do?” 

When Jess got to the training room at Avengers Tower, it was miraculously empty. She’d set to work instantly, forgoing the pair of protective gloves and losing herself in the repetitive motion of pounding her fists against a pricey punching bag for hours. Each movement pulled at her numerous injuries, but truthfully, Jess didn’t care. It was far better than sitting still, far easier than letting herself think about the last few months of her life.

She was aware of the presence behind her instantly, and though she tensed, she didn’t turn towards them for a few minutes. Finally, when the sweat was rolling off her and her breathing was ragged, she whirled around in a fluid motion. It would have looked more graceful if not for her physical state. Locking eyes with Steve, she clenched her jaw.  “All yours, Cap,” she muttered darkly, moving to walk passed him without another word. (She wasn’t hopeful that she’d be successful; Steve Rogers was a goddamn stubborn son of a bitch and everyone knew it.)

Growing up, Gwen’s dad had always pushed lessons on her. Before she’d found science, she’d been intent on following in his footsteps and becoming a police officer, and he’d wanted to keep her safe. He’d taught her a million different ways to take out a bad guy, a million different ways to protect herself. These days, Gwen didn’t really use any of them. It wasn’t that the advice wasn’t good -- it was fantastic advice, honestly! -- but she’d never been great at remembering it when she needed it, and with her superpowers, she could usually get by without it. Sometimes, though, it probably would’ve come in handy.

Like, for example, right now. Her web shooter jammed, because of course it did. It would’ve been an easy fix if not for the whole mid-battle aspect of her situation. With a robber’s gun aimed at her chest, Gwen wasn’t sure what to do beyond prepare herself for the incoming bullet. It figured she’d die like this, in a totally stupid and avoidable way. She swallowed, closing her eyes and waiting.

The shot never came. Instead, there was the sound of something metal bouncing off flesh, a cry of pain, and a gun clattering to the ground. Gwen’s eyes snapped open, and she felt her jaw drop beneath her mask at the sight. The red, white, and blue shield was pretty unmistakable, after all.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed, whirling around to face the man (it was still weird that Cap was a guy in this dimension) with a grin. “Did Captain fuckin’ America just save my ass?”