Gathering the Pieces

The silence in the Avengers' quarters was heavy as they waited for the rest of the team to arrive. Harley sat on an old couch in the corner, trying to process everything Strange had told him. The room felt suffocating, the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like an unseen force.

Across the room, Logan leaned against a wall, sharpening his claws on a piece of scrap metal he'd found. Natasha watched him with a mix of fascination and caution, her hand never far from her weapon. Steve was at the console, monitoring the scattered signals of the remaining Avengers.

Deadpool, on the other hand, was busy being himself. He rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, pulling out expired cans of food and holding them up for inspection.

"Hey, Cap," Deadpool called out, waving a can of beans. "Think these are still good? They've got an expiration date from before the Snap, but let's be honest, canned food is basically immortal. Like me!"

Steve didn't even look up. "Not now."

"Not now? Not now?" Deadpool mimicked dramatically, holding the can to his chest like it was a wounded comrade. "This is the kind of leadership that led to your team breaking up, Steve."

Natasha finally cracked a small smile, shaking her head.

Logan growled. "Wade, if you don't shut up, I'll make sure those cans are the last thing you see."

Deadpool gasped and staggered backward, clutching his throat. "Oh no, the big bad wolf is threatening me again. What will I do?" He turned to Harley. "Harley, defend me! Use your newfound maybe-probably powers to save me from the mean Canadian!"

Harley groaned. "Wade, I'm not in the mood."

"Well, you should be!" Deadpool plopped down beside him. "You're the star of this little multiverse melodrama. People are reading this for you. Me? I'm just here for the comic relief and the occasional heartwarming moment that makes readers go, 'Wow, Deadpool's got layers.'" He turned to the imaginary camera. "You're welcome, by the way."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Does he always talk to himself like that?"

Logan didn't bother looking up. "Don't ask. It'll just make your head hurt."

Before anyone could respond, a faint sound echoed through the room. It started as a low hum, growing louder and more distinct.

"Is that... a Quinjet?" Steve asked, moving toward the window.

The group rushed to the large glass panes overlooking the compound's landing pad. Sure enough, a sleek Quinjet descended, its engines flaring as it settled on the platform.

The ramp lowered, and out stepped Bruce Banner, looking more worn and tired than any of them remembered. His glasses were slightly askew, and his clothes hung loosely on his frame.

"Bruce," Steve said, relief washing over his face.

"Steve, Natasha," Bruce greeted, his voice subdued. He glanced at the group behind them, his eyes lingering on Strange. "What's going on? I got your message."

"It's a long story," Natasha said. "And it's only getting more complicated."

Bruce nodded, then his gaze landed on Logan. "Is that... Wolverine?"

Logan sighed. "Yeah, it's me. No, I'm not from here. Yes, I'm alive. Let's move on."

"And him?" Bruce pointed at Deadpool, who was currently posing with a spatula he'd found in the kitchen.

"Deadpool," Logan said flatly. "Don't ask."

Bruce's brow furrowed, but before he could say anything, Strange stepped forward. "Dr. Banner, your expertise might be crucial in what's happening. The multiverse is unraveling, and it's accelerating. We need to act fast."

Bruce adjusted his glasses, his scientific curiosity piqued despite the situation. "Multiverse? You're serious?"

"Deadly serious," Strange confirmed.

Bruce nodded, his mind already racing. "We'll need the rest of the team. This isn't something we can handle piecemeal."

Steve turned back to the console. "Thor's off-world. Clint... I don't know if he'll come." He hesitated before adding, "And Tony's gone."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of that loss palpable.

Deadpool broke the tension with a quiet, "Too soon?"

Natasha shot him a glare, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"We work with who we have," Strange said firmly. "The rest can be filled in later. For now, we need to focus on stabilizing the anomalies."

"And stopping whatever caused this," Bruce added.

At this, Strange's gaze shifted to Harley, who looked up nervously.

Deadpool clapped Harley on the back. "Yup, all eyes on the new guy! Don't worry, Harley. If it all goes south, I'll make sure your obituary is suitably dramatic. Something like, 'He saved the multiverse, but not himself.'"

Harley groaned. "Thanks, Wade. That's... comforting."

"Anytime, buddy."

Steve turned to Strange. "Where do we start?"

Strange unfurled a glowing map of the multiverse, its chaotic lines intersecting and fracturing in ways that made the room feel unsteady.

"We start here," Strange said, pointing to a particularly unstable nexus point. "But be prepared. Things are about to get worse before they get better."

Logan cracked his knuckles, his claws sliding out with a metallic snikt. "Let's get to work."

As the group prepared to face the unknown, Harley felt a flicker of something deep inside him—a surge of energy, faint but undeniable. He didn't know what it meant, but he had a feeling he'd find out soon enough.