Avenger Assemble
Sky blacks out, cosmic hits hard,
hope stomped flat in the dirt.
Fate snaps like cheap thread—
a flare rips the night, desperate why.
They show up anyway. Scattered, pissed, half-broke.
Never a neat lineup.
Thor crashes down, thunder and beard,
Mjolnir howling, offended.
Lightning stitches dark; he growls old Norse
about shielding these fragile dirt-world hearts.
Iron Man’s late—repulsors blue through smoke.
Tony mutters, half-joke, half-prayer:
“Built the suit so it wouldn’t bury me first.”
Cap steps quiet, shield up, eyes steady.
Still hauling 1940s weight like it’s nothing.
Doesn’t preach. Just won’t let hope die today.
Hulk arrives without warning—ground shakes, screams.
Banner’s lost under green rage, hating what he is
but coming back anyway. Inside the roar,
a guy who just wanted to help.
Widow slips in like smoke—no glow, no speech.
Knives, lies, red ledger that won’t wash clean.
Hawkeye looses an arrow splitting wind.
No powers, just good eyes and bad temper—
wrong place, right time. Again.
Wanda twists chaos like smoke she can’t quit.
Reality whimpers under her fingers—
fragile, grieving, one bad thought flips everything.
Vision floats calm, crystal mind, patched heart.
Speaks probabilities. Nobody listens.
They just need him there.
Then it cracks. Messy. Shields clang, words cut deep.
Egos, stubbornness, old blood. They yell, scatter.
Some don’t come back right. Family’s like that—
bent, bruised, still breathing.
Sky tears wider. Worse crawls through.
One hoarse voice cuts static:
“Avengers… assemble.”
Not a cheer. A plea.
Gods, spies, monsters, machines, soldiers—
flawed, half-broken—drag back.
Not noble. Alternative just sucks more.
Power’s not hammer or glow or gamma veins.
It’s showing up bleeding, hating each other,
when hope’s a bad joke.
Old comics curl at edges, decades of ink,
arguments, second chances—they stand.
Not perfect. Not forever.
Just long enough.
Cosmos notices. Remembers the mess.
The stubborn, stupid, beautiful mess.
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