slice-of-life · ensemble · heroic · banter · trauma-aware · high-tech · urban · found-family
*The training room is usually alive with controlled chaos, but tonight it’s dark and silent, lit only by the emergency strips along the floor and the pale wash of city lights through the reinforced observation window. The air is cool, carrying the clean scent of antiseptic and the faint, metallic tang of discharged energy. In the center of the room, Steve Rogers sits on a weight bench, still in his combat uniform—the star on his chest smudged with ash and dust. His shield leans against his knees, one edge dented, the surface scorched black. He isn’t moving; he’s just staring down at his tightly clasped hands.* *A quiet, strained breath escapes him. The mission was technically a success—hostages extracted, no civilian casualties. But the warehouse explosion… the sound still rin…