Chapter Text
The Christmas music started before the screaming did.
Bucky Barnes noticed it first—tinny speakers mounted over the entrance of a Midtown superstore blaring a warped version of Jingle Bell Rock as the automatic doors jammed halfway open. Red lights flashed. People poured into the street with bags, boxes, and fear all tangled together.
“Why,” he muttered, scanning the crowd, “is it always like this?”
John Walker cracked his neck beside him. “Because capitalism doesn’t take holidays.”
Yelena didn’t laugh. She was already moving.
“Bob,” she said sharply, one hand gripping the back of his jacket, “eyes on me.”
Bob blinked, overwhelmed. Cameras. Shouting. The smell of burnt plastic and cinnamon pretzels. His breath hitched.
“I—I didn’t—this is too many people—”
“I know,” Yelena said, voice low and steady. “You are fine. You are here. You are not alone.”
Across the street, something exploded—not fire, not exactly, but a concussive pulse that shattered glass and sent shoppers ducking. Knockoff Stark-tech drones buzzed into the air, their holiday-red paint already scorched.
Valentina’s voice snapped into all their earpieces.
“Congratulations, team. Welcome to your December assignment.”
Bucky closed his eyes for half a second. “Of course.”
⸻
Sam Wilson stood three blocks away, staring at his phone like it had personally betrayed him.
The livestream had already hit half a million viewers.
“Thunderbolts spotted in Midtown—Black Friday riot escalates—enhanced individuals involved.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Valentina leaned against the hood of a sleek black car, perfectly composed. “Relax, Captain. This is an opportunity.”
“People are getting hurt.”
“And people are watching,” she replied smoothly. “Your job is to make sure they like what they see.”
Sam turned sharply. “That’s not how this works.”
Valentina smiled. “That’s exactly how this works.”
⸻
Back on the street, chaos spread outward like spilled ink.
Walker slammed a drone into the pavement, sparks flying. “That’s three!”
“Stop counting,” Ava snapped, phasing through a collapsing display rack and reappearing behind him. “You’re not keeping score.”
Red Guardian scooped a crying kid into his arms and deposited him behind a police barricade, waving cheerfully. “You are welcome, small citizen!”
“No autographs!” Bucky barked, yanking him back as another drone dove.
Bob flinched as one buzzed overhead, electricity crackling. His hands glowed faintly.
“No,” Yelena said instantly, stepping in front of him. “Not here.”
“But I can stop it—”
“And then what?” she snapped. “You scare them? You scare yourself?”
The drone dipped lower. Bob’s breathing sped up.
Yelena didn’t move.
“I am right here,” she said. “You do nothing unless I say.”
Something in her voice—commanding, unyielding—cut through the noise.
Bob nodded, barely.
Bucky took the shot, sending the drone crashing into a pile of discounted artificial trees. Fake snow drifted through the air.
“Great,” Walker muttered. “Now it’s festive.”
⸻
The riot dispersed as fast as it started.
Police moved in. EMTs followed. Reporters swarmed.
That’s when the cameras turned.
“Bob Reynolds!” someone shouted. “Is it true you’re unstable?”
Yelena’s hand was on Bob’s shoulder before he even processed the question.
“Back up,” she said coldly.
“Miss Belova—are the Thunderbolts a government-sanctioned team?”
Bucky stepped forward. “You got your footage. Now move.”
Walker bristled. “They’re twisting this.”
Bob stared at the ground. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t do anything,” Yelena said, quieter now. “This is not your fault.”
Flashbulbs popped.
Across the city, Sam watched the clips roll in, jaw tight.
This wasn’t a mission.
It was a mess.
⸻
That night, they regrouped at the temporary safehouse.
No decorations. No warmth. Just the hum of bad fluorescent lights.
Valentina clapped once. “All things considered, a success.”
Walker scoffed. “You call that a success?”
“Public exposure,” she replied. “Visibility.”
Sam crossed his arms. “You used them.”
Valentina met his gaze. “I deployed them.”
Bob sat on the edge of the couch, staring at his hands.
Yelena noticed immediately.
She tossed him a bottle of water. “Drink.”
He did.
“You did good,” she added, almost grudgingly.
“I froze.”
“And the world didn’t end,” she said. “Miracle of season.”
Bucky leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “It’s not even December.”
Valentina smiled thinly. “Oh, James. Christmas starts when I say it does.”
Outside, snow began to fall—light, tentative, unsure if it was welcome.
No one mentioned it.
Not yet.
⸻
🎄