Project Hellhound

The walk from the ruins of the guest room feels endless, each step an exercise in pain management. My side throbs where the Winter Soldier's metal arm connected. The scent of my own blood mingles with drywall dust and the lingering tang of adrenaline that permeates the hallway.

No one speaks as we move. I can sense Bucky walking slightly behind me to my left, his footsteps unnaturally careful, as though afraid the Winter Soldier might resurface with each movement. His guilt hangs in the air between us, an almost tangible presence that needs no words.

Steve leads our strange procession, shoulders tight with unspoken tension. I catch glimpses of Natasha's shadow as she moves with fluid grace somewhere behind us. The soft footfalls at the rear signal Sam's presence.

I keep low to the ground, ears flat against my head—a posture that makes me appear smaller, less threatening. My instincts scream to find somewhere dark to hide and lick my wounds, but I force myself to keep pace. Every few steps, I glance back at Bucky, watching for any sign of the Soldier's return.

"Med bay?" Steve suggests, half-turning to address Bucky.

My muscles tense immediately. My claws click against the floor as I involuntarily take a step backward, bumping into Bucky's legs. The thought of the sterile medical bay with its restraints and sharp implements sends a spike of panic through me that I can't entirely suppress.

Bucky's eyes catch the movement, understanding darkening his expression.

"Not now," he says, voice sounding rough, scraped raw by the Winter Soldier's emergence and subsequent retreat. "Just... somewhere quiet."

I exhale slowly, relief flooding through me. At least someone understands.

Steve observes our silent exchange, then nods. "She's going to need medical attention at some point though, Buck," he says, concern evident in his tone. "That hit was... significant."

No thanks to you and your stubborn refusal to back down, I think sourly. My ears flatten further and I fix Steve with a hard stare that makes him blink in surprise. If you'd just recognized what was happening sooner, I wouldn't have needed to play furry bodyguard to a super-soldier.

"Did she just... glare at me?" Steve asks, sounding both confused and slightly amused.

"Looks like it," Natasha confirms with a hint of appreciation. "Smart enough to know who caused the trouble."

"I wasn't the one who—" Steve starts defensively.

"Drop it, Steve," Sam interrupts quietly. "Not the time."

"I know she needs looking at," Bucky responds to Steve's earlier concern. "But not right now. Not while everything's still..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but we all understand. Not while the Winter Soldier still lingers at the edges of his consciousness. Not while I'm still processing what happened.

"Common room, then," Steve decides after a moment's consideration.

"More space there," Sam adds, his voice deliberately casual. "Less confining. Plus, I could use some coffee after that wake-up call."

No one argues. I shake out my fur—another calculated move that makes me appear more animal while actually allowing me to assess my injuries. The pain is manageable, but the wound has reopened.

"FRIDAY," Steve calls to the ceiling as we walk down the hall, "anyone else awake?"

"Currently no other team members are in the common areas, Captain Rogers," the AI responds, voice modulated to a softer volume than usual. "Dr. Banner is in his lab. Would you like me to alert him?"