Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

🕷️ Reyna Voss-Reid

Age: 16 (chronologically 96)

Born: April 2, 1929 – Brooklyn, New York, USA

Current Status: Legally a minor · Technically a Cold War relic · Emotionally unavailable

Aliases: Wren, Subject R-12, Ice Princess, Capsicle Jr.

✧ Basic Info:

• Species: Human (Enhanced via early HYDRA Super Soldier Serum variant)

• Affiliations: Former HYDRA asset (covert, unwilling), S.W.O.R.D., Stark household

• Abilities:

  • Enhanced strength, speed, durability, reflexes

  • Heightened healing factor

  • Slow cellular aging

  • Multilingual (English, German, Russian, French, Mandarin, Italian, ASL)

✧ Backstory:

Born in Brooklyn during the Great Depression, Reyna Voss-Reid came from nothing. Her parents were poor, unstable, and addicted—easy prey for early HYDRA recruiters working under the radar in America. At age 9, she was sold to the organization in exchange for drug money.

What followed was nearly a decade of brutal experimentation, conditioning, and tactical training. In 1945, months after completing her transformation into a prototype super soldier, Reyna was declared "too unstable for deployment" and placed in cryostasis. This would happen repeatedly over the decades, thawed only when HYDRA needed a blunt instrument and re-frozen when she started asking questions.

Her missions include:

• A 1953 assassination of a HYDRA-targeted Eastern European president.

• Cold War operations under the codename “Wren,” including espionage across Berlin and Moscow.

• Three attempted escapes. All failed—until the world fell apart.

She was recovered by S.W.O.R.D. in 2025, weeks after the Blip reversal, in a HYDRA sublevel facility buried under Siberian ice. No records. No family. No idea who she is anymore.

Tony Stark took one look and said, “You know what? Why not. I already adopted two trauma-ridden disasters—what’s one more?”

✧ Personality:

• Stoic, guarded, painfully self-controlled

• Doesn’t know how to be a teenager

• Still thinks like a soldier—sleep light, trust no one, keep your blade within reach

• Blunt to the point of terrifying

• Surprisingly dry sense of humor when she lets her walls down

• Brutally loyal to the people who earn it (very few)

✧ Present Day:

Now living at the Stark Compound with Tony, Pepper, Morgan, Peter Parker, and Harley Keener. Struggles with modern life (toasters, iPads, slang), and sometimes still wakes up ready for war. But she’s learning. Slowly.

Tony put her in therapy. Morgan taught her how to braid. Harley lets her test explosives. Peter tries to get her to laugh. She pretends none of it matters—but for the first time, she has a bed that’s hers, and no one’s given her a mission in weeks.

✧ Fun Facts:

• Assassinated a president at 24. Regrets it less than you’d think.

• Fluent in seven languages. Only speaks English when she feels like it.

• Once bit Howard Stark in 1944. Never apologized.

• Thought TikTok was a torture device. Might’ve been right.

• Sleeps with a knife under her pillow—still.

• Has a knife named Susan. Don’t ask.

• First Target trip ended in a meltdown in the cereal aisle. Morgan held her hand the whole time.

• Thinks Taylor Swift is government propaganda, but likes Folklore.

• Started calling Peter “Bug.” It stuck.

• Has never celebrated a birthday—until Morgan surprised her with a cake.

• Hates fireworks. Loves thunderstorms.

• Has a file classified by S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, MI6, and the KGB. And she knows why.

• Bucky Barnes is one of the only people she doesn’t flinch around. They don’t talk much—they don’t have to. Sometimes they sit in silence and clean weapons. Sometimes they spar until someone bleeds. Bucky calls her “Kid.” She calls him “Old Man.”

• Sam Wilson once spent an entire afternoon making her listen to his Spotify playlists. She hated 90% of it. But she stole his headphones and listens to “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” on repeat when she’s anxious.

• Tony introduced her to computers by yelling “This is the future—respect it!” She broke her first tablet in under five minutes, thought Google was a spy, and now types like she’s angry at the keyboard.

• Peter Parker showed her Vines, memes, and YouTube compilations. She didn’t laugh the first time. Or the second. But one time, at 2:47 a.m., she laughed at a “Road work ahead? Uh yeah, I sure hope it does” video and scared the absolute hell out of everyone.

• Harley Keener is her unofficial tutor, chaos coordinator, and tech support. He’s been helping her catch up on 80+ years of world history via conspiracy theory TikToks and video essays. Also introduced her to The Sims, which she uses to “test emotional reactions.”

• Reyna’s first video game was Call of Duty. She won. Peter cried. What did he expect out of an EX-HYDRA Assassin.

• She thinks memes are weirdly philosophical. Her favorite is the “I lived, bitch” possum.

• Once tried to Google herself. The results were “classified,” “classified,” and “redacted by S.W.O.R.D.”

• Harley made her a fake social media account. Her username is @FrozenNotFragile. She has one post: a blurry photo of Morgan wearing her helmet and holding a knife. Caption: Fear Her.

• Refuses to use “LOL” but will text “I AM LAUGHING” in all caps.

• She asked Peter once if Spider-Man was a brand or a diagnosis. He didn’t know what to say.

• She doesn’t trust Siri. Thinks Alexa is plotting something. She’s not wrong.

Chapter Text

The garage in the Stark compound buzzed with quiet life—fluorescent lights, half-assembled bots, and the soft whir of the holo-screens. In the far corner, Peter Parker sat hunched over his latest set of web shooters, fingers smudged with grease, jaw tight in concentration.

He didn’t notice Morgan until she crawled under the worktable beside him, dragging a pink beanbag and a book titled “How to Braid Like a Hero.”

“Whatcha doing?” she asked, plopping down dramatically.

Peter glanced sideways, giving a small smile. “Recalibrating my trigger sensors. The last batch kept firing mid-swing. Nearly webbed my own face into a lamppost.”

Morgan giggled. “That would’ve gone viral.”

“Please don’t give JARVIS any ideas,” Peter muttered.

Above them, a muted TV continued to loop archived news footage—Mysterio’s fake broadcast revealing Spider-Man’s identity. The words “PUBLIC MENACE?” flashed across the screen before shifting to an older interview with Matt Murdock confirming Peter’s legal exoneration.

It didn’t matter. People still looked twice. Still hesitated.

He still didn’t sleep.

The garage door creaked open behind them.

“Hey, Parker,” Tony called out, walking in with a StarkPad and a cup of something green that definitely wasn’t coffee. “Dr. Cho says you’re officially free to get your ass out of the lab and into the sun once in a while.”

“Define sun,” Peter muttered, eyes still on his web cartridge.

Tony raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push. He glanced toward Morgan and softened. “How’s braiding school?”

Morgan perked up. “I finished chapter three. I’m almost qualified to do French braids.”

“Can’t wait for that certificate to show up in the mail,” Tony said dryly, sitting on a bench nearby.

She looked between the two of them, then back to her book.

“Daddy?”

Tony blinked. “Yeah, peanut?”

She closed the book with a soft thump. “I want a big sister.”

Peter and Tony both turned toward her at the same time.

Peter blinked. “Wait, what?”

Tony squinted. “A what now?”

“A big sister,” Morgan repeated firmly. “Someone who can braid hair and do flips. And knows how to fight aliens.”

Peter hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… you’ve got me for the flip part, I guess.”

“You’re more like a big brother,” Morgan said, wrinkling her nose. “I want both.”

Peter mumbling "what am I chopped liver?"

Tony tried not to smile, at his comment looks back down at Morgan “What about Natasha?”

“She lives with Uncle Clint and the kids on the farm now,” Morgan said with a sigh. “She’s busy doing farmer things.”

Tony said "What about Wanda?" 

Morgan says "Her braiding isn't right? She does it wrong!"

Tony looked at Peter, then back to Morgan.

She wasn’t joking.

And that was the beginning.

The next morning, he called Sam (don't ask why he called Sam it was an impulse decision. Heck he doesn't know why he called Sam of all people)

Three weeks later - MIT Move in week

Peter Parker stared up at the dorm building like it might collapse on him. Other Freshman and their family bustling around him. It was a busy day for new students starting at MIT including Peter B. Parker himself.

It wouldn’t, obviously. The structural integrity was fine. He’d scanned it. Twice. But his stomach still twisted like it knew something he didn’t.

“Looks the same,” Rhodey said beside him, folding his arms. “Maybe a few more security cameras than when I was here.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, his voice flat.

Rhodey shot him a look. “That’s a joke. Kid, relax.”

Behind them, Happy struggled with two duffel bags and a backpack that jingled suspiciously with gadget parts. “I’m just saying,” he grunted, “if you start blowing up the chem lab in your first week, you better not blame Stark Tech.”

“I don’t blow things up anymore,” Peter muttered, shoving his hands in his hoodie. “Usually.”

Tony’s voice crackled in through Peter’s earpiece. “You’d better not. I just got my name taken off the ‘Do Not Admit’ list after the Stark Thermodynamics Incident of ’95.”

Peter gave the smallest ghost of a smile. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, I know. It was Rhodey’s.”

“Hey!” Rhodey protested.

Peter sighed. They were trying, he knew. Happy, Rhodey, Tony—trying to ease the tension, lighten the mood. But all Peter could feel was that slow, dull ache in his chest. The one that had settled there after May. After Mysterio. After everything.

He still couldn’t walk into a room without someone whispering behind his back. Couldn’t scroll too far on social media without seeing another debate on whether Spider-Man was a hero or a ticking time bomb.

Sure, Matt Murdock cleared his name legally. Strange fixed the spell, so everyone remembered who he was—who Peter Parker was—but the damage had been done.

He was free, technically. But not whole.

Tony’s voice softened in his ear. “You got this, kid. MIT’s the next chapter. Try not to flunk out your first semester, yeah?”

Peter swallowed. “Yeah. Okay.”

They stepped inside.

The dorm room was on the third floor—decent view, spacious enough for two geniuses to cohabitate without strangling each other. The plaque on the door read STARK MEMORIAL WING, which made Peter’s stomach twist a little harder.

It still didn’t feel like he belonged.

Rhodey knocked once and opened the door.

Inside, the air smelled like solder, energy drinks, and something vaguely burnt.

One half of the room was pristine and untouched—clearly Peter’s. The other half looked like a small, chaotic workshop. There were blueprints taped to the wall, wires draped over desk lamps, and a half-assembled quadcopter blinking red in the corner.

A guy sat cross-legged on the bed, balancing a motherboard on his knee while typing into a StarkPad. He had messy brown hair, worn boots, and smudges of grease on both hands. His head lifted at the sound of the door.

“’Bout time you showed up,” he said, setting the board aside and hopping down. “Was starting to think I got stuck with another Steve from CompSci who only knows how to code in Java.”

Peter blinked. “Uh. No. Definitely not Steve.”

“Good,” the guy said. “I’m Harley. Harley Keener. Tony’s other disaster child.”

Rhodey grinned. “This is the part where you two nerds bond over blowing things up and ignoring therapy.”

Peter shook Harley’s hand, confused. “Wait. You’re Harley?”

“Yep. Tennessee. Garage tech prodigy. Former child sidekick. All-around pain in Stark’s ass.” Harley gestured at the workbench behind him. “And now? Co-habitant. MIT’s finest.”

Happy raised an eyebrow. “He’s not joking about the blowing stuff up part. This kid once reprogrammed a vending machine to launch sodas at people who didn’t pay.”

“It was an ethics experiment,” Harley replied, deadpan.

Peter laughed. Actually laughed. The sound startled him.

Harley noticed.

“Wow,” he said. “You do smile. Stark owes me fifty bucks.”

Peter flushed. “He bet on that?”

“Not really. But if I say it enough, he’ll probably give me a drone.”

They moved around the room, talking tech, syncing their StarkPads, and mapping out which labs were open for late-night access. It felt…natural. Almost like high school again, before everything cracked apart.

At one point, Peter reached into his bag and pulled out a weathered, handmade component.

Harley’s eyes widened. “Is that the Mark II web cartridge?”

“You recognize it?”

“Tony showed me the prototype. You improved on it.”

Peter hesitated, then handed it over.

Harley held it with reverence. “Damn. You are Stark’s favorite.”

Peter smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

That Night — Stark Compound

Tony skimmed the live feed from Peter’s dorm room, watching the two boys rewire the campus lab access together.

“Looks like they’re already bonding over weaponized espresso machines,” he muttered.

Pepper walked in with Morgan balanced on one hip, curly hair fluffed from bath time.

“How’s he doing?” she asked.

“Better. Still brooding. But he smiled.”

Morgan leaned toward the screen. “Does Harley count as my big brother now too?”

Tony turned, heart soft. “Yeah, Munchkin. I think he does.”

Morgan grinned, satisfied.

Pepper rested her head against his shoulder. “You’ve collected a lot of strays, Stark.”

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “But they’re our strays.”

24 hours later - Somewhere in Europe

Far away from the polished halls of MIT and the glowing labs of the Stark Compound, a hidden HYDRA base groaned under the weight of time.

Sam Wilson soared overhead, Redwing scanning the area as he pressed two fingers to his comm. “Coast is clear. You’re good to move.”

On the ground, Bucky Barnes gave a curt nod and signaled the strike team forward. S.W.O.R.D. agents moved with precision—some sweeping corridors, others already hacking rusted terminals. One pulled a sealed file from a crumbling cabinet, dust blooming in the cold air.

Then—“Over here!”

They all turned.

Behind layers of cracked glass and frostbite-choked tubing was a single cryo chamber still intact. Inside lay a girl no older than sixteen, her expression eerily peaceful beneath the ice.

Bucky stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the glint of something hanging from her neck.

Dog tags.

The name, barely legible in the fogged metal: REYNA VOSS-REID.
DOB: 1929.

Chapter Text

Somewhere in Eastern Europe

Far from the sleek labs of the Stark Compound and the warm bickering of two MIT nerds trying to weaponize a waffle maker, a different story was unfolding in the icy ruins of a forgotten HYDRA outpost.

The building groaned with age—frozen-over pipes hissing, walls cracked like brittle bones. It hadn’t been touched in decades. Not officially, anyway.

Overhead, the unmistakable hum of wings sliced through the sky.
“Coast is clear,” Sam Wilson’s voice crackled in Bucky’s earpiece. “You’re good to move.”

Bucky gave a silent nod, signaling the S.W.O.R.D. recon team forward. This wasn’t their first sweep, not even their tenth. Since the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the resurgence of HYDRA echoes post-Blip, S.W.O.R.D. had been on cleanup duty—and apparently, it was never-ending.

But this base felt different.
Wrong, even by HYDRA standards.

Inside, agents split up, sweeping the frozen corridors. Some hacked into rusted terminals that sparked and groaned back to life. Others rifled through old file cabinets and magnetic safes. One agent called out, waving a brittle, sealed file thick with frost and stamped “CLASSIFIED: ALPHA-R” in dark red ink.

Then—

“Over here!”

The urgency in the voice cut through the static. Bucky was the first to move. Sam followed fast, boots crunching on ice.

They stopped in front of a cryo chamber.

And it was… working.

Through layers of fractured glass and ice-choked tubing, they saw her. A girl. No older than sixteen. Pale skin, dark lashes, mouth just slightly parted like she was mid-breath. Wires trailed from her arms and spine. Her fists were curled—not in fear, but in reflex.

It was the kind of stillness Bucky knew too well. That trained sleep. That weapon's rest.

His blood ran cold.
Sam didn’t say anything at first. He just took a slow step forward and tapped the ice. Still solid. Still powered.

Bucky squinted through the frost at the metal tags around her neck. Sam leaned closer and read them aloud.

“REYNA VOSS-REID. Date of birth… 1929?”

Sam blinked.
“Wait—she’s like… you-old.”

“Thanks,” Bucky muttered darkly.

Sam turned toward the hallway and barked into his comm:

“Recon team, get in here. We’ve got a live cryo chamber—female, teenage, super-soldier tagged. Get the med team prepped and containment protocols active.”

The chamber hissed as someone connected portable power to stabilize it.

Bucky just stared.
He hated this.
Hated the flashbacks clawing at his skull—the training rooms, the scientists, the sessions. How many more were there?

He hadn’t even realized he was shaking until Sam laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Sam said, voice low. “She’s not them. You hear me? We’ve got her. We help her.”

Bucky exhaled through clenched teeth.

“God, I hope you’re right.”

Wakanda – Shuri’s Lab, Lower Level

The cryo chamber had been too unstable to move the girl—Reyna Voss-Reid—across the Atlantic. So when the scans came in, when the S.W.O.R.D. med team didn’t know where to start, it was Shuri who made the call, no hesitation in her voice.

“Bring her here,” she’d said. “Wakanda has reversed worse.”

And so they did.

Shuri’s lab buzzed with tech, all sound and soft light, the air cool with sterilized energy. Across the central med bay floated the girl’s holographic vitals—brain scans, nerve conductivity, even fragmented cellular decay patterns from her time in cryostasis. She was sedated, still recovering from the initial thaw. An intravenous stream of nanite-healers flowed through her bloodstream like a river of silver fire.

Morgan Stark was perched on a high stool in the corner, swinging her legs and munching on dried mango.

Tony stood next to Shuri, eyebrows raised.

“So… ice princess has Hydra-enhanced reflexes, a combat data set that reads like a horror movie, and a nervous system that basically regenerated itself in the last seventy-two hours?”

Shuri crossed her arms, not looking up from the readout.

She’s alive. For now. But she’s not okay.”

Tony glanced toward the glass where Reyna lay on a bio-bed, motionless, pale, her dark hair fanned out across white linens.

Bucky was already standing at her bedside.

Then… she stirred.

It started with her fingers twitching, then her eyes flew open. Wild. Unfocused. And too familiar.

Bucky stepped closer—too fast.

“Easy,” he said gently, holding out a hand, forgetting for a second that it was the metal one.

It was a mistake.

She gasped, eyes locking on the vibranium arm. A shriek tore from her throat, and in the next heartbeat, she moved—snatching Bucky’s wrist with inhuman strength and flinging him across the lab. He hit a support beam with a metallic clang and crumpled to the ground.

“WHOA!” Sam yelled, rushing to Bucky’s side. “You okay?”

Bucky groaned. “I’m fine. Don’t touch her.”

Reyna was already off the bed, back against the wall, fists clenched, bare feet braced for a fight. Her voice tore through the room—sharp, panicked, and entirely in Russian.

“Где я? Что вы со мной сделали?! Это проект Зимний Солдат?! Какой сейчас год?!”
(Where am I?! What did you do to me?! Is this the Winter Soldier project?! What year is it?!)

Bucky raised his hands slowly, speaking in Russian now, his voice steady.

“Ты не в ГИДРЕ. Меня зовут Баки Барнс. Я не Зимний Солдат. Не больше.”
(You’re not in HYDRA. My name is Bucky Barnes. I’m not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore.)

But she shook her head violently.

“Лжец!” (Liar!)

“Hey!” Tony snapped, bursting through the door with Shuri behind him. “What the hell is—”

Big mistake.

Reyna spotted him, and something shifted in her face—pure fear. Her eyes darted to the tech, to the unfamiliar world outside the reinforced glass.

She screamed, stumbled backwards.

“Где я?! Это не Бруклин!” (Where am I?! This isn’t Brooklyn!)

Shuri moved fast, bringing up a containment field between Reyna and the rest of the lab. Morgan flinched behind Tony.

Bucky was back on his feet. He stepped into the buffer zone, voice low again.

“Ты в Ваканде. Африка. Не Бруклин. И сейчас... сейчас не 1945.”
(You’re in Wakanda. Africa. Not Brooklyn. And it’s… it’s not 1945.)

She froze.

“…что?” (What?)

Sam leaned in toward Tony. “Okay, yeah, that sounds like she just said nineteen forty-five and I do not speak Hydra-Russian, but that’s not great.”

Tony sighed. “Awesome. She thinks she’s still in the war.”

Bucky nodded and translated, this time in English for everyone:

“She thinks it’s 1945.”

Reyna blinked, finally catching a few of the English words. Her voice shook.

"That’s… not right. I was in the city. Brooklyn. They said I had a mission. I was supposed to—”

She stopped. Her hands shook.

“Where’s my handler? Where’s the Sergeant? Why is everything… glowing?”

She looked up at the ceiling, disoriented by the lights, the tech, the view of Vibranium inlays.

Then softly, in English—
“This isn’t 1945…”

Bucky stepped a little closer, metal hand hidden now.
“You were frozen. Like me. They put you in cryo… and you’ve been out of the world for a long time. It’s 2025.”

“…what?”

Reyna’s knees gave out. She would’ve hit the floor if Bucky hadn’t caught her. She didn’t scream this time. She just let him lower her to sit.

Sam gave Tony a look. “We’re gonna need more than mango slices and Stark sarcasm for this one.”

Morgan, now beside her dad, whispered, “She looks sad.”

Tony ruffled her hair. “Yeah, kid. She’s gonna need time.”

Chapter Text

Stark Compound – Friday Evening

It started with a crash.

Followed by a yelp.

Followed by Peter Parker hitting the reinforced wall of the living room with enough velocity to leave a Spider-Man-shaped dent in the plaster.

Harley Keener peeked around the corner holding two mugs of hot chocolate. “...Did we just get attacked?”

Peter groaned from where he lay upside down, legs tangled in a throw blanket. “Define ‘we.’”

Across the room, Reyna stood in a full combat stance, chest heaving, eyes wild. She had launched Peter without thinking—no time to register the red-and-blue hoodie or the startled "Hi, I’m Peter!" that had preceded it.

Harley blinked. “That’s the new girl? The one who maybe fought Nazis and punched a tank?”

Peter whimpered. “Yeah. She’s strong.”

An Hour Later

Tony sighed, arms crossed, staring at the cracked wall.

“Why do I even have walls?”

Reyna sat on the edge of the couch, head bowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—he startled me.”

Peter, now patched up with an ice pack and an absurdly cheery Iron Man Band-Aid, offered a crooked smile. “No worries. I’ve been hit harder. Just… not usually indoors.”

Harley raised his mug in toast. “Welcome to the chaos, Ice Princess.”

Tony frowned. “Harley, don’t give her nicknames yet. She's been here less than 72 hours.”

Reyna glanced up. “It’s alright. I’ve been called worse.”

Monday – Week One at the Compound

Reyna sat curled on the beanbag in the media room, dressed in sweats and one of Morgan’s oversized hoodies that read “I’m Not Bossy, I’m the Boss.”

Peter sat across from her, laptop open, beaming.

“Okay, so… I know this might be overwhelming,” he said gently, “but the internet? It’s a thing. Big thing. Kind of like a library, a movie theater, and a garbage fire had a baby.”

Reyna blinked slowly. “I barely understand what a laptop is.”

Harley leaned over the couch. “That’s why we start small. Like memes. Cats. And screaming goats.”

Peter hit play.

The video lasted eleven seconds: a goat bleated, then screamed like a banshee.

Reyna jolted. Then stared. Then slowly, slowly buried her entire face into a nearby throw pillow like it had personally offended her. Her muffled voice said only:

“Why?”

Peter cackled. “That’s just the start. Wait ‘til she finds Vine compilations.”

Harley smirked. “Or conspiracy TikTok. Or… thirst traps.”

Reyna looked up sharply. “Thirst traps? Are they dangerous?”

Peter blinked. “Emotionally? Yes.”

Thursday – Bucky’s Visit

Bucky arrived late in the afternoon, met at the hangar by Friday’s AI projection and guided silently through the halls. He found Reyna alone in the back garden, sitting beneath the same tree where Morgan had first handed her a juice box.

The moment she saw him, she stood and walked fast—then, without hesitation, threw her arms around him.

She clung to him like an anchor, her voice quiet in Russian:

“They show me strange things. Loud noises. A goat screamed.”

Bucky chuckled, holding her gently. “That’s the internet, kid.”

“I don’t like it.”

“No one does. We just pretend we do.”

Tony leaned in the doorway, sipping coffee, and raised an eyebrow. “She’s fine. Mostly. Just launched Peter into a wall and threatened to destroy our router. So… normal.”

Bucky looked at him. “You adopted three chaos goblins.”

Tony shrugged. “And one actual goblin. Morgan wanted a sister. Now she has three emotionally damaged brothers and a super soldier with separation anxiety.”

Reyna blinked. “I do not have anxiety.”

Peter peeked in, phone in hand. “She does keep checking if the fridge still opens the same way.”

Reyna muttered, “It glows for no reason.”

Harley shouted from the kitchen: “That’s the smart fridge, Reyna! Not everything is Hydra!”

Tony sighed. “It’s like running an orphanage. But everyone can build bombs.”

By the end of the night, Reyna was asleep on the couch, a blanket tossed over her, Iron Man doll tucked under one arm, and Harley’s old game controller still in hand. Peter and Harley were arguing over whether or not she should watch The Princess Bride or The Matrix first.

Morgan popped a gummy bear in her mouth and said, completely serious:

“Told you. I’m keeping her.”

Chapter Text

Saturday – Stark Compound Training Room

It started with Peter bragging.

“I mean, not to flex,” he said, bouncing a web ball in his hand, “but I did take down a guy with a metal arm, fight aliens in space, and survive a building collapsing on me. Just saying.”

Harley looked up from the treadmill, eyebrows raised. “Dude, your arm got broken in three places by a vending machine last week.”

Peter scowled. “I was distracted!”

Reyna, stretching off to the side in her Stark-issued sweatpants, said nothing.

Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, children. Time for some light sparring. Reyna, why don’t you go up against Parker? No webs.”

Peter smiled politely. “I’ll go easy.”

Reyna blinked. “Don’t.”

Three Seconds Later

Peter was on the mat, flat on his back, winded.

Reyna stood over him, one eyebrow raised. “You said you’d go easy. That’s your mistake.”

Harley’s laughter echoed through the gym. “Oh my God, you Brooklyned him.”

Tony leaned back against the wall, coffee in hand. “See? This is what happens when you underestimate someone from Brooklyn. I’ve been telling people this for years.”

Morgan, sitting cross-legged beside Friday’s projector screen, yelled, “AGAIN!”

Later That Afternoon – Backyard

“Okay, but how did you learn that throw?” Peter asked, holding an ice pack to his shoulder.

Reyna shrugged. “HYDRA trained me in hand-to-hand. But before that, my neighborhood taught me to fight. There were boys on the corner who liked to pick on the little ones. I punched one in the nose when I was nine.”

Harley grinned. “Hell yeah. Classic Brooklyn.”

Tony walked past, muttering, “Why does every child in my house know how to throw punches?”

Bucky, who had shown up unannounced with a duffel bag and a new playlist of 2000s R&B for Reyna, smirked. “Because you collect trauma survivors like Pokémon.”

Evening – Kitchen Chaos

Dinner was pizza. Morgan insisted on sitting between Reyna and Bucky, both of whom she now claimed as her "official bodyguards."

Peter kept glancing at Reyna like she might try to roundhouse kick him again. Harley wouldn’t stop calling her "The Brooklyn Brawler," and Shuri texted Tony to say Reyna’s brain scans were surprisingly stable post-deprogramming.

At one point, Peter asked, “Wait, are we going to teach her Fortnite or dodgeball first?”

Reyna said calmly, “Which one requires more violence?”

Tony groaned. “God help us.”

Morgan grinned. “She’s awesome.”

Later that night

Reyna sat under the stars with Bucky and Morgan beside her. The younger girl had fallen asleep mid-story, curled up against her side.

Reyna whispered, “You think I can really live like this now? Be normal?”

Bucky looked up at the stars. “Define normal. But yeah. You’re doing better than you think.”

She smiled softly, then glanced back at the compound where Peter and Harley’s loud argument about movie night echoed through the walls.

“They’re loud. But… I like it.”

“Brooklyn people are tough,” Bucky said. “We survive everything.”

She nodded. “Damn right we do.”

Chapter Text

One Month Later — Friday Night at the Compound

Morgan was the one who asked the question that stopped time.

They were all piled in the Stark Compound’s screening room: Reyna curled in a blanket on one end of the couch, Tony on the other with his glasses glowing from a projected interface, and Morgan in the middle with a bowl of popcorn the size of her torso.

Peter and Harley had just arrived from MIT for the weekend, already arguing about which movie to put on first.

Then Morgan, wide-eyed and suspicious, turned to Reyna and asked:

“Wait… have you ever seen Star Wars?”

Reyna blinked slowly. “What’s that? A war documentary?”

Peter made a noise like he’d just witnessed a murder. “I—what—no. No. Absolutely not.”

Tony groaned, rubbing his temples. “Great. I raised another one.”

Harley dramatically collapsed onto the floor. “We’ve failed as a generation.”

Later That Night – Screening Room Takeover

Reyna sat between Peter and Harley on the couch, arms crossed, expression deeply skeptical. Tony had insisted they start with the original trilogy — “The right way. Chronological order is for cowards.”

Reyna, ten minutes into A New Hope, squinted at the screen.

“So this entire galaxy is fighting over a disco USB drive?”

Peter, without looking away: “That’s the Death Star plans.”

“They named the space station Death Star and no one thought that might be a red flag?”

Harley nearly dropped his soda. “She’s asking the real questions.”

Tony, smug from the back row: “Exactly why I kept her.”

One Movie, Several Snacks, and One Debate About Lightsaber Physics Later…

Reyna stood up during the credits and declared, “Okay. I like the short angry robot.”

“R2?” Peter asked.

“No, the gold one. He’s dramatic. I respect that.”

“You mean C-3PO?” Harley said, scandalized.

Reyna nodded. “He screams every five minutes. That’s realistic. I’d scream too.”

Morgan, curled up under her Ironheart blanket, sleepily muttered, “I like the one with the cinnamon roll hair.”

Tony sipped his coffee. “She gets that from her mother.”

Saturday Morning — Kitchen

Reyna sat at the counter, quietly eating cereal and scrolling through Peter’s old iPad (which he’d handed to her so she could watch Clone Wars during the week). She tapped it, narrowed her eyes.

“Why is there a green goblin thing speaking in riddles?”

Peter, yawning as he shuffled in: “Yoda.”

“He’s annoying.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Harley wandered in with bed hair and a Pop-Tart. “Wait until she gets to Anakin. She’s gonna hate him.”

“I already do. He’s dramatic. Should’ve gone to therapy.”

Tony, walking by with his tablet: “Again, this is why I kept her.”

Later — Workshop

Tony handed Reyna a modified Stark tablet. “Download Disney+,” he said. “You’ve got homework.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why do I need to watch all of this?”

He looked at her like it was obvious. “Because I can’t have a daughter who hasn’t seen The Empire Strikes Back. That’s parenting failure.”

That night, Bucky texted her:

🧠: “Peter says you watched Star Wars.”

🧠: “Did you like it?”

She replied:

💬: “I like the Wookiee. He reminds me of you.”

Bucky sent back a picture of Chewbacca with a thumbs-up gif.

She smiled.

And hit “Play” on The Empire Strikes Back.

Chapter Text

It started with Morgan’s puppy-dog eyes.

Peter and Harley were holed up in the lab-turned-homework-warzone, mid-MIT midterms. Tony had been called out on an urgent field mission (read: interdimensional wormhole opened over Jersey, again). Reyna was left alone at the compound, reading a book Sam gave her and hiding from the Star Wars prequel trilogy.

Then Morgan appeared in her doorway, in a glittery pink dress and light-up heels, clutching a plush unicorn and a plastic teapot.

“Reyna,” she said solemnly, “we’re having a tea party. You’re invited.”

Reyna blinked. “Why?”

“Because you’re my sister now,” Morgan said matter-of-factly. “Also Peter and Harley said they’re busy being nerds, so that leaves you.”

Reyna tried to resist. She really did. But then Morgan hit her with The Look™ — wide eyes, slight pout, one hand gently petting the unicorn.

She sighed. “Fine. What are the rules?”

Morgan grinned like she’d won a Nobel Prize. “Rule Number One: You must wear a tiara.”

Fifteen Minutes Later

Reyna sat stiffly at a tiny pink table, knees tucked awkwardly under it, wearing a plastic tiara and a feather boa. She’d been assigned the name “Princess Skull-Crusher,” and had just been handed a cup of pretend tea and a shortbread cookie.

Morgan, now addressed exclusively as “Queen Sparkle of Rainbowtopia,” poured more imaginary tea.

“You have to raise your pinky like this,” she instructed, daintily lifting her hand.

Reyna mirrored her, hesitantly. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” Morgan beamed. “You’re a natural.”

Somewhere deep in her soul, Reyna — a trained assassin with three confirmed presidential kills and at least two HYDRA escape missions — actually kind of… liked this.

An Hour Later – The Door Opens

Tony Stark walked into the compound’s family wing, followed by Steve Rogers and Wanda Maximoff.

He was mid-sentence—“No, Steve, I don’t think Vision should be invited to poker night—” when he froze in the doorway.

What he saw:

• Morgan, in full regal sparkle mode.
• Reyna, still in her black tactical pants, but now wearing a tiara and sipping fake tea with pinky up.
• A unicorn on the floor. A plush dragon in Reyna’s lap. Feather boa still intact.

“…The hell am I looking at?” Tony asked.

Reyna glared at him over her teacup. “If you say one word, I will launch this teapot at your face.”

Steve blinked. “Is that a threat from a princess?”

Morgan gasped. “Princess Skull-Crusher doesn’t make threats, she promises.”

Tony burst out laughing. “Oh, I definitely missed something.”

One Week Later – Saturday Afternoon

Reyna was in the living room, reading a history book Harley gave her (annotated, of course). Tony walked in with a smirk and set something down beside her.

A tiny purple tiara.

“Tea party in ten. Morgan says you promised.”

Reyna didn’t look up. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Tony grinned.

And she didn’t. Not really.

Chapter Text

Hey guys so I may not post for this story for a while. But I will keep posting soon not a lot of chapter but some. I am working on some other stories and keep forgetting to update this one. 

also if the last few chapters are short I’m sorry I have writers block a bit. 

anyway enjoy the chapters you have so far. 

Chapter Text

Stark Compound — Saturday Morning

Tony was in the garage, half-covered in grease, humming AC/DC and tinkering with a gauntlet prototype when Harley Keener came strutting in, absolutely glowing with pride.

He had that expression that usually meant something had just been built, hacked, modified, or—on rare occasions—accidentally caught on fire.

“You busy, or can I blow your mind real quick?”

Tony didn’t look up. “If it’s another energy drink with protein powder in it, the answer’s no. I’m still recovering from your ‘sparkling citrus monstrosity.’”

“Better,” Harley grinned, and held up a tablet. “It’s done. The suit.”

That got Tony’s attention.

He stood, wiping his hands, and raised an eyebrow. “You finished it?”

“Finished, tested, tuned, and uploaded. And I didn’t blow anything up. Yet.”

Tony walked over, studying the hologram that popped from Harley’s tablet. The render was sleek—clearly Stark-influenced but with Keener flavor. Modular shoulders, shockwave pulses built into the gauntlets, and a matte-black and silver color palette.

“It’s clean,” Tony admitted. “Damn impressive, Keener.”

Harley beamed. “You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t lie about armor. Well… maybe to the press.”

Then Tony squinted.

“Wait. Is that the nameplate?”

Harley tried (and failed) to suppress his grin.

“Yup.”

Tony leaned in. And then groaned.

“You named your suit ‘Boomerang.’”

Harley shrugged, unapologetic. “It always comes back.”

“You built a $30 million flight-capable combat suit and named it after a throwing stick.”

“It’s iconic!”

An Hour Later – The Front Lawn

The entire household was dragged outside to watch the first field test. Morgan had a picnic blanket spread out. Peter showed up mid-bagel, Reyna with her arms crossed, skeptical as ever.

Bucky sat next to Shuri, muttering, “How many teenagers does Stark intend to turn into weapons?”

Shuri deadpanned, “As many as it takes to keep up with Wakandan tech.”

Harley stepped into the launching platform wearing a custom undersuit and a cocky grin.

“Alright,” he called out. “Everyone ready to witness greatness?”

Peter cupped his hands around his mouth. “Try not to explode!”

“I’ll do my best, Web Boy.”

The armor launched from the ground in pieces, flying to meet Harley midair. The magnetic plates locked into place seamlessly, snapping together like puzzle pieces.

Tony clapped slowly. “Alright. I’m impressed.”

The faceplate closed. Harley’s voice came over the external speakers.

“Initializing Boomerang Protocol.”

Reyna blinked. “That’s still a stupid name.”

Then the suit… glitched.

Instead of hovering in place, it pitched forward, did a loop in the air, and nose-dived straight into the Stark koi pond with a spectacular SPLASH.

Peter screamed with laughter. Morgan spit out her juice. Tony facepalmed.

Harley’s voice—distorted, underwater, and extremely annoyed—came over the intercom:

“Okay. Okay. Minor targeting issue. We're fine. Just give me a sec—”

An arc reactor-powered bubble of pond water exploded upward.

“—I hate everyone here.”

Fifteen Minutes Later – Back Inside

Harley was wrapped in a towel, dripping on the compound floor.

Peter handed him a cup of hot cocoa. “I mean, I didn’t want to say it earlier, but Boomerang sounds like a kids’ TV channel.”

Harley muttered, “You're all cowards.”

Reyna finally spoke up from the armchair, arms crossed and calm as ever.

“If it’s supposed to come back, maybe next time program it to not drown on its return trip.”

Morgan added helpfully, “You could call it Splash Lad instead.”

Tony patted Harley on the shoulder, grinning. “Welcome to the club. My first flight test shot me through three walls. You’ll get there.”

Later That Night – Workshop

Harley worked quietly on diagnostics, a new line of code flickering on the screen beside the armor dock.

Reyna stood in the doorway, watching him.

“...I think it’s cool,” she said finally.

He looked up.

“You do?”

She nodded. “The name’s stupid. But the suit? The suit’s good.”

Harley grinned. “Thanks, Ice Princess.”

Reyna rolled her eyes. “Say that again and I’ll test it against your face.”

“Yup. Definitely a Stark sibling.”

Chapter Text

Friday Night – Stark Compound Rec Room

It was Harley’s idea.

Which should’ve been everyone’s first red flag.

“We haven’t done a group night in forever,” he’d said while poking Peter with a pencil. “Come on, karaoke night. It’ll be hilarious.”

Peter looked like he was about to bolt. “I have a physics final on Monday.”

“So you need stress relief.”

Morgan gasped, eyes shining. “Can we please do karaoke?! I wanna sing Taylor Swift!”

Tony overheard on his way to the fridge and made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a resigned dad grunt. “Fine. But I’m not singing ABBA again. That was a one-time multiverse accident.”

An Hour Later – The Chaos Begins

The rec room had been transformed into a glittering concert venue of questionable taste. Harley installed LED lights. Morgan brought snacks. Tony set up a top-tier mic system with automated pitch correction “just in case.”

Peter was already singing a slightly off-key version of Mr. Brightside when Reyna walked in, confused.

“Why is he shouting at a machine?”

Harley grinned. “It’s karaoke. You sing. In public. Badly. For fun.”

Reyna’s eyebrows knit. “On purpose?”

Peter, mid-verse: “It was only a kiss—IT WAS ONLY A KISS—”

Reyna flinched. “He sounds like he’s in pain.”

“He is,” Tony said. “Emotionally.”

Morgan tugged on Reyna’s sleeve. “You have to try it! Everyone gets a turn.”

“I do not sing,” Reyna said flatly.

Ten Minutes Later – Against Her Will

Reyna somehow ended up on the couch with a mic in her lap and a list of songs on the screen. Everyone was shouting suggestions.

“Do Eye of the Tiger!” — Peter
“No, Welcome to the Black Parade!” — Harley
“Do Let It Go!” — Morgan
“Do not do Let It Go,” — Tony
“What’s Bohemian Rhapsody?” — Reyna
“...Sit down,” — Everyone

She scrolled through the list, unamused. “This is all ridiculous.”

Tony leaned over, smug. “C’mon, supersoldier. You faced Hydra, but you’re scared of a microphone?”

Reyna shot him a death glare.

“Fine. But if anyone laughs, I’m flipping the snack table.”

Her Song Choice Surprises Everyone

The room went quiet as the first notes of “Enemy” by Imagine Dragons kicked in.

Reyna stood center stage, mic in hand, her voice low and unsteady at first… but sharp. Rhythmic. Focused.

“Tell you you're the greatest...
But once you turn, they hate us…”

Harley slowly leaned forward. “Wait. She’s kinda good.”

Peter stared. “How is she scary and better than us?”

By the time she hit the chorus, Reyna wasn’t reading the lyrics anymore. She didn’t need to.

“You're my enemy, my enemy, my enemy…”

Her jaw clenched. Her hands tightened around the mic. Her voice didn’t waver, not even once.

There was something honest in it. Raw. Like she wasn’t just singing it—she meant it.

Tony exchanged a glance with Bucky (who had just walked in mid-performance), both of them clearly thinking the same thing:

She’s not singing for fun.
She’s singing for survival.

The Room Fell Silent at the End

Reyna stood on stage, breathing hard, gaze focused somewhere far away.

Then Morgan clapped first. Loudly. “You’re so cool.”

Harley followed. Then Peter. Then everyone.

Reyna blinked, startled. “…You liked that?”

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah. You kinda crushed it.”

Reyna stepped down from the stage, cheeks pink. “Still not doing Let It Go.”

Harley tossed her a juice box. “You earned it, Skull-Crusher.”

Later That Night – Rooftop

Bucky found her staring up at the stars.

“Didn’t know you could sing.”

She shrugged. “Didn’t know either.”

“That song… meant something?”

Reyna nodded slowly. “It was the only one on the list that felt like me.”

He didn’t press her further. Just sat beside her and said, “Well, I’d duet with you next time.”

She smirked. “Only if I get to choose the song.”

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread, but Reyna’s nose was focused on one thing: the unmistakable emptiness of the Cheerios box sitting in front of Peter.

She appeared in the doorway, her footsteps silent but her presence commanding. Peter, blissfully unaware at first, was mid-bite—crunching the last stubborn O’s from the bottom of the box.

“Morning,” Peter said, cheeks still full, eyes wide and innocent. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Reyna’s eyes locked onto him like a laser beam. No words came out, but the cold fire in her gaze spoke volumes. Years of Hydra’s silent intimidation tactics had taught her how to communicate volumes without uttering a single word. This was her most potent weapon.

Peter froze, the crunch in his mouth suddenly feeling like the loudest noise in the universe. The seconds stretched between them, heavy and unbearable.

Her jaw clenched slightly, nostrils flaring just enough to show she was on the brink. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, shoulders stiff as a soldier standing at attention. She didn’t need to yell; this glare was louder than any scream.

Peter’s eyes darted to the empty box, then back to her, swallowing nervously. “I—I was just really hungry, and you weren’t around.”

Reyna didn’t blink. Not once.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, the kind that told Peter she was calculating every possible punishment for this cereal crime. It was the kind of look that made him second-guess his life choices. This was more than a breakfast betrayal—it was a breach of trust.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said quickly, reaching into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll order you a new box today. Maybe two.”

Reyna gave a slow, deliberate tilt of her head—just enough to be a warning, but not quite breaking character. The silent ‘watch yourself’ was unmistakable.

Peter exhaled a shaky breath, the tension loosening a bit. “Truce?”

Still no words, but Reyna finally relaxed her posture. Her eyes softened just a fraction, and she reached over to grab a fresh box of cereal she had stashed in the pantry. “Next time,” she said quietly, “just ask.”

Peter grinned and held up his hands in surrender. “Deal.”

As Reyna poured herself a bowl, she allowed herself a small, rare smirk—like Bucky Barnes after a mission well done. Underneath that stoic surface, Peter could tell she was secretly amused.

“Guess the Great Cereal War isn’t so bad after all,” Peter joked, digging in.

Reyna shot him one last side-eye, then nodded as if silently saying, “You’re lucky you’re cute.”