.ೃ࿔*:･𝐱𝐥𝐢𝐢𝐢. i bet on losing dogs

𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍, 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐑— a sound so powerful, so commanding, that Ingrid knew it could only belong to Thor. The cry sent a shiver down her spine, filling her with a mixture of hope and dread. As if pulled by an invisible force, everyone around her surged forward, their movements synchronized by a shared determination, rushing headlong into the fight with a single purpose.

Ingrid's heart pounded in her chest as she followed suit, her feet pounding against the uneven ground, each step fueled by a desperate need to protect, to fight, to survive. Thanos stood in the distance, his massive form outlined against the stormy sky, raising his colossal sword with a terrifying calmness. His voice boomed across the battlefield, commanding his army to charge, a tidal wave of darkness rushing to meet them.

And then, with a deafening roar, the two sides collided. The world exploded into chaos.

Hell broke loose.

Ingrid unleashed a torrent of fire, her powers igniting with an intensity that matched the desperation in her heart. Flames erupted from her hands, scorching the Chitauri that dared cross her path. The fiery glow cut through the gloom, casting ominous shadows that danced across the battlefield. The heat was searing, the smell of burning flesh and metal thick in the air, but Ingrid barely noticed. She was too focused, too driven by the need to find someone— anyone —familiar.

Her eyes darted frantically through the chaos, searching for a face, a figure that she knew. Her father. Natasha. Peter. Tony. Someone. Anyone. But all she saw were enemies, their grotesque forms lunging at her from every direction.

Panic clawed at her insides, tightening its grip with each passing second. She spun around, sending another blast of fire into a cluster of Chitauri, but her mind was elsewhere. Where was her dad? Had he fallen already? Was Natasha somewhere out there, fighting for her life? Was Peter okay? A thousand horrifying possibilities flooded her thoughts, each one worse than the last.

Ingrid's breath came in ragged gasps as she sprinted across the battlefield, her muscles burning with exertion. She pushed herself harder, faster, her desperation growing with every step. She blasted through several more aliens, her fire scorching the earth beneath their feet, but it wasn’t enough to quell the rising tide of fear inside her.

Finally, through the chaos and the haze of battle, Ingrid's eyes landed on a sight that made her heart skip a beat— Tony and Peter, pulling away from a hug with reluctant smiles. The relief that washed over her was so profound it felt like she could finally breathe again, as if an enormous weight had been lifted from her chest, even if just for a moment.

Ingrid’s face lit up with a fragile hope. The sounds of the battlefield became a distant hum as her focus narrowed to the two figures before her. Tony caught sight of her, his eyes softening in a way she hadn’t seen in what felt like a lifetime.

Her steps were cautious as she approached, her breath hitching in her throat. She raised a hand, a little wave that felt awkward, almost childish, in the midst of the raging war. “Hey,” she managed to say, her voice small and strained. “Sorry if I’m interrupting, I just—” The words faltered, caught in the back of her throat, refusing to come out. The emotions swirling inside her were too complex, too overwhelming to be neatly packaged into words.

Before she could stop herself, Ingrid found herself stumbling forward, falling into Tony’s arms. As she buried her face against the cold, unyielding metal of his suit, the dam broke. Hot, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, and she clung to him like a lifeline. “I never thought I’d miss seeing your annoying face this much,” she choked out, her voice trembling as she tried to hold herself together.

Tony’s sarcasm came out instinctively, but there was an underlying warmth in his tone that softened the edges. “Thanks, kid,” he muttered, his voice tinged with a mixture of awkwardness and genuine affection. His hand moved to pat her head, the gesture awkward and unsure, but it was enough. “I’m happy to see you too.”

He pulled back just enough to look down at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Bruce can finally stop brainwashing me with your baby pictures and all those stories from when you were little.”

Ingrid let out a teary giggle, the sound a mix of relief and lingering sadness. She wiped at her eyes hastily, trying to regain some semblance of composure. But the momentary lightness was quickly overshadowed by a renewed surge of fear. She pulled away sharply, her hands gripping the metal shoulders of Tony’s suit as if grounding herself.

“My dad... Where is he?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with dread. She gulped, bracing herself for the worst. “Is he...?”

Tony’s expression softened, his gaze steady and reassuring as he shook his head. “He’s okay, don’t worry,” he said, his voice carrying a confidence that Ingrid desperately clung to.

“He’s somewhere out there,” Tony added, trying to keep his tone light amidst the noise of raging battle. “Just look around— you can’t miss him. Big green guy? Pretty hard to hide.”

Ingrid's smile returned, a glimmer of hope lighting up her eyes, and she nodded with newfound determination. The fear and uncertainty that had gripped her moments before were now tempered by a fierce resolve. “Right. Okay. I’ll see you later,” she said, her voice stronger, more sure of itself. She turned to Peter, her concern for him evident in her gaze. “Peter, you stay with Tony, okay? Don’t get hurt.”

Peter nodded, his eyes meeting hers with an understanding that needed no words. Ingrid gave him one last look, a silent promise that they’d see each other again, before she turned away and sprinted back into the chaos of the battlefield.

As she ran, her thoughts were a jumble of fear, hope, and determination. The sounds of battle roared in her ears, but she remained focused, her eyes constantly scanning the mayhem for any sign of her father. She threw blasts of fire at the Chitauri that crossed her path, the flames cutting through the darkness, but her mind was elsewhere.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it— a flash of green that made her heart skip a beat. Her head snapped in that direction, her breath catching in her throat as she caught sight of the Hulk. Relief and sadness washed over her in equal measure, and a small, bittersweet smile spread across her face.

Without a second thought, Ingrid ran toward him, her steps quickening as she got closer. She didn’t care about the danger, didn’t think twice about the fact that he might lash out in his rage. This was her dad, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

When she reached him, she threw herself into his arms, enveloping him in a fierce hug. The tears came immediately, spilling down her cheeks as she clung to him with all the strength she had left. She didn’t care that he was the Hulk, that he could crush her without even realizing it. All that mattered was that he was here.

Then she heard it—her name, spoken softly, almost tenderly. It took her a moment to process it, to realize that this wasn’t just the Hulk. This was her dad. Or maybe some combination of both. Ingrid didn’t know, and at that moment, it didn’t matter. The sound of his voice, saying her name, cut through the chaos and broke something inside her.

Ingrid sobbed harder, her whole body trembling with the force of her emotions. She felt Bruce’s arms tighten around her, holding her so close that it was almost hard to breathe, but she didn’t mind. She wouldn’t have protested even if she could. The world could have ended around them, and she wouldn’t have let go.

Bruce held her as if he was afraid she might disappear, as if he was anchoring himself to reality through her. In that embrace, despite everything, there was a sense of safety, of coming home, that neither of them had felt in a long time.

After Ingrid reluctantly pulled away from the embrace, she noticed something that made her heart twist— tears streaming down Bruce’s face. It took her a moment to fully register what she was seeing, and when she did, it nearly shattered her.

Ingrid had only seen her father cry twice in her entire life.

The first time was when she was a curious, wide-eyed four-year-old, asking questions that no child should have to ask. She had been insatiable in her curiosity, bombarding Bruce with question after question about her grandparents— people she had never met but knew were somehow important, somehow missing. She had asked why they weren’t around. Bruce had tried to explain, to give her answers that would satisfy her without revealing too much. But as he fumbled through his words, trying to protect her from the harsh realities of the past while still giving her enough to stop her questioning, something inside him had broken. The grief, the guilt, the weight of it all— it had overwhelmed him. And for the first time, Ingrid saw her father cry. His tears had left a deep impression on her, and she never asked about her grandparents again, instead choosing to piece together the fragmented story on her own.

The second time was even more painful. It was their first night on the run, not even a year later. The reality of their new life had crashed down on them both, but Bruce had tried to keep it together for her sake. Ingrid, always an easy sleeper, had struggled to find rest that night. The unfamiliar surroundings, the fear of what lay ahead— it all kept her awake, though she pretended to be asleep to spare her dad the trouble. She could feel his presence beside her, hear the gentle scratch of his fingers through her hair as he tried to lull her to sleep with barely audible whispers. But when he thought she had finally drifted off, his quiet strength crumbled. Throughout the night, Ingrid had listened to the muffled sounds of his cries, each one breaking her heart a little more. When morning came, Bruce acted as though nothing had happened, putting on a brave face, but Ingrid knew better. She never forgot those sounds.

Bruce was a master at hiding his feelings, a skill honed through years of hardship and pain. He had always been her rock, her steady presence in a world that often felt chaotic and out of control. But now, here he was, crying in front of her for the third time.

And somehow, despite the sadness that hung in the air, Ingrid found herself smiling. Because she knew that he cared—that he had missed her just as much as she had missed him.

“Strange said it’s been five years,” Ingrid said softly, her voice thick with emotion. She searched his eyes, trying to gauge just how much time had weighed on him, on all of them. “Have I really been gone that long?”

Bruce’s tear-filled eyes met hers, and he forced a smile through the overwhelming emotions that threatened to spill over. “It felt like forever,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly, the weight of those years evident in every word.

Ingrid motioned toward Bruce’s appearance, her eyes lingering on the way he had seemingly merged with the Hulk, the familiar green hue of his skin now permanent. “We have a lot of catching up to do after all of this,” she said, her voice light and hopeful as she glanced around at the chaotic battle unfolding around them. Despite the war raging on, there was a sense of relief in her tone, as if she could already see the end in sight, the promise of normalcy just within reach.

For a moment, Bruce’s expression softened, reflecting her optimism. But then, as if struck by a sudden realization, his face changed. The weight of something— something important, something dark —settled in his eyes, pulling him back to the grim reality of their situation. But Ingrid, caught up in the thrill of what could be, didn’t notice the shift in her father’s demeanor.

She continued talking, her excitement bubbling over as she spoke about the plans she and Peter had made. “Oh, after all of this is over, Peter invited us over for dinner with his aunt.” Her words were rushed, breathless, as if saying them out loud could somehow make them happen sooner.

“Ingrid,” Bruce said, trying to cut through her excitement, his voice low and urgent.

But Ingrid was too caught up in her thoughts to hear the warning in his tone. She pressed on, the image of a peaceful dinner with Peter and his aunt filling her mind. “Really, I wasn’t that excited about it either, but it sounds so nice now. I really can’t wait.”

“Ingrid,” Bruce tried again, his voice more insistent this time, but she still didn’t hear him.

She rolled her eyes playfully, her grin widening as she imagined the awkward yet heartwarming evening they’d all share. “I know, I know. It’ll be so awkward, but it’ll be fun! I also asked if Nat could come, and Peter said yes.” She threw her arms up in excitement, the childlike joy in her expression nearly making Bruce forget the battle raging around them. “Isn’t that exciting? We’ll—”

“Ingrid!” Bruce’s voice broke through her reverie, loud and commanding, filled with a desperation that snapped her out of her daydream.

The sound of her name, sharp and filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, grounded her instantly. Ingrid’s arms fell back to her sides, and she blinked, suddenly aware of the serious look on her father’s face.

“What?” Ingrid asked, her voice wavering as she looked up at her father, searching his face for answers. But the expression she found there— the deep, raw sorrow in his eyes —sent a sharp pain through her heart. The dread she’d been trying to keep at bay crashed over her in a suffocating wave.

Bruce shook his head slowly, his features contorted with grief as he pulled her back into a tight embrace. His arm wrapped around her like a shield, as if he could protect her from the truth he was about to deliver.

Tears welled up in Ingrid’s eyes, blurring her vision as she clung to him, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and denial. “Did—did something happen to Nat?” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly would make it real.

Bruce’s breath hitched, and she could feel him tremble slightly as he struggled to find the words. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with sorrow and regret. “I’m sorry. I tried to bring her back, I did. But I couldn’t… Nat’s gone, Ingrid.”

Ingrid shook her head, refusing to believe what she was hearing. “No,” she whispered, her voice growing firmer as if she could will it to be untrue.

But the look in her father’s eyes told her everything she needed to know. The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, streaming down her cheeks as the crushing weight of the truth settled in. Natasha was gone. The woman who had been like a mother to her, who had trained her, fought beside her, and protected her— was gone. The reality of that loss was too much to bear.

And as the grief clawed at her insides, a darker emotion began to take its place. The sorrow that had hollowed her out was quickly being filled with a searing, all-consuming rage. She knew, deep down, that Thanos had somwthing to do with this— just like he was behind all the other losses they had suffered. He had taken too much from them, and now he had taken Natasha.

Ingrid pulled away from the hug, her movements sharp and filled with purpose. She wiped the tears from her face with a trembling hand, her sorrow hardening into something fierce and unyielding. Her expression transformed, anger and determination blazing in her eyes, overshadowing the grief that had been there moments before.

Bruce watched her, his own grief mirrored in her rage. He knew there was no stopping her now. Ingrid was a force of nature, and with Natasha’s loss fueling her, she would stop at nothing to make Thanos pay.

"That son of a bitch is going to die."