"All I'm saying is that Iron Man would totally win in a knock-down, drag-out fight with Batman," I explain as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"And you're biased," Bucky argues from my left. "Batman has a mansion, a butler, and a secret suit."

"I have like, five mansions, an artificially intelligent butler that is sassier than Alfred will ever be, and remind me to show you sublevel five sometime," Dad counters. "Give it up, Barnes, red and gold beats black any day."

Bucky puts on a pout that makes everyone laugh, and I take the opportunity to flick him in the ear.

We were all reasonably happy – spring was in the air, birds were chirping, no one had wreaked havoc in a week or so, and it was Team Movie Night (capitalization necessary) and we had just watched the new Batman v. Superman movie.

So, naturally, we were discussing who would win if our merry band of superheroes went up against those parallel to us in the DC Comic universe.

"Steve versus Superman?" Bruce offers.

"Hm," I hum thoughtfully. "That's a tough one. I mean, Superman can fly. Cap can't. No offense, Steve."

"None taken," the blonde shakes his head amiably. "I know my limits."

Bucky, however, isn't giving up that easily. "Kent's weakness is a rock," he argues. "A rock. Which, despite having a reputation for being incredibly rare, is mysteriously obtained by every person ever."

"A little defensive, are we?" I tease, looking past Bucky to Steve's blush. "Aw, that's cute."

"Shut up," Bucky huffs, rolling his eyes and shoving me in the shoulder. "Green Arrow versus Hawkeye."

"Do you really think I'll give you an unbiased answer on that?" I laugh, dancing out of arm's reach and ducking behind Clint. "Tasha versus Catwoman?"

"The Lady Natasha would best this Lady of Cats," Thor declares loudly, drawing strange looks from other pedestrians.

"Lower it down a bit, Fabio," Dad requests, patting his shoulder. "But he's got a point," he continues, addressing Natasha, "you'd have her in the ground before she could even touch that horribly impractical whip of hers."

I disguise my snigger as a cough – that was the most forward compliment I'd ever heard him give to anyone other than me – as Natasha just coolly smiles, giving nothing away. "Thanks, Tony. Bucky, Taylor versus Kate Kane?"

Bucky tilts his head at her. "Who?"

"Batgirl. A sidekick to Batman."

"I'm not a sidekick!" I protest indignantly.

"Sure you're not," Clint says, giving my head a very patronizing pat before I swat him off.

"I don't know anything about Batgirl," Bucky points out. "So Taylor."

"I love your reasons," I scoff. "You have so much faith in me."

"You're welcome," he quips.

I laugh, poking his side. "Okay, okay – Bucky versus…who'd he fight?"

"Red Hood," Natasha offers, and I raise an eyebrow. She shrugs. "In the oldest comics he's a villain that later becomes a sidekick-type person."

"Okay, good enough," I nod, not giving Bucky himself any say in the matter. "How would that go?"

She shrugs again, giving me a 'don't look at me' expression.

"I bet he'd get the upper hand a lot," Steve quips, causing the group to burst into laughter.

"Upper hand," I chuckle. "Ha, ha." I roll my eyes, stopping as a store on the boulevard we were walking catches my eye. "Oh, coffee. Can we?"

"Should we?" Steve asks. "It's kind of late."

Dad and I give almost identical snorts – did he really think that argument worked on us?

"They have brownies," Bucky adds, tipping his head towards the advertisements in the shop window. "C'mon, Steve. Brownies."

Steve, of course, takes one look at Bucky's puppy-dog eyes before caving. "Fine," he sighs, digging around in his jacket pockets for a moment before producing a small notebook – always Mr. Old Fashioned, that one. "Write your orders down here."

After the notebook is passed around and eight orders are scribbled down, I amble into the shop with Bruce following in order to act as a second pair of hands.

A bell above the door tinkles as we enter the small shop, and the barista – a young girl with slightly brown skin and wide brown eyes – looks up at the noise and smiles. "Hello and welcome to Cathy's Coffee & Confections, what can I get you this evening?"

Smothering a laugh at the name – who was Cathy and why did she love alliteration so much? – I approach the counter, noting the complete lack of other patrons but passing it off as it being nearly nine at night in a small coffee shop on a Friday night.

"I'll take a small black coffee with two sugars and a cream, one medium cappuccino, one caramel Frappuccino, easy on the drizzle; one dark chocolate brownie, one large black coffee with two creams, one large black coffee, no cream or sugar; one caramel brownie, one small hot chocolate with extra whipped cream, a chocolate chip cookie, and…"

"One green tea, please," Bruce adds from behind me.

"Is that all?" I nod, and the barista taps something on the register before nodding. "That'll just be a minute."

Once she's off in the back, hopefully making our coffee, Bruce and I find seats at one of the bistro-style tables in the shop.

Without warning, an odd feeling washes over me, churning my stomach and setting the hairs on the back of my neck on edge. Never one to ignore instinct, I immediately straighten up, my eyes scanning the shop for anything that could be causing the unease.

"What is it?" I turn to see Bruce watching me curiously. "You perked up suddenly."

"Ever get the feeling you're being watched?" I ask, shifting anxiously in my seat.

The physicist shrugs. "There are probably CCTV cameras all over – you know how people are nowadays. Calm down, you're being paranoid."

"You're probably right," I sigh, forcing my nerves to settle and dismissing the churning in my gut as too much popcorn at the movie theater.

My worries are forgotten as the barista brings back our two cup carriers and two brownies, and the anxiety is all but forgotten as we exit the shop and rejoin the group loitering outside.

I help pass the drinks and treats to the appropriate people, accepting my own cup and brownie before we continue our walk down the sidewalk.

I take a sip of my coffee, pleased that they got my order right. You wouldn't believe how many shops got that wrong. I mean, it was a simple thing-

The second sip makes me falter and stare at my cup in confusion. The second sip had been incredibly bitter, almost sour, and I purse my lips against the taste. I look around at the rest of the team, slightly pleased to see looks of confusion and disgust on their faces. Good, so I wasn't the only one whose coffee was suddenly bitter and almost chalky, tasting a bit like one of the big pills I had to-

Pills. My brain catches, almost instantaneously connecting pills to medicine to drugs.

Drugs, my brain screams, only it's a bit too late because my head is swimming, my eyes can't focus, and my body feels like it's made of jelly. The sidewalk rushes up to meet me, and I'm just barely able to hear tires screech from somewhere nearby before it all begins to fade.

I idly wonder if the coffee was any good just before I'm dragged into the deep, dark abyss and know nothing more.