It was the one thing Steve Rogers dreaded: going to the dentist. Even after facing countless villains, battles, and life-threatening situations, the thought of sitting in a dentist's chair made him uncomfortable. His shield couldn't protect him from cavities, unfortunately, and after a few persistent twinges in his molars, he finally decided to book an appointment.

Wanda, overhearing his reluctant planning, offered, "You know, I've heard of a place right outside Indianapolis—Dr. John Hendricks' office. They don't need much paperwork, no frills, in and out quick."

"Sounds perfect," Steve replied, glad to avoid the fanfare that usually came with visiting high-profile offices.

The next morning, Steve arrived at the nondescript building labeled "Dr. John Hendricks, DDS" on a flickering sign. The place looked rundown, not exactly up to the usual standards he'd expect, but he shrugged it off. After all, he wasn't here for the scenery.

When he walked in, a strange, sterile odor immediately hit his nose—somewhere between antiseptic and something he couldn't quite place. The waiting room was empty, save for a single figure at the reception desk, the alleged receptionist. SCP-5150-1.

"Good afternoon," the figure rasped, giving him a wide grin. Its mouth was horrifying, filled with too many teeth, and not enough in the right places. There were missing gaps, bleeding gums, and rows of sharp, uneven teeth. Steve tried not to stare, but the sight was deeply unsettling.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Hendricks?" Steve said cautiously, trying to keep his composure.

"Certainly, Mr. Rogers," it replied, licking its lips. "Please, just wait right here. The doctor will see you shortly."

Steve took a seat in the corner, uneasily thumbing through a magazine filled with advertisements for dental supplies. He could feel the eyes of the receptionist on him, though he couldn't bring himself to look back.

A moment later, a figure emerged from the hallway—one of the SCP-5150-2 hygienist instances. Its mouth bore a similar disarray of teeth and gums, but the way it moved was what disturbed him most. It shuffled toward him, mechanical yet predatory, its face fixed in a warped version of a smile.

"Follow me, please," it hissed, voice rattling with something almost eager.

Steve followed, his unease growing with every step down the dimly lit hallway. Each room they passed was oddly quiet, with dark stains on the walls that seemed to pulse in time with his footsteps. The "dental hygienist" stopped and opened a door, revealing an operating room equipped with vintage-looking dental equipment, all meticulously arranged on a table.

"Take a seat," it whispered, guiding him to the chair.

Against his better judgment, Steve sat down, hoping this was just an outdated but well-intentioned practice. The hygienist quickly strapped his arms to the armrests and fastened his legs to the chair, all with an unsettling efficiency.

"Uh, is this… standard procedure?" he asked, eyeing the restraints.

"It's just for your safety," it replied, reaching for a set of dental tools that looked disturbingly rusty.

Before he could protest, the door creaked open, and in walked Dr. John Hendricks—or rather, SCP-5150-3. The figure wore a standard dentist's coat, but his face was partially obscured, with a mask of teeth embedded in his skin. They jutted out at odd angles, curling up around his cheeks and down his neck. His eyes were piercing, too keen, and his grin a strange mirror of the horrors that adorned his face.

"Mr. Rogers," he drawled, his voice unsettlingly smooth. "A pleasure to meet you. I understand you're here for a routine check-up?"

Steve swallowed, instinctively tugging at the restraints. "Uh… yeah. Something like that."

"Wonderful," Hendricks said, his voice dark with amusement. "We'll begin with a thorough inspection, of course. Let's see what we have here…"

With the air of an artist, Hendricks approached Steve and tilted his head back, peering into his mouth. Steve clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to pull away as Hendricks lifted a dental mirror and poked around, muttering about "fascinating bone density" and "pristine structure." His fingers were cold, bony, and reeked of something metallic and stale.

"Oh, I see," Hendricks murmured, finally withdrawing his tools. "There are spaces that could use… additional attention."

"Spaces?" Steve asked, trying to steady his voice. "What kind of… attention?"

Before he could finish, the doctor's assistants appeared, each holding more instruments than he'd ever seen in a regular dentist's office. One had a tray filled with pristine, unblemished teeth of various shapes and sizes. Another held what looked like an archaic bone saw and a row of glistening, wickedly sharp needles.

"We'll be doing a bit of… enhancement," Hendricks said, grabbing one of the needles and holding it up to the dim light. "Not to worry, Mr. Rogers. You'll have a smile like no other."

Steve jerked against the restraints, adrenaline kicking in, but the hygienists held him down with unnatural strength. Hendricks brought the needle closer, his warped smile widening as he leaned in.

"We need only the best materials, of course," Hendricks said, as if in admiration. "Each tooth from a different world, a different story. And I think you'll appreciate the craftsmanship."

Ignoring Steve's protests, Hendricks started the procedure. Steve felt an intense pressure as the needle went into his gum, the cold spreading through his jaw. He could hear the sound of scraping, tearing, as Hendricks worked meticulously, placing new teeth in his mouth with a strange, surgical rhythm. He wanted to cry out, to escape, but the restraints held him fast.

The session seemed to stretch on for an eternity, Hendricks humming to himself as he forced one alien tooth after another into Steve's mouth. His mouth felt like it was stretching, forced to make room for more and more teeth. They jutted painfully, pressing against his gums and each other until his jaw felt unnaturally full, his mouth a twisted patchwork of mismatched teeth.

"There we go," Hendricks finally said, stepping back to admire his work. "A smile fit for a hero."

Steve stared at his reflection in the mirror across the room, his face pale. Rows of foreign, jagged teeth filled his mouth, his jaw distorted in a grimace that felt permanently etched onto his face.

The hygienist released his restraints, and Steve stumbled up, clutching his mouth. His vision swam with pain, but the doctor shoved a small plastic bag into his hands.

"Take this as a souvenir," Hendricks said, his voice almost kind. "Some floss, a toothbrush… and remember, you're always welcome here."

Staggering out of the room, Steve didn't stop running until he was out of the building. He ran all the way back to his bike, sparing only a quick glance behind him to see the darkened clinic, the faint glint of teeth from within as Hendricks waved him off with that disturbing smile.

Back at the Avengers Tower, Tony stared at him in shock. "Steve… what the hell happened to your mouth?"

Unable to explain, Steve only managed to mutter, "Never let Wanda recommend a dentist again."