Chapter Text
The common area couch was large enough to fit all of you, but somehow never felt spacious enough when everyone squeezed together. That was how you found yourself on the floor in front of the couch instead. Your shoulders were crushed between Bob and Walker; your back slumped uncomfortably on Bucky's knee. He was lucky enough to grab a spot on the couch first. Yelena’s bleached blonde hair obscured your view of the screen slightly. You stifled a sigh; mentioning it started another bickering session.
“What are we watching?” Bucky asked, his leg dug further into you. The remote lay abandoned on the couch’s arm, waiting for someone to claim it. Alexei reached for it before anyone else could grab it.
“Hand it over,” Walker demanded, setting his plate down and lunging across you and Bucky. Alexei yanked the remote away, holding it out of reach. “Please, you’re gonna make us watch some old Russian movie.” You used one hand to lift Walker’s elbow away from your plate and the other to stuff a bite of food into your mouth. Your left side dug into Bob as John fell further atop you. You hissed in discomfort, your body twisted awkwardly to avoid Walker’s armpit.
“Children, please,” Bucky grumbled, yanking the remote from Alexei’s grasp. “Let’s just see what they have.” Walker reluctantly sat back, dropping his hand from your knee, which he had used as leverage. Bucky flicked through titles with the intensity of someone personally offended by bad movie covers.
“Jesus, can you just pick something?” you spat, dipping your soft taco in sauce. Bucky kicked you in reply, just enough to annoy, not hurt. “Fine. What if we close our eyes and see what we land on?” you suggested, placing your empty plate down. Surprisingly, the room went silent.
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Yelena said, flopping her head back and covering her eyes. One by one, the rest of the group followed suit, mostly begrudgingly and with heavy sighs.
“Ava, count to ten, then Bucky hits select,” you directed, slapping a hand over your own eyes. Ava began counting, theatrically slow at first, until ten seconds suddenly felt too long. Her voice sped up until—“Now.” A soft click followed, and you opened your eyes to see what fate had chosen.
“About Time,” Bucky announced, his tone confused. The title screen appeared, the Netflix ‘bad-dum’ barely audible over the team’s collective groan.
“No way,” Walker protested, immediately reaching for the remote. Yelena smacked his hand down before he could start another wrestling match.
“Rules are rules, Walker. We agreed to this system.”
“I’ve never seen it,” Bob admitted, his body relaxing beside you. You tilted your head toward him, close enough that your whisper wouldn’t carry.
“Me neither. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Bob tipped his fries your way with a smile. You grinned and grabbed a handful. “If it’s not, though, it’ll be good to point and laugh at.”
“Shut up,” Ava hushed, surprising you with her sudden interest. “I can’t hear it.” You raised your eyebrows in amusement before settling your eyes on the screen.
As the movie progressed, the team's reactions went from protest to enthusiastic engagement, filled with the occasional chime in from someone asking ‘why doesn’t she just kill him?’ or ‘I hate this man,’ which was immediately met with a unanimous hush. It wasn't until the credits rolled that the trance seemed to break. Alexei was sniffling, desperately trying to hide his face behind a throw pillow. No one spoke; the room was blanketed in a thick cover of sad tension.
“That was…” Ava began, scratching her head as she tried to think of the right words. Bucky nodded beside her, head settled low.
“Terrible.” Walker finished, his voice trembling despite the clenched effort to steady it. Yelena furrowed her eyebrows upon hearing him, snapping her head around.
“You’re literally crying.”
“There’s something in my eyes.” Walker swiped at his face with a rough, hurried gesture.
“Yeah, tears.” You added, turning to the side to see Walker's reddened cheeks.
You were just as affected; love had never been kind to you. Before the snap, when the Avengers still felt like home, there were more chances. You had been so close to Bucky for the few years you spent together in Wakanda that if Thanos never erased everything you once knew, a fragile almost could’ve bloomed.
Those five years alone transformed you, hollowed you out entirely. You swore never to kill again after the night your powers first manifested. Fate had other plans, and you found yourself covered in blood, clawing animalistically at anything that got in your way: alien gore and sweat sticking to your tainted skin. Maybe if you had won the battle, you could have justified what you did, who you’d become. Then Bucky crumpled to dust in your arms, and whatever remained of your old self went with him.
You tried to reconcile after the final battle with Thanos. You held Bucky so tightly that your nails dug their own crevices into his skin, carved out where home used to be. But watching Tony, the only father you had left, sacrifice himself for the betterment of the world solidified the truth into you: you were always meant to be this.
Bile swarmed in your cheeks as the thoughts poured out of you, from the deepest pits you shoved them down. You jolted up, standing shakily like a newborn deer. You placed one foot in front of the other, tiptoeing through the symphony of limbs. Bob lightly tugged at your arm, and you found yourself leaning into it, but the comfort itself was what terrified you. How easily you could depend on it. How easily it could be taken away. You jerked away with more vigour than intended, immediately regretting it when hurt flickered across Bob's face. How could you explain that you were terrified of the possibility of loss that came with caring?
“You ok?” he asked, his blue eyes piercing into yours. He looked so small on the floor, body huddled into himself, as if trying to curl himself into a tiny ball no one would notice. You nodded, mouth tightly wound together. You stumbled out of the room, hardly noticed by anyone else now that conversations had started again, but you could feel his eyes still following you.
The room spun around you, and blood pounded in your ears. You could feel your heart drumming beneath your ribcage, as if begging to be let out. You gripped tightly at your shirt, hand shaking relentlessly; your heart continued pounding painfully against you. Am I dying? You thought, vision narrowing as you stumbled down the stairs. I must be dying.
A drop of sweat crept down your spine; the air blew against it, and the clash of heat and cold stung painfully. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you needed to leave. You continued down the empty hallway, hands stumbling for anything to ground yourself. You clutched against the door handle for the bathroom, pushing it in with the rest of your body. You pulled yourself up against the bathroom sink, facing your bitter reflection in the mirror.
Acid crawled up your throat again, and you couldn’t stop the influx of sickness that washed over you, a wave of shame and rot. You could hear his voice in your ears, Tony's voice. You wound your eyes tight; you could almost see the blue hologram playing in front of you, his voice clawing at your skull.
‘You’re not the monster they made you.’ The thought slipped from your grip as you hurled yourself over the sink, lungs spasming as you heaved, body violently punching each breath from you. Warm tears slipped down your face, creating a rhythmic tapping against the porcelain sink.
Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. You could taste the faintness of blood and were unsure if it was yours or just the memory of it. A soft knock on the door broke through your thoughts. “Hey,” you tried to respond, but your throat constricted. The tears came faster now, and you pressed your palms against your eyes. Another knock, this one more insistent. “Can I come in?”
You turned on the sink, letting the cold water shock your system; you splashed your face once, then twice, until the reflection in front of you didn’t look so wrecked. Your eyes were still red, bloodshot. How many times had you seen this face staring back at you? How many nights had you spent washing blood from your hands, wondering if you'd ever be clean again?
“I’m fine,” you said, voice cracking in a telltale quiver. Not even an idiot would believe you. Your knees crumbled from beneath you; you fell down into a squat, using the sink to keep your weight up.
You couldn’t face Bob. You knew he’d see right through you. There was no reply other than silence, a part of you was relieved, but that familiar sting of loneliness nipped at you. Your brain ached, a sharp headache furrowing its way into your skull. You took a deep breath, holding the heavy air in until it burst out of you like a dam. With shaking hands, you quickly tugged the door open.
Bob stood across from you; when he saw you, he didn't crowd you. He just remained there, offering you the choice to come closer. You stood in front of the closed bathroom door, arms crossed. Your legs gave way beneath you, and you slid down the door, crumpling to your knees with a humiliating surrender.
Bob surged forward, hands outstretched to catch you, but you stopped him with a trembling hand. Unable to lift your head, your body folded in on itself, and you sank further to the floor, the bottom half of your back pressed against the cold bathroom door. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, stepping back and slinking back onto the wall in front of you. You shook your head, waving your hand vaguely.
“I’m fine.” You swallowed hard, throwing your head back, resting it against the wall. You felt the steady thrum of your pulse begin to calm. He gave you a closed-mouth smile, one that said, ‘I don’t believe you.’ “I don’t need your pity.” You spat, rolling your eyes. You pushed your hand against your forehead, trying to will the headache away.
“It’s not pity.” The words came slowly. “I’m not good at this. Saying the right thing, finding the right words.” He took a shaky breath. “But you, you’ve been there for me, even when I hurt you. You still chose to save me, so let me do this. Let me care.” His words lay heavy between you, a desperate plea—no, a vow.
“It’s stupid.” The silence stretched, your hands trembling as you pressed them firmly into your lap.
“It’s not stupid,” Bob said gently. “It’s not stupid if it hurts.” You let out a hollow laugh.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not supposed to be hurt. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’ve been alive for a century, but I can’t handle a stupid movie?” Bob watched you with those gentle eyes of his, peeling back every lie you’d told.
“It wasn’t about the movie, was it?”
“Tony. It made me think of Tony.” The name felt foreign on your tongue. “And Bucky. And everything I lost. Everyone.” Bob nodded, giving you the space to continue. “That whole time during the Snap, I…” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. “I became someone I swore I’d never be again. I killed, Bob. I killed so many. I hunted them down like animals.” Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.
“You were lost.”
“Stop,” you shook your head, words tearing out of you. “No. I had a choice. I could have stayed with the Avengers. I could have helped people. But I was so angry, so empty.” You ran a trembling hand through your hair.
Your fingernails dug into your palms, anchoring you to the present as the past threatened to drag you under. Your jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. Bob shifted his weight, the soft rustle of fabric against the wall echoing in the empty corridor. His patience was another form of torture, giving you time to reveal the inhumanity hiding beneath your skin. You shut your eyes. Faces flickered. Strangers. People you’d ended because Valentina pointed and said guilty. Because you’d stopped asking why.
“I mean… we all suck.” Bob said, voice low. Your eyes snapped to his. “But we’re trying.” The hallway light flickered above, casting shadows across his face. You’d seen it personally: his regrets, his past, all the cruel truths that made him who he was now. You could still feel the way his skin felt gripping tightly on your throat, how the floor felt as your body collapsed on it. Now those same hands dried the dishes beside you, offered you comfort and warmth when you needed it most. Those hands weren’t the Sentry’s, nor were they the Void’s. They were Bob’s, cracked and scarred. Just like the rest of you were.
You’d all killed; none of you denied it. None of you had the luxury of pretending to be anything other than what you were: broken things trying to be better. You both sat in comfortable silence, the Tower quiet around you except for the distant sounds of the team still gathered in the common area. “We should go back,” you said, though you made no move to stand.
“We could,” Bob agreed, equally still. Somewhere above, a muffled crash echoed. “Or we could just… not.” Another beat of silence passed before you spoke again.
“We’re starting the garden.” He hummed, gaze drifting to the dust swirling in a sunbeam. “Is there anything else you wanted to do?” Bob thought for a moment.
“Yeah.” He admitted, a small smirk flickering. “I’ve never been camping. I’ve been homeless, though, so yeah… I’d probably hate it.”
“Glamping, then?” You offered. “Or a remote cabin, make it a bonding exercise with the rest of the team.”
“That sounds amazing, but we’d never have the time.” He snorted, but his eyes softened.
“You’d be surprised.” You pushed yourself up from the floor, offering a hand to help Bob. He took it, his grip solid and warm. For a heartbeat longer than necessary, you held on, feeling the rough calluses of his palm against yours.