Chapter Text
Everyone was silent for a few moments after the video ended, allowing the true weight of their words to sink in. No one quite knew what to say after such a thing, or how to possibly begin any sort of conversation that didn’t involve what they’d just seen. The hushed atmosphere wasn’t pressing or awkward like one would expect, however. It was more… contemplative. As if everyone had their own thoughts to occupy them.
And, indeed, this is what was happening.
Each of the Avengers were mentally replaying the video in their heads, going over their own segments, their friends’ segments, everything. It all seemed like too much.
Eventually, though, the stupor seemed to wear off, and everyone began to mill about the tower’s common area, a plate of deliciously homemade Barton family delicacies in their hands.
“Laura sends her love,” Clint said once everyone had been served from the dozens of Tupperware he had brought from his farm. “Anything gross is my fault, she kicked me out of the kitchen before I could cause too much damage.”
“This is spectacular ,” Thor declared, staring at the food on his fork with such a loving gaze a few of the other Avengers closest to him started to scoot away subtly. “I must know the name of this divine Midgardian delicacy!”
“Uh… I’m pretty sure that’s just coleslaw, buddy,” Clint said, scratching the back of his head and smiling sheepishly. “But I’ll be sure to tell her you liked it.”
Thor jovially piled an obscene amount of the “divine Midgardian delicacy” onto his fork, stuffed it all into his mouth, closed his eyes, and savored the flavor so much that an embarrassingly indecent sound escaped him (Bruce, flushing a deep crimson, stared down at his plate and nibbled halfheartedly on a French fry). Tony chuckled and shot a brief look over at where Loki was, hoping to get an interesting show of the antihero scolding his elder brother.
Loki, however, was too engrossed in conversation with Bucky to notice his sibling’s antics.
“Yeah, no, nobody really knew about it,” Bucky was saying, fiddling with a loose string on his shirt hem. “I kept it real quiet for a while. ‘Til Steve found my blades a couple months ago and asked me. Couldn’t lie to him. But he promised to not tell anyone, ‘s long as I never did it again.”
“How long did that promise last?” Loki asked genuinely, his tone sincere and understanding.
“Two days?” Bucky shrugged. “Don’t know. Not very long, that’s for sure. I felt bad, goin’ against my end of the deal while Stevie was holdin’ up his by not tellin’ anyone.”
Loki didn’t say anything for a moment, taking the time to cross his legs and readjust his sitting position (the two of them had opted to sit in the furthest corner of the room, out of everyone else’s earshot. Good for having a personal conversation… not so good for comfort). “Did he ever find out you’d started again?”
“Yeah,” Bucky answered with a sigh. “‘Bout three weeks ago. At first he was mad. Downright pissed, I’d say, actually.”
Loki’s eyebrows shot up. “He was angry with you over something you can’t help?”
“Not so much angry at me, I don’t think. Just at the situation in general. ‘Least, that’s what I told myself. But then I think… I think he started to get it a little bit. Or maybe not get it, but at least accept it.”
Loki toyed with the end of his hair anxiously, unsure how to proceed in the conversation. “How do you mean? He didn’t try to get you any assistance?”
Bucky let out a dry, humorless laugh. “I’ve talked to some of the world’s best psychologists since comin’ out of cryo. Made three of them quit the profession entirely. Five of ‘em need to see therapists of their own now. The lady I’m with now, Dr. Raynor, she seems to be the… best so far. But when she’s not available, I talk to Sam. He used to run a support group for veterans, ya know? He’s great, Raynor’s great, and Steve’s great for setting up all my appointments with both of ‘em. But honestly all I’ve wanted since I’ve been free is to talk to someone who understands. But seeing as no one I’ve known has ever endured nearly a century of brainwashing and murdering, I can’t really ever have that.”
Loki offered him a sympathetic yet pained smile. “Well, I can’t guarantee you nearly a century but I too have been forced to do… less than civil… things against my will. Not quite sure if you’re aware, but I tried to take over the world a couple years ago.”
“Was that sarcasm ?” Bucky asked, failing to keep the chuckle out of his voice.
Loki smiled, an actual genuine smile, and nudged the ex-assassin with his elbow slightly. “Hey, Thor’s banned me from stabbing people. I’ve got to be armed with some weapon, and my wit is just naturally accessible at all times.”
The two of them laughed, together grateful for the new friendship they’d formed. However, the weight of the topic they had been discussing began to press back down on them, and their lighthearted atmosphere dissipated.
“So what about you?” Bucky asked, taking a tentative bite of the homemade chocolate chip cookie he’d snatched from the Barton family’s provided feast.
Loki picked nervously at his nails, and Bucky noticed for the first time that his cuticles were red and swollen. “Me? Well, I can assure you that you’re not the only one with an… unusual backstory.”
“Yeah, I was wondering about that,” Bucky admitted. “The whole turning blue thing… is that just an Asgardian trait? Like Thor, can he do that?”
Loki chuckled humorlessly. “No, no, definitely not. I'm not… biologically… Asgardian. I was born to Laufey, king of Jotunheim. I was abandoned and left to die… that's when Odin found me. And he took me in, out of the -ahem- kindness of his heart .” Loki scowled down at the floor, taking the brief moment of silence as an opportunity to sip from his glass. Once he'd taken a rather large drink, he instantly screwed up his face and spat the liquid back into the cup. “What the hell is that?!” he asked loudly, causing several others to turn in his direction.
“Uh…” Clint looked over at the kitchen counter, where the drinks sat. “Mountain Dew?”
Loki dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin, trying to regain composure. “It was disgusting,” he informed Clint as politely as he could manage, pouring the remaining drink into the houseplant near him. “I'm going to go get some other refreshment,” the antihero told his new acquaintance. “Would you like me to get anything for you?”
Bucky nodded, handing over the empty, slightly-damaged Solo cup he'd been clenching in his metal fist. “Just water please. Thanks.”
Once Loki had walked away to the kitchen, Bucky heard a voice say softly, “sorry to intrude… but I couldn't help but overhear.”
“Bruce,” Bucky said, slightly surprised to see the scientist standing awkwardly next to him. “You're not intruding. Wanna sit? Fair warning, the floor's not very soft.”
Bruce cracked a small smile, casting a fleeting glance over his shoulder at the other superheros, all of them laughing and chatting as they feasted on the delicious food.
“Don't worry about them,” Loki said as he walked back over to them, two cups of water in hand. “They've all got their own problems. That is, I assume, what you've one over to discuss with us?”
Slowly, Bruce nodded, his face flushing dark red. “Yeah, sorry, I just heard your guys' conversation and it's just… strange… because I've never really had anyone to talk about it with before. If you want to still talk about it, that is. Sorry.”
Bucky patted the carpet next to him, and the doctor quickly sat down, fidgeting with the bracelet looped around his left wrist.
“What's that?” Bucky asked, his voice gentle and soothing, trying to ease the conversation back up.
“Oh, this?” Bruce shook his sleeve back and held out his arm, giving the other two a closer look at the bracelet. Upon further inspection, it wasn't really a piece of jewelry at all… more like two strands of green and purple string twisted around each other and tied together in a small knot. “When I was… well, in hiding, I guess, I found myself in this tiny little village that was rampant with disease. There were these two little kids –twins, I think– named Indi and Orien. Two adorable little girls, couldn’t have been more than five years old, being raised by a single dad because their mom had died in childbirth. When the dad got sick, Indi and Orien came to find me. They demanded only I could help their father, because I was ‘ the bestest doctor in the whole wide world.’” Bruce smiled fondly at the memory. “It took forever, but eventually their dad started to heal and get back on his feet. In the time that it took him to recover, I acted as caregiver for the girls. Cooked for them, sent them to school, read them stories when they were going to bed. Nearly a year of this, until the dad was completely healed. I knew they were seriously struggling financially, so I refused to take payment, but the girls still wanted to give me something. They were immensely proud of it, saying it took them two whole days to make. Green string for Indi, purple for Orien. Of course, they had no idea how perfect of a metaphor they'd made… mixing the Hulk with Bruce. They said… they said it made my scars look ‘pretty.’ When I put that gun to my mouth so many years ago, all I could think of was them. Had to take the bracelet off so it wasn't staring me in the face. So they weren't a part of it. When the Hulk spat the bullet out, I found myself feeling a little relieved… What would I be teaching those girls if I just gave up? Now I wear this every time I have a bad day so I can remember them.” Tears in his eyes, the doctor looked up and flushed red again. “Sorry. You probably didn't want the whole backstory, did you?”
“I found it rather… touching, actually,” Loki said earnestly, much to Bruce's surprise.
Bucky nodded in agreement. “A lot of people have got things to help ‘em cope. Steve's got that compass with Peggy’s picture in it, Lord knows I've seen him fiddle with that thing when he's anxious.”
“God,” Bruce said, laughing humorlessly, “Orien and Indi have gotta be, what, Pete’s age by now? Makes me feel old.”
Loki and Bucky both scoffed, amusement on their faces. “ Please,” Bucky said, patting Bruce on the shoulder good-naturedly. “With all due respect, you can't call yourself old ‘til you've seen one hundred straight years.”
“Try one thousand,” Loki challenged, lips twitching into a smirk.
“Yet you both look younger than me,” Bruce groaned. “Not fair.”
“Nah, Sam's already made sure to point out the single gray hair I've got,” Bucky said, shrugging. “Told him it was just the stress of havin’ to deal with his bullshit all the time but he wouldn't listen.”
Loki chuckled a bit, but Bruce got quiet, staring down at his hands.
“Banner?” Loki asked, at the same time Bucky reached his arm out to lightly touch the doctor's shoulder.
“Sorry,” Bruce said, shaking his head slowly. “I just… does –well– does he know? About…” He trailed off, gesturing sheepishly at Bucky's right arm.
“Oh.” Bucky struggled to find his wording for a moment. “Yeah, no, he knows. Steve too. Other than that I try to keep it quiet.”
“I don't think anyone knew,” Bruce said quietly, shaking his head again. “About me, I mean. I don't want it to change how anyone on the team looks at me.”
“If it changes how they view you then they're a damn rotten bunch of people, aren't they?”
Bruce's mouth quirked upwards at Loki's words, but his eyes still conveyed his anxiety. “I did try, once, a long time ago, to talk to Tony about it. Right– right after the Battle of New York…” Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Loki flinch at the mention of the Battle but plowed on. “But, well, Tony's… Tony and he kind of just blew me off with sarcasm. I know that's how he deals with emotions, that's his way of hiding from the world, but I really needed a genuine talk.”
“Well I can't promise you no sarcasm,” Bucky replied, a teasing edge to his voice,” but I can guarantee that whenever you need to talk, I'll be here.”
Bruce smiled –a genuine, warm smile– and tugged the sleeve of his buttoned shirt down over the bracelet on his wrist. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
~•~•~•~•~•~
Fifteen minutes later, Bucky and Loki’s impromptu therapy session had gained two more people.
“I can't say I didn't think about it,” Clint admitted, fidgeting with his untied shoelace. “During the Blip, I mean. Thought about it a lot, actually. How much easier it'd be to, instead of killing everyone else, just do myself in. Never went through with it or did anything. Too damn scared. Guess a part of me was always hanging onto the hope that they'd all come back one day, and my kids would hafta live without a dad. Couldn't stand the thought of putting ‘em through what I was experiencing.”
A murmured sound of understanding made its way through the group. “I was damn near close to just pulling the trigger, though, when Nat found me. She… saved me.” The master archer chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “God, that was cheesy.”
“No,” Bruce said gently. “It was honest . The Blip was a dark time for you, and Nat was a light to help you out of the darkness. We all need anchors to keep us grounded to the good things.”
The others looked vaguely impressed at the doctor’s words.
Clint sniffed loudly, pulling his façade back together before he lost it. “Thanks Banner.”
“I nearly worked myself to death,” Tony said suddenly, speaking up for the first time. When the genius billionaire had taken a seat in the rapidly expanding group, the others had been wary about what he might say. However, they were all pleasantly surprised at the genuine tone his usually-boisterous voice took. “It was right after the whole fight with Cap… Pepper and I were ‘taking a break,’ whatever the hell that means, and Steve’d gone off to God knows where with half the Avengers. I had Rhodey, but he was in and out of physical therapy the whole time, and I kinda cut him out. It was dumb. I felt… alone, I guess, and just wanted to give up. So I set my house on lockdown, hid in the lab, and got to work. No food, no breaks, no sleep. Twelve days.”
His companions’ eyes bugged out of their heads. “Twelve days?!” Bucky cried incredulously.
“Yup. I found that I truly didn't care what happened. Told myself no one knew I was there, no one would care if anything were to happen. No one would even know. After maybe seventy hours of being down there –and abusing my access to the liquor cabinet– I just… forgot. About everything. It felt good, I guess, to not remember why I was upset. The rest is a blur. Dunno if it was the exhaustion or alcohol that made me pass out in the end, but that's how Pepper found me, lying face-down on my workbench, more dead than alive, with over a dozen empty bottles I had no recollection of drinking.”
“Tony,” Bruce said softly, placing his hand on his lab partner's knee, “that's awful. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help you.”
“Not your fault,” Stark grunted, ironically unsure of how to deal with the attention being on him. “No one's fault but my own, really.”
“Don’t do that,” Clint said, words stern but tone comforting. “Don't go blaming yourself for everything. It's not all your fault.”
“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, crossing his arms in a stance of mock-anger. “This is a self-deprecation free zone.”
“We crossed the self-deprecation border a long time ago,” Loki reminded him. “But he's right, Stark. Though I wasn't present for the unpleasantness that was your so-called Civil War, I can guarantee that you were not the only one to have made mistakes.”
Bucky chuckled dryly, looking down at his combat boots in shame. “Definitely not.”
Tony patted the shoulder of his parents’ murderer consolingly. “I told you, Barnes, you’ve got nothing to worry about anymore. I’m– we’re… we’re okay. We’re all good. You’re a nice guy. Genuinely.”
The ex-assassin offered the genius billionaire a small, soft smile. “Thank you.”
“So, Tony,” Clint said, attempting to ease the awkwardness and tension that hung thickly in the air, “did you make anything interesting in these twelve lab days you mentioned?”
Stark shrugged, his face uncharacteristically reddening at the embarrassing truth. “Pepper didn’t trust me to go down into the lab for quite some time after that. Almost had it where she wouldn’t even let me leave to do Iron Man stuff. She did, eventually, let me out of my confinement to help out Pete a few weeks later. All that Homecoming crap he faced, y’know. When I finally went back down to the lab, Pepper had cleaned everything out. So I very well could have invented Time Travel and she just deleted it.” A sour look flickered over his features but quickly fell when he glanced over at his fiancee.
“You’ve already invented Time Travel,” Bruce reminded him.
“I could’ve done it sooner.”
“Sucks you didn’t really get anything out of it though,” Clint pressed, rather unhelpfully.
“That’s…” Tony hesitated. “That’s… not exactly true. I– I did get… something out of it.” He reached down towards his jeans pocket but faltered again, his internal debate raging over his face. Shaking his head and thinking screw it, the “invincible” superhero pulled a small token out of his pocket and held it out flat on his palm.
“What’s that?” an unassuming Steve Rogers asked, peering over Bucky’s shoulder as he came around to the huddled group.
The others were silent for a multitude of reasons.
Bucky, like Steve, was confused, having no idea what they were looking at.
Loki, though constantly bragging that he was more attune with the Midgardian culture than his brother, was also perplexed, stumped as to why this small coin-shaped item deserved such a dramatic reveal.
Clint and Bruce, however, had exchanged sidelong glances at each other and looked back up at Tony, eyes wide.
“ Tony ,” Bruce began, clearing his dry throat. “Is that–”
Tony nodded, not meeting anyone’s eye and stuffing the token back into his pocket dejectedly. “Y’know, just forget I showed that to you. It’s not important. Anyways, Steve, good to see you! What brings you to our impromptu therapy session?”
Stark’s forced enthusiasm was blatant, and the others could see pain dancing in his brown eyes plain as day.
“No, Tony,” Clint said softly, his brow scrunched tightly in concern and his tone gentler than any of the others had ever heard. “Good– good for you.”
“I’m lost,” Bucky muttered. “Is that little coin thing good or bad? Sorry– sorry if that was… insensitive. You don’t have to answer.”
Tony chewed on his bottom lip and breathed heavily through his nose, removing the token from his pocket once more. “It’s a chip. An AA chip, that is.”
Loki’s puzzled face crumpled into a look of understanding, but Steve’s and Bucky’s remained as politely confused as before.
“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony clarified, turning the chip over in his hand. “Pepper made me go. Rhodey sided with her. Felt like an attack at the time, like they were ganging up on me.” He smiled dryly and emotionlessly. “Doesn’t quite feel like that anymore.”
Tony felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and looked up. Pepper smiled down at her fiance. “Mind if I take a seat?”
The others murmured various no s, so Pepper copied Tony’s cross-legged stance and sat on the carpet next to him.
Tony cleared his throat once more, cheeks tinged pink in shame. “Anyways. Yeah. That's my sob story. Who’s next?”
“Tony.” Bruce was not stern. His voice was firm and unwavering, but he harbored no resentment towards his fellow genius inventor as he spoke. “It’s okay to talk about it.”
The words were apparently just what Tony needed to hear at that moment in time, because as soon as the others nodded and mumbled their agreements in varying respects, the invincible Iron Man choked on a single sob and swiped at his eyes desperately. “Thanks, Bruce.” His voice cracked and squeaked like a pubescent teenager’s, riddled with raw emotion, but he couldn’t have cared less.
“How long?” Clint wanted to know.
“Got to three months after the twelve-day episode,” Tony replied, desperately trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. “Stopped going for a while, didn’t tell Pepper or Rhodey. Went back a few times but didn’t attend regularly. Only started back up again a bit ago, after I had a particularly bad relapse that ended similarly. Just got this six month chip last week.”
“Six months!” Steve exclaimed. “Six months sober?”
“I know… it’s not very long,” Tony admitted ashamedly. “But I mean, I’m trying… haven’t even touched a bottle… but yeah, no, it’s not very impressive–”
“Six months is incredible, Tony,” Steve said earnestly, tilting the genius’ chin so he looked the captain directly in the eyes. “I’m proud of you.”
Steve’s words had an immediate, profound impact. The tears that had welled up at Bruce’s earlier statement grew too heavy to hold back any longer, and soon Tony Stark was unabashedly sobbing.
The invincible Iron Man: savior of New York, Sokovia, Earth, and the Universe. Sitting cross-legged on the uncomfortable floor, surrounded by his found family. A blue, poker-chip sized token clutched tightly in his palm.
I’m proud of you. Steve’s words echoed loudly in his brain.
It’s okay to talk about it. Bruce’s sincere reminder was just as loud in his mind.
I’m proud of you. It’s okay to talk about it. I’m proud of you.
~•~•~•~•~•~
“A kid at my school overdosed a few months back,” Peter Parker said solemnly. “Had a twin brother, a baby sister, two great parents… no one knew he was going through anything. Apparently his uncle had been… abusing him… No one knew until it was too late.”
Steve shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. “I strongly believe there’s a special part of hell just for child abusers. How messed up do you have to be? Like seriously, how fuc–”
Bucky clamped his metal hand over Steve’s mouth upon seeing the distressed looks of some of their compatriots.
“No, no, you’re right,” Clint agreed with a nod and shrug. “It’s true.”
“My dear ol’ dad’s the king of that part of hell, then,” Bruce said, his tone bitterer than any of them had ever heard.
Peter Quill raised his Solo cup in a toast. “To our daddy issues.”
Tony, Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Loki, and Yelena tapped their cups to his and downed their Mountain Dews and Pepsis.
“Hear hear,” Nat said bitterly.
“Y’know, I killed my father.”
Bucky spat out the sip of sweet tea he’d just taken in shock. “You what?”
“Gross, Buck, that was mine.”
“Piss off Steve.” Turning away from his complaining best friend, the ex-assassin raised his eyebrows at Quill, surprised. “Like… on purpose?”
“You’re hardly the one to lecture on parent-killing,” Tony murmured, earning a swift elbow to the ribs from Pepper and a slightly hurt and guilty look from Barnes.
“Yeah.” Quill shrugged in response to the question, quite unperturbed from the patricide-focused conversation. “He was a dick.”
“I get that,” Bruce said hesitantly, “but… what’d he do? Or do you not want to talk about it?” The doctor quickly rushed to assure the Guardian leader, “it’s okay if you’re not comfortable talking about it. Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s good.” Quill swigged his Pepsi and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, motioning to the opposite corner of the room, where Rocket and Groot had fallen asleep in a jumbled mix of tree branches and fur. “Those two can vouch for me. Pops tried to kill all of us with his alien power shit, so I used said alien power shit against him. I mean, was killing him the nicest thing I could’ve done? Nah. But I think it was justified. He killed my mom.”
“He what?” at least three superheroes chorused together.
“Killed my mom.” Quill’s voice was steady, but the faintest glint of hate flickered in his eyes as he recounted his fight with Ego. “Implanted a tumor in her brain and– and killed her. He– he killed my mom. Gave her ca– gave her brain cancer. Let her die when I was eight years old, let me get abducted by Ravagers, let my poor grandpa believe both me and his daughter were dead on the same night.”
“Yeah…” Peter Parker said, eyes wide and nodding. “That’s pretty… bad.”
“The kid at your school,” Quill said, firmly remaining unemotional after his story, “was probably… sexually abused, right? Not just emotionally?”
“Yeah,” the younger Peter replied quietly. “The police reports said that the uncle… er– raped… him at least three times. And– uh, threatened to do it over a dozen more times.”
Bucky flinched at the word raped, but Natasha placed her hand on his knee to prevent him from spiraling again.
“Makes me think,” Peter Parker continued, “how many times that poor kid was wishing someone would help him and Spider-Man sat idly by doing nothing. I could’ve saved him.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Pete,” Steve said. “If any of us start doing the I could have saved them game, we’ll be here all day. It’s not your fault.”
Peter gave the captain a small smile, but did not appear convinced.
The truth of the matter, the truth that everyone knew, was that they all played the I could have saved them game.
Steve still blamed himself for every death from Peggy Carter to Pietro Maximoff.
He knew Bucky Barnes felt the never-ending guilt of every instance from the JFK assassination to the “accident” that killed Maria and Howard Stark.
Tony, well… Tony took the blame for everything . And it was clear that his mentor’s guilty conscience had rubbed off on the teenaged Spider-Man.
“You know,” Loki said, speaking up for the first time in a while, “I quite like this.”
“What?” Clint asked sarcastically. “Trauma?”
“No, you twit.” The god of mischief and stories rolled his eyes. “Being accepted, despite everything I’ve done.” His face warmed at his words. “That was… more emotional than I intended it to be.”
“Yeah, well…” Tony looked around the room, taking in the sight of the World’s Mightiest Heroes intermingling and enjoying each others’ presence. “We’re an accepting bunch. I think we’ve finally accepted that no one is expected to be perfect. Not even a superhero.”