Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You can all follow me this way—Dr. Coulson’s ready now.” He announced.

You stood on legs that felt completely hollow—any sense of comfort you’d felt in the waiting room disappearing in an instant. You trailed behind the redhead, the only two people behind you were the two men who’d walked in after you.

Peter, who was most likely college-aged, lead you all down the hallways and to a door. He opened it, leading you all inside the room.

A man, who you assumed was Dr. Coulson, smiled warmly as you all filed inside. There was a circle of chairs in the center of the room.

The room itself was calming, with little decorations here and there.

You sucked in some deep breaths, hoping to at least try and calm your nerves.

Peter walked out of the room, and you turned your attention to Dr. Coulson.

“Hi, everybody. Go ahead and take a seat wherever you’d like.” He directed, sitting down in the one farthest from the door. You took a seat in a chair, and the redhead took the seat to your right. A man with a goatee sat on your left. You quickly surveyed the group.

There was the man with the purple shirt, and you noticed that his eyes were a blue-green color. Next to him was Dr. Coulson, and on Dr. Coulson’s left was a man, with dark skin and some of the most beautiful brown eyes you’d ever seen. Next to him was the man with long brown hair, and then next to him was his blonde friend. Next to the blonde was another blonde, this guy with longer blonde hair he tied back in a ponytail. He was also huge, and muscled to no comparison.

Next to that guy was another man, with dark brown or maybe black hair, and gentle brown eyes. He wore glasses, and seemed very shy. Then there was the redhead next to him, and then, well, you.

“I’d like us all to go around and introduce ourselves,” Dr. Coulson spoke again, “name, age, and a fun fact about yourself, if you feel comfortable doing so.” He invited the conversation, grinning. “I’ll go first. I’m Dr. Phil Coulson, you can call me ‘Phil’ or ‘Coulson’ or whatever you’d like. I’m 49 years old, and I’ve worked here for about fifteen years or so.” He looked to the man in the purple shirt.

“Uh, I’m Clint Barton. I’m 30 years old, and..I’m hard of hearing.” He turned his head to glance at Coulson, and you caught a glimpse of his hearing aid.

The man next to you introduced himself. “The name’s Tony Stark. I’m 45, and I’m a mechanic.” He answered confidently.

Everyone’s focus turned to you. You froze instantly, the introduction you’d been rehearsing in your head completely disappearing from your mind. Your mouth felt dry and your scalp felt hot, like you were standing in the hot sun.

The redheaded woman next to you leaned over to you.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I get nervous too.”

Though she didn’t say much, you felt a small bit of comfort as you cleared your throat. “Sorry. Uh, my name’s Y/n. Y/n L/n. Uh...I’m 27. Uh…I almost didn’t come here today.” Several people flashed you small smiles of friendliness, to which you smiled back.

“I’m Wanda Maximoff.” The woman next to you smiled warmly. “I’m 26. And I’ve been married before.” When she smiles, her nose crinkles.

“I’m Bruce Banner. I’m 43, and I’m a scientist.” The guy beside her said quietly. He seemed anxious, but also very kind.

“I am Thor Odinson. I am 30, and I had two siblings.” The guy with the blonde ponytail’s voice was loud and booming, but not in an aggressive way. He looked fun to be around, and he looked like the kind of guy you didn’t expect to see in a therapy group. But you could really say that about any of these people. They didn’t look traumatized, from what you could tell.

“Hi. I’m Steve Rogers, I’m 29 years old, and I’ve known this guy—“ he taps the brunette next to him's shoulder, grinning, “—my whole life.”

The guy next to him nods, confirming this, but he shifts awkwardly. You notice that he's wearing gloves, along with his jacket and all his other layers. Strange, considering the weather, but maybe he just had poor circulation.

He took them off as he fiddled with his hands. You noticed his left hand was a dark, dark gray, with gold lines in it. Metal, you realized. He caught you looking, giving you a look of distrust, of defensiveness.

No, you wanted to assure him. I didn’t mean it like that. Fuck. You felt immeasurably guilty and he looked away.

"My name is James Barnes. I'm 29. I go by Bucky." He states, and it looks like he struggled to get it out. Steve smiles at him, and you can compare his demeanor to one of a golden retriever.

"I'm Sam Wilson. I'm also 29, and I used to counsel veterans down at a VA office in DC." The man with the beautiful brown eyes said.

"It's nice to meet you all." Dr. Coulson grinned as he looked around the group. "Even though you all come from different backgrounds and have lived different lives, you all have one thing in common: you all have PTSD, or struggle with a past trauma." He explains.

"Today, I’d like to talk about PTSD as we start this week’s session. I understand that many of us in this group have experienced past trauma or traumas, and are still navigating the effects of these experiences. I’d like to invite all of you to speak openly about any emotions or events that you’ve been struggling with, and how it has impacted your life. We’re here to support and understand one another, so don’t hesitate to share your stories. Are you all comfortable with going around and explaining why you came today? You can be as brief or descriptive as you'd like. I'd like to remind everybody that this is a safe space, and there will be no judgement here."

You sat quietly, not wanting to be the first person to speak up. Luckily, you didn't have to be.

"When I was 13, I watched my father have a heart attack. Right in front of me. I was real sick a lot as a kid, so it was rough on my Ma. She ended up passing when I was 18." Steve speaks quietly, nodding slowly to himself, keeping his eyes on his hand, which rested on his knee.

When it was clear he was finished, Sam spoke up next. "I was in the military. Served in the Air Force. Watched my best friend, who was also my partner of two years at the time, go down. Felt like I was just up there to watch." Sam recalls.

"My sister was four years older than me, and my brother was two years younger. She killed herself when I was 14. My brother overdosed when I was 17. My father favorited me, and it was clear that he did." Thor states.

"I was kidnapped as a kid, and my dad was shitty." Tony shrugs.

"I struggled a lot with...thoughts of suicide a lot. So..yeah." Bruce trails off.

"My dad was abusive." Clint explains briefly.

"I'm from Sokovia." Wanda began. "My brother died in a bombing there a few years ago, as our parents did when we were younger. My husband died last year in a boat accident."

Husband, you noted.

"My girlfriend died nine months ago." You force the words out, remaining cautious. Girlfriend. Not boyfriend.

Nobody reacted differently to your statement, and you smiled internally, though you couldn’t help but compare your response to everyone else’s. Yours didn’t seem as…serious as theirs. You felt a sense of guilt seeping in. Here you were, taking up a spot in a therapy group where someone with some serious issues could be sitting.

"...I was in the army. Got..got my arm blown off. And then, uh...cult." Bucky kept his gaze on the floor, even as Steve gently pressed his knee against Bucky's.

"Wait. 'Cult'?" Tony catches, brows furrowed and eyes showing the confusion he felt. Everyone, including you, nodding in agreement with him.

“Long story.” Bucky brushes it off.

“Okay then.” Sam shrugs.

You watched Dr. Coulson as he began to talk again.

—————————

He’d introduced a small game to help everyone get to know each other. It felt like a thing you’d do in middle school, but it worked nonetheless. You enjoyed it, even. It hadn’t been awful.

You knew a little bit more about everybody. Thor’s favorite color is red. Clint was good at archery. Bucky worked at the library. Steve had a long list of illnesses. Sam liked running. Wanda’s favorite flowers were sunflowers.

When it was over, you drove home. Once you got in your apartment, you opened your phone, clicking on a familiar contact.

“Hello?” Sharon’s voice sounded out from the phone.

“Sharon, hey.” You smiled awkwardly to yourself.

“Oh my God, Y/n. It’s good to..hear your voice. Wait. Did you go? To the meeting today?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“How was it?”

“It was uh, it was good.” You stared at your feet, realizing your shoes were still on as you stood in the living room. You kicked them off, listening to her voice.

“I’m glad to hear it. I..wasn’t sure if you’d go. The emoji was good to see, but..a bit vague.” She laughed.

“Yeah…sorry about that. And I’m sorry for…y’know, ghosting you and all that.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you seem to be doing a bit better. Hey, uh, I’m in the parking lot of the hospital. My shift’s in a few minutes, but do you wanna get some coffee? Whenever you have time.”

You paused for a minute, taking in some shallow and shaky breaths.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d..I’d like that. See you soon, Sharon.”

“Bye.” She said.

“Bye.” You echoed, listening to her hang up the phone. After a moment, you lowered it from your ear, smiling.

Maybe everything wasn’t so bad, after all.

The next session was the following Wednesday, at the same location, at the same time. You appreciated the sense of routine it gave you. 

You’d tried your best to at least keep your apartment from looking like a tornado had gone through it, and you were impressed at how easily it came to you. Normally it wouldn’t be this easy, and you’d watch yourself spiral, fully aware, and yet, fully helpless. 

But now was not the time to think about that. Now was the time to think about where you were going, where you were going to steer your car. 

And so you did. You focused on listening to the GPS as you found the therapy office. 

Maria greeted you as you came in, smiling as she did so. She was good with faces, you noted. 

You sat in the same chair you did last time, and everyone all seemed to have a silent agreement to stay in their ‘assigned’ seats. “Today, we’re gonna play a game. Each of you is going to get a pen and one of these paper strips—“ Dr. Coulson held strips of paper in his right hand, showing them to everybody. “—and write down one thing you’re afraid or anxious about, or a secret you haven’t told many people, or even just a negative thought you often have.” He explained. 

“Make sure to not write your names on the paper, this is meant to be anonymous. Once everyone’s finished, we’re gonna mix the papers in this plastic bucket, and then each of you is going to draw one piece of paper and read it aloud.” 

He passed out the pens and paper strips, before beginning to write down his own answer on his piece. 

You stared down at your hands. Not sure of what to write, you exhaled. You briefly glanced up at everyone else, but you caught no one’s eye. Your gaze shifted back down to stare at your blank piece of paper, and a thought came to you. 

I wonder if they regret being with me, you scribbled down on the paper. You kept the pronouns neutral, knowing the activity was meant to be anonymous. 

Coulson stuck out the plastic bin, and everyone dropped their folded paper strips into it. He shuffled them around with his hand, before taking one out. He held out the bin again, and everyone grabbed one paper strip. 

“Everyone has felt safe enough to be vulnerable, and I would like to keep it that way as I read out the first one. When I finish, we’re gonna talk about it, and then another person will read out their paper.” Dr. Coulson explained. The way he said it wasn’t at all aggressive, hell, it was pretty damn welcoming. 

“It should have been me,” He reads. He leaves a moment of silence before he speaks again. “How did it make you all feel, hearing that?” 

“I understand it.” Sam states simply. 

“It’s very…dark.” Wanda comments, her expression one of sympathy. Not pity, sympathy. 

“Who would like to read their paper next?” Dr. Coulson looks around the group. 

Wanda glances down at her paper, staying silent. 

“I’ll go.” Tony chimes in. “I don’t know why I am the way I am, it doesn’t make sense.” 

“I can understand that one.” Steve smiles softly. 

“How did it make everyone feel, hearing that?” Coulson directs the conversation. 

“Frustrated.” Bucky’s voice is quiet, and deep. Steve gives him a smile. 

“Hopeless, almost.” Clint follows up. 

A few more people read their papers before it’s Wanda’s turn. She reads out your card, and you freeze. You hope it’s not obvious it’s yours. 

But nobody calls you out. The conversation keeps going. 

“I don’t mean to push people away.” Thor reads. Nobody says anything for a moment. You look around, noticing Bucky glancing up, though his head is bowed slightly. It’s his, you realize. And nobody’s saying anything. Shit. 

“I get that one.” You speak up for the first time. “After..after my girlfriend..passed away, I shut everybody out on accident. So..I get it.” You definitely weren’t the first person to tell a personal anecdote that day, but it still felt vulnerable nonetheless. 

You accidentally made eye contact with Bucky, and you could tell that he knew he’d been found out. He looked worried for a moment, before realizing that you were the only one who’d noticed. He gave you a small smile, and you smiled back. 

Then, it was your turn to read your piece of paper aloud. “Everyone I care about gets hurt.” 

The group discussed the sentence, before everyone put their paper back in the bucket. 

“Even though it was anonymous, you’ve all shared something personal to the group. Everybody has been equally vulnerable today. I hope that has created some trust between us.” Dr. Coulson smiled.

“Now, I’d like to direct our focus onto something else. We call these ‘I Can’ statements. It sounds kinda silly, but it’s actually really helpful. Instead of thinking about how you’re struggling or how therapy isn’t working as fast as you thought it would, you should consider the things you can do. For example, instead of ‘no matter what I do, I always fail’ you could combat those thoughts with ‘I can fail, and that’s okay, because I’ll keep trying.’”

As he introduced the topics and directed the discussion, you couldn’t help but glance at Wanda. She was wearing a yellow and white embroidered floral blouse, with high waisted jeans and a brown belt. She wore white sneakers with the outfit, and a gold necklace. She had several thin gold rings on her fingers. She was good at accessorizing, you were sure of that.

Her red hair was pulled back in a half-up half-down style, and it was very beautiful. She was very beautiful.

You mentally cursed yourself out for even thinking that. What would Nat think, if she knew? God, she’d be so hurt. It’s not fair to her to just go fucking around with any redhead you see, you told yourself.

You tried to pay attention to the meeting, but your overwhelming sense of guilt kept catching your attention. You desperately attempted to shove the feelings and thoughts that came with it away, to no avail.

Maybe she’d think you needed to move on, a voice in your head reasoned. Maybe.

——————

Sessions were every Wednesday, every week. You got used to the routine as you became friends with the people in your group. September began to end, October was just on the horizon.

You managed to go out for coffee with Sharon.

It went well, though filled with awkward pauses as you didn’t know what to say. But it had happened, nonetheless. Maybe there was a point to all of it. Just maybe.

“I regret what I did. When it happened.” Steve confessed, and you frowned.

“Would you like to share more about what happened?” Coulson invited him to speak.

“There isn’t very much to share. I was thirteen, my dad and I were outside. He was cutting down a tree, and then…well, he just clutched his chest and fell over. I think he called for help. I can’t…can’t remember it very clearly. But I just stood there. I just stood there like an idiot.” Steve swallows, clearing his throat.

“And I’m not saying he was the best dad, or the best man, because he wasn’t. He was a drunk, and he’d do stupid shit when he was drunk. But I’d never…never seen someone die before.” He rubbed his hands together every so often. “I regret it. If I’d done something, maybe he could’ve lived.”

“That’s not your fault, you know.” Wanda says gently. “You were a child. You couldn’t control that.”

Steve just shrugged in response.

“Does anybody else want to share similar feelings or memories?” Coulson addressed the crowd.

Regret. You understood that feeling. You regret what you did the morning of the accident. How you didn’t get to tell her goodbye that morning before she went to work. How you didn’t tell her that you loved her.

Warm sunlight spilled through the blinds of your bedroom, the blankets strewn about the bed. You’d chosen these bedsheets together, you remembered. You’d picked them out in the store together, soon before you moved into your apartment. These were good bedsheets. Warm, and comfortable, and safe.

You heard the distant sound of Natasha making coffee in the kitchen. You wanted to get up, to kiss her cheek and tell her you loved her before she went off to work. But God, you were so tired, and the sheets were so comfortable and warm and safe. Besides, you’d see her later anyway. She was only going to work. She’d come back around dinner time, and then you two could cook together or she’d bring something home. Like any other day.

But it hadn’t been any other day. You knew that now. God, you were such an ass. You should’ve just gotten out of bed like a normal, functioning human being and told your girlfriend you loved her and hoped she had a good day. It was so easy. Why couldn’t you have just done it?

But now Natasha is gone, and the last time you got to talk to her was the night before she fucking died, and what had you said to her?

“Can you take the trash out when you leave tomorrow?” Fuck, you wanted to beat yourself with a chair. Your last words to your girlfriend were asking her to take out the fucking garbage. Not ‘I love you, goodnight’ or ‘you’re my everything’ but ‘hey, can you take out my fucking garbage because I can’t get up off my ass and do it myself?’

You weren’t very present as you listened to the rest of the meeting, and you weren’t present when you walked out to your car, either.

“Hey,” a familiar feminine voice called for your attention. “Are you alright?”

You looked over your shoulder to see the redhead. “Yeah. Yeah, m’fine.”

“Are you..sure?” She asked softly. God, there was something about her, about the way she spoke, that made you want to tell her everything.

Fuck, you were just downright awful, huh? You couldn’t even be bothered to tell your girlfriend that she mattered to you, and now you’re just going to dump your baggage onto every attractive person you meet?

“I…” You trailed off, opting to rub your thumb against your keys. You decided to just shrug in response.

“Would—would you like to get lunch together? Tomorrow?” She blurted out. She bit her lip immediately after, and you could tell she regretted saying it.

But you nodded. You couldn’t lie, you’d been attracted to her.

“Great. Uhm—here’s my number.” She hands you a tiny piece of paper, and you’d realized that she’d been waiting to give this to you.

“Thanks.” You smiled. She nodded quickly, rushing off to her car. You chuckled to yourself, opening your car door and getting inside. You didn’t feel as shitty anymore.

As you drove home, you couldn’t help but think about her. You and Wanda were always pretty friendly with each other, exchanging a few words or compliments here and there.

———————

The next day, you made sure you didn’t look like you’d just rolled out of bed, taking the time to pick out a decent, matching outfit and even accessorizing with a necklace. It wasn’t fancy by any means, you were just going out to a cafe. You’d texted with Wanda about where the two of you were going to go, and you’d both eventually decided to meet at the cafe at 12:30.

You were out the door at 12:00, driving down to the cafe as you anxiously anticipated the…whatever this qualified as. It wasn’t a date. It couldn’t have been a date, Wanda liked men and only men, right? Just because someone isn’t homophobic doesn’t mean they’re gay.

When you arrived, she parked next to you.

“Hey,” you greeted awkwardly, wiping your sweaty hand on your thigh.

“Hi.” She smiled, and her nose crinkled. It was adorable, and she looked genuinely happy to see you.

You walked inside together, ordering your food and taking it to a table to sit down. You’d ordered your favorite food from the cafe, and she’d gotten a cup of soup with a half of a sandwich.

You chatted about anything and everything, and you smiled warmly throughout the entire conversation. Wanda had that effect on people. Even in group therapy, whenever she talked to anyone they ended up smiling.

You’d been to a quite a few meetings, getting to know everybody. The weather was still decently warm and the sun was still out, but it was clear that fall was approaching.

“Any plans for Halloween?” You asked after a few moments of silence where the two of you were eating.

“No, I don’t think so. I normally have a bunch of trick-or-treaters, so I’m probably going to end up decorating a lot this year.” She explains. “Normally my husband would’ve helped, but..” she shrugged, smiling up at you lightly. You envied Wanda in her ability to be so put together after losing a partner. Her husband, no less. Natasha meant the world to you, and maybe one day you would’ve gotten married, but there’s a whole lot of extra stuff to do when your spouse dies, isn’t there?

“I might invite the group over and we could do it together. I’d make or get dinner or something, and we’d get time to get to know each other outside of therapy. Maybe that’s not what I’m supposed to do, but they all seem like really nice people. What do you think?” She suggested.

“I think that’s a good idea.” You shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d be willing to help, if you want.”

She smiled. “I think I’d like that.”

You and Wanda had started to take turns going to each other’s places for tea or coffee or even dinner every so often. The first time you’d brought her to your apartment, after two days of cry-cleaning, she’d smiled warmly as she sat with you at your kitchen table. 

You’d learned her husband’s name was Jarvis, but everyone called him Vision, because his eyesight was really good and his eyes were different shades of blue. 

You’d told her about Natasha, about some of your funny memories together. You told her of deep red hair, icy blue eyes that held nothing but warmth and love and a sharp sense of humor. You told her of sarcastic jokes, of loving roasts and bad puns every so often. Of nerdy movies and DIY furniture.

And you knew you were developing a little bit of a crush on her, but you knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere. She was straight, wasn’t she? She had a whole ass husband, and she’d never mentioned anything about liking women. 

Either way, you didn’t say no when she invited you on a mysterious outing one day. 

You drove over to her house, which was in a pretty big suburban neighborhood. You were  positive that you were the last one to arrive, noticing all the cars parked in the drive way and against the street. 

You rang the doorbell, and it was Clint who opened the door for you. 

“Hey, c’mon—Wanda’s elbow-deep in old Halloween decorations in the living room.” He explains, leading you through the house. It was a nice house, warm and comforting.

Clint led you into the living room, where Wanda, Sam, and Bucky were all sorting through decorations. On a first glance, you could see who was responsible for what—Bucky was surrounded by Halloween decor, and Sam had all the basic fall decorations, including pillow covers and painted canvases, and Wanda was separating the two things.

“Hey, you’re here!” Wanda grinned as Clint walked off to help Steve hang a banner on the wall of the dining room.

You smile, nodding. “How can I help?”

“C’mere, I need help carrying these bins back down to the basement.” Wanda directed you, having you help her stack the plastic tubs, and then the lids.

“I can carry the bins,” you offer, and before she can reply, you lift them off the ground.

“Thanks.” She picks up the lids, before guiding you through her pretty house and to a door. She opens it, revealing a set of stairs.

“The basement’s a bit rough-looking, and there’s a light with a string you have to pull down there. It’s a bit dark, sorry.” She apologized, beginning to walk down the stairs. They creaked as she stepped on them, and you bit your lip. It was a stereotypical scary basement.

“S’okay.” You replied, though for some reason, you were a bit scared. It felt scary, though you knew that rationally, it was just a basement.

You followed her down the creaking steps, taking slow, cautious steps. As you rounded the corner of the wall that kept the stairs out of view from the rest of the basement, you bit your lip.

“Here, I’ll find the light somewhere..” She mumbled quietly, tucking the bin lids under her left arm as she reached her right hand up at the ceiling, seemingly searching for the light string.

It was completely dark in the basement. It smelled like a basement, which somehow managed to mean it smelled like a dark and creepy enclosed space with no windows that was very much underground. You took slow, small steps, unable to see your feet from the way you were carrying the bins. You didn’t separate your knees when you walked, wanting to keep your chance of falling as close to zero as it could be.

As she searched for the pull chain of the light, you tried to glance around in the darkness. The only light was the mostly concealed light spilling out from the door at the top of the staircase, making the basement ten times creepier.

“Where is it..” She muttered, taking a few steps around in a circle, hand still in the air.

A figure stepped into your vision, and the first thing you noticed was its face. A true monster, with green skin and black details on its face, with horns protruding from its forehead. You couldn’t see anything but its face, but that was enough. It jumped out at you and Wanda, as it croaked out some broken strand of speech.

It let out a horrific shriek, and you screamed, dropping the bins as Wanda let the lids fall out of her hands, and they skittered across the hard and rough floor of the basement. She screeched too, racing behind you as you raced to her, hoping that you’d get taken out first and she could get away.

You both stood there, joints locked tight and frozen in pure terror, screaming. This will be the day that you die. You’re going to die right here, in some basement, being murdered by some monster that you didn’t even know existed.

Your thoughts screamed these words, as you screamed incoherently. At least, until you heard the sound of laughing.

A flesh hand pulled at the chin of the monsters face, pulling it back. It was a mask. It had just been a mask.

Tony cackled as he took the mask off his face entirely, and it took you a second to process everything.

You heard stomping from upstairs, and before you knew it, Steve was racing down the staircase, Bucky in tow, a panicked look on his face.

“What is it?” Steve wheezed as Bucky said something similar.

“Tony, you ass!” You hissed, heat rushing to your face as you realized you’d been screaming over a stereotypical Halloween mask.

“Seriously?” Bucky’s brow was raised as he pat Steve’s back, the blonde leaning on his knees, attempting to catch his breath.

You were about to yell at Tony when you heard something from behind you. Giggles.

Wanda Maximoff was giggling, snorting every so often. She found this funny. You found yourself laughing too, albeit unintentionally.

You realized she was still clinging to your arms, her hands wrapped tightly on your biceps. She seemed to realize this too, quickly letting go.

“Sorry,” she blushed.

“It’s alright.” You smiled shyly, completely missing the knowing look Steve and Bucky were giving each other.

Eventually, you all dragged yourselves back upstairs, continuing to change out the summer-slash-regular decor for the fall-slash-Halloween-and-kinda-Thanksgiving decor.

When everything was up and finished, everyone left. Everyone except you, who was still talking to Wanda. You eventually made it to the doorframe before she stopped you again.

“Hey—er, do you..do you want to go out with me tomorrow? Like a girls day?” She stared up at you, biting her lip anxiously.

“Sure. Where do you wanna go?” You asked after a moment, hoping that your face wasn’t as red as you thought it would be.

“It’s a surprise. Just..meet me here at..12:00 tomorrow, alright?”

You nodded, quite eagerly, and you cringed at yourself as you walked to your car. Biting your lip as you drove home, you wondered what you were meant to wear. Wanda hadn’t really said anything about dress codes, so you assumed you could just wear something not stained, and that would be fine.

Even though it technically wasn’t a date, you couldn’t help but feel excited for tomorrow. But if it had been a date, would you have been able to say yes? You weren’t entirely sure. Yes, you wanted to say. But what about Natasha?

You didn’t have an answer to that.

You drove up to her house, parking next to her car in the driveway. You felt your mind drifting as you sat in the car for a moment. Taking a deep breath, you hyped yourself up as you walked up to the front door. You rang the door bell, trying to ignore the very gay thoughts you were having.

It's just a girl's day, Y/n, you told yourself. Calm the fuck down.

She opened the door, grinning widely. She was wearing jeans, with a plaid shirt and what looked like suspenders. Her hair was down, with curls. She looked gorgeous.

"Hi," you breathed.

"Hey. Uh, you wanna take my car? I'm not going to tell you where we're going. It's a surprise!" She smiled, and you felt yourself doing the same.

She linked arms with you, pulling you down the driveway by your elbow. She lead you to the passenger's side of her car, opening the door for you. "Ladies first," she giggled.

You climbed into the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt as she did the same. She placed her hands—decorated with thin silver rings with dark nail polish—on the steering wheel, starting the car and pulling out of the driveway.

She flipped the radio on. “Ooh! This is a good one.”

A quick glance to the little screen showed that it was Fearless by Taylor Swift playing.

“You’re a swiftie?” You asked, glancing at her.

“Kinda. I like the country stuff, and some of the softer pop stuff.” She explained.

“You’re a swiftie?” You asked her. It was a month into your relationship, and she was driving you home.

“Something like that. I like Reputation, mostly.” Nat explained. “Not a huge fan of slower stuff. Or country.”

“Got it.” You nodded.

“Cool.” You smiled. You chuckled as she sang along to the song, you chiming in every so often.

“Fearless!” You both sang at the same time.

“We’re almost there,” she assured you after a few more Taylor Swift songs.

You’d been driving for about twenty minutes, the road a yellow-orange sand, like a baseball field, but with more random rocks and gravel. The grass on the sides of the road were a bright green, just like the hills out your window, or the trees out her’s. The scenery was beautiful, but you couldn’t help from wondering where exactly she was taking you.

Your brows furrow slightly when you saw the sign. “Westview Sunflower Farm?”

She grinned. “Yes! It’s beautiful. Trust me, you’ll love it.”

“I’m trusting you.” You chuckled, though you had to admit, you didn’t doubt her taste in..what could you even call this? Scenery? Agricultural beauty? Regardless, you were positive that you wouldn’t be disappointed.

She drove past the sign, and wooden boards standing straight up, painted brown with large sunflowers—some seemingly coming from a stem, others just in a vertical line—were stuck in the ground. They were on either side of the road, and you smiled. The people who own this place are good decorators, you thought.

“It’s cool. It’s like a pumpkin patch, but bigger and sunflower themed. There’s picnic tables spread throughout—almost like a maze, but if you’re an adult you’re usually tall enough to see over the flowers. There’s a little stand—well technically it’s a building but who cares—and the owners sell baked goods and other stuff in there. It’s awesome.” She beams fondly.

“You know a lot about this place,” you noted.

“Me and Vis would come often.” She recalled, and she was still seemingly joyful, though you could hear a hint of sadness in her voice.

“That’s awesome.” You said, because you didn’t really know what to say to that.

“Yeah.” She agreed, turning her head to look at you for a moment. She smiled warmly, pure gentleness in her eyes.

“Watch the road,” you warned. She quickly focused back on the road. You realized what you’d said, and you frowned. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“It’s alright.” She gave you another small smile, as she pulled into the parking lot. Your eyes widened as you surveyed the surrounding area, identifying all of the huge fields of sunflowers. You saw the tiny little food place she was talking about. The building and every sign nearby were all wooden and painted with sunflowers. There were places to take pictures, places to wash your hands, and even a small playground near the closest sunflower field.

“Wow,” you chuckled. She led you to the food stand, and you marveled at all the baked goods inside. So many treats decorated as sunflowers—cookies, cupcakes, cake pops, and more. You each got a cupcake, and you offered to pay.

"No, it's--" She began to protest.

"You drove here. Let me." You cut her off, paying for the sweets.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, she nodded. Once you got outside of the tiny shack, she linked elbows with you, leading you off into the sunflower field.

"Picnic table?" You suggested, but she shook her head, giggling.

"Nope! Even better." She led you to a grassy area, surrounded by sunflowers. It was pretty secluded, farther away from the picnic tables. She gently guided you to the ground, laying down on her back. You matched her pose, as you laid side by side.

Chomping on your cupcakes, you talked about random things. The weather. Halloween coming up. Group therapy.

"I really signed up out of the blue," she murmured. "It was a random decision."

"Do you regret it?" You turned your head to look at her. She turned her head to look at you. You locked eyes, her expression a bit unreadable.

"No," she answered after a moment. "I don't. Do you?"

"No."

"My neighbor..she suggested it one day. It was very..strange, to say the least." She chuckled.

"Yeah? Which neighbor?"

"Agnes, the creepy lady a couple doors down. She always gives me this weird feeling. Like she knows something I don't." Her expression turned dark, before she snapped out of it. "Anyway, how'd you join?"

"My old friend pestered me into taking care of myself, funnily enough." She chuckled at your response.

"My husband and I came here every chance we could when the weather was nice. Those are some of my favorite memories with him. He was smart, and gentle, and kind. We were high school sweethearts, y'know. He was nothing like any boyfriend or girlfriend I'd ever had."

"Gir-girlfriend?" You caught the words.

"Oh--yeah. I'm bisexual. Funny thing, most of the people in our therapy group are LGBTQIA+."

"Really?" You hadn't known this. How had she managed to learn all this?

"Yeah. Thor's pan, Steve's bi, both Sam and Bucky are gay, Clint's bi, so is Tony, Bruce's asexual, and Peter--the intern who works there--he's trans and bi. Maria was telling me about her wife a few meetings ago--I have no idea about Coulson, but y'know. He's at least an ally."

"How do you know all that?" You laugh a little.

"I guess I'm just social?" She smiled.

"So..any dates? Since..y'know?" You wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself as soon as the words left your mouth.

"No." She shook her head. "You?"

"Nope." You admitted.

"Maybe..I'm wrong about this." She began. "But..there's something I want to ask."

"Ask it anyway." You urged her.

"..What if this was a date?" You could hear your heartbeat as she asked.

"Then I think I'd like it." She smiled at this.

"I think I would too." You agreed. She took your hand in hers, before looking back up at the sky.

——————————————————————

“Hey guys!” You smile as you find your newfound friend group standing together outside the cafe.

They all greet you joyfully as you go to stand beside Wanda.

“The only person we’re waiting on is Bucky.” Thor notes.

“He doesn’t live that far away. He should be here by now.” Sam frowns.

“Call him?” You suggest. Sam pulls out his phone, holding it up to his ear.

“Nothing.” He murmurs.

Thor tries. Bucky doesn’t pick up.

Wanda calls, and Bucky doesn’t answer.

You try, and he doesn’t answer your call either.

Clint tries, and Bucky picks up on the second ring.

Sam rolls his eyes, and you and Wanda look at each other, smiling slightly.

“Hey, where are you, man?” Clint asks. You can’t hear what Bucky’s saying. “Okay, well..take care, then.” Clint lowers the phone from his ear, frowning slightly.

“Where is he?” Wanda questions.

“He’s at home. He didn’t really elaborate. I think he’s having a bit of a rough day.” Clint explains.

“And Steve’s out of town,” Wanda murmurs.

Sam nods at her. “Exactly.” He thinks for a moment.

Clint seemingly comes up with a plan. “Does anybody have their address? They live together, right?”

“Yeah. I have it. I don’t think he’d really wanna talk to any of us—besides, I know that I personally am not experienced in how to get through that kind of thing in a healthy way.” Sam replied.

“Me neither. I’m not the best with comforting others, so..” Clint shrugged.

“I doubt he’d feel comfortable with myself. I think it’d be best if one of you helped him.” Thor explained.

Wanda looked at you. And then everyone else looked at you, too.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Send me his address.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The apartment wasn’t too far away, and you were able to ride the elevator to the sixth floor.

It wasn’t hard finding Bucky and Steve’s apartment, considering Sam had given you his apartment number.

You knocked on the door. Once. Then twice. And then again a third time.

“Bucky?” You said, at a normal volume. You didn’t want to bother any of his neighbors. You called his name again, slightly louder this time. And then you began to worry. How could you guarantee that he was okay? He could’ve fell in the shower or something. Choked on food while he was home alone. Fuck, he could’ve hurt himself.

That thought sent you into a real panic, and you knocked rapidly on the door. Once more, he didn’t answer.

You placed your hand on the door handle. You weren’t usually the type to commit breaking and entering, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Though, how suspicious would it look to break the lock on his door? You’d never been to his apartment, anyone who looked in the hall wouldn’t recognize you.

But now was not the time to think about all that. You expected to have to force the door open, to sacrifice your shoulder to bust down the door. It would make an obnoxiously loud sound and would probably send the neighbors running out into the hallway to see what the hell was going on. And when you opened the door…

…it opened without any problems. You swung the door open, managing to stop it before it hit the wall. Looking into the apartment, you took in the decor. A comfy couch in the living room area, a nice kitchen, a few picture frames hung on the walls here and there. All Steve’s work, you were sure of it.

“Bucky?” You close the door softly behind you. Creeping through the apartment, you find there is no Bucky in sight.

You approached a closed door, which you assumed was a bedroom door. You knocked. “Bucky? If you’re okay just say something. Literally anything, please.”

Your eyes watered when you received no answer. When you open the door, what are you going to find? You weren’t going to be ready to find a corpse. That’s what you were sure of. But what if he was just asleep? That was a possibility.

You opened the door.

You immediately saw him. Or, the outline of him. He was curled up in a blanket, still in bed. You could see him breathing, his torso moving slightly with every breath.

“Bucky?” You whispered.

“Mm.” He answered back.

“It’s 1:54 in the afternoon. We were gonna meet up for lunch, what happened?”

He shrugs in response.

“Clint let you know I was coming, yeah?”

He nods, his back facing you. He doesn't turn to face you, and you shift awkwardly.

"He said you were having a bit of a rough day. Are you sick? Or is more of an..inside thing?"

He says nothing, and you frown. You look towards the curtains, a soft and gentle blue. Steve's favorite color, you remembered.

You hear a soft sniffle come from the bed.

"Are you..crying?"

"No," he disagreed, but you could hear the sadness in his voice.

"It's okay if you are," you stated. "You don't have to hide it."

"This fucking sucks," he laughed, and you could imagine a few more tears spilling down his face. "I mean, I feel like shit. I haven't left my apartment in days, my arm fucking hurts, and I can't even get out of fucking bed." He begins to laugh at the end, as if he's fed up.

You didn't really know what to say. What would Sharon do? Probably send a motivational instagram video, you thought. It made you smile slightly, but you pushed the thought away. Now's not the time.

"Where's Steve?" You asked softly.

"Lehigh, New Jersey. It's a small town, he's visiting a friend, Peggy."

"Have you thought about calling him? He's your roommate and your best friend, right?" You assumed that Steve normally helped Bucky get through his bad days.

"Boyfriend, actually." He sniffled.

"Wait, what? Since when?"

"Since three days ago," he chuckled.

"That's awesome, man." You smiled, stepping a few inches closer.

He nods, rolling over to face you. His face is puffy, his eyes a bit red from crying. The blanket slides down a bit, revealing his scarred chest. You notice the absence of his left arm and the scarring around his shoulder, but you don't dwell on it. Bringing your eyes quickly back to his face, his small expression reveals that he's grateful for this.

"When's Steve coming home?"

"Tomorrow. Around suppertime. He left three days ago, so." He said quietly.

"You should come stay with me. Just for tonight. It'll get you out of the house, and it might make you feel a little better."

"I don't wanna be a bother. You know, more than I'm already being."

"You're not a burden. You're having a rough time, and that's okay, it's human. C'mon, I've got a guest room. You're never too old for a sleepover."

"What, are we gonna paint each other's toenails?"

You gave him a goofy grin. "Damn right. And we'll talk all about boys or something." You laugh, and he does too.

“Hey. C’mon, I’m serious.” You say earnestly after a moment, shoving your hands in your pockets. “S’not just for you. I get lonely.” You make it sound like a joke, but deep down both of you know it’s true.

He nods after a second.

“I’ll be in the living room, yeah? So you can pack up and get ready or whatever you wanna do.” You began to make your way towards the door, and he nodded again, a silent ‘thank you’.

You sat on the couch, which was a light tan color. It was a pretty nice couch.

Bucky came out twenty minutes later, his hair wet and pulled back into a half-up half-down hair style. He wore a black hoodie and some black jeans, a backpack slung over his shoulder.

You smiled warmly, wolf-whistling for dramatic effect. “Lookin’ good Barnes.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He shook his head, but he couldn’t hide his smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you got to your place, the two of you grabbed a beer, plopping down in front of the couch.

“Do..you wanna talk about it?”

“I mean, it was just memories coming up, paired with phantom limb pain.” He explained.

“Drink. You know, if you want. It just seems like a ‘drink-and-talk’ kind of night.”

He took a sip of his beer, and you took a sip of your own.

“I was in the military until, well, you know.” He gestured to his prosthetic. “And then I accidentally joined a cult.”

You blinked, waiting for him to explain further.

“I guess they manipulated me or whatever, but I still fell for it. They were…weird. Always talking about ‘Insight’ and other propaganda. It was just..dumb. I just..needed something to belong to, I guess. They ended up giving me the first prosthetic I ever had. Not this one—this one’s much less…invasive.”

You nod, not sure if there was anything else you could say.

“They had their version of the electric chair. If you didn’t…do what they wanted you to do, they’d uh, punish you. Public whippings, the goddamn chair, more…graphic things. I was the newest member, shit always landed on me. One of the uh, higher ups, had a sex drive bigger than my will to live. Never a fun day for me.” Bucky said, shrugging as if trying to hide how it affected him.

“Then Steve reached out. Kept reaching out, that stubborn son of a bitch." Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. "Got me out of that situation. And then, well, here I am." He looked down at his hand, rubbing his pointer finger against his thumb. “My uh..sister and parents passed away while I was gone. Car crashes suck ass.”

You huffed a laugh. “Tell me about it.”

He glanced to the photo hanging on the wall. “Is…is that..?”

“Oh—yeah. Uh—it’s—well, y’know, it’s—uhm—yeah. It’s—yeah.” You sputtered.

Deciding that it was awkward if you didn’t say something else, you spoke up. "So...you and Steve, huh?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, grinning. "Yeah-huh."

"How'd you know? That..that you liked him?" You asked, and you were sure that you both knew there was more to this question besides your curiosity about Bucky's love life.

"I guess I didn't. I mean, we've known each other since we were real young, y'know. So I guess it was jus' always kinda that way."

"And..how'd you know he liked you back?" A certain woman popped into your mind, with her large doe-like green eyes and soft red hair.

"Cause he looked at me like there was somethin' worth lookin' at." Bucky drawled, making eye-contact with you. You were positive he was being earnest, based on his tone and overall demeanor.

Did Wanda look at you like that? Did you look at her like that?

“Huh,” you mumbled, nodding. You hoped he couldn’t tell what you were thinking. Somehow, deep inside you, you knew he could.

“So,” he took a sip of beer. “You and Wanda, eh?”

“Shut up,” you laughed.

“But seriously! You gotta tell me. Queer to queer, c’mon.” He nudged you with his elbow.

“Okay.” You sigh. “We went to a sunflower field together and ate sunflower-themed baked goods. At the end we called it a date, but I don’t know if that was meant to be romantic or not.”

“Oh. That’s…ambiguous.”

“Tell me about it.” You let out a breath, leaning your head back against the couch.

“But it was totally meant to be romantic. Very homo.”

“What?” You looked at him, but he seemed dead serious.

“Have you seen the way she looks at you? She looks so goddamn happy. And sure, she looks pleasant all the time, but not in the same way. It’s different.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged. You looked at him. “I just…I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I like her. I mean, I think I do. But I can’t tell if I like her or if I like how she reminds me a little of Nat.”

He stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

"I'm not..trying to find another Natasha--that's...weird. I mean, they're super different. Natasha was older than me, just by two years. And Wanda's a year younger. She's more..bubbly. Like, the best way I can describe it is that Natasha's a deep red, and Wanda's a light pink. Just in like, vibes." You tried to explain. "Sorry, I probably sound crazy."

"No, it makes sense. Wait..what color are my vibes?" He chuckled, but you could tell he wasn't making fun of you.

"Mm...silver. And red. With hints of a greenish-yellow, like old-timey lighting."

"Huh." He nodded.

After a few more minutes, you both departed to your separate rooms. Bucky to the guest room, and you to your bedroom, as per usual. You fell asleep quicker than usual, but whether that was due to the alcohol or due to the comfort of having someone else in the apartment, you weren't sure.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awoke to the sound of glass shattering. Immediately, you were confused. Had Bucky gotten up to get a drink and dropped a glass? Had something fell?

Though you were tired, you wanted to make sure nothing important was damaged. That included Bucky being hurt.

You pulled yourself out of bed, slowly creeping out of your bedroom. The layout of your apartment was simple. No hallways, minus the tiny one that lead to the bathroom. You surveyed the dark living room, immediately finding the source of the noise.

Your window had been smashed. And in your living room, a few feet from the couch you’d just been sitting against, was a figure. Not Bucky, you were positive. From what you could see, the figure was wearing all black, and sported the unmistakable curves of a woman.

Your blood ran cold, your legs locking up, keeping you in place. Your mouth went dry, and you could hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears. You screamed, hoping that doing so would potentially let someone know that you needed help. And, worse case scenario, that you were murdered. That you didn’t do it yourself. That you wanted to live.

The figure rushed toward you, shoving you to the ground before pinning you there. She slammed a hand over your mouth as you writhed under her. You let out muffled screams and mangled growls, not wanting to go without a fight.

“What the hell?” Bucky walked out into the living room, wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing before, minus the fact that he’d changed from a hoodie to a t-shirt. The absence of his left arm was much more noticeable now.

He quickly peered over the couch, his eyes widening in fear as he found you. “Fuck!” He exclaimed, immediately racing for you. You’d forgotten about his military days; the ones that had clearly set him up with a faster speed and a stronger body.

He ripped the woman off of you, and she let out an animalistic shriek in protest. They wrestled for a moment, before she slammed her boot against his face. He groaned, backing up. She ignored him, beginning to stumble toward you. You got a clear look at her this time. She was wearing a black mask, one built similar to one you’d see a surgeon wear.

She dashed at you again, but this time you were more prepared. You grabbed anywhere you could—her hair, her neck, her ears—and the two of you tussled for a few moments. You grabbed her mask, ripping it off her face and shoving her backward as you stumbled in the opposite direction.

Bucky was clutching at his bloody nose, and you resisted the urge to gag at the red stain that covered the front of his shirt, going from just under the neckline to his chest. You’d seen blood before; you were a woman, and it’d be a real inconvenience to be scared of blood. But the scenario only made your uneasiness worse.

You stared at your attacker’s revealed face, before it dawned on you.

“Yelena?”

She glared at you, chest heaving as she was out of breath. You were sure that you didn’t look any better.

“Why the hell are you here?” You stressed, brows furrowing.

“You know what you did. And now I’m going to kill you for it.” She brandished a knife from her pocket, twisting it around in her fingers.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Yelena, I haven’t seen you since—since—“

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Ms. L/n? I'm calling from Westview Hospital."

“—since you left me to find my sister dead? Since you left my parents to find their oldest daughter with her face half melted off? Since then, Y/n? What, did you think we just wouldn’t find out?” Her voice steadily rose in volume.

"She was in a car accident, ma'am." Dr. Christine Palmer told you. "We had her in surgery--Dr. Strange and I operated on her ourselves. She's unstable, but there's a chance she'll pull through. We just have to hope for the best."

Natasha, your beloved Natasha, was sitting in a hospital bed. She was unconscious, and you wondered if that was for the best. The skin on her face was burned, stitched up but still seemingly melting.

Dr. Palmer left the room, leaving you alone with her. You sobbed for what felt like decades, before you realized that her family hadn't been alerted. That was up to you. And that only broke you more.

“You don’t understand! I couldn’t—I just—“

You'd ran. It was true, you had run. You'd scribbled Yelena's phone number on the tiny notepad in Nat's hospital room before you raced out. You didn't know what else to do.

“No, you don’t understand! You’re a fucking coward, you sick son of a bitch! You couldn’t even face us after what you did! You didn’t even show up to her funeral!” She shrieked, and then everything went quiet.

You hadn't gone. That was also true. You couldn't bear to show your face after the whole hospital incident. And that wasn't to say that you'd never been to her grave, or that you hadn't left flowers and other small trinkets, because you'd done those things. But you hadn't been there to grieve with the rest of her family. Sometimes you regretted it, other times you pushed the thought away before you could dwell on it.

Bucky had gone; you had no real defense against her anymore. He’d most likely went off to the bathroom to avoid bleeding on the kitchen floor.

“…You don’t get it.” You muttered.

“I bet you don’t even care! You’ve already got some random fucking guy you’re sleeping with!” She shouted at you. “You never loved her! Say it!” Her eyes watered, and you could hear her sadness seep through her voice.

"I did love her! I loved her with everything I had!" You felt your own eyes water as your throat burned.

"Then why did you run away?"

You didn't have an answer to that. Not really. She let out a quiet sob, turning her head to look away from you.

"Because I was scared, Yelena. I didn't know what else to do--I wanted to call you. I wanted to be there, I wanted to reach out, but I was scared. And I've regretted it every day." You pant, tears streaming down your face. “Yelena, I was going to marry her. I’d already bought the ring.”

“You’re pathetic.” She gasped, crying softly. “You’re so pathetic.”

You gave her a nod. “I know.”

“She would’ve never said yes.” She wept bitterly. You both know that that’s not true.

“She already had,” you admitted.

“Ask me later, you goof. You know what I’ll say. But I want you to ask.” Natasha smiled one Sunday morning in the middle of summer. “I love you, you know that?”

“I do.” You grinned. “What kind of ring are you thinking?” You watched her clean the dishes.

“Whatever you’ve already got. You’re not very sneaky, Y/n.” She chuckled. You wrapped your arms around her waist, your chin resting on her shoulder. “But I’d let you propose to me with a ring pop. Not many people get that chance, y’know.”

“I am proud to be blessed with that honor. Now, you want blue raspberry or berry blast?” You teased.

“Why would she spend her life with you? Why do you deserve it?” She sniffled.

“I don’t.” You let the tears pour from your eyes.

“She died because you let her.” Yelena blamed you.

“I fought for her to quit that stupid fucking job. She hated it.” You remembered how much she’d assure you of that fact. But she had friends at her job. She couldn’t just leave them behind. “I fought for that. But she was better at arguing than me. She was better.” You nodded to yourself, resisting the urge to sob hysterically.

“You should’ve fought harder.” Yelena growled.

Without thinking, you let out a whistle just as it seemed she was about to rush and stab you.

“…She…she told you about that?” Yelena stopped.

“Me and Yelena would do it when we were kids. We used to pretend we were spies, and that was our ‘signal’. Then it just kinda became a hello-goodbye thing.” Natasha played with your hair as you laid on her chest. With her other hand, she fiddled with the sheets. “She told me that when she moved away to college, the only thing she could think about was leaving you. She loved you, Yelena. That never changed. She loved you.”

Yelena sobbed. She lowered herself to the ground, too overwhelmed with grief to keep standing. “You got to spend so much time with her.”

“I know.” You nodded, crying yourself. You stepped closer to her, kneeling beside her before wrapping your arms around her.

“It shouldn’t have happened this way,” she lets out a shaky breath. “If I had been there, I could’ve changed it—I could’ve fixed it, I could’ve—“

“Nobody could’ve stopped her. She’d go to work in eight feet of snow with nothing but roller blades to get her there. You know Natasha.” You cut her off.

"I loved her. I loved her so much." She cries.

"I know. We all did." You rubbed her back soothingly. She sobs in your arms. You hold her tightly.

“Goodbye, Y/n L/n.” She whispered after a moment, standing and retreating towards the door.

“Goodbye, Yelena.”

Goodbye, Natasha.

“Fuck, my window’s still broken.”

It had been a while since that...incident. The leaves had changed colors and fallen off the trees, which all turned dark. Snow had began to dust the ground, and the wind had begun to bring shivers to everyone outside.

And with the cold weather came a dreaded anniversary. One you knew was coming, but that hadn’t made it better.

Everyone else could see it too. The way your mood seemed to dampen, the way your smiles began to not reach your eyes, the way you seemed more and more tired each time they saw you.

Snow was on the ground now, but some things stayed the same.

Group therapy was still going on, and it gave you a reason to get out of your house.

“Now, I’d like to talk about support, and why it’s so important to have a support system.” Coulson introduced the topic. “Does everybody know what a support system is?” As the group nodded along, he grinned.

“Great. Why don’t we go around in a circle and share one reason why having a support system is important?” He invited the conversation.

Every session had the same structure. You walk in, everyone shares how they’ve been that week and what they’ve done or whatever, then the topic is introduced and discussed, then you play some kind of game, and then everybody chats a little bit before leaving. You found comfort in the routine.

Clint went first. “It’s important because if you have one, you’ve got people to rely on and help you out with stuff.”

Tony nodded, before beginning to speak. “And people who can tell when you’re having a breakdown.”

Then it was your turn. “When..when you feel like nothing is getting better and nothing is going to get better, having..having people around to talk to, or to..relate with, even….it helps.” You murmured.

“Yeah. And when you’re spiraling, you’ve got friends and family who can pull you out of it.” Wanda nodded along. You gave her a small smile.

“See ya, kid.” You waved to Peter on your way out. He waved back, beaming.

“Bye, Ms. Y/n!” It had taken so long to convince him to not call you Ms. L/n, so you accepted the name.

“Bye, Maria.” You shot a smile at the receptionist.

“Have a good day, Y/n.” She smiled warmly.

“You too!” You called as you walked out the door. You let out a breath as the cold wind picked up outside. You walked down the bumpy sidewalk towards your car.

“Y/n!” Wanda called for you, a smile on her face.

When you turned to look at her, her smile dropped.

“Oh, hey, Wands.” You used the nickname.

“Are you okay? You seemed more..down, than usual.” She noted.

“Yeah, just..tired. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” You explained. It wasn’t exactly a lie. You truly hadn’t slept very well. Stupid nightmares.

“Oh. Okay. Uh..do you wanna FaceTime later or something?” She asked. It had become normal for the two of you to FaceTime every so often.

“Sure,” you answered, as you gave her a nod before you began to walk away.

The worst part is when you start losing your sense of joy.

Your favorite meal, which you’d cooked for dinner the night after therapy, didn’t taste as good. And it wasn’t an error on your part—you’d cooked it perfectly, just like you normally would. But when you ate it, it…just didn’t hit.

It was hard to not think your brain was broken. Well, in a way, it kinda was now, but apparently that’s not a good word to use.

You began to fall back into old routines.

You get up. You get ready. You go to work. You drive home. You turn on the TV. And then, you just sit. 

Sometimes you call Wanda.

You turned down the group’s offer to go to lunch that week. And the week after that.

Normally, the group would go to lunch together once a week. You were all really becoming friends. Sometimes it would be right after therapy, other times it would just be a different day of the week.

You were interrupted in your moping by the sound of your phone buzzing. It was Wanda.

Hey! Made some tea and I have some extra water. Feel like stopping by? The text read.

Sorry, I’m busy today. Maybe some other time, though! You typed back.

No worries. I thought you stopped working weekends though?

“Shit.” You murmured as she caught you in your lie.

You sighed, before pressing the FaceTime button. “Hey.” You greeted.

“Hi.” She smiled, her mug of tea visible. You were propped up on something on her kitchen table, so you could see her from the chest up. Her hair was up in a bun.

“I..I’m not busy.” You confessed.

“Yeah, I know.” She admitted.

“It—I just—“ you sighed. “Today’s the uh, the anniversary, so..”

“Oh, Y/n, I’m sorry.” She frowned. “Her grave’s at Dreykov Cemetery, right?”

“Uh…yeah?”

“Can you be there in two hours?”

“The hell—sure I guess?” You were really fucking confused. Was this a normal things for friends to do for each other?

Regardless, you got up off your ass and took a shower. You changed into some clean clothes and brushed your teeth, something you’d been neglecting as of late (much to your shame and embarrassment.)

You grabbed your keys and walked out of your apartment, down the stairs, and to your car. You drove out to Groot&Rocket, a local floristry business. You picked out a nice bouquet of flowers suited for winter, paid for it, and began to drive down to the cemetery.

You found the whole group waiting at the entrance. They all gave you warm smiles, with Wanda rushing up and giving you a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around her, making sure to not mess up the bouquet.

“Oh, I’m sorry Y/n.” She murmured in your ear.

You just rubbed her back in response. You both pulled away after a moment and walked towards the rest of the group.

“Hey, you guys.” You breathed as you stood before them.

“Hey.” Steve replied, a gentle smile on his face. Bucky gave you a tiny wave. Tony gave a nod in greeting, and Thor opened his arms for a big hug as he walked towards you. You passed the bouquet to Wanda, knowing that there was no escaping this.

He squeezed you tight in a massive bear hug, shaking you from side to side ever so slightly.

You laughed a little, and he grinned, knowing he’d done his job right.

“You guys really didn’t have to come out here, you know.” You said awkwardly.

“Relax,” Bucky hummed, clapping a hand on your shoulder, “you’d do it for us. You did it for me.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “It’s the least we could do.” You noticed they each had something in their hands. Flowers, small trinkets, normal stuff.

In Wanda’s were a small bouquet of flowers, not a sunflower in sight. She also had the yellow Care Bear in her left hand.

“Oh, uh, right this way.” You said, awkwardly leading the group through the graveyard.

Natasha was buried beneath a tall and beautiful tree. You looked up at it, its leaves still looking okay, even in the cold winter. You kneeled next to her grave, dusting away the snow gently. You adjusted some things already left at her grave, either from friends or family, before setting down the flowers. Then you stood up and took a few steps back.

Everyone took turns leaving stuff. First Bruce. Then Tony. Then Thor. Steve. Sam. Clint. Bucky. And then Wanda.

It’s gotta be wrong of me, your thoughts echoed around in your head. Bringing the girl I kind-of-maybe-sort-of have a crush on to the grave of my dead former girlfriend.

Just then the wind swirled through, and you watched as Wanda’s hair danced in the wind. She was beautiful.

It felt like Nat was telling you that you were being a stupid idiot. And that she was happy.

That it was okay. Okay to let her go.

No, a part of you wailed. Just like you had in her hospital room. Just like you had when you got home that night. Just like you had when Yelena showed back up.

It’s okay, the wind seemed to sing as it blew through again. Let me go.

And so you let her go.

You stayed at the grave for maybe fifteen minutes. When you all decided to head back, you walked towards the parking area together.

“I can take Wanda back home,” You said as you watched her walk towards Clint’s car. Your eyes flicked towards her, as you added to your offer. “If you want.”

“Oh—are you sure?” She glanced at Clint, and he gave her a smile and a nod.

“Yeah. Totally.” You confirmed.

She grinned. “Okay.”

Without thinking, you stretched out your palm. She took your hand in hers, swinging your entwined hands back and forth as you walked.

Once you hopped in your car, you rested your hands on the wheel.

“Hey—“ you looked over at her. “Do you wanna go out to lunch? Er—dinner?”

She smiled again. “Sure.”

——————-

It had been a week since then.

And tonight, you were driving her home to her house. You’d spent the day at the Sunflower Farm, having another small ‘date’. One of which was very unclear in the ‘homo vs. friendly’ department.

As you pulled into her driveway, the two of you were chatting about every odd thing you could as the radio played in the background. “I..need to ask you something.” Wanda said suddenly. Katy Perry’s ‘E.T.’ played in the background.

“Yeah?” You adjusted yourself so you could look at her fully.

“I..I like you. In a less-platonic way. In a really, really homo way.” She slowly said the words, nodding softly as she thought about the words.

Your heart stopped.

“Like..I’m in love with you.” She murmured.

“I..” your throat felt dry. Come on, grow some balls, you told yourself. “I like you too. In a homo way.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it.

“Can I kiss you?” She asked. You didn’t expect her to say that. This would be the first time you’d kissed anyone since Nat’s death. And another thing you didn’t expect: that thought didn’t scare the living shit out of you.

“I do,” you breathed.

And then she leaned in.

And then you felt yourself doing the same.

And then you were so close to each other.

And then your lips touched.

She cupped your cheek with her hand as you moved your hand to her shoulder. You kissed her like you were Tantalus and she was fruit and water. Hungrily, desperate.

The two of you stumbled out of the car and into her house, up the stairs and into her bedroom. It was like an unspoken agreement.

You kept on kissing her, as her hands moved across your body. Your neck, shoulders, biceps, your waist and hips.

“Wait,” she gasped, pulling away slightly. She rested her forehead against yours. “I’ve never—never done this. With a woman. I’ve never done this with a woman before.” She confessed.

“Never?” Your tone was free of judgement.

“Never.” She confirmed.

“It’s not too different,” you played with a strand of her hair. “Fingers, tongue—that’s really the same. I don’t suppose you own a strap?”

“No,” she murmured. “I’ve never—I don’t—y’know. I don’t really know how this goes.” She said, and you couldn’t hide how watching her cheeks turn a soft pink turned you on.

“Don’t even worry about it,” you whispered. “You want this?” You needed to confirm.

“I do.” She nodded, giving her consent. “I want you to fuck me.”

You gave her a soft smile, kissing her again before beginning a trail of kisses down her body. From her lips, to her chin, to her jaw, to her neck, to her collarbone, to her chest.

She paused to pull off her shirt, revealing her white t-shirt bra.

You guided her to the bed, and she laid down on her back. You kissed her passionately as she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. She raised her hips as you helped tug them down. As she kicked her pants off her ankles, you looked at her.

And she was beautiful. Soft, gentle skin. Delicate and soft gasps as you gave her what she needed. Deep and sweet cries as you did it just right.

She seemed to like the fact that one of your hands had slipped down to tend to your own needs. You could tell, judging by how her volume increased, that she liked it when you felt this amount of pleasure together. And when you were both finished, exhausted and high on the pleasure of the night, you laid together. You took her in your arms, holding her tightly against your chest.

“I want to be with you. All the time,” she murmured against your chest. You said nothing, rubbing her arm up and down in response as she fell asleep.

You wake up the next morning, Wanda still tucked into your chest, breathing deeply.

You slowly toss your head back, staring at the headboard.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, readjusting her fingers on your chest.

“Morning.” You looked down at her. God, she was beautiful.

You stared at each other for a moment, gentle and pure adoration in both of your eyes.

“I should uhm, I should get up. I’ll make you breakfast.” She offered. She pulled away, getting up and out of bed. She covered her chest, before realizing that there wasn’t much of a point. She gave an awkward smile before walking into her walk-in closet.

She left the door open, and you watched as she slipped a shirt over her head. It was quite long, and went down to her mid-thighs. When she turned around, you could see what the shirt was. A Dick van Dyke show t-shirt.

“Can I use your shower?” You asked as you sat up.

“‘Course, go right ahead.” She hummed.

She left the room, and you got out of bed. You collected your discarded clothes off of her bedroom floor, walking into her master bathroom, which was connected to her room.

You turned on the shower, setting your clothes on the empty space between the two sinks. One for her and one for her dead husband.

Jesus Christ, that was dark.

Her dead husband probably slept in the bed you fucked his wife in, your brain added. You groaned internally as you turned on the shower.

After staring at yourself in the mirror, you stepped into the shower, standing under the hot water. It felt nice.

You stood there for a few moments, your eyes closed, listening to your breathing.

And then you heard a knock at the bathroom door.

“Can I come in?” Her voice called gently from the other side.

“I won’t stop you,” you said back, your voice slightly echoing from the bathroom interior.

She opened the door, pulling off the oversized t-shirt. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t mind one bit.” You hummed. She stepped into the shower, and you moved to let her into the water spray.

“Sam called.” She murmured. “Something about a boat. It’s from Louisiana, but he got it down here in New York.”

When she saw your confused expression, she chuckled and shook her head.

“Yeah, I don’t know. But he needs help fixing it or something. He mentioned his sister trying to sell it. I can’t tell if he’s fixing it up to sell it or if he’s fixing it up to convince her not to, but he needs help fixing it.” She explained.

“Oh. I’ll go help him out. S’anyone else going?”

“I told him I’d be there. Pretty sure everybody else will come down too.” She had a gold necklace on, a small heart.

You helped each other wash your hair. It was more loving than sexy, something that felt special to just the two of you.

With Nat, showering together usually meant something more steamy. And it was never nonconsensual or anything like that, and sometimes you’d just shower together because you felt like it, but even then it was nothing like this.

Wanda revealed that she had made muffins. You ate them together before you left to go home.

Once you got back to your apartment, you changed clothes and told Sam you’d be there. He’d sent a text to the group chat when you were in the shower.

——————

And you were there. You and Wanda drove separately, not really wanting to make it clear what you’d been doing the night before.

You were positive someone had put it together already, but you were begging the universe to at least give you some time to come to terms with it.

You were currently working on cleaning the windows of the cabin, wiping them down until they looked nice.

Wanda called for you from outside the cabin. “Yeah?” You responded as you went outside to see her.

“Can you grab that? I can’t get it.” She pointed to a pack of hardware nails.

“Yeah, sure.” You reached for it. And reached for it. Your fingers touched it once, you swear.

But even you couldn’t reach it, and you wanted lightning to strike you down right then and there.

“Here you go.” Thor grabbed the nails and handed them to you. He smiled warmly, as if proud of what he’d done.

“Thanks, Thor.” You said kindly, but tiredly.

He grinned before walking away.

You handed Wanda the nails without looking at her.

“Thank—“ She began to tease, but you cut her off.

“Don’t even say it.” You grumbled, and she chuckled before walking off with the nails and a hammer.

You began to clean the outside of the windows.

“How long has that been going on?” Steve said suddenly from beside you. You gasped, he had scared you.

“Sorry.” He murmured.

“It’s fine.” You hummed. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You and Wanda.” He nodded. “It’s cute. You should see the way she looks at you.”

You felt your face get hot. “There’s—it’s not like—nothing is going on.”

“B-S!” Bucky said in a sing-song voice as he walked over. “Bullshit.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned. “It—it’s complicated.”

“She really does like you, though.” Steve said.

“And it looks like you like her too.” Bucky teased.

“Shut up.” You groaned as you tried to focus on the windows. Bucky and Steve chuckled, walking off to do something hopefully productive.

You heard footsteps coming from behind you. “Whoever you are, please for the love of God do not lecture me on my potential romantic relationships.”

“I never said I was gonna.” Sam chuckled, walking up beside you.

“Good.” You went back to cleaning the windows.

“Thanks for coming out. To help.” He smiles, the gap in his teeth warming your heart slightly.

“Oh. I thought you were thanking me for being gay.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “You know, she really does look a lot happier when she’s with you.”

You couldn’t help but feel a bit lighter at that. “..You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

“That must mean it’s extra true.”

“I guess so.” You reached higher as you wiped at the top of the windows.

“You still think about Natasha?” He tilted his head as he helped with the window next to the one you were working on.

“All the time.” You answered earnestly. “I’ve been trying to ‘get better’—whatever the fuck that means. Sometimes I don’t get why I can’t just get over it.” You rambled. “Sorry. That was a lot.”

“No, I get it. Riley..he was my Natasha.”

“Oh.” You blinked. “Guess we’re a lot similar than I thought. How..how do you cope?”

He nodded, before speaking again. “I guess I realized that you don’t have to move on. Grief is a hell of a lot like love; always there, even if you don’t feel it at times. It comes in waves. Some days it’s gonna be a tsunami, other days, it’ll be a tiny little ripple in the water that laps at your shoe.”

You nodded slowly. “Thank you. That..actually helps.”

He smiles softly. “I didn’t become a counselor for nothin’.”

——————

You rest your head on Wanda’s chest as she rubs circles into your back.

You liked her bed; liked her choice in sheets. White duvet, with tiny sunflowers over it. Yellow and white pillows, gentle yellow sheets.

“I still think about Vision sometimes,” she murmured into your hair.

“I think about Natasha. I’m pretty sure that’s normal.” You told her.

She nodded. “Sometimes, it’s like this wave washing over me, and nobody how many times I stand up..it just comes back to knock me down again. But I guess it just means that the love was real.”

“You sound a lot like Sam.” You chuckled.

She smiled, her nose crinkling as always. “Maybe that means we’re both right.”

“Maybe.” You looked up at her.

“Vis had this thing he used to say. It was uhm..” she paused as she tried to remember it. “What is grief, if not love persevering?”

“That’s a sick ass quote, but I’m pretty sure it’s from a movie or a book or something. That’s hella poetic.”

“Nope. It’s all his.” She replied.

“Damn. He was smart as fuck.” You laughed a little.

“Yeah. Sometimes annoyingly so.” She giggled with you.

“I’m glad I get to be here with you.”

“I’m glad too.” She grinned, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And then one to your lips.

𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛

Things were going good with Wanda and the rest of the group. You and Wanda’s relationship was only getting stronger, and you didn’t even have to tell the group that you two were dating; they already knew.

You walked out of the therapy office, Wanda’s hand laced in yours.

“See you all next week!” She called towards the group, waving goodbye. You waved too, and grinned.

You hopped into the driver’s seat of your car, and she got in the passenger’s seat. As you pulled out of the parking lot, she flicked on the radio.

‘Fearless’ by Taylor Swift played softly.

“I know we’ve only been together for a while, but..do you think that you’d ever move in with me?” She asked suddenly, and you were shocked.

“What?” Your voice cracked awkwardly.

“Would you ever move in with me?”

You thought about it for a moment, before coming to your conclusion.

“Yes.” You murmured.

——————

“Will you move in with me?” Wanda asked a week or so later.

“Yes.” You pressed a kiss to her lips.

And so, here you were. Packing up all of your belongings into boxes. All of your friends were there helping, so it wasn’t all sad. Even Sharon and Yelena had shown up.

“Hi.” Yelena greeted Bucky again, drawing out the ‘i’.

Bucky glanced at Steve, before greeting her back.

You just shook your head and laughed.

Sharon was making friends with your friends, and you were glad that they liked her and she liked them.

A year ago, you’d had no friends. And now you were surrounded by them.

Something about that sentiment made your eyes water, though you quickly pushed it away.

You were going to miss your apartment. You’d shared the apartment with Natasha. It felt like leaving the apartment was leaving the last traces of her.

But you’d realized that she’d always really be with you, no matter where you lived.

Sam and Bruce were packing up the kitchen, all of your plates and silverware you intended to keep.

Clint and Tony were taking care of all of the bookshelves and decor. Thor, Steve, and Bucky were packing up things like the mixer and the coffee machine.

You and Wanda were packing up your bedroom.

“This is a cute shirt,” she murmured as she held up one of your shirts. You chuckled as she tossed it to you.

As you folded it and set it in the box, she continued setting empty hangers in their own box.

The days went by quicker. And not in the ‘days-are-all-blending-together-and-I-feel-like-shit’ way. But in a good way.

Things were getting better.

Maybe you were moving on.

You walked down the aisle, your dress making you feel confident in every decision you’ve made thus far.

You felt beautiful as you glanced at the woman you love.

Looking at her made everything worth it. You continued to walk down the aisle as the music played.

The beautiful decorations still managing to catch your eye even though you’d obviously been there when they were picked out. Everything was perfect about this day, down to every second.

You were so excited to go home tonight with your favorite redheaded woman, who was wearing her own fancy dress. She looked beautiful and she smiled at you as you walked.

You hadn’t been to a wedding in a long time, especially one you were participating in.

You considered your role to be pretty damn important, considering where you were and what you were doing.

Even though your shoes were somewhat uncomfortable and didn’t fit exactly right, none of it mattered because you were happy.

As you reached the end of the aisle, you stood next to Bucky as he married the love of his life.

At the reception, you met up with Wanda again. She was wearing a beautiful dress, with a sunflower pendant necklace to match her sunflower earrings.

“They look so happy,” she smiles. “I’m glad.”

“Me too,” you smile warmly. “I’m glad we’re happy. All of us.”

She grinned, looking up at you. “We really are.”

—————

“You look a lot better.” Sharon said as she took a sip of her vanilla latte.

“I feel a lot better.” You took a sip of your own drink. “Thanks. For everything. I don’t think I would’ve made it out if not for your texts every once in a while.”

She rested her hand on top of yours. “I’m glad I sent them. And I’m proud of you for signing up for therapy in the first place.”

“Thanks, Sharon. That means a lot to me. It does.” You smiled.

—————

“I’m sorry. For ghosting you all. It was dumb of me, and I shouldn’t have just ran like that, and I’m sorry I hurt you, and—“ You were cut off by Melina wrapping you in a tight hug.

“We do not care, sweetheart.” She murmured affectionately in your ear. She then pulled away.

“We are just glad to have you back.” Alexei said, clapping his hand on your shoulder in an almost-painful way. You knew it was his way of being deeply emotional.

“I’m only kind of sorry for breaking in.” Yelena said after a moment. “But I am glad to see you again.” She hugged you.

“Yeah. It’s good to see you too.” You felt a sense of pure love fill you.

——————

You’d developed a new routine with Wanda.

You get up. You get ready. You eat breakfast with Wanda. You go to work. You drive home. You make dinner with Wanda and eat together. You end the night by turning on the TV to watch your favorite shows together.

You didn’t need to divide your life into two parts anymore. The world felt whole, you felt whole. Things were okay.

Life was going good.

——————

“Considering this is our last meeting,” Coulson began. “I’d like to talk about something special.”

“Oh, don’t do that, you’ll make me cry.” Clint laughed.

The whole group chuckled.

“Alright, alright.” Coulson grinned slightly. “In one of our earliest meetings, we played the secrets game. If you don’t remember, that’s when I had you all write down a vulnerable thought or secret down on a piece of paper and we read them aloud. I think now’s a good time to claim our papers.” He set out each piece of paper down on the small table in the center of the circle of chairs.

You found yours immediately and picked it up as the rest of the group picked up theirs.

“How about we go in a circle and read them aloud? To see how much we’ve changed as people.” Coulson guided.

When it was your turn, you read your statement out loud. “I wonder if they regret being with me,” you read from the paper. When Coulson asked how you thought you’d changed since writing the words, you smiled gently.

“I’m more sure of myself. And..I have faith in my relationships and connections now.” You explained. Everyone smiled at that.

Then it was Wanda’s turn.

“Everyone I care about gets hurt.” She reads.

You freeze. “That one—I read that one. That was yours?”

She nods, a sheepish grin on her face. “I know I’ve changed a lot since then. I’m not afraid of losing people I love. Well, I mean, of course I am, but I’m never terrified the world will just suddenly end. Not anymore.” She holds your hand as she says it.

——————

You walk out of therapy with your hand tightly held in hers.

Maybe there had been a point to all of it. Just maybe.

“Anyone up to grab lunch?” Tony called out as he was hopping into his car, Bruce getting into the passenger side.

You chuckled and flashed him a thumbs up.

As you and Wanda hopped into the truck, you turned on the radio. As you pulled out of the therapy center, the soft song filled the car.

Then you're left in the dust

Unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower

I think your love would be too much

Or you'll be left in the dust

Unless I stuck by ya

You're the sunflower

You're my sunflower.