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It was a late night in the former ‘Stark owned’ Avengers tower, which the Thunderbolts* had so kindly taken over as their own. They were deemed the ‘New Avengers,’ so it technically was theirs.
The city was still alive outside, cars and people roamed the streets. The city of New York never slept, just like John. John Walker. Captain America? No, that wasn’t his title to carry anymore. He is the US Agent, the anti-hero. The ever so talented military cadet. Who totally didn’t ruin his whole life with a single slip-up. If you could even call it a slip-up, it’s way worse than that. Some may call it murder.
He sat on the couch, staring at the nightlife sky, through the window. A glass of whiskey perfectly formed in his hand palm. He occasionally took a sip of the liquor. It burned his throat in a way he was all too familiar with. He threw his head back as he savoured the taste of the expensive alcohol in his mouth.
”Fuck, Jesus,” He turned his body around frantically. His eyes met with those of Bob’s. The slim figure stood in the middle of the room. His hands fidgeted with the bottom of his pj’s.
“Are you just gonna stand there, Bob?” John questioned, his voice was laced with genuine confusion on why he was here.
”N...No,” He stammered a bit. He shifted on his feet as he rubbed his arm.
John frowned at the boy. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. A feeling he isn’t used to feeling. “Why are you up?” Bob asked, as he finally moved to the couch. He carefully sat next to John.
”What are you doing up?” He fired Bob’s own question back at him, he didn’t want to tell Bob his reasons. He only knew him for about a week, he doesn’t want to spill all his personal trauma all over him. Besides— why would he even care? He deserved whatever happened to him.
“Nightmare,” Bob just sighed. By the way he said it, John figured this was a common occurrence. It didn’t surprise him that much after what he saw in the void. The boy lived in hell, the hell that resided in his own darn mind.
“Want to talk about it?” John actually took up an attempt to comfort Bob. He isn’t used to comforting. Maybe it was because of his upbringing, the military, or anything else. It just wasn’t his thing.
Bob was silent for a second. He overthought every possible reaction he could get out of John. Bob shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s stupid…” he admitted softly, barely audible. If it wasn’t dead silent— you’d miss it.
“It isn’t stupid if it scares you,” John finally finished his whiskey and set the glass down on the table. His uncharacteristic soft gaze fixated on Bob. “I won’t judge— I know that’s hard to believe, but just trust me.”
Bob inhales sharply. He freezes up a bit when he feels John’s hand on his thigh. He knows it’s an attempt at comfort— but that just shook his core. “Uh,” he scraps his throat. Bob looks at his hands, his fingers twitching, a restless habit.
“I dreamt about killing you all,” he managed. “It was brutal.” He didn’t go into further detail. He didn’t feel the need to. John his hand stayed on him, and Bob did not attempt to remove his strong hand. The younger held his breath, waiting for John to answer.
John formed a perfectly worded response in his head, but he couldn’t say it. Instead, he scoffed— like he always would. Bob his gaze dropped again. “Is that it? I was expecting something worse— but yeah, no, bud.” John fucked it again. He made it worse, he heard Bob’s breath hitched.
“Wait— I’m sorry,” John replied quietly. “That must’ve been terrifying. You not being in control?” He saw Bob nod. John let a sigh escape his lips, he didn’t even know he was holding it.
”It was,” Bob confessed. “I… I wasn’t me— I would never do that.”
“So— you want a hug, Bobby?” John awkwardly asked. He really didn’t know what to do in a situation where he was the one doing the comforting.
Bob didn’t verbally reply. He threw himself in John’s chest. John almost fell back in shock. He wrapped his arms around the boy. He felt his back go up and down, followed by some crying noises. His heart sank. Shit.
”Don’t cry.” John tried to say confidently. He ultimately cringed at his own words. “Wait— cry if you want.” He winched at himself. “I’m not the cry police.”
He felt Bob let out a watery laugh. He clung onto his shoulder, he nuzzled into his neck. “Thanks. I didn’t know you were capable of being nice.” Bob joked. He didn’t imagine he could be comforted by someone like John Walker. But strange things happen. This week definitely felt like he was still on meth.
“Need me to get Yelena or Ava? Hell, do you want Alexei or Bucky?” John leaned back to look at his face. His eyes were watery and a little red.
“No... you stay,” Bob pleaded a bit. John obeyed and he stayed. Didn’t even move an inch.
They both fell into silence. Bob didn’t have anything to say, and John didn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to make Bob cry again. That made him feel weird in his stomach.
He let Bob cling on him. He had his face in John's neck. Bob was actually straddling him in a way. But he didn’t mind— he needed it, and he was trying to not be a dick. It was pretty easy to do— cause he genuinely felt bad.
John opened his phone, he saw a reminder from the calendar app he had installed. His heart dropped for a second time that night. He must’ve let out a gasp, cause Bob turned his head to look at the phone as well. Bob squinted his eyes to read what it said.
”Lemar? Who is that?” Bob asked. “It’s his birthday,” He looked at the reminder again. He thought it was kind of weird that John reacted this way. It was just a notification of someone’s birthday? He wasn’t late at congratulating him, it wasn’t even morning yet.
John brought a hand to cover his mouth. He dropped his phone. His mind shut down completely. Bob said his name— he couldn’t respond, he couldn’t— he felt his eyes tearing up. He started to hyperventilate. His strong hands shook uncontrollably.
“John!” Bob said a hint of confusion and concern in his voice. “Look at me,” John did, he looked at him. He started sobbing. Now he was the one clinging to the other’s chest. He gripped the back of Bob’s shirt. Gasping for any air that would enter his lungs. He felt suffocated.
Bob tightened his firm grip on his waist. “Breathe— please, John,” He gripped one of his hands, and squeezed in it as a rhythm indicator. John tried— failed and cried more. The walls were crumbling down fast.
“Hey.. try again, remember— you told me that,” Bob attempted to motivate the mess of a boy. John was shaking like a leaf, he was so out of it.
After some trial and error, John didn’t have to gasp for air anymore. He still held onto Bob as if he would disappear. Bob ultimately let him, he liked it. The feeling of someone being close, he could get used to that.
"Lemar—he was my best friend," John's voice was hoarse and broken. Bob nodded, understanding where this was headed. He had figured it out when John broke down in his arms just moments ago.
"You don’t have to say anything—I get it," Bob softly assured him, kissing the top of John's head. John let out a low hum and melted against him.
"Thanks," John whispered.