Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

TW: Mentions of childhood Trauma, mental disorders, yelling, dark thoughts
*

“No, I really don’t think you can consider that a feminist piece of work, actually-” You say causally, you and walker riding up in the elevator to go get the radio signaling sequence Yelena had asked for.

Walker rolls his eyes. “But it has strong women in it-” He emphasizes, and you have to hold back a laugh at that. The elevator door opens, and he walks out, pausing right after he steps onto the shiny marble floor, with you following suit behind him. “Huh. It feels like the energy is like…bad and stuff.”

He glaces up and his breath catches. “Oh- well fuck me.” He exclaims, his voice casually neutral. “That's why.”

Walkers shield clangs against the side of the wall in surprise as he continues to look up, the sound reverberating and clashing, and you follow his gaze to look at the void figure, the blackish creature that was your friend. Shoot. Is your friend. The person who laughs with you when he sees something funny and the one who always remembers that your favorite flavor of cake is Red Velvet.

What happened? You wondered morosely as you looked up at him, a tangible mixture of fear and sadness swirling around in your chest.

“You think we should offer him a snickers?” Walker murmurs dryly and you don't know whether to laugh or cry at that comment.

Walker starts to speak again but stops as the void becomes larger. “You stay here,” He motions to you. “Im gonna go call, uh someone or uh something. Yeah, wasn’t that what we said would happen? Stay safe okay?” He pats your arm and dashes off somewhere in the background and you continue to stare at void, as he has been so dubbed, the tiny pinpricks of eyes seemingly following your movements.

Somewhere in your brain, you register Walker speaking, and you register him leaving, but other than that you are mostly focused on the void.

To be honest, the first thought that came to your mind on what to do was– no fucking clue. Which meant this. You were about to do something very spontaneous or very stupid. Probably and most honestly both. You had dealt with this once before, but then there was a team of people and you had felt safer.

But now, you knew bob, and it was an odd thing, knowing someone who was right now something of a subject of fear.

You clear your throat and look at his eyes (or where you think they are).

“Uh-bob. Or robert? I don't really know how to refer to you right now if I'm being honest”

The darkness starts spreading from him again, and you know he expects you to run. Or at least part of him does. But, you also know that there's a part of him that is hoping so badly that you stay, that you stay around to keep him company. You know that because you have been that person sometimes, and still, you are that person sometimes.

And you do want to run. You do. Because really, who the fuck wants to be eaten up by a giant scary void of their worst memories?

Not you, thats for sure. You’ve got too many memories that you could slip into in an instant.

“Im not going to run,” You say gently, looking up at him, staring into his eyes (or those pinpricks of light that you think are eyes). “Im going to stay right here.”

The darkness speaks, its voice devoid of emotion, and cruel in its emptiness. "You think you can save him again? You are but one person."

“And you are not as strong as you think.” You murmur, feeling the developing blackness wash over you.

*

You wake up curled in a ball outside of a bathroom.

A harsh, dissonant sounding voice echoes in the background. The air is hot, almost muggy and you remember this moment. You know this moment. The darkness starts to close around you a little and then you remember: bob. You cannot afford to become bogged down in your own memories. This was something you needed to work through (yes), but not something that needed to be taken care of right now, today.

You open the door to the bathroom. You look at the reflection of water in the tub and see the flash of a back. There he is. You murmur, pulling the plug and letting the water drain. You can hear the workings of the memory looping in the background, trying to pull you back into that familiar ache in your chest, the pain that does not seem to alleviate. Ugh , you grumble. Childhood memories could really be a bitch sometimes.

Grabbing the little washbowl where you used to washed your clothes, you take a deep breath and shatter the tubs bottom, finding yourself falling through.

This time, you wake up in a memory wholly unfamiliar and you know it is not yours. You land smack dab in the middle of a bean bag chair.

“Hey –Bob?” You speak softly, as if the looped creatures can hear you. But it is not your memory and none of them pay you any mind.

Hes sitting in the middle of the room, the same one you were in last time.

“This is the best of the worst, yeah?” You murmur softly. He doesn’t say anything but you know hes heard you. Or at least, you think he's heard you at the very least because his soft swaying back and forth has paused, at least for a second.

You don't know whether to approach him or not. You think you might be able to do so but you also don't want to push his boundaries.

“Listen here. I'm gonna get a little closer to you if that's okay?” You receive the tiniest nod in response, and so you inch your way forward, like someone approaching a startled dog, finally ending when you are close enough to sit right in front of him.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” You ask quietly. His lip quivers and he looks away. You know the feeling. The feeling when someone treats you with gentleness after only ever receiving harshness your entire life, and you don’t know what to do with the softness except break down.

You hold out a gentle hand, touching his. The world cracks a little at that.

“I dont know” He replies, tears falling down his face, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s like I was all okay one day, the feeling was okay and I was okay, I was fine and then something happened and I started to remember and the emptiness just hit me right in my chest and then it feels like nothing is okay. And I get frustrated because I know im not in the same place I was. I know that and I still feel empty, this pointlessness, this sadness that I cannot process, that simply sits. And its not just emptiness, because I think I could tolerate just emptiness. But its an empty grief, I think, an empty sadness, and that is so different from apathy and I feel like i'm drowning in it and I feel so-”

“Alone” He finishes softly.

“You’re not alone” You say quietly, and he scoffs.

You quirk a smile at that. “Yeah, I wouldn’t believe me either.”

“Bob-” You start, hesitating. “I wouldn’t pretend to know all the pain and sadness that you’ve gone through. But I’ve gone through my fair share of pain, and I have my own regrets to live with.”

“I know how you feel. I know that empty feeling you get. I call it hollowness sometimes, because thats what I feel like, a scooped out energy that just leaves sadness and tiredness behind. I know what its like to have mental illness run in the family, to have grief you feel like you can’t outrun. And I don’t think I can promise you anything about how you may or may not feel in the future because I know how emotions can change in an instant. But I want you to know this. For as long as I am around, for as long as Yelena is around, for as long as Ava is around, and for as long as (you have to resist a wry smile) even Walker is around, you will not be alone.”

“Honestly,” you laugh, “with as clingy as I can be, you might even want to be alone sometimes.”

He shakes his head, as if he cannot believe that to be true.

“I don’t think I could get tired of your company” He says quietly, and your heart skips (the tiniest) beat at that.

“Well, neither could I,” You reply, and he finally looks up at you, something unidentifiable flickering, and you almost wish he didn’t because you can’t take back your words, and something deeper than just friendship lies in them. You know that, and you think he knows that too.

“But uh-” You break the silence, the one that seems filled with a thousand words. “I can’t be around you if you’re in here.” Your voice wobbles, and you realize now that you are afraid to loose him, that to loose him would change you permanently, that you love him (you think) and he understands you, understands you in a way that is so hard to find. “And I don’t want to loose you”

“But uh” You continue. “I will stay with you in here until you are ready to come back out.”

His hand comes up to brush a tear off of your cheek, his eyes so gentle, so soft. “Don’t cry.” He says quietly. “I’m here.”

There is a quietness that settles. You squeeze his hand each time the memory loops.

His hand comes up again, and you think it’s to brush another tear away but he rests it gently on your jawline.

“Can I-” He says softly, his eyes flicking down to your lips.

You nod, pulse quickening, hands clammy. And his lips touch yours gently, and you know that despite the violence with which the world has treated him, he will, when he can, always choose to be gentle.

And the world breaks. For a second, you see a beautiful starry sky, before the two of you are dropped right back into the tower.

Bob blinks. The two of you are standing really close to one another.

“Woah- what happened?” He asks, a look of confusion on his face. He glances down at your entwined hands. Neither of you move to take your hand away.

Walker crashes back in with Yelena.“Oh- what?! I swear the void was right here.” He observes you and Bob, a knowing smirk coming to his face. “Well you two certainly look – cozy. ”

“Shut up. He was in the void,” You say, ignoring his comment but not bothering to move away. “But we took care of it.”

“We did?” Bob says, looking at you and you nod.

“We did.” You confirm.

“Oh.” Bob says, a small smile coming to his face. Yelena has started chastising Walker for not being on post, making sure that Bob always had company, walking back to a computer to input this data. You watch him be berated (one of your favorite things to watch), with mild bemusement.

“Hey-” Bob says. “I think- I don't remember all of what happened but did we-”

“-kiss?” You finish for him.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” He says again. “I liked that.”

“I liked it too.” Bob smiles. There's a silence now too, but it's comforting.

“Want to go on a walk?” He asks.

“Always.” You reply.

And when Yelena sees you two walking out later, hands still entwined, she smiles.

*
Ofc he would ask for consent yall. I love this man so much okay?!?!

Chapter Text

TW: Sick with like a cold/fever, hinted at past trauma for reader, mental health issues for both characters

You don’t notice at first because he's quiet about it. He spends nearly the whole day in his room, which is fine (he seems to be pretty emotionally stable right now, though of course that doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t need to check on him pretty often).

It doesn’t hurt your feelings (not really), though you do miss his quiet presence, and the way he would just read a book next to you while you made food, wandered around or scrolled on your phone. It was nice, the quiet presence of another human being.

It's been approximately 30 minutes since your last check in, which is approximately the amount of time you all had decided as a team was safe enough to leave him alone (by himself), as versus with someone. There were other detectors too, something fancy and scientific that detected a shift in the pressure, or the number of ions or something else researchy like that. You knock on his door gently before letting yourself in.

“Hey- you okay?” You ask. You see a mound of blankets, which rise and fall with his breath. There is a somewhat noncommittal mumble of agreement from the mound.

“I’m gonna need a little more than that,” You say, feeling bad for prying but also need to make sure he hadn’t in fact turned into void under those blankets and cause the world to well…end. Or something else dramatic like that.

Perhaps he would poof all of America away this time. It was not quite clear the limit and extent of his powers. And honestly, you hoped you would never find out.

“Can I- pull back some of the covers?” You ask.

“Sure” He rasps back, and your senses suddenly tune back in, very alert. He sounds bad. You can only hope to find Robert under there and not the void or sentry. With baited breath, you slowly peel back the cover to find him lying there, a bit reminiscent of a log.

Its Robert. But hes sick. Definitely. His hair is matted to his forehead from cold sweats, and his cheeks are pink (which is kind of cute but you would never tell him that). You reach out the back of your palm to touch his forehead. Concerningly warm. Hes definitely got a fever.

“Bob.” You say, speaking softly, just in case he had a headache. “You should’ve said you weren’t feeling well.”

“Didn’t wanna bother you,” He mumbles back. “Not your job to take care of me. All you need to do is be here to check that im not…him”

“You’re right,” You respond back casually. “It’s not. But I want to.”

He sighs. ”You’re too nice.”

You don’t dignify that with a response, already whipping out your phone to order doordash for dinner and other things that he would need. Perk of living with a bunch of superheroes, there was absolutely no consequence to money right now.

You order some painkillers, some chicken pho, and a lot of gatorade and saltine crackers, before shooting a text to the group chat informing everyone of bobs current status. Did it seem a little odd to you that you had to do this for another human? Yes. But, then again this was all odd so you weren’t about to think about it too hard. You then wander off to the top of the state bathroom to try and find a thermometer. It’s harder than you think, the marble walls and cabinets filled with more products than you’d ever seen in a hospital.

Eventually you find it, in a fancy box with other thermometers for things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. You grab a “regular” looking one, and a glass of ice water, filling it up most of the way and coming back into the room where Bob is resting.

“Hey Bob,” You say, walking next to his bed where it seems like he has not moved. He was just lying there, hand resting on his head.

“Hey” He mumbles back weakly.

“I’m gonna need you to take your temperature, okay?” You murmur. He nods, pushing himself up on the bed with a distinct, concerted effort. Once you hear the soft beep of the temperature reading, he holds it out to you, handle first. 102 Degrees. Oof. That's pretty bad. Not bad enough that a doctor is needed, though, you think, unless it lasted for 2 or more days.

“Yeah, you are definitely running a fever.” You say, looking at him with pity.

He just sighs. “Just my luck.”

You huff out a laugh. “I used to love sick days as a kid. It was a perfect excuse for me to stay home from school and do nothing. I didn’t feel good maybe but at least I got to watch my favorite TV shows. But, yeah, if you have a fever, and not just a cold it can feel pretty bad. Don’t worry, we have some fever meds coming to you”

Bob smiles weakly at your comment but he still seems pretty down. You hand him a glass of water and tell him to drink and keep himself hydrated. The doordash arrives a few minutes later. You start to prepare a tray and cant help yourself from being struck by how domestic this is as you take two anti-fever meds and place them on a small plate. You then pour out a glass of gatorade into a glass that you have filled with ice. And this isn’t your home, not really, but its as much of a home as any place that you’ve ever had. And that is a complicated feeling. It’s a mix of joy and pain. Joy at this new feeling, this understanding that home is a thing that can exist, and sadness at the years you have gone without this feeling, this sense of belonging.

You then go over to the stove and turn on the heat, pouring in the broth from the container into a small pot to be heated up, humming all the while as you do so. You take out a bowl and a pair of chopsticks, before returning to the takeout container of noodles and chicken that has been left in a plastic back. The soup is near boiling so you scrape both into the broth and start stirring. You are lost in your own world when you hear a small cough from behind you, and you whip around to see bob standing there, a pillow in his hand, staring at you.

“Bob!” You say, your hand resting on your now rapidly beating heart. “You scared me. Is everything okay? Sorry if this is taking a while.”

He shakes his head. “No, no, its okay. I just wanted to see what you were doing.” You smile at him tentatively.

You like the routine of it, you realize, the purpose that your actions have, the softness of them. That you can place your care with someone who will receive it kindly.

“As much as I’ve missed your presence, I'm gonna have to ask you to go back to your room. You need your rest.” Bob looks like he wants to argue, but then, to your surprise, he simply does, a small smile on his face as he turns around to walk back into his room.

As the pho continues heating up in the background, you prepare a bowl of water and find a washcloth to place in it, wringing it out in the sink.

You bring all of this back into his room, where he is sitting, staring at a blank space on the wall.

“Hey,” You say, placing the tray down next to him. “Brought you some stuff to hopefully make you feel better.”

You start with the fever pills, making sure that he washes them down with water before you give him his meal.

“Thank you.” He says, his tired eyes searching yours. You suddenly find it hard to maintain eye contact and decide to fidget with the stuff you brought him, bringing up the wet washcloth and placing it gently on his forehead. He breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Feel a little better?” You ask. He nods, starting to eat (carefully, so the washcloth on his forehead does not fall off). You turn on a TV show and sit on the sofa just to the right of the bed.

“What show is this?” He asks, looking at the TV with interest.

You grin. “The Good Place. Really good show. One of my favorites. I used to watch it all the time when I was a teen. Figured it might be your speed.”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You reply.

“Why do you like it?” He asks.

“I think at its core, it tells you a lot about humans. How hard they try to be good. How grey the world is. How there's cruelty in kind people, and kindness in cruel people.”

Bob nods his head. “Sounds like a pretty good show.”

You laugh. “Well, give it a shot and if you don’t like it, I’ll switch it to something else.” You start to eat the food you had made for yourself on the side, enjoying seeing his reactions to a show you love so dearly.

A couple episodes in, you pull out the recliner and rest your legs, curling up as Bob gets fully invested in the show. You cannot wait for him to see the plot twist at the end of this season. However, the quiet clinking of silverware and the show in the background are making you relaxed and you feel yourself drifting to sleep, a warm feeling in your heart.

*

You wake up a couple hours later with a blanket over your body. Sitting up slowly, you see that Bob is asleep now, the soup you made for him placed to the side as he sleeps. Getting up and padding over to him, you place your hand gently on his forehead to check his temperature. Much cooler. It looks like his fever has broken. Things are going to be okay. You go to leave, but then hesitate and settle back into the recliner, falling asleep instantly.

*
“By the way,” Bob says, a few days later, when his sickness has subsided and the both of you are wandering to the grocery store on a mission to get food for Yelena's guinea pig. “I heard you.”

“Huh?” You reply, very confused. “Heard me…when?”

“It was nice to know my presence was missed when I was sick.” He smiles at you, his eyes filled with teasing.

You roll your eyes and look away, realizing what he was referencing. “Okay. You know what? I take all of that back.” You reply.

“Oh really?” Bob says.

“Yeah,” You say, laughing, and both of you know there is absolutely no truth to your statements.

“Alright then,” He says as he opens the door to the grocery store. “If you say so.”

You laugh. It is a bright, summer day. Things are good.

Chapter Text

Personal Reccomendation for the Song: Spoiled By Your Love by Anita Ward

The two of you are in the kitchen at the tower, preparing dinner. It is dinnertime and the stars are already out, twinkling gently in the night sky. There is a soft song playing on the speaker, some oldies from a long past generation that made you feel nostalgic and warm. You can’t really comprehend this sweet life of yours. This gentleness that you have been gifted, that has fallen into your lap. You are so lucky to have this sort of peace. Your hands are still motion, seasoning the food, but you are thinking about this sweetness, this stillness that you love with all your being.

“You okay?” Bob asks, leaning over to glance at you, his hair flopping into his face. He continues to cut up carrots, his actions slow and methodical, trying to ensure that they were all as perfectly cut and even as he could manage.

You smile. “Yeah.” You say. “Just processing how lucky I am, I guess.” You continue with seasoning the steak, rubbing some salt into the filet to try and ensure an even coating. The salt grains roll across the food safety gloves you had on. Bit of a hassle perhaps, but it always made you feel safer in the long run (so long as you didn't touch anything else in the kitchen with those gloves- very bad for transferring bacteria).

He lets out a small laugh, finally processing what you mean by that, pausing his cutting of vegetables to look at you and beam. “Really?” He says, almost as if he doesn’t quite believe it. (Which he doesn’t, even though he really should).

You nod. “Really.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” He says, looking away from you, a little bit shy at the honesty of his words.

You are struck again by how much you love this man. How much joy he brings to your life. How much you want to see him thrive and be happy. How much seeing his happiness makes you happy. How he inspires you to be a better person, to live a better life.

You shrug, about to say something cheesy about how the both of you can be lucky at the same time when a familiar song comes on the speaker, and you gasp. The steak is briefly forgotten, as is the fact that you are seasoning raw meat and you almost touch your face with your gloved hands in your excitement.

“Oh my gosh, I love this song!” You say, a little bit of a squeal in your voice.

“Yeah?” He asks, looking both mildly amused and utterly adoringly at you as your voice rises in pitch and you look at him with stars in your eyes.

“Yep!” You reply. “It’s been a favorite of mine since I was a teen. I would play it and imagine I was dancing with the love of my life. Though back then of course, I had no idea who it was.” You sigh happily, remembering with nostalgia how you would daydream about the love you had now found. It was him. It had to be him. There was no doubt in your soul about that fact. Not that you would ever tell him that openly. Besides, even if you didn’t, he probably knew. You were never the best at hiding how you felt.

It barely registers to you that Bob is no longer cutting carrots. In fact, you hardly notice that he's standing right in front of you, a little bit of a quirk in his smile, which lights up into the tiniest smirk. Something you might find irritating on someone else, but so very endearing on him.

“What are you doing?” You ask, laughing a little as he comes closer. He reaches out for your hand with both of his; his eyes tentative and gentle and always asking for permission, which you so very much appreciate.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You say, not entirely sure what he was about to do but trusting that it wouldn’t be something that you would be uncomfortable with.

He gently takes your left hand with both of his, and tentatively rolls the glove off, disposing of it in the trashcan to your right. He then takes your right hand and does the same thing, his hands so careful to treat you with carefulness and kindness. You notice hes shaking a little, and you know hes nervous. You know him in a way that you’ve never known anyone, in a way that makes your heart ache in a devastatingly sweet way.

Bob then does a little bow and he holds out his right hand.

“My darling, may I have this dance?” His eyes, meet yours, a little twinkle in them.

And you smile back, putting your hand into his slightly clammy one (something that he thinks is something to be self conscious about, but that you instead find rather cute).

“Of course.”

He pulls you in, one hand still holding yours, the other coming to rest on the small of his back.

“This okay?” He asks, checking in. You nod.

The two of you start moving along to the slow beat of the song, and you close your eyes, resting your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, fast and strong. He smells like home to you, a clean, soapy scent that you trust and love, and you find your arms automatically wrapping around him like they’ve done this their whole life. His hands run up and down your back, a soothing, peaceful motion, his head coming to rest on your shoulder.

The music plays on. A pot of soup is simmering on the stove, and the digital clock ticks rhythmically in the background. You close your eyes, letting the rest of the world fall away as the two of you hold each other, swaying back and forth like a little canoe on a large ocean, all alone but tethered to each other, keeping each other steady.

The timer for the oven goes off and both of you jump, having been lost in your own little world.

“Woah.” He says, trying to steady you, make sure that you were okay. “That was quite a jump.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I zoned out there for a second. In a good way.”

“So did I.” He says, smiling down at you, before glancing out at the stars. You look too, your gaze drawn where his is. Beautiful stars, on a gorgeous backdrop of purple and blue, twinkle down at the two of you. Looking back at him, you can see the stars reflected in his eyes.

Gently, you try to unravel yourself from his arms. “We do need to check on that oven, as much as I’d love to stay like this.” You say. His arms tighten imperceptibly.

“Do we have to?” He asks, “I don’t think that sounds very fun.”

You let out a little giggle at that, something bright and uncensored. “You’re making it really hard on me,” You say. “How about we do some dancing later, after dinner?”

He nods, finally letting you go put the bread in the oven.

“That was really cute of you,” You cant help but admit, your cheeks feeling a little warm, blood rushing up as you say something silly. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He laughs. “Never had anyone who brought out that side of me before, I guess.”

He goes back to cutting carrots, the sound smooth and methodical. Perhaps in a different time, in a time that was more stressful, in a time where you were both tired and fighting, you would simply order food, make something simple. But right now, today, you have all the time in the world. You had never had the privilege of thinking about time as something to spend. Time was always stolen from you, taken by things you needed to do, people you needed to meet, expectations you needed to fill.

But right now, with Bob, time was something to be spent.

And you couldn't imagine a better way to spend it.

*

Bob my consent king i love u sm

Chapter Text

TW (PLEASE READ THIS ONE): Brief depiction of childhood verbal abuse, severe anxiety, hospitals.
*

You don't want to open your eyes. You really don’t. You know where you’ve ended up. Vaguely at least, you know it’s got to be, can only be a moment from your childhood, a memory wrapped in pain and sadness and the grief that you have held in and buried down deep like it was precious, like it was something to be kept, something to be held onto even though its scratching at the edges of your soul and making you bleed something silly.

oh no, you think as you begin to fully process where you have landed. It's this memory.

You see yourself standing in the archway of the kitchen, staring at your mother, a blank look on your face as she screams at you.

You look at yourself again. So small, so quiet, so tiny. So much for a child. Looking at yourself now that you are an adult, now that you have your own place, that you have lived on your own, you see how small you truly were. Your hands – so tiny. Your voice, so small and wispy and innocent. The little stuffed animal you hold in your hands to try and feel safe. You are so: small.

You were only 5 and you did not deserve this.

And suddenly you are thinking that perhaps this wasn’t the greatest idea, that you are scared and that you need help because really how can you face this. How can you face seeing yourself, so small and so scared and so helpless. You look away, as if you couldn’t hear it, taste it, see this memory flowing through your veins, as if it didn’t exist in you, as if you could turn away from it it would be separate from you instead of an integral part of yourself.

Your hands begin to shake from the nerves. There is an odd, sparking feeling in your veins. And you are feeling too much, so much all at once that you fear you may lose yourself.

“Hey, uh, robert?” The memory continues to play on a loop, and you are just praying that he is somewhere out there listening, somewhere out there he knows. That he knows you are in here, the same way he knows that you get nervous when you are in places with too many people, or that any form of rejection really hurts you, because you can’t tell the difference between someone saying no, and someone just needing space.

“So like, I maybe came in here with the intention of saving you but I think I maybe over-thought my own ability to do so.” You find that it is hard to stand up right now. “And I'm really, really scared.”

“And now-I think” You say, your breath tentative and anxious, your voice light and airy the way it is when you are trying not to cry. When you are trying to keep in the world of pain that exists right under the surface, the memories that you hold close to your heart because you still dont quite know where to put some of that pain. “I think I just need a hug.”

You close your eyes as you sink onto the floor, and find yourself, in the funniest of ways, thinking about depictions of trauma. It’s always harsh and loud, not silent and painful, and you will never understand that. As if trauma invited attention. Trauma rarely does, or you think, more accurately, victims of trauma rarely try to invite such public attention. And you know what your brain is doing right now, you know its trying to protect you by intellectualizing all the fear that you felt, all the fear you are feeling. But that never really works. And the fear doesn’t really go away. You forget to think about it eventually and then at some random point in time realize that feeling is gone, or pushed away for the moment. But you yourself? It feels like you have never actually taken that fear and made it disappear.

You bury your head in your chest, so very scared and tired of this exhaustion. You know you need to get yourself up, and you need to go look for him, figure out how to save him from this struggle, that he was struggling just as much or more than you were right now. But you cannot. You are stuck on the floor, locked in a world of your own pain, wrapped in a bundle of sadness that you have not gotten over.

And then you feel something warm. It starts as a tentative hand on your shoulder, and then warm arms wrap around you, and he is here. The world focuses back in. Feeling focuses back in and you feel yourself floating back to your body, present and awake.

“I'm here.” He whispers, and though you cannot see him because hes behind you, you know hes there. “I’ve got you.” He says, and you’re feeling again, but it's just his arms, his smell, his gentle presence that wraps around you. And he can’t fix you. Doesn’t fix you, but he’s there. He’s there even though you know this is hard for him and you know that hes got things hes scared of but he’s here for you, here in one of your worst memories.

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t invite conversation or try to talk to you other than a gentle hum into your hair. He doesn’t ask you about the memory, about whats happening, about the way you are shaking, sobbing quietly.

The memory loops over and over in the background and its still just as bad, just as bad each time because it is not going to change but then again: it sort of has. It sort of has because you’re an adult now, that is not you, not anymore and most importantly: you are not alone.

He is here, and he is holding you and you are not alone. For the first time, in your own world of trauma, you are not alone.

You curl yourself into him, your body molding onto his, your head resting gently against his chest, of which you can hear his steady, stable heartbeat. It’s something so painfully gentle, this protection, this quiet being, this love that seeps from him, this simple staying around.

“Bob?”

You ask.

“Yeah?” He responds gently. He covers your ears when the screaming starts, naturally, as if protecting you was something that came innately.

“How’d you find me?”

“I heard you.” He replies simply. “I heard you and I was sort of, I just knew where to find you?” He laughs a little, and squeezes your arm when a door slams.

“Probably doesn’t sound like it makes much sense, huh?”

You crack the tiniest smile at that but don’t say anything.

There is a pause where no one speaks, and the memory loops in the background.

“I’m sorry you’re here.” He whispers. “This is all my fault.” That finally brings a laugh out of you, something a little off kilter in sound but a laugh nonetheless.

“I came in here because I care about you. That was my choice. And I’d make it again. Because you’re worth it.” You reply softly, watching as the door slams shut again, and the way the younger you just sits, not sure what to do with herself. She clutches the stuffed animal close to her chest, but she does not cry, not the way you have today. She just sits, and wonders why her mother does not love her. Fuck. You were so small. So numb. So– fucking alone.

There is a quiet as Bob just holds you tighter, whispering something about not deserving you. A few more minutes pass.

“Bob?” You say again, voice wavering. “Can we please go home?”

You look over at him, your eyes watery and sad, and something in him breaks and the both of you fall.

The last thing you remember is Bob cushioning you with his body as the both of you land in the tower.

*

You wake up a week later, after going in and out of sleep for the past few days, always falling back asleep within minutes, in a sterile room, full of white. Usually you are only awake long enough to wonder where everyone is, whether Bob is okay, and where you are currently situated. Yelena is sitting a tiny plastic chair near your hospital bed when you finally focus in.

“Oh good. You’re awake.” She says, a smile coming to her face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.” You groan. You look around. The room is empty, save for the Red Guardian snoring in the corner, a few bags of empty doordash circling him like a dirty halo of cups, plastic forks, and half eaten food. He must have been sleeping in here to keep watch over you. Your heart warms.

You cough, your voice raspy from lack of water. Yelena hands you a small paper cup, immediately ready to help.

“Drink.” She says.

“Where's Bob?” You ask after you take a sip of water. Yelena's smile twists up at your question, like she knows something you don’t.

“That is the exact same question that Bob asked when he woke up. Well, he asked where you were. If you are okay.”

You smile a small bit at that, waiting for her to continue. “He’s in the room next to you. We basically had to tie him down to his bed to keep him from checking on you.”

“Sounds like him.” You reply. You stretch out your body, looking around. The Red Gauridan suddenly jolts awake. He yells your name and you fight not to wince.

“You are okay!” He yells. “I knew that Russian remedy I used would work on you.” He bounds up to the side of your bed, but hesitates. You know he wants to give you a hug, and so you nod, after which he immediately wraps you in a bone crushing hug.

“Dad, oh my god,” Yelena says, rubbing her temples, “ What did you do?”

“Nothing much,” He replies, starting to talk about some random remedy he had placed near your bed to keep you safe. Perhaps it was nonsense, but that didn’t really matter. It was care. It was love. And a giggle, a real giggle comes out from you as you listen to him arguing with his daughter about why he did exactly what he did.

“Its been so long since I’ve heard that.” You hear, and you see Bob standing at the very edge of the doorway, a tentative smile on his face, also in hospital scrubs. You don’t even notice yourself running to the door, you don’t feel the sharp stabs of pain as you run towards him, and his arms open up immediately, wrapping you in them and you squeeze him as hard as you can, your arms wrapping around him, and you cannot bear to let him go.

“I’ve missed you.” You say, your heart aching. “So much.”

“So have I.” He responds.

And you let out another laugh. You don’t feel alone.

“I’m not letting you go.” You whisper.

“As if I’d let you.” He replies.

And nothing is okay. Because things are never fully okay. And you feel happy. And you have so much trauma, and nothing is okay. And you are laughing with Yelena and Bob, and the Red guardian. And nothing is okay.

And yet, you are loved.

Chapter Text

*

“I have a question for you.” Bob blurts out in the middle of breakfast. You stare at him in confusion.

“Okayyyy.” You say slowly, putting down your syrup covered fork, a little morose at not being able to lick the syrup off of it just yet, due to an incoming conversation. “What's up?”

He opens his mouth, closes it. Opens his mouth again. Fidgets a little with the fraying hem of his sleeve, something you know he does when he's nervous.

There's a pause and you take a gulp of water, mildly amused at his anxiousness, but also a little confused.

“What’s your favorite food again?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. Huh?

“Uh…you know me.” You reply, a little bit confused. “I like just about anything sweet.”

Bob nods and laughs, his hair falling into his face a little. “Ah,” he replies, his eyes crinkling a little as he takes a sip of his tea. “That does make sense, I guess.”

He nods, going back to his book. You can’t help yourself. “Is that really what you wanted to ask me?” You question. He looks back up at you, blinks and smiles quickly.

“Yeah. Just wanted to know if the answer had changed since the last time I asked, I guess.”

You laugh. “What, thinking of getting me a gift?”

“Something like that,” he replies. You don’t think much of it. At least not right now, even if something tells you that that wasn’t the question that he had in mind.

*

The second time this happens, you are chatting with Walker and Yelena, waiting for Bob and Alexei to come back with snacks for movie night. You flip through different movies, knowing that no matter what you landed on, someone would have some issue with it. It was always this way with large groups, you thought. There was no way for everyone to be pleased.

Yelena holds out a hand to indicate disinterest with Walkers antics. "Stop! We cannot possibly be arguing about this again. Walker, that is a stupid idea and we will not be entertaining that.”

Yelena shakes her head, leaning down to whisper to her guinea pig. “We think Walker's idea is nonsense, don’t we, my sweet pet? Yes it is. He just can’t admit it.”

Walker lightly scoffs, rolling his eyes when he sees her fake conversation with her pet. “What? I think it would be great for the morale of the team. To have a party? Hell yeah! Lets show off some of the power that the new avengers have, right? Also, technically, we need to network or whatever the rich people call it.” He pauses. Then finally admits what it's about for him, his voice tilting up the way it does when he’s trying to convince everyone that it's not about what it is most definitely about.

“And hey, if we get to look good and it happens to be shown by a lot of different news outlets, that's just a bonus.”

You sigh, shaking your head a little bit. “Yelenas right. Besides, are you sure you aren't doing this to show off to everyone anyways?” Like maybe your daughter?

Walker scoffs again, his face scrunching up into a look of bravado, even though you are one hundred percent right. “Please. Who do I of all people need to show off for? My reputation is squeaky clean compared to the rest of you- people. Besides, if anyone needs to impress anyone, or wants to, I don’t think it would be me. Not out of our group of lovely people.”

“Really?” You say, now mildly curious despite yourself. “And who would need to impress someone else on our team so badly that they’d want to hold a big party for it?”

“Well, its not me.” Walker has a shitfaced grin gracing his face now. You’ve never wanted to punch him more, and that's saying something. “I’ll even do you another solid. They want to impress you.”

“What?” You say, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Come on.” Yelena cuts in, looking at you directly. She pets her Guinea Pig absentmindedly. “You really don’t know who hes referring to?” You finally tear your face away from the screen, putting the remote down, as if your doomscrolling had done any sort of good.

“Someone who’d want to impress me?” You reply. “No, I really don't! Who would?” Walker and Yelena share a glance for once, and you have to wonder what exactly it is that you are missing that gives the two of them some sense of camaraderie. Walker and Yelena.

“Yelena! My lovely daughter! We have come back bearing snacks.” Alexei announces, raising a few bags stuffed full of goodies into the air. He carries the heavier bags, while Bob carries bags full of chips and candy. He smiles and sits down next to you, and though you would never admit it, you were secretly glad that you were the one he chose to sit next to.

“Here.” He hands you your favorite treat. “I thought of you and figured, why not? We’re at the store anyway.”

“Thanks!” You say, pleasantly surprised and very peaceful.

“Didn’t get me my favorite snack.” Walker grumbles, sifting through one of the bags petulantly, trying to find something he liked. Yelena throws a pillow at him.

Though it takes a while, the rest of you finally figure out a movie to settle on. You settle back in, the snacks are passed around, content with the movie finally chosen. Bob scooches a little closer to you, glancing at you to check that it's okay. You smile and he relaxes back into the sofa, appeased.

“You still don’t know?” Yelena asks you under her breath, glancing at you a while later, while you grip Bob’s arm through the throes of a horror film. You shake your head, completely dumbfounded and quite distracted by the movie.

She sighs, turning to glance back at the movie screen, though her gaze catches just slightly on your hand squeezing his arm on its way to the screen. “Americans. They can’t see things even when it hits them right in the face. My god.”

“Don’t know when what hits them?” You ask, completely zoned out. But she just shakes her head and shushes you, her attention now fully back on the movie.

You yelp at something that happens on screen and loose the loose thread of thought that had been formulating slowly in your head, not noticing the way Bob’s shoulders relax when you focus back in on the movie or how Yelena laughs lightly, endearingly, at your obliviousness.

*

The next time he asks you a question, you start to notice. The two of you are taking a walk together, just enjoying the cool summer night, when he once again blurts out that he has something to say.

“Oh really?” You reply, closing your eyes as a cool wind blows over the two of you. “About what?”

“Something to say, well, more of a question really. I don't know.” He starts fidgeting with his hands again. You glance at him carefully, your attention much more focused.

“Well,” You say slowly, your gaze ranging over the park. You see two people on a swing set. One goes forward as the other goes back. Two sides of the coin. Complementary. The warm glow of the sunset, mixed with the pollution makes for a gorgeous sunset. “Don't keep me in suspense. What's the question?”

“Just- just what you think of the current political state of the world.” He blurts out. There's a silence. A pigeon flies by, desperate for the crust of bread lying on the edge of the grass.

“What?” You finally say, not even sure how to begin processing this. “You needed to announce that you wanted to ask me about the current– political state of the world?”

Bob winces. “I dont: no, its not that specifically, its something more, well” He lets out a little bit of a laugh, glancing at the pastries in the store window across the street. “Hey, you want to go get some of these?”

You know hes trying to change the subject, save grace. And so you let him.

“Sure. Why not? I could always use a sweet treat.”

The two of you browse the frosted windows that held the pastries. “On your questions though,” You say casually, your eyes focused in on a meringue pastry as if it was the most important and interesting site in the world. You trace over the shiny glaze and the bright sunshine yellow of the lemon curd. “Whenever you’re ready to ask it, whatever it is, just ask it. But no pressure, okay?” You finally look up at him. He smiles.

“Thanks.”

*

“Do you want to go on a date?”

It comes out on a random tuesday, and you cough the water down the wrong throat. His mouth pulls into an awkward, mildly concerned smile as he tentatively pats you on the back.

“Sorry…sorry for asking that while you were drinking water.” He says. You blink back up at him, shaking your head to assure him that everything was okay, having forgotten he had asked you a question. He keeps staring at you, expectantly.

“So uh…no pressure.” He smiles softly, but there is a definite tinge of anxiety to his voice. “But do you happen to have awn-”

“-Yes! Yes.” You say, trying to tamp down your excitement. “That sounds fun.”

His shoulders visibly sag. “Oh thank god!” He says. “I was kinda nervous you were gonna-” He pauses. “I don’t know, say no? I mean I hoped you’d say yes, cause like- I really like you but I wasn’t sure.”

“Bob.” You say, a little bit of a laugh making its way up your body, a glowing, pulsing feeling coming to rest inside your chest. “I like you. Alot. You’re a likeable person.” He glances away, clearly not used to the compliment. “You’d do to get used to that fact sometime.”

Though it looks like he wants to deny it, you know hes trying his best when he smiles a little and says thank you, though he can’t quite look you in the eyes.

“Oh! Wait.” He says. “Forgot I got you something.” He holds out a box of your favorite candy and a single daffodil. “Sorry about that.” He mumbles, “I probably was going to get you a bouquet, but then I was just out and I saw your favorite candy and the flower reminded me of you and I guess I just had to ask you before I could really plan something special out.”

“It is special though,” You reply, placing the flower down delicately on a paper towel, “because you got it for me.”

*