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Bob still remembers the very first time in such detail. He remembers he was thirteen years old, shaking and crying, holding a knife he took from the kitchen in his hand. He thought he would just slit his wrist and it would be easy and he would be done, but he was scared. It was going to hurt. He wasn't going to be there anymore. Even if he only ever caused problems, even if he only ever hurt people, he would be gone. He told himself he would man up and do it, but he had to start little. He cut his finger -- it hurt more than he expected, okay. Cut his arm a little bit, but by then he needed to stop. He couldn't do this.
He never told anyone about that, or the several times after that, most of which were a blur, all those noncommittal attempts to take his own life. He never really meant it -- if he meant it, he would actually do it, right? -- so it really wasn't a big deal. It just happened sometimes. He got sad, and it was a nice idea to not have to be sad anymore. He only ever caused sadness for other people as well, so it would benefit everyone. He was just upset that he never actually did it. He was just staying around, still burdening others, because he wasn't brave enough to just do it.
He still isn't brave enough. He's still causing problems for everyone. He's still not helping. He's that teenager again, crying and alone and unable to do anything, locked in the bathroom for almost an hour by now because he feels physically ill and can't stand up. He can't talk about his problems if no one cares to listen. He can't get better if he can't even admit there's something actually wrong. But no one has ever cared enough to notice a problem, so there isn't one. He's just existing and trying his very best -- failing -- to help out wherever he can.
The team cares about him, but he doesn't feel like he's really one of them. He still can hardly ever touch them without sending them to a void room briefly. He's still only really close with Yelena. He still feels anxious and awkward around them a lot of the time. He still feels bad having to go to PR events and knowing he's not really part of any of this. He's just there. He's just Bob. To the public, he's just some random guy with no powers or special talents who lives with the new Avengers for no apparent reason. And maybe that's exactly what he is.
He's brought back to reality by the very annoyed voice of Walker right outside the door, "For the love of God, Bob, when are you gonna be done in there?" Yet another problem he's caused for someone else.
Bob tries to wipe his tears, but they just keep coming, so he decides it isn't worth it and just stands up, leaning against the wall so he doesn't fall over. He takes deep breaths, his chest aching. He can do this. He unlocks the door and opens it just a little bit. "Sorry," he says quietly. Walker's face softens when he sees that Bob is crying, but Bob quickly walks past him and goes to his room. He's grateful his room is so close, because it would've been very awkward to walk a long way after that.
He's alone for a little bit, slowly regulating his breathing until it doesn't hurt anymore and huddling under his blankets because he feels so cold. Then there's a knock at his door, and without waiting for a response Walker opens it and steps in, closing it behind him. Bob doesn't even mind. He's never really been alone with Walker, and he's usually fairly opposed to having one-on-ones with people he isn't very close to, but no one has ever comforted him when he's like this before. So he doesn't even think about it. He doesn't say anything as Walker sits next to him on the bed. He leans against him, because there's someone there and he doesn't even care who it is -- or maybe he does, because it feels good that someone he isn't even close with cares enough.
He's crying. Walker doesn't tell him to stop or tell him he needs to man up or anything. Walker lets him cry and it feels good and he's shaking and struggling to breathe but he doesn't care. He just lets it out. He doesn't know how long this lasts, but he isn't rushed or pressured to calm down. Walker has an arm around him, just being there, and that's all he needs. He can calm down on his own. He just needs someone there. He just needs to know that someone is there for him.
"What happened?" Walker asks once Bob has quieted down. That's a good question -- what did happen?
"Nothing," Bob says, but it isn't a lie. Nothing happened. He was just enjoying himself and then he remembered everything sad about his life. Isn't that how it always happens? He wants so badly to talk about this, to say something more, but he doesn't want to overshare. He takes a deep breath and pulls away a bit, looking down at his hands. His hands. His hands that send people to the void when they touch them. His hands that make people feel horrible about themselves.
No, focus. That's not what Bob should be thinking about right now. (Or, realistically, ever, but he's not capable of that.) Another deep breath. He can do this. "I feel like..." His eyes sting. "I-- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, hold on." He tries to stop himself from crying, tries to take a moment to collect himself and his thoughts. He can do this, he just needs a moment.
Walker reaches out and takes his hand. Instinctively, Bob pulls away -- don't send him to the void -- but Walker just takes his hand again. Nothing happens. "Hey," Walker says, and Bob finally looks up at him. He looks so worried, so genuinely caring and concerned. "If you don't feel like you can talk about it, that's okay. If you just need me to be here, or if you just need to be alone, that's okay. Just let me know."
Bob nods, looking down at their hands again. He sniffles and closes his eyes tight, trying so hard not to cry. Trying so hard to keep it all in, because if he lets himself feel all of this he might also let Sentry and the Void out and he can't do that, he can't hurt all those people again. Walker shifts closer to him and lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around him. Bob rests his head on Walker's chest, and he feels like he can breathe again. He feels warm and safe and he doesn't feel okay but he feels so much better. This is all he ever needs.
"Thank you," he breathes, closing his eyes. "I'm okay." He stays still a moment longer before pulling away. He opens his mouth to say something, but he isn't sure what to say. He wants to talk about everything, he wants to just say everything he's feeling and get it all out, and maybe that would help. But that would also hurt. Bob already knows he's scared of things that hurt too much, even if he thinks they'll end up making things better.
He'll do it. One day.
"I think I just want to be alone right now," he says quietly. Walker nods and stands up, hesitating for a moment before leaving. Bob watches him in silence. He wants to say something. He doesn't want Walker to leave, not really. But he can say that another day. Right now, he's alone. And that's okay. He's used to being alone, after all.