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Despite their growing competence as a team, Valentina still sent them out on solo missions from time to time. They weren’t doing clean up for her dirty work anymore, it was usually small threats that they were able to eliminate before they grew into a bigger issue. Sometimes she would send them in pairs, groups of three, whatever. The missions were usually pretty easy, and besides a long stakeout causing exhaustion, they all seemed to get in and out without getting injured.
This time, John had fucked up. He had gotten into the rhythm of these missions, stakeout, sneak in, eliminate the threat, get out. But this time, there had been twice as many men as he had accounted for, they must’ve known he was coming, or he didn’t stake out long enough. It didn’t matter anyway, he was able to neutralize them, but after he’d left and was sitting at the back of the carrier plane, he realized he had been shot.
The adrenaline had kept him from realizing at first, and the fact that he had gotten his head slammed hard enough into a wall that everything was a little shaky still. He definitely had a concussion, which would go away eventually, but between those factors and the residual shakiness he had when he was tired, leftover from military injuries, he would be hopeless trying to stitch it back up. The front alone would be shaky, but he couldn’t even see the exit wound.
The only two people on the plane were the pilots, and while John had been working hard on being more vulnerable since joining the team, that didn’t extend to near strangers. Plus, he had no idea if they would even know how to stitch it back up. Instead, he dug through the first aid kit and covered the wound in tape and gauze. That should hold it at least until he got back, and it would either miraculously heal up, or he could get someone from the team to help.
He spent the rest of the flight gritting his teeth and staring at the wall, trying to ignore the biting pain in his side. One of these days some of these fancy scientists really needed to figure out how to make painkillers for super soldiers. It seemed like a thing the Avengers would’ve invented. Maybe they hadn’t gotten around to it before Tony Stark and Steve Rogers had fallen out.
John remembered being young, out of the military academy for a few years, but still clinging on to some sense of optimism as he was rising in the ranks. They had been on base when New York was attacked, and he remembered watching them, thinking they were so cool - the Avengers. He watched Captain America, a man who he had only heard stories of growing up, and he realized that this man was just as great as his legacy. John had wanted that.
War hardened him, though. By the time he was given the shield, he wasn’t the same, he didn’t think the same, he didn’t feel things the same. The truth is, he had been sinking before Lemar was killed. He was just a lot better at handling it and hiding it before then. He was getting better at that again, despite his genuine attempts to better himself. He had been going to therapy, as was mandated by Yelena and Bucky. They wanted the whole team to attend, insisting that if they bettered themselves it would be benefitting the team. He suspected a large part of it was for Bob, and that it made it easier for him to seek help if the rest of them were. Despite the whole Void incident, it had been kind of hard for Yelena to convince Bob to talk to someone. Everything had worked out eventually, though and now John got to go and talk to a therapist once a week, or, more accurately, sit in near silence while she tried to work something out of him.
He wasn’t stupid, was the thing. He knew that he wasn’t okay, he wasn’t delusional enough to think that he was a normal functioning person. He just didn’t see much point in trying to be better. He wanted to be less of an asshole to the team, and he had talked to the therapist about that. When she had started discussing how his emotional responses might be connected to his upbringing, he had shut right back up.
So, therapy was whatever. It couldn’t get him his gleaming legacy back. He was maybe slightly nicer to the team, but barely. They let him stick around, but clearly kept him at a distance. Which was fine. They were there when he needed them, always had his back in a fight, and that counted. That meant a lot to him actually.
The plane hit some turbulence as it landed on the roof of the tower. He waited until the door lowered before gathering his hat and shield into his hand and pulling himself up to go inside. He let himself slump against the wall in the elevator as he descended to their floor.
When he entered, Yelena and Ava were watching television, some teen show, he realized as he stepped closer. Yelena was on the couch, and Ava was sitting at her feet, letting Yelena braid her hair.
“Hey, how was the mission?” Yelena asked without turning to look at him.
“It was fine. Would one of you be able to help me with something real quick?” he asked, pressing his hand over the gauze at his side, which was still actively soaking up blood.
“I have to finish Ava’s hair,” Yelena said.
“My hair needs to be finished,” Ava said, eyes affixed to the television as one of the teen characters slaps her boyfriend across the face.
John doesn’t move for a second. If he told them what he needed help with, they’d probably help right away, right? Maybe not. Because they were in the middle of something, busy. He could wait a minute. Or see if someone else is free.
“Where’s everyone else?” John asked.
“Bucky’s in the gym, Alexei’s grocery shopping, Bob’s in his room,” Ava said.
Bob was closer, but Bucky would be more experienced with stitches probably. Gym it was. He headed back to the elevator to go down a couple floors.
When he got to the gym, Bucky was running around the quarter mile track, headphones over his ears. He slowed to a stop when he noticed John standing there watching, still in uniform.
“Hey, how did it go?” Bucky asked.
“Fine, do you have a second?”
“What’s up?”
“Oh, I just needed some help with something, uh, upstairs.”
“Is it urgent? I just started my warm up. Bob and the girls are up there, too, they might be able to give you a hand.”
“No, no it’s not urgent,” John said. “I’ll see if Bob is free, thanks.”
Bucky nodded and slipped his headphones back on, starting his job again. John limped back to the doors of the gym, every step pulling on his wound. It was hurting worse now if that was possible. He waited for the elevator with his forehead pressed to the cool metal of the closed doors. When it dinged, he stumbled back.
“U.S. Agent!” Alexei exclaimed, arms laden with grocery bags. “You have returned!”
“Mhm,” John mumbled. “Hey, are you busy right now?”
Alexei lifted the grocery bags in his arms as emphasis. “These have to go to the kitchen. Lots of ice cream for the freezer.”
John forced a smile. “Right. Do you need any help?”
“The Red Guardian can handle a few grocery bags,” Alexei said with a chuckle. “You know, I once fought Captain America.”
The elevator opened on their floor, saving John from having to hear the same story for the millionth time. He walked out of the room as Yelena greeted Alexei, and he heard the man start asking about what they were watching.
John turned down the hallway towards Bob’s room, the door closed. He knocked on the door, to no response. He knocked a second time before pushing the door open. Fuck, it was one of those days. Bob was curled up under the covers, pulled tight around his shoulders, back to the door, so John could only see his brown curls spread out over the pillow.
“Hey, Bobby,” John said softly. He didn’t move, so John walked around to the other side of the bed, so he could kneel down in front of him.
Bob was staring forward, and his gaze finally focused on John’s face. “Hi.”
“Hi,” John asked. “Have you eaten today?”
Bob nodded and pulled a hand out of his covers to point to a half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting on his nightstand next to a full glass of water. John sucked in a breath as he saw the ends of Bob’s fingertips encased in black.
“Here,” John said. He grabbed the glass of water and handed it to Bob who sat up a bit to take a couple of sips. John took the glass back when he was down, careful not to let their fingers brush, and careful not to make it look like he was trying not to touch him.
“Thanks,” Bob murmured.
“Of course. Do you have your phone?” John asked.
Bob nodded.
“Good,” John said. “Text if you need anything.”
Bob nodded again, and John stood up off the floor. As he exited the room and closed the door behind him, he realized he was still in his gross uniform, still holding his bent shield and beret. Fuck, okay, if no one could help right now he’d settle for showering.
When he peeled off his uniform, he had bled through the gauze on both sides, and there was blood all the way down to his hip, creating a sticky layer all over his side. He winced as the uniform pulled away from his skin. He tossed it into a corner of the bathroom and took off the tape and gauze, throwing them in the trash.
He ran the shower lukewarm and hopped in. He was efficient, aided by the stinging pain he felt when water washed over his wound. He had to get out fast, anyway because the combination of blood loss, a slight concussion and warm water was making his head so spinny he thought he might actually pass out. The pain probably wasn’t helping either.
He cleaned up around the wound and retaped his side. This was definitely the worst way to handle this injury. Well, maybe not the worst way. He cleaned it, and put pressure on it. It wasn’t going to get infected probably. Anyway, he definitely wanted someone to stitch him up.
He didn’t want to track everyone down again, mostly because he would probably collapse if he tried. Instead, he picked up his phone and opened their group chat.
THUNDERBOLTS:
John: Hey, I know you’re all busy, but could someone please come help me?
He set his phone down and ambled over to his dresser so he could pull on some boxers and sweatpants. He turned back to his bathroom. He should probably set everything up while he was waiting for someone to come help. He got his first aid kit out and started unpacking things, laying out a sheet for the tools, sterilizing the needle. He might have to stand while he was sewn up in the front.
He grabbed his phone and sat down on the closed toilet lid while he waited. No one had responded yet. He felt a rush to his head and looked down where blood was already soaked through most of his fresh gauze. Fuck it.
He eased the bandages back off before picking up the needle. He checked his phone one last time, but no one had responded yet. Blood dripped down and soaked into his sweatpants on both sides. John might’ve been more fucked than he realized.
He pushed his body back into place and made the first stitch. Just like he thought, his hand was shaky, and his stitches weren’t very neat. Not to mention the spinniness that seemed to get worse the longer that he hunched over. Just as he was about halfway through with his slow stitches in the front there was a knock on his bedroom door.
“Hey, I’m done braiding Ava’s hair, what did you need to help with, Walker?” Yelena called from outside the door, starting to push in. “Where are you?”
“Oh, thank god, I’m in the bathroom,” John said.
Yelena’s footsteps were light as she crossed his room to stand in the doorway.
“What the fuck?” she said, concern mounting on her face.
“I got shot,” John said, rolling his eyes. Nope, that made him infinitely dizzier. “I- I can’t fucking, my hands are so shaky. I can’t sew it up on my own, and I can’t see the back. I just need someone to do it because I think I’ve lost a bit of blood. I’m a little…woozy.”
“Right, let me see,” Yelena said in a tone of voice he had only heard directed towards Bob and, on occasion, Ava.
She knelt in front of him and pushed his shaky hands out of the way to look at the stitches he had already done. Wordlessly she took the needle from him and stitched him the rest of the way back up. She pushed at his hips when she was done so that he could turn and face the other way. She was just as efficient on the other side.
She stood up when she was done and wet a washcloth with warm water. John’s head was still spinning as she finally spoke.
“When I said I was busy braiding Ava’s hair, or my dad said he had groceries to take care of, the right response would’ve been ‘Hey, guys, I’m bleeding out.’” Yelena said, deepening her voice in a frankly insulting imitation of him.
She wiped the rest of the blood off his body.
“You were busy, it was fine,” John said, leaning his head on the wall and closing his eyes.
“You’re not fine. Actually, you look like you’re going to fall over. Can you make it to bed or do I need to get someone bigger to carry you, princess?” Yelena asked.
He flipped her off without opening his eyes. “Fuck off. I can make it to my bed.”
He pushed himself up to standing just to prove it, but he got dizzier as he took a couple of steps and by the time he reached the carpet it was almost inevitable that he was going to pass out. He hated to prove Yelena right, but he didn’t want to smack his head again, so he lowered himself down to the ground.
“Walker?” Yelena asked as he dropped to his knees and then laid flat on his stomach on the ground. “I’m going to call Bucky.”
“Mm, no,” he muttered. “He’s busy, ‘m fine. Jus’ gonna pass out for a sec, then get in bed.”
Yelena dropped to his side, running a face over his forehead, his forearms, hands, ankles. “You’ve lost too much blood, you’re freezing.”
“M a super-soldier. Strong. V’ry strong,” he said. “Lil' dizzy.”
He reached out and grabbed Yelena’s hand.
“Walker?” Yelena said. “You’re okay, it’s okay.”
“C’n call me John,” he said.
“Bucky!” Yelena yelled over her shoulder before squeezing John’s hand. “Okay, John, you’re going to be okay, don’t be scared.”
“M not scared,” he murmured.
“You’re crying,” she said, pressing her free hand underneath her eyes. Huh, his face was wet. Weird. “You probably shouldn’t be doing that.”
He nodded, brushing his cheek against the floor. His eyes slipped close, but the dizziness didn’t stop. He heard footsteps enter the room just as the spinning peaked, and he lost consciousness.
“Yeah, he asked me too, but-,” someone murmured.
“Super casual? Like ‘I need an opinion on paint colors?’ casual?”
“Mhm. Idiot.”
John blinked his eyes open to look at the ceiling in his room. He tried to use his arms to sit up but one of them pulled.
“Stop, don’t do that,” Bucky murmured, pressing his arm back down to the bed by the wrist.
He woke up fully now, turned his head to see Bucky and Ava sitting next to his bed. Ava had her feet kicked up onto the side of it, Bucky was leaning forward to stop John from moving. He was also looking at him quite concerned, although Ava was focused on her phone, sound playing low throughout the room, describing how to make some sort of recipe.
“What happened?” John groaned. “I feel sore.”
“Well,” Ava said, clicking her phone off and looking up at him. “You tried to really casually play off a bullet wound until you bled half to death and passed out on your bedroom floor, and then Bucky had to come in and get you to bed, and then we had to have a doctor come give you saline and transfusions because apparently you’re the stupidest person alive. And lucky to be that. Alive.”
He looked over at Bucky when she finished talking, and the man’s look of concern faded halfway to anger. Oops.
“Look,” John started.
“This is going to be good,” Bucky muttered. “Hold on.”
Ava typed something on her phone, and John’s own phone lit up from where it was plugged in on his nightstand, the screen glowing underneath fingerprints of blood. She must’ve texted the group chat, which meant, shit. The door pushed open and Alexei and Yelena spilled into the room. Yelena had her phone held up like she was recording.
“It’s for Bob, for later, continue,” she said.
“Nope, I’m here,” said Bob, slouching into the room wrapped up in a blanket. “The cure for depression is apparently watching some dumbass shittalk his way through being a dumbass.”
“We might’ve found something John is actually useful for,” Ava said.
“Fuck off,” John said. “Look, what I was trying to say was, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Or, it was, but I was handling it.”
“You were handling it?” Yelena arched an eyebrow. “What would you have done if I didn’t come to your room?”
“I was stitching it myself, wasn’t I?”
“Yeah, sloppily, at a snail’s pace, and you would’ve passed out on your floor anyway.”
“Okay, well, sure, but I would’ve woken up eventually. And this is nice,” he paused to gesture at the infusions. “But I have the serum, remember? I would’ve pulled through.”
“Do you always make things this difficult for yourself?” Bucky asked.
“What?” John said.
“You have family now,” Alexei said, spreading his arms to gesture to the group that was surrounding John’s bed.
“Yeah,” John said emphatically. “I know. I literally asked you for help.”
Yelena pressed her fingertips into her temples. “In the stupidest way possible. John, if there’s a sense of urgency, you need to convey it.”
He rolled his eyes.
“This is serious,” Bucky said. He cast his eyes around the room to look at all of them. “We look after each other, right? And we don’t fucking die.”
Bob was the first to nod, Alexei clasping him on the back with a wide smile. “Family, like I said.”
“I’m sorry,” John said, rolling his eyes up to look at the ceiling, so he didn’t have to look at any of them. “I’ll tell you more explicitly next time I’m bleeding out.”
“Thanks,” Ava said. “Or, just dodge the bullet next time.”
John flipped her off, and she laughed at him. Yelena moved forward and sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to her and Bob sat down. Alexei sat down on Yelena’s other side, so they were all sitting in a half circle around him.
“You’re an asshole,” Yelena said. “But you’re alright.”
“Yeah,” Bob murmured. “We like you. Most of the time.”
“Who would we make fun of if you died?” Ava said, reaching forward to squeeze his hand, the sincerity in the gesture reaching into his chest, pulling at his heart.
It was a stupid thing to say, but it felt like something real. Like friendship. Like family. Like teasing someone, knowing that someone could know him so well that they knew what he’d laugh at or get mildly pissed at, avoiding the territory that would actually hurt him. It felt good. To have people know him again. It had been so long, an unfathomable amount of time without Lemar in his life, without Olivia by his side. He missed them as he always did, a constant ache in his chest that would probably be there forever, but there was something else. Something warm settled next to it.
Love, he thought, that was love.