Chapter Text
John never let on just how much being called “Walker” bothered him. He made a constant conscious effort to conceal it.
In the grand scheme of things, it was inconsequential, really. That's what he reasoned with himself. John was no stranger to self pity the past few years, but living with such a damaged bunch recently had made him reevaluate his life. His struggles paled in comparison to theirs. Even what they had all gone through together. It just felt silly getting hung up on a name. Inappropriate, even. Decades of societal conditioning told him to just get over it. Years of beating mantras into his very core just wouldn’t let him open up.
It wasn’t like John hadn’t been called Walker before. Hell, half of his life was spent in the military. There, that might as well have been the only name he owned.
The difference, was that others were on equal footing. When he was Walker, others went by their surname as well. When they weren’t, he was simply John. Both showed equal amounts of respect and familiarity in the appropriate situation. It was hard not to feel a certain way when you were being singled out.
John would never admit it aloud, but despite living with the most people he had in years, he had never felt more alone. Not back when he was self isolating. Not when he was going on solo, suicide missions over seas. None of that could match the way that he felt now. At least back then, he could pretend that there were others just as miserable as he was. Or at least allow himself to shift the blame and redirect his sadness into anger.
But living in the watchtower with some of the most antisocial, tragic humans he'd ever come to know, and watching them thrive and love and somehow only grow closer yet, just rubbed in his face what he always knew to be true, deep down: He was the problem. And things would never get better, because he would never let them.
That was the most frustrating part about it. For all the resentment and jealousy that the situation caused, John fucking knew that if he just voiced how it bothered him, just spoke up even once about it, they would stop. Even offhandedly. There were a few times it was on the tip of his tongue, but those seemed to be the only times he could actually bite back a remark.
And it didn't help that Bob was living proof of that. John had come to admire him a lot. He'd also started to hate him a little, which in turn, made him hate himself even more. Because he knew that Bob didn't deserve it. John was just jealous.
As much as Bob was his complete opposite, at times it felt like they were twin flames. Two sides of the same coin. Whatever cheesy metaphor came to mind.
Rather than toxic masculinity keeping Bob from voicing his feelings, it was pure fear and anxiety alone. But everyone was far more receptive of that in the tower. Far more understanding.
Every time the occasional “Bobby” would slip, he would suddenly feel four pairs of eyes glaring at him. Even though Bob had said again and again how he didn't mind; how it wasn’t triggering now that they were on good terms.
John couldn’t help the bitter feeling of jealousy and maybe even slight resentment from rising each time. If anything, it was avoiding that feeling that helped him retire the nickname from his vocabulary, more than having Bob's benefit in mind.
It became of pattern of secondhand self improvement. If he appeased Bob -- or anyone, for that matter, but especially the golden boy -- then he wouldn't have to deal with the sting of rejection when bystanders automatically took the other's side.
———
John was sprawled out on the sofa when Bob entered the common room.
“Hey, Walker” he greeted, and John let out a soft sigh. Or maybe not as soft as he intended, judging by the way Bob’s face instantly fell. “Er, sorry… I don’t - mean to disturb you..”
John quickly shook his head. “No, no. S’not you. Sit.” He patted the seat beside himself, trying to offer a reassuring smile. He wasn’t annoyed that Bob was greeting him, he was just annoyed by the name. But he did feel that familiar feeling of resentment creeping up, because no one would have reassured him like this.
What am I? A fucking teenage girl? Not even his younger sister would behave this way. He needed to get it together.
Bob still hesitated by the door for a moment before seemingly deciding that John was being sincere, and slowly made his way over to take the seat closest to him. Closer than that, even. Bob seemed to have no consistency with personal space and boundaries. He was either so distant that he was out of reach — metaphorically or physically - or pressing right up against you, with no escape. It seemed like today he was going with the latter. John, who was just used to it now, said nothing,
“What are you doing?” Bob asked, and John had to consciously stop himself from sighing again. Bob also had a habit of asking the most obvious questions, not only sometimes, but all the time. It seemed like he needed to be walked through or reassured for even the simplest of thoughts or tasks. But again, John was used to it. He answered far kinder than anyone would have extended to himself.
“Watching TV” he said shortly, although there was no underlining tone of sarcasm or snark. He knew that even the tiniest bit would have Bob spiraling on a bad day. Bob just nodded, seemingly satisfied. But before he could ask the follow up that was clearly coming, John answered first. “Nothing in particular, just surfing, trying to pass the time.”
And this seemed to be the answer that Bob was actually looking for, because it opened up the flood gates to what the rest of the team lovingly called “word stew”. A phenomenon exclusive to Bob, where he would be feeling particularly chatty, but didn’t necessarily have anything of note to say. So he’d just start throwing everything in the pot.
It was hard for even the most patient of the group to deal with, and that title sure as hell wasn’t going to John. But shitty as it made him feel, a year spent tuning out his wife gave him the necessary skills to inactively listen. He learned to just tune most of it out; aware of certain tells that Bob had, that signaled any particularly important parts of a tale. He’d tune back in for a minute, enough to nod along, or offer an “uh huh,” or a “what” or a “wow”. Just so that Bob would feel heard. John knew that Bob wasn't dumb. He suspected that Bob was aware he did this. And because of that, he felt less guilty doing it with Bob than Olivia. John was fairly certain that Bob wasn’t even trying to have a two way conversation in the first place. He just wanted to speak. John could give him that.
Still, he had already been on edge before Bob had walked into the room. And he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up a “neutral face” before slipping and hurting Bob’s feelings. He was praying for Yelena or anyone else to come take over.
“Walker.” And there came his godsend. Maybe the name wasn’t so bad after all. He looked up and saw Bucky standing by the entry to the kitchen. “You got a minute?”
John looked over his shoulder, sending an apologetic look to Bob. The brunette just shrugged and flashed a small, reassuring smile. “Go on. I can finish telling you later” he promised, although John truthfully didn’t retain any part of whatever story he was telling in the first place. He doubted it mattered. He’d heard most of them before. Plus, if you could managed to escape, “later” never came. At some point Bob would either talk himself out, or come to his senses, and you were safe until the next time.
John reached over and gave Bob's shoulder a slight squeeze, a silent apology for his mean-spirited thoughts. To Bob, it just looked like friendly reassurance. John didn't let himself feel too guilty regardless, because despite being uber sensitive, Bob was a lot less subtle when he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
-- x --
As John walked toward him, Bucky signaled to follow along. They didn’t stop until they were fully in the kitchen, alone.
“What’s up? Everything alright?” John asked, assuming Bucky had an assignment. The older just stared for a moment. Even after all this time, John still couldn’t tell what he was thinking for most of it.
“That’s what I came to ask you,” He said simply, as if it was obvious. As if John were asking a Bob level question. If he weren't so taken aback, John could almost admire the way that Bucky managed to remain so expressionless. He guessed it probably had to do with all the years that he'd spent brainwashed under Hydra. Like not all the emotions quite came back, even when his brain did. It hit John that no one alive knew what was there before.
John, as much as he tried otherwise, was much more expressive. His face screwed up immediately. Did he do something wrong? He could’ve listened closer, but Bob hadn’t seemed to notice. He could have been nicer, he supposed…
Bucky clearly could read his thoughts better than the other way around. He instantly started to clarify. “You just seemed a bit zoned out over there. If you don’t feel like talking, you can tell him that. God knows he hates it when he’s in a mood and people won’t leave him alone”
“No, I can’t” John said matter of factly. “You know I can’t.” In part because it would upset Bob. And in part because everyone would hate him for it. Everyone hated him enough as it was.
And again with the staring. John was starting to wish that he had just stayed in the common room with Bob. The younger man’s actions might not make sense at times, but at least his intentions did. John understood Bob. Even when he wasn’t speaking, Bob would communicate with his expressions and hands and even his eyes.
Bucky felt more like an empty slate. Impossible to read, always observing, always ready to judge. John had been on the receiving end of that judgement more often than not. He figured he was right now. Bucky once again proved just how unreadable he was, by completely throwing John through a loop. He broke the silence after what felt like forever.
“You can, John. Your feelings matter too.” John would’ve thought he was making things up in his head, if a shoulder squeeze of his own wasn’t received moments later.
And just like that, John crumbled. It was pathetically how desperate he needed to hear it. His own fucking name. It wasn’t even the first time Bucky had used it. Out of the lot of them, Bucky had objectively used it the most. Come to think of it, John wasn’t sure he had heard Yelena, Ava, Alexei or even Bob use it even once.
But this time it was different, even for Bucky. No tinge of resentment, or sarcasm, or taunt. For the first time, as Bucky looked at him, even in his roundabout, open-stare type of way, John could read exactly what he was feeling: concern, care.
Bucky’s arm lingered on John's shoulder, the vibranium one finding its way to the back of his own neck. He didn’t try to pull John into a hug, or even push him to say what was wrong.
John wasn’t on the floor sobbing. His eyes were downcast, but hardly misty. Somehow, this felt more humiliating. He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but when he finally looked back up, Bucky was still staring. It didn’t feel judgmental though, or even invasive. John let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was only then that Bucky finally removed his hand.
“I’m serious, John” he doubled down. There it was again. John. “We’re in this together. All of us.”
It wasn’t an apology for how Bucky had acted in the past. It wasn't forgiveness for the shit John had done. It certainly wasn’t a deep or meaningful conversation, or them spilling their guts out. But it was a promise, and that was enough.
John wanted to say ‘Thank you’; wanted to let all his walls down and come clean about everything that had been on his mind and bothering him the past few months. How he seemed to be getting worse, while everyone else was only getting better.
He didn’t say any of that though. Just offered a little smile, and a nod. He did manage a "Thanks, Bucky”, but quickly corrected himself. “Er, James." If Bucky could respect his unspoken request, then he could respect one that the man had been quite vocal about in the past.
The older shook his head, and waved him off. “Bucky.” He countered, his lips just slightly upturned. “And you don’t have to thank me, John. That’s what friends are for”