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Bob is sitting cross legged in a cereal aisle, tracing patterns with his finger on the floor, when awareness comes back to him. He doesn’t remember how he got here.
It looks like a pretty high-end grocery store. The floor actually seems clean, and the shelves are stocked with a huge variety of cereals. Chocolate, fruit, marshmallow, peanut butter, grain, cinnamon, gluten free, sugar free. Different types of oatmeal, cereal bars, even those novelty cereal bowls with built in straws.
He stands, looking around. Why is he here? The aisle is empty besides him, but he can hear shoppers wandering the store. He’s not wearing a name tag or uniform, actually his clothes look really nice.
Dread fills his stomach. He’s wearing white chucks, nice jeans, and a soft, thick blue crewneck embroidered with two otters holding hands. The clothes look brand new– clean and unripped. What the hell did he do? How much did he steal this time?
He runs his hands through his hair, trying to think, when he feels something clink against his skin. He’s wearing a gold bracelet, with a wide band and simple chain. It’s one of those permanent bracelets, without a clasp.
Bob doesn’t wear jewelry, he pawns jewelry for half its worth. So even in a manic haze, the idea that he got a gold bracelet that doesn’t come off is ridiculous. He must’ve really gone off the deep end this time.
Trying not to panic, Bob starts walking to find the store's exit. He’s woken up in other people’s homes, in warehouses, under bridges, even in restaurant kitchens. He’s discovered he’d done all sorts of things, from illegal to insane to downright strange. This one might not be the strangest situation he’s ended up in, but it is weird. He looks down at the bracelet again.
BOB REYNOLDS
I have Memory Problems
ICE: 332-517-9032
He stops. A shopper nearly rams her cart into him, and he steps to the side, now in the pet aisle. He stares at the bracelet, frozen. He doesn’t recognize the number, but that doesn’t mean much. Bob traces the numbers, a weird feeling in his gut. Someone gave him this. Probably the clothes, too. Who?
He pats his pockets, trying to find more clues. He has a mint chapstick, a bunched up straw wrapper, a phone, a New York State ID, and a credit card with his name. Amazingly, the ID looks real. He turns it back and forth in the light to see the holographic effects, before pulling out the phone.
It’s nice, a newer model with a bright yellow case. He doesn’t need to remember a password, it opens with face recognition. Bob swipes through the phone with unsteady fingers. It looks well lived in, the apps are all organized into folders. The wallpaper is a group picture of him and others he doesn’t recognize. In the picture, a short blonde woman beams at the camera, riding piggy-back on Bob’s back. Another woman has her arms slung around the shoulders of two men, one with long dark hair and another with short blonde hair. In the foreground an older man smiles, it looks like he’s the one taking the picture.
Looking at it stirs something in him, but Bob can’t remember who these people are right now. He wishes he could. They look like they must be important.
Finally, he opens the dialpad and starts typing in the in case of emergency number from his bracelet. A contact, “Yelena☀️” pops up
He clicks it.
The phone only rings for a moment before a woman’s voice answers. “Hey Bob, what’s up?” She sounds cheerful, speaking with a slight slavic accent.
“Um. I don’t–” he never actually thought about what he would say. “I don’t remember how I got here.”
There’s a shifting on the line, and Yelena’s voice gets serious. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”
“No I’m— I think I’m ok? I’m in a grocery store.”
“Ok, John’s closer, he’s coming to get you. Did you drive there?”
“I…I don’t know”
“You don't have any keys on you?”
He shakes his head, then remembers she can’t see him. “No, no keys.”
“That’s good. Where are you in the store?”
“The pet aisle, uh, 16A”
“Great, that’s great Bob.”
“Ok.” Bob feels a little stuck now. Should he say anything else?
But then Yelena asks, “What do you remember?”
“I uh. I think I was on my way to Malaysia?”
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
It all comes rushing back once he sees John in person; nearly knocking over a pallet of dog food in his effort to get to Bob. Which is a difficult thing to do, even almost do. Bob would probably be teasing him for the way his shoulder created a sizable divot in the bags of kibble if he didn’t want to disappear into a puddle on the floor.
It’s just so embarrassing. Hot tears burn behind his eyes and he screws up his face. God, he can’t even go to the fucking grocery store by himself. Useless.
“Hey, hey, woah, no, Bob-” John taps his hand against Bob’s knee where they’re curled up against his chest. Bob just curls into himself further and tries to ignore his tears.
“Sorry you had to come all the way out here.” he says into his knees.
“You don’t have to apologize.” says John. Bob can feel him settle down next to him in the aisle. “We want you to call when you can’t remember.”
Bob scoffs, raising his head. “I should be able to get fucking cereal without forgetting where I am.”
“You’ve been doing good. This is just a bad day.”
“I just keep having those.” he says. John nods, reaching over to put his arm over Bob’s shoulder. It’s not as comforting as it should be. “I feel so fucking stupid.” Bob growls.
“You’re not stupid, Bob.” John insists.
“No, I’m just a grown man who can’t leave the house without supervision. Like a little kid. Like a pet. I can’t leave without my collar. ‘If lost return to the New Avengers’. So fucking stupid.”
John removes his arm and digs under his shirt, pulling out his dog tags. “What do you think these are?”
“Those are different.”
John hums in denial, rubbing the tags between his fingers. “The point of the tags is to make sure I get back to you guys if I get hurt. The same goes for your bracelet. It’s just to get you back home, Bob.”
“I should be able to get myself home. I’m the fucking Sentry.”
“Yeah, you are. But you’re also Bob.” John reaches over and puts his arm over Bob’s shoulders again. “You’ve got memory problems, man. Sometimes you’re going to forget things. We’re dealing with it. You’re already so much better than you were a few months ago.”
“Yesterday I forgot that Bucky was leaving for DC after he said it three times.”
“So he came to say goodbye and then you remembered.”
“I went to take the trash to the chute, got distracted halfway through, didn’t replace the bag and left the trash in the middle of the hallway for hours.”
“Everybody does that.”
Bob sighs and leans back into John’s shoulder. He’s so tired. Tired of forgetting, tired of being so confused and so scared. He’s tired of being such a fucking disappointment.
“Stop that.” says John. Bob startles.
“What? Is the Void-”
“No, no shadow fingers. But you don’t exactly have a poker face. I can see you brooding a mile away.”
Bob scoffs, but John just clambers to his feet and offers him a hand. “Come on, let’s go home. Yelena threatened to make the mac n’ cheese by herself, and I like our kitchen in one piece.”
They grab the cereal Bob had wanted on the way out and walk the two blocks back to the tower in comfortable silence. It’s nearly half past five so the city is as busy as ever. Bob almost gets lost in the rush of bodies and beeping cars, but John stays close. Some days that might make him bristle, he doesn’t need anyone looking after him, but today he’s just grateful to have friends that care. He’s got people that pick up when he calls, and think about him when he’s not there. No matter what Bob thinks about himself, it’s clear that they like him, even if he can’t understand why half the time.
John was right. The bouts of amnesia are happening less and less, but they’re still frustrating. They still make Bob feel helpless, like he’s been dropped in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. The doctors said it was temporary, part of his brain rebuilding itself after the incident with the Void.
God, the look on Yelena’s face when they’d brought up Valentina’s kill switch. She’d been murderous, the whole team had. That shouldn’t make him feel good, but it kinda does, to be defended like that. He’s never had that before.
Once they make it to the tower, Bob is feeling better. A little numb, a little tired, but that’s to be expected. John takes over making dinner, shooing Yelena out of the kitchen by snapping a dish towel at her feet. She joins Bob at the kitchen island and cuddles up and under his arm.
“Better?” she asks, scooching her stool even closer to his.
Bob smiles softly. He won’t lie to her and say he’s doing great, but he is better. The world is still spinning, and Bob is gonna be ok. He puts his book down and hugs Yelena close, burying his nose in her hair..
“Yeah." he says. "Love you guys.”
“We love you too Bob.”