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Powerless. Incompetent. Can’t save anyone, not even yourself.
The Void whispered in his ear every night as he lay in his bed, trying to sleep. Or maybe it was just his own thoughts, the dark ones he always kept locked away in the back of his mind. He felt weak and helpless, like he didn’t even deserve to live. People called him the Sentry, but what else could he do besides breaking things like a brute or using telekinetic powers like a psychic puppeteer? He was not a hero, and he could never become one.
A quiet sob suddenly pulled Bob out of his spiral, and he turned to see Yelena crying in her sleep. Her breath hitched continuously, and she almost choked on her tears.
“Yelena,” Bob whispered, cradling her in his arms and caressing her wet cheek. “Yelena, what’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry…” she muttered in Russian, still trapped in her nightmare. “I’m sorry, Anya…Please forgive me…”
Bob immediately understood what she was dreaming about. He had seen it in the Void: a girl innocently calling her name, only to be pierced by a cold steel bullet. And that blood was on her hands, she thought. She couldn’t help carrying the weight of this sin when in fact it wasn’t her fault at all.
Bob embraced Yelena tightly, holding her face close to his chest, and gently stroked her pale blonde hair.
“It’s okay, Lena. I’m here,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. “You’re not alone.”
He couldn’t convince her not to blame herself, for it was obviously impossible to lift such a deep-rooted sense of responsibility. But he could stand with her and give her the warmth she didn’t have until now.
There was still something he could do.
Bob continued to stroke her hair and whisper softly; he even hummed a lullaby, the song they listened to together on the train when they were both feeling anxious. Eventually, Yelena’s breathing began to calm down, and her body stopped trembling. Bob wiped the last tear off her face and embraced her again with a smile of relief.
He was not a hero. But he did have the power to save the person he loved.