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John thought that no one had noticed him slip out of the debriefing the second it was over, but Yelena found him only a few minutes later in the kitchen, throwing together something for lunch with a bit more force than necessary. "You okay, Walker? You left the meeting in a big hurry."
John kept his eyes on the counter. "I'm fine."
"You do not seem fine. You are shredding lettuce leaves like they personally offended you."
John eased his grip on the head of romaine in his hands. "Give me a break, Yelena, I already sat through a half-hour of hearing all about how I screwed up the mission, I just want to make myself something to eat in peace."
Yelena frowned at him. "You did not screw up, we rescued all the civilians."
"Yeah, but instead of waiting for more intel about the second bomb, I charged in anyway and nearly brought the building down on top of us."
Yelena's expression softened. "Okay, but that was because of miscommunication, not because you were trying to make problems. Nobody was seriously hurt, and we will plan better for next time. You don't have to beat yourself up over it."
"Agree to disagree," John muttered under his breath.
"What is this attitude you are giving?" Yelena gestured at him incredulously. "What happened to Mister Three Medals of Honor, High School Football Champ back-to-back-to-back, Go Bears?"
John glared at her. ”That's not me anymore and you know it."
John's time in the Void had forced him to take a hard look at himself. The veneer of the perfect athlete, the perfect soldier, the perfect superhero — it had all been stripped away. He had failed when it had mattered most, and every new failure was another reminder.
"I'm trash," he added, turning his back to her to hide his shame. "You said it yourself."
He heard her sigh and expected her to walk away. Instead, he suddenly had a Red Room assassin on his back, arms and legs wrapped around him in a full-body grip. He grunted and pitched forward, grabbing onto the edge of the kitchen island for stability. "What are the hell are you doing?" he demanded, turning his head and staring at her in disbelief.
"Hugging you," said Yelena. "Like we do when Bob says that he always makes things worse."
"I'm not gonna turn into the Void," John huffed, struggling to shrug her off.
"No, but you are talking shit about yourself and I don't like that." Yelena clung to him even more stubbornly. "None of us should be doing that anymore."
John leaned both elbows on the counter and sighed. "So... what, you're just gonna jump on me if I start talking about what a fuckup I am?"
"Yes." Yelena did not smile, but her eyes glittered with mirth. "And I will tell everyone else to do that, too. It's a new house rule."
"Oh my god, you are so annoying." John tried squirming out of her hold again, to no avail. "Would you let go already?"
"No, not until you take back calling yourself trash." She pressed her forehead to John's temple. "And I am sorry I called you that, you are not trash. I was angry and upset with myself, like you are now."
John grumbled and stopped fighting Yelena's grip. For someone without enhanced strength, she was unbelievably tenacious. "Okay, fine, I'm not trash."
"Good. Say more words on that."
John worked his jaw. “…I made a mistake, but it doesn't make me a failure."
Yelena smiled at him and gave him a little squeeze. "I like the sound of that," she said before letting go and landing gracefully. "Feel better?"
"Yes, now that I don't have a blond monkey clinging to my back," John snarked, but he was telling the truth, he did feel a little better. "Can I finish making my lunch now?"
"Make me lunch, too?" Yelena asked, batting her lashes. John tossed her an apple and she stuck out her tongue. “And after that nice hug I gave you, very ungrateful, Walker."
John rolled his eyes, although he did end up making Yelena lunch, as well. It was either that or watch her make boxed mac 'n cheese for the billionth time, and it was better than eating alone.
~*~
John was sparring with Alexei, but his mind was on other things, leaving him open and distracted. Alexei took advantage, hitting him with a jab to the ribcage that would have caused serious damage to a non-super soldier. As it was, John could tell that Alexei had pulled his punch at the last second, only sending him flying halfway across the ring instead of outside of it.
"Where is great American defense?" Alexei asked, genuinely befuddled. "You are in outer space today, yes? Do you need a break?"
"No." John rolled his shoulders and tapped his wrapped fists together. “Let’s go.”
Alexei obliged, but didn’t seem convinced by John's reply, which annoyed John and only distracted him more. It wasn’t long before another punch caught him off-guard and sent him tumbling to the mat.
“You are not paying attention,” Alexei said sternly, offering John a hand.
John batted it away, frustrated. “I shouldn’t even be here,” he said as he got back to his feet. “Our last mission threw off my custody schedule, I should be in Georgia spending time with my son."
Alexei made a sympathetic sound. “Olivia could not move some things around?”
“No, she had already made plans, and she shouldn’t have to, anyway, not for me.” John scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. “I’m lucky I get to see him at all, I was a shitty husband and a shitty father and I was never around even when I was trying to be there. Nothing’s changed.”
He’d barely gotten the words out when Alexei wrapped his arms around him in an impressive bear hug. "No more negative talk, John Walker! You are not a bad father!"
“You talked to Yelena, didn’t you?” John wheezed, feeling like a stress ball in a hydraulic press.
“Yes, I learn about new house rule.” Alexei's crushing grip eased slightly. “You say so many bad things about yourself, but I see how much you love your son, and how much you are trying. You would not feel guilty if you did not care.”
John wanted to deny it, but Alexei's words made sense and he was starting to lose circulation in the lower half of his body. “If I agree with you, will you let me go?”
“Not if you do not mean it.”
John sighed. “You’re right about the guilt,” he said finally. “And I am trying.”
He must have sounded sincere enough for Alexei’s approval, because the man smiled and set him down, then clapped him on the back. “Good work, John. I am available for pep talk always, from one father to another.”
Alexei did have a way of hyping the team up when everything was otherwise going wrong. John smiled faintly before easing back into a fighting stance. “Alright, enough mushy stuff, let’s train.”
This time, he was able to focus.
~*~
John did not, as a rule, shy away from friendly physical contact, but the full-body hugs from Yelena and Alexei were something new, and though he had assumed it would be a short-lived fad in the Tower, neither of them let up when they caught him being too hard on himself.
Which, John was starting to realize, he did a lot.
It was too easy to turn all his anger and shame inward, and it felt like the right thing to do, in some ways, rather than explode on a teammate. Besides, if he was hard on himself, then all that hate for him on the internet — which had only abated a little once he became an Avenger — wouldn’t hurt as much, because he would have beaten them all to the punch.
He was sitting on the couch in the common area, looking at his phone, reading all the awful comments about him as if confirming his own terrible mood, when a vibranium hand reached out and covered his screen. John frowned and looked up at Bucky, the last person on the team that he had expected to intervene. "What? I'm reading."
"No, you're doomscrolling."
"Surprised you know what that word means." John tried to tug his phone away, but Bucky's grip held firm. "Fuck off, I can look at my phone if I want!"
"That's against the new house rule," Bucky replied.
And then he did the unthinkable. He wrapped his other arm around John and hugged him.
Too shocked to push him away, John sat there and let Bucky take the phone out of his hand. "Looking at social media isn't the same thing as shit-talking myself," he protested weakly.
Bucky continued to hold him close, as if they were best friends. "Yes, it is the same, you're just letting these idiots online do it for you. They don't know you, John, they've only seen you on the worst day of your life. It's unfair to judge anyone over that."
John scowled. "You know that I've had a lot of bad days since then. Because of the choices I've made, isn't that what you told me?"
Despite his frustration, he hadn't said it to make Bucky feel bad, because Bucky had been right about that. John hadn't had a traumatic childhood like most of his teammates, or been brainwashed by Nazis. All the decisions he had made, they had been his own. But he was surprised to see true remorse on Bucky's face. The man held him a little tighter in response.
"I did, but I didn't say it to place all the blame at your feet. And if it's choices that brought you to your lowest point, then it's your choices that have brought you out of it, too. You can take pride in that."
The part of John that still desperately wanted Bucky's approval made him exhale and relax into the hug a fraction. "I'll keep that in mind."
Bucky patted his back with surprising gentleness before letting him go. He picked up John's phone and handed it back to him. "There are apps that can block those comments, you know. One of my interns in Congress showed me how to do it. Social media has been pretty shitty to me, too."
"Not all of it." John smirked despite himself. "You have a lot of fans."
"They can be as bad as the trolls.” Bucky grimaced. "The shippers are the worst."
"Shippers?" This was new slang to John, which annoyed him, that Bucky knew something that he didn't. "What does that mean?"
But Bucky didn't answer, so John looked it up himself.
He didn't touch his phone for the rest of the day.
~*~
As time went on, John got better at not spiraling into self-hate at the drop of a hat, but the house rule remained in effect for those times that he did. John learned that he could not let his guard down, not even when he thought he was alone.
Not when one of his teammates could literally make herself invisible.
He had been cooking dinner for everyone, something he usually enjoyed, but it had already been a long day full of meetings and Valentina's annoying publicity ideas, so what should have been a relaxing exercise became another source of frustration. Nobody else was around, not even Bob, which bummed him out more than he'd like to admit. The kitchen felt hot and crowded, too many components that he had to keep an eye on, and it was wearing down his last nerve.
When he accidentally knocked over a jar of sauce and spilled its contents onto the counter, he swore and grabbed a paper towel, swiping it up in one messy wipe. "Clumsy," he hissed to himself. "Can't even make dinner without botching it. I'm such a useless —“
Ava phased into existence and wrapped her arms around John, nearly giving him a heart attack.
“Jesus Christ! How long were you spying on me?”
“Long enough to see you needed one of these,” she replied, patting his back affectionately. “Do you want some help with dinner?”
“Sure,” he said, unable to reel in his sour mood. “I’m clearly fucking it up on my own.”
“Hey.” Ava pulled him back to look at him seriously. “How many times have you made dinner for us? How many times have any of us complained?”
John sighed, not quite meeting her eyes. “Gotta make myself useful somehow.”
“Right, because you’re so useless otherwise.” Ava’s sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife. She gave his shoulder a little shake. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you really need to cut yourself some slack. You do so much for the rest of us. We wouldn’t be half the team we are without you.”
John stared at Ava in surprise. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Don’t let it get to your head,” she said, her mouth curling up into a half-smile. She jostled his shoulder again before letting go. “Let me deal with the sauce. You’ve got a pot boiling over.”
“Shit!” John turned down the burner, just enough to ease the hiss of starchy water, and gave it a good stir. Ava worked behind him, entirely unobtrusively, and John thought maybe a little assistance in the kitchen was not such a bad thing, after all.
~*~
It was late, and John couldn’t sleep.
It had been a stressful day, a surprise attack in Midtown jangling everyone’s nerves. The Avengers had handled it quickly and efficiently; for once, there were no notes on what could have been improved or done differently. They had been real heroes out there.
A real team.
But it was also coming up on the anniversary of Lemar’s death, and John couldn’t shake the feeling of doom pressing down on his chest, that one day things might not go right, that he’d lose someone else he cared about in a mission, and he’d fall apart all over again.
After staring at the ceiling for far too long, he gave up on sleep and decided to fix himself a cup of tea and maybe watch a little television. Body sluggish and brain stuffed with bad thoughts, he threw on a pair of sweatpants and trudged into the common area. He’d assumed that everyone had gone to bed, but Bob was sitting on the couch, reading by lamplight. He looked up and smiled at John; it was not the first time they had run into one another at odd hours. “Hey. Couldn’t sleep?”
John opened his mouth and found that he was too exhausted to reply. So he just shook his head and sat on the couch, not even bothering with the tea.
Bob frowned a little in concern, setting his book aside. “You okay?”
John looked at him a long moment, then shook his head again.
Bob scooted over and wrapped his arms around him. John leaned into his touch automatically, even as he stirred a little and muttered, “Didn’t say anything bad about myself…”
“You look like you needed a hug anyway.”
Bob was warm, like a patch of sunlight, and the fabric of his bathrobe was soft against John’s bare arms. He sank further into Bob’s embrace, resting his head on the man’s shoulder. He was real and solid, something to bulwark against all the dark fears looming in his mind.
After a couple minutes, Bob shifted one of his arms, and John thought with some dismay that the hug might be over. But then Bob was petting his hair, running his fingers through it with every pass. “You have nice hair,” he said to John quietly. “No tangles like I get with my curls.”
John felt tears spring into his eyes, which was stupid, but no one had touched him like this, so intimately and with such care, in a long time. “You jus’ need someone to brush ‘em out,” he said, words slurring a little as he relaxed completely in Bob’s embrace.
“Are you volunteering?” Bob asked with a little laugh.
“Sure… grab a brush…”
“You can return the favor later,” Bob said, his voice a fond rumble against John’s ear. “I think you need to rest now, okay?”
John made a soft sound of acquiescence and shut his eyes, Bob’s rhythmic touch and warm cocoon of a hug eventually lulling him to sleep.
~*~
Things got a little easier after that.
Physical touch among his teammates stopped being reserved for mental health emergencies. Yelena in particular did not seem to care about personal space, behaving much like a friendly (or annoying, depending on John’s mood) cat, and Alexei was obsessed with fist bumps and high fives. Bucky would pat his back, occasionally, in passing, and Ava didn’t hesitate to grab onto him when they watched any sort of emotionally intense scene on television together. It wasn’t touchy-feely or performative, it was normal, and John finally accepted the fact that his teammates genuinely liked him, instead of merely tolerating his presence.
Bob… still liked to hug him. A lot. To be fair, John liked hugging Bob in return. It kind of became their thing, late at night when neither of them could sleep. They’d curl up on the couch together, John tucked in Bob’s arms, or Bob would come to John’s room and lie next to him, his head on his chest. Sometimes they would talk or listen to music. Sometimes John would just shut his eyes and listen to Bob breathe, and that was enough.
It was platonic, at least that’s what John told himself, until one evening they were in Bob’s room, John finally making good on his offer to brush Bob’s hair. He had gotten a little advice online and found a brush better suited to Bob’s length and texture, and was using it now, gentle downstrokes to avoid snagging on any knots. Bob was like putty in his arms, practically purring as John methodically worked out every tangle, and John felt especially pleased that he was the one responsible.
“I didn’t think you were serious about this,” Bob murmured after a couple minutes of content silence. His voice sounded fuzzy and relaxed. “Not like military guys spend a lot of time brushing other people’s hair…”
John chuckled a little as he used his fingers to unwind a stubborn curl from the bristles. “I mean, none of us kept our hair long enough for it to matter. I helped Olivia with her hair sometimes, though. I had this whole romantic thing planned, and she —“
His brain caught up with his words and he stumbled to a halt, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. It didn’t help that Bob had gone all tense, staring up at him with wide, dark eyes.
“Is this a romantic thing?” Bob asked, somehow sounding both hopeful and nervous.
“Uh.” John thought about it for a second. “It can be? If you want?”
Bob smiled, dimples showing, and gently pushed the brush away so that he could sit taller in John’s arms. Their faces were level now, and John became hyper aware of how close they were, Bob practically sitting in his lap, arms around one another like lovers. Platonic was the last thing on his mind.
“Can I kiss you?” Bob asked. John nodded dumbly and Bob leaned in, lips pressing against his. John made a soft whimper (that he’d later deny) and opened his mouth slightly, adding a touch of heat to the kiss. It smoldered between them, even as they both took it nice and slow. John reveled in the ache, the knowledge that he had gotten back that spark, and that Bob was the source of it.
When they parted, Bob was rosy cheeked and bright eyed, a smile back on his face immediately. John was so smitten that he almost went in for another kiss. “Fuck,” he said instead, reaching up to brush his fingers along Bob’s jaw. “When did you start liking me like that?”
“For a while now. Maybe after that first time you let me hug you.” Bob’s smile turned a touch sheepish, shoulders lifting in a half-shrug. “Unless you mean physically. That started back in the Vault.”
“What? But I was such a dick to you!”
Bob laughed. “Yeah, well, obviously I like you a lot more now that you’re nice to me and hot.”
“Hot?” John hoped he didn’t sound like he was fishing for compliments, he just didn’t understand. Handsome he could see, but hot? “No, I’m — I used to be a lot more fit, Bobby, like you. I’m not —“
Bob silenced him by climbing into his lap and holding him tighter. “Hey, no negative self-talk, remember? We have a rule about that.”
John tried to say something clever in reply, but Bob’s warmth directly on top of him was making it difficult to think. “You’re already hugging me,” was the best he could do.
Bob leaned in, lips ghosting over John’s. “I guess I’ll have to try something else.”
Then he kissed John again, and no one was saying anything negative for a good, long while.