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It used to be his favorite holiday. The Fourth was a time for family, and for celebrating all the good that John knew could and had come from the country he was proud to serve. But it wasn’t like that anymore. Now it was just a flashy reminder of everything he’d lost; the shield, his title, his wife and son, his best friend.
He always loved the food and the friends that came with the holiday. He never passed up a chance to break out the grill and watch everyone come together over delicious southern recipes. But ever since his time in the army, he wasn’t a big fan of fireworks.
Maybe things would be different this year, he thought. It was the New Avengers’ first Fourth of July as a team, he was seeing someone new—you—and the nightmares had been becoming less frequent. And John could cook, just like old times. They didn’t have a grill, but they had a stove. They also had Alexei’s box of ridiculous and likely highly illegal fireworks that they planned on setting off.
The first one goes off just as the sun is beginning to set. John is throwing another hot dog on the stove when a loud BOOM sounds from the balcony. He nearly flings his tongs across the kitchen from how hard he flinches.
You sit at the end of the kitchen island opposite the stove, and are startled by the sudden jolt of movement coming from your boyfriend’s direction.
“Yep, they work!” you hear Alexei call from outside, along with a couple curses from Bucky at the unexpected test run.
“You good?” you call to John, who is still facing the stove.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds quickly. “Just… didn’t expect them to start so early. I mean, it’s still daylight out,” he excuses with a twinge of irritation as he turns the hot dog with more force than necessary.
The next fireworks don’t happen until about half an hour later. The sun has set further into dusk and John is cleaning up the kitchen when another few smaller explosions ring out from the city. They’re farther away and don’t make him jump as hard as the first one, but his neck still twitches and his grip tightens on the pan he’s washing.
You’re helping Yelena and Ava set up chairs on the tower’s balcony to watch their makeshift display when Bob strolls into the kitchen to grab another ginger ale from the fridge. “Hey Walker, you need any help?” he asks as he sees John scrubbing the daylights out of the frying pan.
“Huh? Oh, no I got it,” John answers flatly.
“You sure?” Bob asks again.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” John insists.
“I mean, I think that’s the same pan you were cleaning the last time I came in. I just figure it might go a little faster if—”
“Jesus Christ, I said it’s fine, Bob,” John snaps. “I can wash my own damn pans.”
Bob shrinks a little and lets out a quiet apology as he exits the kitchen.
Finally, the time comes to start setting off the rest of Alexei’s rockets. You bring a blanket out for you and John to sit on, where he joins you after finishing the dishes. You put a hand on his bicep as he sits down with a sigh, noticing how tense the muscle is. “You alright? I thought you loved the Fourth,” you question.
“I do,” John says. “I just think fireworks are dumb.”
“What?” you chuckle incredulously. “How do you think fireworks are dumb?”
He hesitates a moment. “I don’t know, they’re just… loud. And flashy. Kind of tacky, if you ask me,” he lies.
“Yeah, okay, Mister Star Spangled Taco Shield…”
“Okay—knock it off, alright? I just don’t like ‘em,” he says shortly. You’re caught off guard by his sudden attitude.
“Sorry, jeez… If the noise is the problem, I think Bob has some spare earplugs,” you offer to try and lighten the mood.
“I don’t need earplugs, I’m fine,” he insists. You just shrug it off again, slightly irked by how he was acting.
When the fireworks finally start, you expect him to lighten up a little, but he doesn’t. Every time one goes off his face twitches a little, eyes blinking a little too hard. He keeps rolling his neck and fiddling with the fabric of his jeans in between each one. Whenever one shoots up, he grips your hand just a little tighter as he anticipates the blast.
He was trying to be in the moment and enjoy himself like he used to, he really was. But he is plagued by everything that each loud boom digs up. Memories of Afghanistan, of everyone he lost and all the bloodshed he witnessed. Boom. His brain is invaded by Lemar and Olivia, smiling as the red white and blue lights illuminate their faces. BOOM.
John abruptly stands up, and without another word, retreats to his room. Everyone turns around to see him disappearing to the inside of the tower with widespread confusion. They all look to you for some sort of explanation, but you have as good an idea as any of them as to why he left so unceremoniously. You take a moment before following after him with concern.
You make it to John’s room where you find him laying on his side with a pillow covering his head to block the noise, shoulders shaking and hearing faint sniffles. He’s facing away from you, not completely inconsolable, but far from regulated.
“John?” you say softly. He jumps and sits up, whipping his head around at you and breathing quickly.
“I’m fine,” he insists before you even ask him anything.
You look at him earnestly and reply, “You really expect me to believe that?”
He shrinks a bit and turns away from you. “Just leave me alone.”
You do precisely the opposite and make your way over to his bed, the edge of which he’s now sitting on. You stand between his legs and cup his face, tilting his head up to look at you, though he can’t bring his eyes to meet yours. “You know I won’t,” you say gently.
You move to kneel on the mattress next to him, legs folded under you, and let him rest his head on your shoulder as you rub a hand up and down his back. He sighs and says, “I know.”
“The fireworks used to be my favorite part,” he continues after a beat of silence. “Then I got deployed and I…” He trails off and grips your knee tighter by just a fraction. “I thought I woulda’ gotten over it by now.” He thought it might be easier, that it had been long enough since the war. But after everything that had happened in recent years, it was like everything he’d endured was scrubbed raw and exposed again.
“It’s okay,” you soothe as John leans into you further.
“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” he apologizes. “And I’m sorry I snapped at you. I—”
BOOM
John full-body flinches at the loud firework that bursts outside.
“God, fuckin’ ridiculous…” he mutters to himself.
He tries to sit up and pull away, expecting a laugh or a scoff at how reactive he was, but you don’t let him. You turn his face back to yours and say adamantly, “Hey, no, it’s okay. I get it. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. And you don’t have to be strong around me.”
His lip quivers just slightly before he fully returns your embrace, wrapping his big arms around you in a nearly constricting hug. He buries his face in your shoulder, not quite ready to let you see him cry yet. You still feel a faint drop of moisture reach your skin, but you decide not to mention it. You just hug him back and silently comfort him, soothing him through a flinch or two as more fireworks continue to go off.
An easy silence settles between you, only interrupted by the loud light shows across the city, washing the room in colorful glows.
“Maybe you were right,” you say with a lilt. “They are a little tacky.”
John looks at you and the way the red white and blue illuminate your smiling face. “Nah,” he sighs. “I think they’re beautiful.”