Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day started innocuously enough. The team had emerged from their rooms in the Watchtower at different times in the morning, all trickling into the common space at their own pace. Some days they would make and eat breakfast together, but had elected not to that day. They’d heard from Valentina the day prior and knew to expect her to drop in for a mission briefing. No one wanted to be stuck doing the dishes and miss the briefing, not even Bob. As he had yet to control his Sentry powers without triggering another potential Void event, Bob had not tagged along on any missions yet. However, he still attended briefings as he wanted to know what the rest of the team was heading into.

They–meaning Bucky, Yelena, and John, mostly–had worked on training up the non-Sentry version of Bob in hand-to-hand and marksmanship, but that had…a ways to go, to say the least.

As his eyes swept over those in the common room, John noted that Bob was dressed in black tactical gear. Valentina had instructed the team to suit up in expectation of heading out shortly after the briefing. Given his attire, maybe today would finally be the day Bob was getting his feet wet in the field, a fact which John found at least mildly disturbing.

Only Yelena and Alexei were missing from the living space, an unsurprising fact. Despite his enthusiasm for their team, Alexei was bound to be the last to arrive at any kind of official business (though the first to arrive at any unofficial team gatherings, e.g., his forced movie nights). Yelena was more unpredictable. By design, or so she claimed.

“Morning,” Ava called from her designated spot on the couch where she was curled up with a cup of coffee in hand. The mug was one of the gaudy ones Yelena had taken to buying and filling the kitchen cabinets with. It was hot pink with the words ‘boss babe’ adorning it in flowing, glittery cursive.

Ava’s lips turned up into a smirk as she eyed John. “No taco shield today?”

“Har har,” John snarked, filling his own cheesy mug (black with bold white letters declaring he’d ‘survived another meeting that could have been an email’) with the remainder of the coffee. There had been just enough brewed for each of the team’s resident coffee drinkers to have a cup, judging by the mugs resting near Bucky and Bob. It had been a habit the four of them had grown into after all relocating to the Watchtower.

“Oh, come on, Ava,” chirped Yelena, announcing her presence as she glided past John to join Ava on the couch. She looked back at him with a playful grin. “Maybe he did not want to look as much like a, how do you say—oh!” She snapped her fingers. “Walmart-brand Captain America.”

“Har har,” John repeated emphatically. He paused, mulling over his thoughts. “Valentina sent me a memo telling me not to bring it today.”

Bucky frowned, looking up from the tablet in his hands. “She told you not to bring your shield to a mission?”

”It’s hardly a shield,” Ava muttered. John glared at her but elected to ignore the comment.

”Yep,” John replied to Bucky. “Gotta be a reason for that, huh?”

The two shared a look, and John figured that Bucky had arrived at the same conclusion that he had. When John had first read the memo, he had two assumptions as to the reasoning behind Valentina’s order. The first, less likely, was that she’d finally gotten around to convincing someone to either fix the damn thing or get him a new one. The second, unfortunately likely, was that they could be joined on this mission by a different, shield-bearing hero. Valentina had been harping on them about how they needed good press. She was tired of them being called the ‘B-Vengers,’ or worse, on all the news channels.

A successful joint mission with Captain America could be that good press she was clamoring for.

”What are you two looking at each other all knowingly for? It’s creepy. I do not like it.” Yelena complained. She made a ‘gimme’ gesture. “Share with the class.”

John took a sip of his coffee, motioning for Bucky to explain. He knew Sam Wilson better, after all. Yelena, Ava, and Bob all looked at him expectantly.

Bucky sighed. “There might be a small chance that we’ll be working with Sam on this job.”

“Sam, like Sam Wilson? Like, actual Captain America?” Bob asked excitedly, nearly choking on his coffee. John noted his mug read ‘today I’m going to give it my all’ with the word ‘all’ crossed out and ‘some’ written in small text above it. Bob grimaced apologetically after John rolled his eyes at his comment. “Sorry, Walker.”

“Wait, I thought he hated us?” Ava had set down her coffee cup and uncurled herself, sitting up straight in anticipation. “Why would he agree to work with us?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be very ‘Captain America’ of him not to if whatever this godforsaken mission is is important enough,” John grumbled. He finished his coffee and set the cup on the counter with a touch more super-soldier-strength than necessary.

“Do not chip my mug,” Yelena warned him with an accusing finger pointed his way. “And if we are working with Captain America, do not blow this for us. We need him to like us.”

“Think it’s a bit late for that, Yelena.”

“Maybe for you, but he hasn’t met the rest of us besides Bucky yet. He only knows the bad press. We can make a good impression on Captain America.”

“Captain America!” boomed Alexei’s voice from the doorway. “We will be working with the Captain?! YES!”

Yelena grimaced. “Maybe we can not.”

“It’s just speculation,” Bucky explained to Alexei as the Red Guardian bustled into the room. He smelled vaguely of vodka and cigarettes. At eight in the morning.

Alexei boisterously raised his arms into fists and exclaimed, “This is good opportunity! We can show Captain America the strength of our New Avengers!”

Bucky massaged his temple with his non-metal hand as if staving off a headache. His scowl was eerily similar to the grumpy cartoon cat on his coffee mug that only liked ‘cats, coffee, and maybe five people’ according to the cup’s text. His voice was tired as he said, “Sam’s issues with us aren’t going to be fixed after one mission.”

“I thought you were going to talk with him?” Yelena asked.

“I did. It went poorly.”

The team, even Alexei, lapsed into silence, each stewing in their thoughts. John reflected on Bucky’s dilemma. He had, at first, been surprised that Bucky had supported their team after their impromptu formation. He had half expected the other man to abandon them to the wolves and continue his pursuit of Valentina’s impeachment. John had since learned that Bucky was as much a Thunderbolt as the rest of them and had no intention of abandoning them. Still, he had been friends with Sam Wilson first, and John knew that arguing with the current Captain America had to be difficult for Bucky.

“Well, perfect,” Ava said, breaking the tense silence. “A mission with a man who hates us. That’s bound to go well.”

“Especially with your trademark negativity.”

“Oh, piss off, Walker.”

“Look,” Bucky interjected, “Sam isn’t difficult. He may not like us, but he wouldn’t compromise a mission over something as petty as a team name.”

“I think Yelena’s right,” Bob added hesitantly. “Once he meets you guys and works with you, he can’t keep hating you. He’ll see that you guys are heroes.”

“Very touching, Bob.” The sarcasm in John’s tone was nearly palpable. “I’m sure it will be that easy.”

Sam Wilson would never consider him a hero, not after he’d seen him at his absolute worst. There was a part of John that understood that, given all that had happened during his short stint as Captain America. While John would never feel regret for the death of the Flag Smasher that helped bring about Lemar’s death, he could regret how it had happened. He regretted the confrontation with Sam and Bucky afterwards, and that he’d hurt Sam. But he had done what he’d done and had tarnished the shield, Steve Rogers’ shield. There wasn’t any going back. What slim chance there was for John and Sam to be on a semblance of friendly terms had died with the Flag Smashers. Had died with Lemar.

Yelena shot John a look that would have killed a non-super soldier as Bob wilted, looking down and picking nervously at the ends of his sleeves. His voice was quiet. “Sorry.”

Shit. Now, John did feel kind of bad.

Yelena lithely stood from the couch and moved to stand next to Bob, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t apologize, Bob. John is just projecting.” She gave him yet another pointed look.

John scoffed and looked away.

“If you thought we might be working with Captain America, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Ava questioned. Not quite an accusation, but teetering on one.

“Well, maybe I would have, but I only got the memo twenty minutes ago, so–”

“We must think positive,” Alexei interrupted vigorously. “We are the New Avengers!”

“I think that’s half the problem,” John muttered under his breath. He raised his hands in surrender as Yelena, Ava, and even Bucky scowled at him.

Bucky then sighed and stood from his chair. He looked between each of the assembled team members, assessing. “Let’s just treat this as a normal mission, no matter who may or may not be joining us. This is our job, and it’s what we’re good at. Nothing’s going to change that.”

Ava gave a little salute. “Roger, roger.”

“Yes!” Alexei concurred eagerly.

Yelena and Bob both nodded in silent agreement.

“Sure, whatever,” John grumbled. “Go team.”

John was saved from whatever scorn his reply may have earned him by the buzzing alarm that signaled Valentina’s arrival at the Watchtower. He took advantage of the opportunity to quickly turn toward the elevator. The rest of the team trailed close behind him.

They remained silent in solidarity as they took the elevator up a couple of floors to their mission control, so to speak. The room was fitted with a central table capable of projecting mission details for all to see, and the helipad was only a room and glass pane away for any needed rapid deployments into the field.

The elevator opened with a ding, and Bucky led the way down the hall. It felt as though they all took a collective breath as Bucky placed his hand on the panel that opened the doors to mission control. The doors slid open.

Godamnit. They were right.

“Bucky,” Sam greeted. His voice was flat. He was the picture of standoffish, his arms crossed and lips settled into a frown. Another man hovered nervously at his side. Joaquin Torres, John registered–the new Falcon, now that Sam had been elevated to his role as Captain America.

“Sam,” Bucky replied with a curt nod.

“Brr. That’s cold,” crowed Valentina, looking between the two of them as the rest of the New Avengers filed into the room. “Mel, make a note to work on that before any public appearances.”

Mel, lingering beside Valentina as was customary, gave them all an apologetic look before turning her attention back to the tablet in her hands as she typed away.

“There won’t be any ‘public appearances,’” Sam said. He wasn’t wearing his goggles, so John could track the way he glanced between each member of the New Avengers. “We’re here because we were told the mission was critical, that’s all. No more, no less.”

“Ah, America’s Captain!” Alexei exclaimed, and Yelena couldn’t quite hide a wince. “You are so cool! It is pleasure to work with you.”

“...thanks,” Sam acknowledged slowly.

Joaquin side-eyed him before stepping forward, smiling good-naturedly. “We’re happy to provide some air support for you guys.”

“It’s appreciated,” Yelena said. She quirked a brow at Valentina. “So, we’ll be needing air support on this mission.”

“In a way,” Valentina answered with a wave of her hand.

Valentina then gave a nod to Mel, and two holographic buildings were projected above the center console. One appeared to be some kind of compound, a couple of stories high with two wings. The other was a high-rise building. Not quite a skyscraper, but sleek and modern. A lot of metal and glass, and not unlike their own Watchtower.

“This is your mission, or rather, these are your missions,” Valentina explained. “Part of the reason we requested backup from Mr. Wilson and Mr. Torres here was because we have two buildings to infiltrate. Intel says they’ve been occupied by some Hydra stragglers experimenting with alien technology to make energy weapons and neural implants that can enhance an individual’s natural attributes.”

Bucky had stiffened at the mention of Hydra, and John noted the concerned look Sam sent his way. The concern quickly melted into ire as John input, “So, super soldier implants instead of serum?”

Valentina smiled, all teeth. “Something like that. Word has it they’re more likely to fry the test subject's brain than work, but that’s neither here nor there. We simply can’t allow this inhumanity to continue.”

Each of the New Avengers leveled her with an unimpressed look as Bob fidgeted nervously. Valentina cleared her throat awkwardly. “Anyway, as you might be assuming, we’ll be splitting you into two teams to hit the facilities simultaneously. We can’t risk taking down one base and giving the agents at the other time to pack up and escape with all their dirty secrets.”

“As some of our most experienced members,” she continued, “Bucky and the Captain here will each be leading a team. Bucky, you’ll be taking Joaquin, Yelena, and Alexei to hit the compound. Sam, you’ll lead Ava, John, and Bob to infiltrate the tower.”

John’s stomach dropped for more than one reason.

“Bob?!” four horrified voices rang out, overshadowing Bob’s quiet exclamation of, “Me?” and Alexei’s whoop of excitement.

Sam and Joaquin looked at them quizzically as the New Avengers attempted to rein in their reactions. It was Bucky who stepped forward to represent them.

“Bob isn’t mission-ready yet,” he said. His eyes flicked between Sam and John. “And these team arrangements–”

Valentina cut him off with a raise of her hand, causing Bucky to glower at her. “Don’t be so pessimistic! We’ve been keeping tabs on Bob’s progress, and you all have worked hard to whip him into shape. What better field test than one with both Captain America and our favorite Junior Varsity Captain America backing him up?”

Yelena, who had not twenty minutes ago called John a ‘Walmart-brand Captain America,’ bristled at Valentina’s words. “Watch what you’re calling people, Val. And it should be Bob’s decision whether or not he is ready to come on missions.”

Valentina rolled her eyes. “Oh, everyone, calm down. We’re not expecting him to go full Winter Soldier yet. Bob is the getaway driver for the tower team. He’ll be out of the line of fire, safe in a van across the street the entire time.”

The New Avengers seemed to collectively relax at her words. Bob himself gave a small shake of his head. “I—I can do that. I’m a good driver.”

”Yes, a very good driver,” Yelena affirmed with a nod. She then gestured at the scattered heroes in the room and looked back at Valentina. “Why these team arrangements?”

Valentina went on to explain, showing various holographic images as she did, that they needed two strong teams of two, meaning both led by a super soldier, to infiltrate the wings of the compound. John wanted to argue that he could easily do that in place of Alexei, sparing them all from something inevitably going wrong by placing him on the same team as Sam, but Valentina talked over him before he could. She explained the facility team would be working more as individuals: Bob would man the getaway car and monitor the comms, Ava would access the server room to hack the tower’s defenses, Sam would infiltrate the tower from the top floors using his wings, and John would clear the labs on the lower floors.

John felt his shoulders lose some of their tension as she explained the plan. He could do his job and pretend Sam wasn't even in the building. He was far more likely to meet up with Ava after she took out the servers than to make it to the top of the building before Sam finished his part. Even as prickly as their relationship could be, working with Sam would be made better with Ava tagging along.

John felt eyes on him and glanced to his left. He found Bucky looking at him, and the former Winter Soldier quirked a brow at him in a silent question. John shrugged in response. Bucky paused, brows furrowing, before finally inclining his head in acknowledgement.

John chose to ignore the way Sam’s eyes narrowed as he noted their silent exchange through the holographic tower separating them. He shouldn’t have looked for a reaction in the first place, not when it was only bound to make him angry.

“Those are your assignments. Any further questions? No?” Valentina clapped her hands together. “Then it’s wheels up in ten. You have some long flights ahead of you.”

Her heels tapped against the floor as she maneuvered past them to exit the room. Mel cast a wan smile their way before slipping out after Valentina.

Silence permeated the room for several tense moments before Bucky asked, “Sam, can I speak with you? Privately.”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck.”

“I guess we’ll take that as our cue to leave,” Ava input awkwardly before promptly phasing through the wall. John envied her ability to make a fast exit.

Joaquin blinked at the spot that Ava used to occupy. “Woah, that’s freaky. Cool, but freaky.”

Alexei clapped a hand on his back, causing Joaquin to stumble a step forward before catching himself. In his boisterous tone, Alexei proclaimed, “You have seen nothing yet! Red Guardian will show you true might of New Avengers during our mission!”

Joaquin chuckled and headed out with Alexei, engaging him in conversation. The man must be some kind of saint. Yelena shook her head as she watched them before grabbing Bob’s arms and peppering him with assurances that he would do great as the getaway driver as she guided him out of the room. Bob nodded along, looking only slightly like a ghost.

John lingered for a moment longer, thinking he should say something to Sam and Bucky, but in the end, he had no words. He pivoted on his heel and left the room, the doors sliding closed with a hiss behind him.

Outside the door and alone in the hallway, John took a moment to collect himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply.

“How are you holding up?” inquired a voice from behind him.

John startled and whipped around, accusatory. “Jesus, Ava! Warn a guy!” She merely grinned at him smugly, happy with herself for scaring him, no doubt. But behind the bravado, there was something genuine in her eyes. John sighed. “I’m fine.”

Ava pushed herself off the wall she was leaning against. “Great. Keep it that way, will you? I don’t want to babysit both you and Bob on this mission.”

“Right, Bob.”

“Bob,” Ava agreed, chewing worriedly at her bottom lip.

John mulled over their situation. Valentina would choose to spring Bob joining them on the one field mission that had Captain America tagging along. After all, what could go wrong?

Chapter Text

Six hours.

Six hours was the time John had to spend enclosed in a metal box with Sam Wilson. Why couldn’t Hydra have built their bases in, say, Maine? Maine was nice. Maine was only an hour or so from New York City. But no. Hydra had set up shop across the country in Washington and Oregon. They hadn’t even had the decency to put the bases in the same state, meaning their teams would take two separate planes. There would be no Bucky–or even Joaquin, who seemed reasonable–to serve as a buffer.

After exchanging a quick goodbye with Joaquin, Sam Wilson boarded the plane first, which left John, Ava, and Bob with the rest of the New Avengers on the landing strip. They’d gone outside the city to fly out–wouldn’t want to potentially tip Hydra off by being too conspicuous and taking a jet straight from the Watchtower.

Bucky’s arms were crossed as he considered them. “Alright. Do your best and don’t die.”

“Inspiring. Did you practice that, former Congressman Barnes?” John quipped.

Bucky didn’t rise to the bait. “Look, while Sam and I’s conversation wasn’t great, you have nothing to worry about from him. Let’s all keep our heads on straight and get through this.”

“Good opportunity,” Alexei agreed with a nod.

“Good opportunity,” Ava sighed, side-eyeing John and Bob.

Yelena’s eyes were kind as she considered them. “We’ll see you all tomorrow, yeah?”

“Can’t come soon enough,” John replied, aiming for sarcasm but ending up horrifically genuine. Not letting the moment linger, he turned and clapped Bob on the shoulder. “C’mon, Bob. We can review your role on the trip.”

“Look after each other!” Alexei shouted as they clamored onto the plane, and Ava sent him a thumbs-up in response.

The inside of the plane was laid out with four pairs of double seats in the front, the cockpit beyond them, and a table with bench-like seating capable of fitting four at the back. Sam had settled himself into one of the chairs at the front of the plane, as close to the pilot’s chair as he could be without flying the bird himself. John, Ava, and Bob shared a glance before each taking a seat at the table, Ava across from John and Bob. Once they were strapped in, their pilot began the takeoff process.

“How are you feeling, Bob?” inquired Ava as John worked on connecting a tablet to the table.

“Nervous,” Bob answered with a self-conscious chuckle. “But I mean I shouldn’t be, right? All I’m doing is waiting in the car while you guys do the real work.”

“It’s fine to be nervous,” Ava reassured. “This is still field experience, and you will be helping direct us through the comms.”

“Right, right, I will be doing that. Yep.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Bob,” John said (hoped). He finally got the tablet working, and its screen connected to a larger one embedded in the table. John pulled up blueprints for the Hydra tower. “Let’s go over the building schematics.”

The three of them proceeded to review the building’s layout in excruciating detail. Bob wanted to see each one of the tower’s 36 floors and started taking notes on his own tablet to give himself reminders on how to best direct them if anything went wrong. John thought that he and Ava did an admirable job of hiding their general concern at having Bob on the mission as they humored his desire to view every nook and cranny of the Hydra tower. The mission would truly have to go to hell in a handbasket for more than half of the things they’d looked at to be relevant.

“Can I see the lab on floor 21 again?” Bob asked, drumming his fingers restlessly.

John massaged his brow in exasperation. “I don’t think it’s changed since the last three times we’ve looked at it, Bob.”

“I have a question,” called a voice from behind them. The three of them straightened up from their hunched positions over the table and turned toward Captain America. He was leaning against the chairs closest to them, observant. “Why are we bringing a civilian on this op?”

Even if John and Ava were wondering the same thing, they sure as hell weren’t going to agree with Sam Wilson.

“Bob isn’t a civilian,” John answered coolly. “He’s a member of our team.”

Sam quirked a disbelieving brow and glanced pointedly at the schematics they’d been reviewing for over an hour. “We were both military, Walker. Don’t lie to me. I know you had these building specs down ages ago.”

“So what if Bob wasn’t military? Neither was I,” Ava argued.

“And how long did it take you to know what you needed to?”

Ava’s silence was enough of an answer. Bob looked down, fidgeting nervously. “C’mon, guys. You know he’s right. It’s weird that Valentina had me come.”

“What’s all that training we’ve been doing for if you weren’t going to come on missions?” John countered. “Or have I just been wasting my time?”

Bob blinked at him and waved his hands in disagreement. “No, definitely not! You, Bucky, and Yelena have been super helpful.” He glanced up at Sam before once again looking to the floor. “I’m a lot better at managing things now.”

“Can you even shoot a gun, man?” Sam asked incredulously.

Bob’s stuttered response was more of a question than a statement. “I–I mean, I’m getting better at hitting the target? Guns are loud.”

John abruptly stood from the table, handing the tablet to Ava. “Ava, show Bob floor 21 again.” He faced Sam stonily. “Can we talk?”

Sam gave a curt nod in response and gestured for John to lead. He moved to the front of the plane. The space wasn’t great for them to speak with any kind of privacy, so John kept his voice hushed as he demanded, “Leave Bob alone. He’ll be in the van the entire time, so you don’t need to worry about what he is or isn’t capable of.”

Sam crossed his arms and considered John. He was respectful enough to speak softly in his reply. “I think I have a right to be concerned that Valentina sent him on this mission. This whole joint op was her machination, and, if I know anything about that woman, it’s that she’s all about smokescreens and schemes.” His eyes narrowed. “You can take the formation of your…team as an example.”

John bit the inside of his lip as an outlet for his frustration. He blew a harsh breath out of his nose.

“Can I?” he retorted. John knew Bucky had tried to explain to Sam that they had nothing to do with Valentina naming them the New Avengers. If Bucky hadn’t been able to get that through Sam’s thick skull, then John had no chance. He forced himself to move on. “Look, Bob helped us save New York. Ava and I will cover him. Just stay in your lane and do your part. We’ll do ours.”

Sam scoffed. “Funny. Bucky said almost the same thing. Since when do the two of you get along?”

Since they’d saved the world together. Since they’d been forced to cohabitate in the Watchtower. Since training Bob and arguing over the best method to do so. Since covering each other on any number of missions Valentina had sent them on and learning to trust that the other had their back. It was the same with any of the other New Avengers John had come to know, and he had a host of answers he could give Sam. John chose the worst one.

“Since you stopped, apparently,” he sneered.

Sam’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Apparently.” He turned away, returning to his seat. As he walked away, John heard him mutter to himself. “This day can’t be over soon enough.”

On that, at least, they could agree.

They didn’t interact with Sam for the remaining hours of the flight. John and Ava left Bob to his devices as he continued to review the building blueprints and mutter to himself, taking notes all the while. He only paused to eat the MRE John shoved at him around what passed for lunchtime. Ava spent her time alternating between taking a nap and staring out the plane window, watching the clouds float past underneath them. John took apart and cleaned his gun at least three times, trying not to look at the red, white, and blue shield that Sam had set at the front of the plane after polishing it.

John wondered if Sam had placed it in full view deliberately. Seeing it, John was glad Valentina had told him not to bring his shield along. The misshapen hunk of metal would be even more of an embarrassment than it already was.

When the plane finally landed and they disembarked, they were given time to collect themselves and stretch their legs at the small, government compound they’d landed at. Their ragtag team was then herded directly into yet another small metal box–this time in the form of the discreetly armored van they’d be running the mission out of.

The four of them were left alone to get themselves to the city. Sam gruffly insisted on driving, and none of them protested. Bob whispered to John and Ava that not driving now would make him extra ready to be the getaway driver later. They just nodded at him as the three of them climbed into the back of the van. The shield was occupying the passenger seat.

The drive didn’t take long. The state’s morose, rainy weather reflected the mood in the van as they drove through the countryside. The city soon came into view, and Sam navigated them to an industrial area of the outskirts of Seattle. Some workers were milling about the streets and buildings, but the area was not as densely populated as the heart of the city.

John, Ava, and Sam exchanged observations in short, clinical sentences as they canvased the area. Bob remained quiet, eyes wide as he nodded along to their conversation. Even after patrolling for a good hour, the four of them had a couple of hours to kill before dusk. They settled into stakeout mode, again pulling out MREs for their evening meal. As they lingered in uncomfortable silence, John had to wonder why Valentina had made them deploy so early. The waiting was brutal.

As dusk approached, the four of them went about setting up comms. The van was fitted with a computer, monitor, and headset for Bob to operate. Their comms would have three channels: direct lines between John, Ava, and Sam to each other, and one line with all of them. As they generally used an open channel on their comms during missions, the setup was a new one. John thought the tiny buttons on the side of the small device that he fitted into his ear were impractical, but he wouldn’t complain about not having to listen to Sam if it wasn't necessary. Bob would be able to monitor all lines and connect them directly if, say, Ava needed to talk with Sam, but Sam’s comms were set to a different channel.

Once they had fitted and tested the comms–thankfully with no hiccups courtesy of a nervous Bob–Sam drove the van to a tall building a couple of blocks from the Hydra tower and parked it in a discreet back alley. He would be flying over from it to the tower once Ava had disabled the security system. The Captain grabbed his shield from the passenger seat, looking back at the three New Avengers.

“See you on the other side,” he said brusquely. Ava gave him a sarcastic smile in response, Bob wished a “Good luck!” and John acknowledged him with a stilted nod. Sam’s eyes lingered on them for a moment longer before he huffed and got out of the car. His wings were spread moments later, rocketing him upward.

Bob watched him go with wonder in his eyes. “Cool.”

“Not that cool,” John grumbled. He poked at Bob’s back. “Driver’s seat, Bob. Time to get this show on the road.”

“Finally,” Ava groaned as Bob maneuvered himself to the front seat. “After the day we’ve had, I’m ready to knock some heads in.”

“You can say that again.”

Bob drove them back to the street across the Hydra tower, parking catty-cornered to the edge of the building’s front. He climbed back next to Ava and John, settling into his spot at the monitor and placing the headset over his ears.

“Alright then,” Ava said, her voice echoing over the comms. “I’m heading in.”

“Copy that,” Sam replied.

Ava grinned at John and Bob before her helmet slotted over her face. She phased out of the van, form flickering in and out of existence as she rushed the building before vanishing entirely into the wall. John readied himself to move, listening intently. There was a muffled sound of a scuffle, but Ava reported it was only one guard.

“I’m at their security hub,” Ava informed them. “Cameras and alarms will be down in three, two, one–there!” The huff of her breath was like static through the comms. “Pulled the wires. Walker, Wilson, you are a go. I’ll be heading up to the servers.”

“Moving in,” stated Sam at the same time as John said, “Copy.”

Now was where the fun began.

As John ran across the street to the building entrance, he glanced up to see Sam glide to the top of the tower and disappear over the roofline. He huffed, resolving to focus on his mission and looking back toward the glass pane entrance of the tower.

John immediately clocked two Hydra agents in the lobby and burst through the glass before they had time to react. He vaulted over the security rails inside the doors, landing in a sprint as he rushed the closer agent. The man made to pull his weapon, but he was no match for John’s enhanced speed. John grabbed the man’s wrist, jerking his hand upward and twisting harshly. The gun clattered to the floor as the man cried out. His shout was choked off as John maneuvered around him to place him in a stranglehold. He was out in moments, giving John ample time to roll out of the way of the second agent’s shots.

John took cover behind a pillar, cursing their public image problem that prevented him from taking out the enemy combatants with quick headshots. His lack of shield wasn’t helping matters. Even in its bent shape, it still served as a barrier for bullets–though what would be preferable is if it could be fixed. He was in a perfect position to throw his shield and bounce it off the lobby’s pillars to neatly take out the gunman.

Gotta do everything the hard way, he thought, drawing his gun. He waited for a lull in the shots before turning out of cover and firing twice. The agent went down screaming, his kneecaps no longer quite functional, and it was a simple matter of rushing him and delivering a quick blow to the temple to knock him out.

John secured both of them using cuffs he’d pilfered off the agents themselves–didn’t want anyone waking up and finding Bob outside. Just as he’d finished cuffing the second agent, John heard the telltale patter of combat boots from down the hall. He rolled his shoulders in preparation, ducking behind the wall.

As the first agent made to run past him, John lashed out and grabbed the man’s rifle, cracking it against his nose. The next moments were a flurry of dodges and punches as John worked his way through the horde of agents. He finished the last one off with a kick, his enhanced strength sending the man tumbling backward. John then made quick work of cuffing the lot of them.

As he moved from person to person, he said, “Lobby is clear. Moving up to the labs.”

“I’m almost to the servers,” Ava replied.

There were a few moments of static before Sam huffed, “The top floor is secure. Think I found the boss’s office but nobody’s home. Be on the lookout.”

John and Ava acknowledged the warning, and the comms returned to silence. John strode across the lobby to the elevators, reloading his .45 as he waited. He had it drawn as the door dinged open, but there were no combatants within waiting to jump him. John boarded the elevator and hit the button for the 19th floor.

The facility’s main research labs were between floors 19 and 22, and John was responsible for clearing out any lingering Hydra agents and identifying any weapons. Ava was handling the systems hacking on the 10th floor, so any intel recovery would fall to her. They anticipated that the other floors would be unoccupied, as they were mostly offices or storage, but the three of them would still need to clear them out after they finished their main assignments.

The elevator opened on floor 19, and John swept the room before exiting. The lab was empty, save for some scattered papers and broken test tubes. It looked as though someone, or someones, had left in a hurry. John frowned at the sight but continued up to the 20th floor. He was greeted with much the same on the upper floor: no agents waiting to ambush him and a state of general disarray. John noted a couple of open containers that looked like weapons cases. The lids were thrown off haphazardly, and they were empty.

“Perfect,” he muttered, recalling Valentina mentioning that Hydra had been experimenting with energy weapons. He raised his voice, reporting, “Look alive, guys. Unknown weapons in the field.”

“Lovely,” was Ava’s chipper response. “I’m accessing the servers now. Bob, are you receiving?”

“Uh, yes–yep!” Bob confirmed. “It’s transmitting.”

“The top floors are clear,” Sam reported. “I’m going back to that office I found to see if there’s anything worthwhile intel-wise there.” There was a moment's pause. “Unless you need backup, Walker?”

“No,” he answered gruffly. “I’m good.”

“Whatever, you’ll know where to find me.”

The comms went dead, and John suppressed a roll of his eyes. What would he need backup for? He was a super soldier.

John returned to the elevator and headed up to the 21st floor. The doors opened, and John didn’t even get a moment to react before a pulsing sound rang in his ears, and he was thrown backward into the elevator wall. It crumpled from the combination of the blast and his collision. He wheezed, the impact from whatever had hit him and the wall driving the breath from his lungs. There was a creaking noise, and John scrambled to pick himself up, rolling out of the elevator moments before a snap rang out and it went crashing down 21 flights.

“What the hell was that?” Sam asked urgently. “Walker, hang tight, I’m on–shit!” His voice cut off as a distant blast crackled through the comms.

John had no time to concern himself with Sam. He popped up from his roll into a crouch, eyes scanning the room. Blasted over equipment and broken glass littered the once sterile space. There was a clear epicenter, and John clocked his assailant in moments. A person in a white lab coat was ducked behind a counter, hands fumbling to reload a glowing blue cartridge into the gun in their hands. A scientist.

The scientist had just managed to load the weapon as John reached them. His eyes went wide, and the man pivoted, firing a desperate shot. John knocked the man’s hand aside, redirecting the shot toward the wall, but the kickback of the blast was enough to stagger him. The Hydra scientist, evidently not enhanced by any neural implants, stumbled and fell to the floor. John regained his footing and kicked the dropped energy weapon aside.

He fisted a hand in the scientist's lab coat, pulling him forward.

“How many of those weapons are in the building?” he demanded.

“You’ll have to find out,” the man bit out. He grinned. “Hail, Hydra.”

A faint, flickering blue light drew John’s attention downward. The scientist held in his hand a glowing blue sphere, its flickering growing faster by the moment. John dropped the man’s coat, and he fell, laughing. John moved, taking cover behind a knocked-over metal table right as the energy grenade–or whatever the hell it was–went off. He braced himself as the energy blast impacted the table. His arms jolted with the force of the hit, and he skidded backward, but John was able to keep the table upright as a makeshift barrier. His momentum was arrested as he collided with something solid–the opposite wall. Dust rained around him, and John coughed harshly as he got back to his feet, throwing the bent table aside. A feeling like pins and needles raced up his arms, and John shook them in a fruitless attempt to get rid of the feeling. He better not have nerve damage or something equally as stupid because of a scientist.

A functional shield would have been really fucking nice to have.

He looked back toward the center of the room. The ceiling above where the grenade had gone off was cracked, bits of rubble crumbling into the lab. The scientist’s contorted body was opposite the room from John. The arm that had been holding the grenade was snapped at an odd angle, and blood pooled around him. Good fucking riddance.

“Are you guys all okay?” asked Bob’s frantic voice. “I’m hearing a lot of blasting!”

“I found the energy weapons,” John griped in response.

“Well I sure as shit found them and the neural implants! Ford seems to have taken a dose of his own medicine!” shouted Sam. Ford–John remembered that name from Valentina’s briefing. He was noted as a potential Hydra operative they may encounter, military-trained and highly dangerous.

“I’m finished here,” said Ava. “I’m heading up to help deal with whatever the fu–”

A piercing ring echoed through the comms, and John winced at the sound. He restrained himself from pulling out the device, opting to press his hand just above his ear in a vain attempt to block the noise. In the seconds it took for the sound to die out, John realized something–the sound was familiar. He’d heard it twice before: once in a vault and once while fleeing from a convoy.

“What the hell was that?!”

John ignored Sam’s frazzled inquiry. “Shit, Ava. Are you good?”

“Never better,” she quipped, voice strained. “I can handle this–seems like a barrier around the server room. Go help Wilson, Walker. I’m switching off comms.”

“Ava!” John yelled. There was no response. Annoyed, he muttered, “Shit!”

“For what it’s worth,” chimed Sam’s voice, sounding harried, “I would appreciate that backup!”

John took a breath and collected himself. He knew Ava, and if she said she had it handled, he would have to trust that.

“Bob, what’s the fastest way for me to get to Sam? Elevator’s a no-go.”

“Ah, right!” Bob replied. His voice sounded triumphant. “Ha, you’re on floor 21! Go to the north end, there’s a staircase. It’s an open one–you should be able to jump it, like you tried in the vault.”

“Alright, moving,” John confirmed. He threw in a, “Thanks, Bob,” for good measure. Bob didn’t reply but John could practically hear him beaming through the comms.

John ran, vaulting over lab equipment as he made his way to the stairs. Now that he wasn’t engaged in his own fight, he was aware of the faint sound of combat through the comms. He made out what he thought was the sound of Sam’s wings, the shield being thrown, and periodic energy blasts. The blasts came faster than anything the gun he’d seen was capable of–a different model, he suspected.

He reached the stairs, throwing open the door and looking upward. It was open as Bob had said it would be. John climbed a rail and jumped upward. With his unstable footing, he had to repeat the process twice before catching the rail on the 35th floor. John raced up the steps of the last floor and announced, “Moving in!”

He paused at the door for a moment, trying to gauge how close he was to the action. An energy blast sounded, seeming to come a fair distance from John’s left, and he judged that would have to be good enough. John threw open the door, gun drawn, just in time to see Sam go spinning out one of the room’s tall windows, glass shattering around him.

The room was open, likely designed for hosting events, and John located Ford quickly. The man stood tall, glowing blue gun extended toward Sam’s spiraling form. Sam, though, hadn’t gone down easily. There were several downed Hydra agents strewn about the room, and John noted several similar weapons near their fallen forms.

He fired, and the weapon was blasted from Ford's hand. Ford jolted and spun toward John, hand reaching for another weapon holstered at his side. He was in combat gear, and John aimed for his chest. A vest could take a couple of .45s, but it would still hurt like hell.

He wasn’t given the chance to fire.

A pulsing sound resonated through the room, and John’s right arm lit up like fire. His gun dropped as his arm spasmed, the feeling not unlike being hit with one of the Widow’s Bites that Yelena used. But unlike a Bite, nothing that he could remove was delivering the shock. John was forced to shake off the pain and dodge as Ford drew his weapon, rolling to his right. He grabbed at a discarded energy weapon with his left hand as he moved, the model matching what he’d seen the scientist use.

A familiar whoosh came from John’s right, and Ford's attention was drawn to Sam as the man rocketed in through the broken window, having thrown the shield in front of him. Ford ducked below the shield, and it bounced off two walls back into Sam’s waiting hands. John had to admit, he was good with it.

But he couldn’t linger on Sam. Letting the other man engage Ford, John turned to the Hydra agent he’d taken for unconscious when he’d swept the room. Not wanting to waste the one shot he knew he’d have from the Hydra gun he’d grabbed, John shoved it in his empty holster and rushed the man. The agent had hesitated, aiming his gun between Sam and John, giving him an opportunity. The room, though, was open. There was nowhere to take cover, and John hoped his speed would outmatch the agent’s reaction time as he settled his sights on John.

It did, but barely.

John was feet away when the man fired, and he dropped into a slide, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. He had the man in a chokehold in the next second, and his body soon dropped limply to the floor. John snarled, “And stay down,” before focusing back on Sam and Ford.

Sam had his shield raised in front of him, and it was evident why moments later. A blue blast went off, and John shielded his eyes from any wayward shards of glass sent flying. The force hit John’s chest, but he was far enough from the blast that it only jolted him. Sam, however, was at its epicenter. He flew backwards, wings flaring and rockets firing to catch himself, but the shield was torn from his hands. It ricocheted left, and John was moving before he had time for thought.

He caught the shield. Sam had collected himself enough to shout a protest: “Walker, I swe–”

John ignored him. He could end this fight, and he could end it now.

He faced Ford and threw the shield. The weight of it felt something like home. He’d missed it. He'd missed having a shield that wasn’t mishapen, a shield that was pure vibranium and not a concoction of metals mimicking its properties. He’d trained with the thing for a god damn long time–longer than he’d been able to carry it. Sam could throw a fit if he wanted to. John deserved this.

Ford rolled with inhuman speed to avoid the projectile, and John caught it as it returned. The Hydra operative raised his weapon–one of the smaller guns–and fired. John lifted the shield, anticipating and moving it with the shots as he rushed forward. The vibranium absorbed the impact as John expected–it was only the grenades and one-shot guns that could be a threat.

There was a lull in the gunfire, and John again threw the shield. Ford moved in anticipation, but John had not thrown the shield at him directly. The shield bounced right then left off the angled walls, striking Ford in the back. He stumbled forward, and John slid past him to grab the shield before it hit the floor. He fitted it onto his left arm and swung, catching an off-guard Ford in the chest. He staggered, and John continued his offense, going for another strike. Ford lashed out desperately, grabbing at the shield.

John grinned at him as their eyes met over the top of the shield. “You’re nothing much without all your toys, huh?”

Ford snarled and pushed forward. There was strength to it, but nothing compared to what John was used to from Bucky or Alexei. The man was enhanced, yet his strength couldn’t compare to what the serum–any variation of it, apparently–was capable of.

John braced his left arm and shoved, dislodging Ford's hold. He took advantage of the man’s stunned state, landing a kick directly to his sternum. He flew backward, crashing against the wall, and John didn’t give him a chance to recover. He rushed in, bringing the shield down across the man’s face with a sharp crack.

John pulled back with a harsh breath, looking down at the man. He was unconscious, his broken nose smearing blood across his face.

His blood was on the shield, too.

“Walker, drop the shield,” Sam commanded. And it was a command, no doubt about that.

John turned slowly. Sam had retracted his wings, seemingly not looking for a fight, but tension was evident in the set of his shoulders. His eyes went to the shield, and a frown set deeply into his face as he observed the blood.

“Calm down, Wilson,” John grunted. He slid the shield off his left arm–his right hand still felt tingly damn it–and took a second to look down at it. The blood was smeared across the center of the shield. It was only a few drops. Nothing like…nothing like a man had just been killed with it.

Suddenly, the shield’s weight didn’t feel like home. It felt like a burden–a reminder of how he could never hope to live up to the paragon of righteousness that had been Steve Rogers. He extended the shield away, as if it had burned him. Sam was quick to reach out and take it from him.

“He’s just got a nosebleed,” John muttered. “He’s not fucking dead.”

“Lucky for him,” Sam said flatly. He had fitted the shield across his back. John was glad it was out of his sight, even if Sam’s starred and striped uniform felt nearly as much like blame as the shield did.

There was a moment of tense silence. Then, bizarrely, Sam laughed. It was a strangled, humorless sound.

“Bucky wonders why I’ve been pissed,” he said increduously. His gaze hardened. “How could I fucking not be. I already had to rescue Steve Rogers’ legacy from the blood you left all over it. I don’t want to have to fucking fight to save something else he believed in from you.”

John grit his teeth. So they were doing this, huh?

“It is so fucking easy for you to blame me,” he retorted furiously. “Maybe you should try some self-reflection, Captain. There wouldn’t have been a need to ‘rescue’ any legacy from me if you’d been quicker on the draw. You gave up the shield after Steve Rogers handed it to you personally.”

John gestured to himself forcefully, his voice rising. “They never would have given me the damn thing if you had just kept it like you were supposed to. I came to you, and you refused to help me every step of the way!” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sure, I was never going to be Steve fucking Rogers, but you never even gave me a chance. I followed orders–”

“Being a hero, having the shield, isn’t about following orders!” Sam argued, cutting him off. “The system is corrupt. Captain America, the Avengers, can’t operate under corruption.”

“We have a handle on Val–”

Sam interjected once again. “Really? Because I didn’t see any of you questioning her, even when you clearly disagreed with her decisions on this op.”

John didn’t have a counter for his argument. Or at least not one he could say without revealing far more about Bob than Sam Wilson had any right to know.

“She’ll drive your team and the Avengers name into the ground if she has her way,” Sam continued. “I can’t–No, I won’t let that happen. I won’t let you or any member of your so-called team destroy that legacy.”

“You don’t know a thing about our team beyond your assumptions!”

“Oh, I don’t?” Sam scoffed. He raised his hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “Two former assassins, a public executioner, and an escaped Russian prisoner past his prime. Then there’s whatever the hell Bob is. Did I miss anything?”

John’s nostrils flared in rage. He ground out, “What about Bucky?”

Sam’s answer was clipped. “Bucky just needs time to come to his senses.”

“What, you weren’t counting him among the ‘former assassins’ in your little rant–”

“Bucky didn’t have a choice!”

“Neither did they!” John shouted. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. “You don’t know anything if you don’t even know that. Hate me all you want, I earned that, but say another word about any of them, and I swear I’ll knock your teeth out with your own shield.”

Sam fell silent. His voice was almost gentle when he finally spoke. “Wanting to be better is one thing, being an Avenger is another.”

“Oh, but you’re suited, of course,” John scoffed. “Maybe you should be grateful to us. After all, you only had the guts to become Captain America after I proved how unworthy I was in comparison. I have news for you Sam–you’ll never be Steve Rogers either.”

What kindness there was in Sam was gone in an instant.

“No, I won’t,” he said, “but you’re right in that I will always be a better fit than you.”

He turned–the shield facing John like an accusation–and declared, “I’m done here. Cuff these guys, whatever, I’m going after the intel in the office.”

John breathed heavily, attempting to contain his rage and shame, as Sam stormed out of the room and into the hall. He tore off his helmet, as if that would help him to breathe easier, and hurled it across the room. It whistled through the air, impacting one of the tall windows. The glass cracked, but didn’t shatter, and the helmet rolled listlessly to the floor.

His comm crackled in his ear. “John. Direct line,” demanded Ava. There was fury in her voice.

Wondering how long Ava had been back on the open channel, John numbly pressed the stupid tiny button on his comm. John cleared his throat and said, “I’m fine.”

“Fuck that,” Ava growled. “Did you punch him? Because if you didn’t, I’m going to.”

Another voice joined the conversation.

“John,” said Bob, except it wasn’t through his comm. It came from behind him.

Brows furrowing in confusion, John turned toward the sound. His mind short-circuited at what he saw. Bob was there all right. Floating. Hundreds of feet in the air. He was framed by the shattered window, yellow and orange from the setting sun highlighting his form in golden light.

The gold in his narrowed eyes, though, was no reflection. His expression was twisted, angry. It was all wrong on Bob’s face.

This wasn’t Bob. It was Sentry.

Chapter Text

John breathed heavily, forehead resting against the punching bag in front of him, before reeling back with a snarl and slamming his fist forward. The blow ripped through the bag’s leather and sent it flying from its chains. John straightened, watching as shredded material that had filled the bag settled across the ground. Shit. He was going to have to clean that up now.

“Woah, what did the bag do to you?” asked a voice from behind him. Bob.

John closed his eyes, collecting himself, before turning to face the other man. Bob was hovering at the entrance of the training room, looking lanky and awkward as usual. There were dark shadows under his eyes, indicating a lack of sleep. Bob’s tired eyes flicked between the demolished punching bag and John, almost warily, before he raised his hands.

“You know, never mind. You do you at,” he spared a glance at the wall, “five in the morning.”

“Bob,” John called, not unfriendly. Honestly, he’d take any distraction from being in his own head at that point. “What are you doing down here?”

Bob paused in his retreat from the room. “I, uh, couldn’t sleep. I was just wandering around, really. Heard the sounds from here, and, well, I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “thought you might be Bucky.”

Okay. Ow. Maybe John wasn’t warm and cuddly if Bob was seeking some kind of comfort, but neither was Bucky. John thought he’d built some form of rapport with Bob–and the other Thunderbolts–while living in the Watchtower. Which was saying nothing of the fact that he was part of the whole group-hug-to-save-New-York thing. John would have thought that he’d earned some trust.

He must have made some kind of face, and Bob cringed. “Oh god, that sounded awful. I just meant that, well, I’ve been doing a bit of training with Bucky and Yelena. But all the punching didn’t sound like Yelena, so I thought it could be Bucky, and I thought we could…I don’t know, train?”

“Then get in here.”

“Uh-huh-huh, what?” Bob stuttered.

John raised his eyebrows expectantly and beckoned Bob forward with a wave of his hand. “Anything Bucky has been teaching you, I can teach you.”

Bob took a few tentative steps forward, nodding. “Yeah, that’s probably true…”

Up close, Bob–who was barefoot and in his pajamas–looked even more like shit. In addition to his bruised eyes and pale skin, his hair was tangled. It looked like someone had been trying to rip it from his head, and John could hazard a guess as to who that was.

They all knew Bob had nightmares. Hell, all of them had nightmares–that was why John was training at five in the morning, anyway. But Bob’s nightmares tended to be more of the wake-up-screaming-and-thrashing variety. The first week after he’d remembered the Void incident had been the worst.

John wouldn’t ask him about it.

Instead, they ran some basics. John quickly realized that whatever ‘training’ Bob had been doing with Bucky and Yelena could hardly be called such. Or, Bob was so out of it that anything they’d told him was lost somewhere in the recesses of his brain.

John put on some punching mitts and had Bob throw a few hits. If they accomplished anything, it would be that Bob wouldn’t break his hand if he did ever find himself punching anyone…that was, if Bob was capable of breaking his hand. The jury was still out on how invulnerable Bob was when he wasn’t actively in Sentry-mode, given that none of them wanted to test those limits and risk another Void incident.

John tossed out various instructions as Bob practiced.

“Punch through the target, Bobb–” John started, cutting himself off awkwardly. “Bob.”

Calling Bob “Bobby” was a bad habit he was still trying to break. Yelena had told him she’d heard Bob’s sorry excuse of a dad calling him “Bobby” while with him in that first shame room, and it was clear that her sharing was an instruction for him to stop. Which, again, ow. He wasn’t that much of an asshole that he’d keep consciously using a stupid nickname that was only associated with bad memories. Especially when invoking said bad memories could bring about the literal end of the world.

(They knew that Olivia had left him and taken Jack. Sometimes, John wondered just how low their opinion of him was. Did they think he was as horrible a piece of shit as Bob’s father? He would admit that he was a terrible husband and father but not…shit, not like that.)

Bob either didn’t notice the slip or ignored it. He continued to practice his punches with slightly better form but certainly without Sentry strength, given that John’s arms remained attached to his body. They continued for an indeterminate amount of time, until it was clear that Bob was winding down. He looked less harried than when he first entered the gym anyway. John sent him to get himself water, anticipating he might not come back, and set about dealing with the punching bag he’d torn.

He crouched next to it and huffed, running a hand through his hair. Moving it without spilling the textile material that was supposed to remain inside the bag everywhere–or, well, everywhere else–was going to be a bitch.

A broom appeared in his peripheral vision, the person holding it seeming uncertain. John must have lingered for longer than he thought if Bob was back. He looked over, seeing that Bob had grabbed a broom and a handful of trash bags.

“I, uh, didn’t know the best way to clean it up,” he said.

John stood and gave him a nod. “That’ll work. Thanks, Bob.” He gestured for the broom, and Bob handed it over.

He stayed quiet, holding open trash bags as John swept up the material and collected it in the bags. Only once everything was bagged did Bob ask, “Did you, uh, want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” John replied, clipped.

Bob winced. “Yeah, sorry, shouldn’t have asked again. My bad.” He looked like a kicked puppy.

“It’s fine, Bob. You just asked a question.” John paused, deliberating. He motioned to the trash bags listlessly. “I…got angry, is all.”

The nightmare on rotation that night had involved his time as Captain America. It had been three years, but John had a feeling that he’d never be free from waking up in a cold sweat after hearing Lemar’s skull crack against that damn column again and again and again. Because he knew. He knew if he’d just been better, been the Captain America he was supposed to be, that Lemar would still be alive.

(He’d gladly trade places with him.)

But John hadn’t just failed Lemar. He’d failed the world, and it had been broadcast for all eyes to see. John couldn’t always pinpoint what he was more furious over: his failures or the way he’d been condemned for them.

So, yeah, he was in the gym at five in the morning.

He was snapped out of his spiralling thoughts by a comment from Bob. “I get angry sometimes, too.” He chuckled without humor. “Really angry.”

John glanced at him, disbelieving. Bob, angry? John would believe that of the Sentry-side of him, but not of Bob.

Bob continued, “The anger normally comes with the highs, when I feel like I can do anything. And when I start thinking that, I start to wonder–why did I let so much bad happen to me? Why did I let my dad look down on me and Mom?” He shrugged. “It’s never ended well.”

John did not have a clue what to say to that. He was spared from having to formulate a reply as Bob went on to say, “But being with you guys has helped!” Bob smiled faintly. “I never really had people to talk to about this stuff before meeting you all in the vault. Yelena’s been telling me it’s not good to bottle things up. Of course, this was after she first told me that’s what I should do, but we’re all learning, here.”

“Right,” John said slowly.

Bob’s grin took on a nervous quality. “Anyway, I, uh, I’m just saying, you know. If you ever want to talk instead of punching things,” he gestured vaguely, “then there are five other people in this tower.”

“I’ll…keep that in mind.”

Bob fidgeted anxiously but gave John a nod. The conversation lulled as they gathered the trash bags and carried them to the hall for whoever it was that took their trash out to grab. Given it was nearing seven, and that neither of them was inclined to try to sleep, the two headed up to the kitchen.

Most of the team, spare Alexei, woke before eight, so John and Bob decided to occupy themselves by making breakfast. John put Bob on scrambled egg duty–it was hard to mess those up, and Bob wasn’t the most confident of chefs–while he went about making pancakes. Half the batch was blueberry–for himself, Ava, and Bucky–and half were chocolate chip–for Bob, Yelena, and Alexei (whenever he was awake to eat them).

Yelena made her presence known with a loud complaint. “Oh my god, why does it smell like man sweat in the kitchen?” She paused, observing the pancake batter, and crinkled her nose. “I can forgive you, but only if your funk doesn’t infect the pancakes.”

John rolled his eyes. “There’s no sweat in the pancake batter, Yelena.”

“That is so disgusting to even think about. Why would you say that?”

She settled herself at the counter, popping a blueberry in her mouth, and continued to bicker with John as he made the pancakes. Bucky and Ava soon filed in as well. Ava joined in on annoying John while Bucky ignored their antics to put on a pot of coffee.

As the five of them flitted about the kitchen, John reflected on Bob’s words from the gym. This he was fine with. Living with the Thunderbolts was challenging in its way, but it was also less…lonely. John was used to sharing a living space, whether it be cramped quarters while deployed or stateside with…with Olivia and Jack. He’d hated the emptiness of his old apartment. It felt less like the walls were closing in on him when other people were filling the rooms.

He was bizarrely okay with living with his ragtag bunch of roommates. But telling them about his nightmares? Expressing his fears and regrets, or how angry he still was? How some days he wondered what it was all for? That was another story. He hadn’t even been able to talk to Olivia about half the things that went on inside his head.

He’d take his issues to the grave, thank you very much.

“Ava,” John said, “we have a situation.”

“Yeah, and his name is Captain-fucking-Ame–”

“Not him,” John cut her off urgently. “Sentry. Top floor of the building.”

There was a notable pause. John could picture the stunned look on Ava’s face as she processed the information. Her breath rattled in alarm. “Fuck! I’m on my way, and I’ll try to contact Yelena. The elevator is shot, but I’ll find my way up there. Stay on comms and don’t do anything stupid to set him off.”

“It’s a bit rude to have a whole conversation like I’m not even here,” Bob–no, not Bob–Sentry commented.

He glided into the room and observed the wreckage wrought by Sam and John’s fight with Ford and the rest of his Hydra cronies. With a flick of his arm, the unconscious men were dragged weightlessly through the air by their collars and deposited in a heap at the edge of the room. The shattered glass was swept aside, leaving a bare surface for Sentry to step onto. John found it ironic that the man felt the need to do so. Besides the fact that he was fitted with combat boots, it wasn’t like the glass could hope to pierce skin that John had seen effortlessly deflect bullets.

“What are you doing up here, Bob?” John asked. He tried to keep his tone light.

“He acts like he’s better than you, than our team,” Sentry answered. His head tilted in confusion. “But it’s just like you said, he doesn’t even know us, or you. He has no idea what we’re–I’m–capable of.”

Oh, fuck. Sentry had a target, and Sam Wilson had no idea the amount of danger he was in. Sure, John was pissed at him, but siccing Senty on him was overkill, even by his standards. They’d stood no chance against him back when Valentina was manipulating him, and that was with five of them. There was also the fact that Sentry had held back. He hadn’t wanted to kill or seriously injure any of them. Sentry held no such reservations about Sam Wilson. There was no telling if he would stop if he was able to get to Sam.

John couldn’t warn him. Sentry would hear, and there was no chance in hell Sam could get away fast enough. Maybe he could hint to Ava to tell him? But Sam would have to listen to and believe them, and John doubted that he would–after all, his trust in them was razor-thin, and he knew nothing about Bob. Warning him wouldn’t work.

There was one other option: stall.

John had to keep Sentry distracted and away from Sam until they could figure out how to bring Bob back. Maybe when Ava got to them they could try another group hug.

“Look, Sam is pissed about the Avengers name and Valentina, that’s all,” John asserted, hardly believing he was standing there defending Sam Wilson’s point of view. “He said stupid shit and so did I.”

Sentry shook his head, disbelieving. “N–no. That’s not right.” He was pacing a bit and pointed at John without looking at him. “What you said made sense. He’s made assumptions about the team without even taking the time to try to know you guys, but he gives Bucky a pass because he knew him before.” Sentry tilted his head inquisitively. “Or is it because Steve Rogers was Bucky’s friend?”

“Now you’re making assumptions,” John countered. Sam wasn’t John’s favorite person by any stretch of the imagination, but that judgment seemed too harsh.

Sentry acknowledged the point with a dip of his head. “Maybe.” His gaze hardened. “But I heard what he said now, and you or he can’t deny that he looks down on you, Yelena, Ava, Alexei,” he paused and added, “Me.”

He had slowly drifted forward while speaking, steps carrying him toward the hall where Sam had gone.

“Why should we have to tolerate that?” he asked, tone dangerous, as he gazed ahead.

“A lot of people don’t like us, Bob,” John argued. “We can talk about it like adults and not by…doing whatever you’re planning on doing.”

Sentry side-eyed him, not convinced. “Actions speak louder than words.” He looked away and continued his slow march across the room.

Shit, shit, shit. Stalling wasn’t working. Sentry had a one-track mind, apparently, and it was focused on teaching Sam Wilson a potentially lethal lesson. He’d have to switch tactics to his second, worse option: provocation.

John scoffed. “Aren’t you proving his point right now, Bobby?” Sentry halted, glancing over his shoulder with narrowed golden eyes. Hoping like hell that Bob was in there somewhere still, John continued, “We want to call ourselves heroes, but you’re planning to hurt Captain America? Seems counterintuitive.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Sentry replied. He shook his head. “You’re trying to defend him even when he’s just going to be an obstacle to our team. I need to show him not to be. Stay back, and don’t get in my way. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He moved, steps increasing in pace, and John panicked. He had to keep Sentry distracted, somehow.

The Hydra gun he’d pilfered earlier glowed blue in his hand as he drew it, and John fired the pulsing shot directly at Sentry. The energy blast that had been enough to destroy rooms and crumble concrete glanced off the superhuman like a summer breeze. His clothes and hair were ruffled by the blast, but Sentry didn’t so much as lose a step. Honestly, John shouldn’t have expected anything more.

John staggered back as Sentry appeared in front of him what seemed like moments later. The gun was seized from his hand and thrown telekinetically across the room, and Sentry gave him a look that was almost…disappointed.

“I said,” he repeated, “that I don’t want to hurt you. Stay back.”

With a jerk of Sentry’s chin, John was sent soaring through the air, and he crashed into the wall. His head slammed backward, no longer protected by the helmet he’d thrown off, and he briefly saw stars. John slid to the ground, fighting to regain his breath.

“What the hell is going on now?” shouted a voice from the hall. “No one is answering their comms–Walker?”

Shit!

John fumbled for his comm, pressing the button to switch it to the open channel. He wheezed, “Sam, run.”

But even if Sam would have listened to him, it was too late. The man was already walking through the door, shield raised protectively. Not that it did him any good. Seconds after he walked through the door, Sentry was in front of him, and the shield was halfway across the room.

Sam’s voice was incredulous. “Bob?”

“It’s Sentry, actually,” Sentry clarified, and, with no further fanfare, punched him in the chest. He disappeared back into the hall, body sent rocketing by the blow. John heard a distant crunch–the frame of Sam’s wings against concrete, if he had to guess. Sentry flew after him, and John struggled to get up. He eyed the .45 that he’d lost earlier in the fight, scrambling to grab it before pushing himself to his feet. The shield was in the middle of the room, and John could grab that too.

He hesitated. What would even be the point?

His moment of indecision was enough to lose what chance he had. Sam crashed and tumbled through the room, his wings expanding in a desperate bid to catch himself. He managed to land in a crouch, wings half-extended, only feet away from John. He had lost his goggles, and John could see the panic in his eyes. There was a cut across the left side of his face, bleeding sluggishly.

John rushed forward, placing himself between Sam and the hall.

“Walker,” Sam gasped, “what the actual fuck–”

“Shut up,” John hissed. “You can’t fight him, let me try–”

Sentry drifted into the room, eyes glancing between Sam and John. He frowned. John holstered his gun–it wasn’t like it would do any damage to Sentry anyway–and raised his hands imploringly.

“Bob, calm down. This isn’t going to accomplish what you want it to.”

Sentry ignored him, instead settling on the ground next to the fallen shield. He observed it idly, and the room lingered in tense silence only broken by Sam’s pained breaths. Sentry finally looked up at them.

“It seems silly. So much trouble over a frisbee.”

John tensed, hoping like hell that Sam wouldn’t say anything stupid in response to the insult.

“A frisbee?!” Sam snapped. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Shit. Could Sam not have let his Steve Rogers worship go for one minute?

“I don’t?” Sentry inquired. He flew forward, and John stumbled as Sentry crowded Sam’s space. Sam had managed to stand straight, and John had to give it to him: he was able to maintain a brave face while having a staring contest with what amounted to a demigod.

John reached forward, trying to grab Bob’s arm. He was desperate enough to try out a hug by himself at that point. His hand was suspended inches away, fighting against an unseen force. Sentry glanced over his shoulder at him.

“For the last time, John, I don’t want to hurt you.”

His arm was thrown to the side, and John was sent skidding backwards. This time, at least, he wasn’t thrown into a wall. He was instead deposited by the passed-out Hydra agents, a pair of cuffs appearing from what seemed like thin air to latch around John’s right wrist. The other half fastened around the wrist of one of the Hydra agents, and the cuffs glowed blue once sealed.

Of course Hydra had made energized handcuffs, and of course Bob had found a set. That was just his fucking luck. He didn’t know if he could break out of them, and the deadweight of the unconscious agent would severely limit any movement John tried to make.

John sat forward on his knees, frantically twisting his arm to get a look at the cuff and see if he could figure out how to bust out of it. In his peripheral vision, he could see Sam attempt to attack Sentry, trying to slice at him with his wings. Sentry merely raised a hand, and Sam was halted in mid-air. The metal wings groaned. John winced as they gave way with a grating creak, sparks showering the air around Sam and Sentry. The sound, the visual–it sent him back to a warehouse, to a struggle with Bucky and Sam that he wished he could forget.

The broken wings crashed to the ground, and Sentry loomed in front of Sam.

“I want you to tell me what you told him,” he demanded. Sam cringed–whether it be from pain, fear, or regret, John would never know–but did not reply. Sentry sneered in the face of his silence, “Not so easy to say now, is it?”

A metal feather from Sam’s wings was torn upward and sliced across Sam’s arm. It ripped through his suit, enough to draw blood. Metal scraped against metal as more feathers were wrenched loose. They remained suspended in the air, hovering in a circle around Sentry and Sam.

John had to do something–anything. Even if Sentry held back enough not to kill Sam, which John doubted he would, John couldn’t allow him to maim the man. He tore at the center of the cuff and started as a shock jolted his hand. John growled in frustration. There was no way to know how powerful a shock the cuffs were capable of delivering, and he could end up knocking himself out if he continued. Breaking the cuffs wasn’t an option.

John grit his teeth and broke his thumb instead.

His hand slid out of the cuff, and the Hydra agent’s arm flopped back to the ground. John rose to his feet, left hand hovering by his holster. He was out of Sentry’s line of sight, but John knew any kind of sneak attack would be futile. Talking to him hadn’t worked.

What the hell was he meant to do?

The world seemed to still as a thought occurred to him. Sentry had emphasized, not once, not twice, but three times that he didn’t want to hurt John. It was clear, too, that he didn’t. A smack against the wall and a shock from a pair of juiced-up handcuffs were nothing compared to what Sentry was capable of.

A dangerous idea began to take shape in his mind. John drew his .45, forced to use his left hand due to his broken thumb. His hand was shaking. Was he…was he really about to do this?

The metal feathers around Sam quivered in the air.

“Go on,” Sentry mocked, “tell me how little you think of us.” A feather struck, this time across Sam’s leg. “Tell me how we’re unworthy to be Avengers.” Sam winced as a gash was torn open on his side.

“Nothing,” Sam ground out, “I say to you is going to matter, is it?”

Sentry paused, held tilted. “No. It won’t. But you can try.”

Another feather drifted upward, settling in a clear threat mere inches away from Sam’s right eye.

There was no more time for deliberation. John had to act. Had to make a choice.

The conclusion he came to was simple, in the end: the world needed Captain America. It didn’t need John Walker, or US Agent, or whatever the fuck Valentina would decide to call him next week if he was still around. His plan could still get Sam killed if he’d miscalculated, but John was out of options.

He pressed a button on his comm.

“Ava,” he whispered, not wanting Sentry to hear, “if this goes south, it’s up to you.”

“What the hell does that mean? Just hold on, John. I’m almost–” Her harried voice cut off as John switched to the open channel.

“Sam, on my signal, run like hell,” John instructed. He kept his voice low but thought he saw Sam’s panicked eyes flick to him in confusion. “You’ll know what it is.”

John turned off his comm, ripping it out of his ear and tossing it aside. John willed himself to move, striding toward the window Sam had been thrown through earlier. It was…lucky that Sentry was facing the opposite direction, John supposed. A breeze rustled his hair as John settled himself at the edge. Go big or go home, right?

Fuck.

He wondered if Olivia would mourn him. If Jack would even remember him.

Sam had tracked his movement, his eyes going wide. His voice was strained as he choked out, “Walker, wha–”

Sentry cut him off harshly, “Don’t look at him. Eyes on me.”

Sam didn’t heed the words, gaze following John as he struggled fruitlessly against Sentry’s hold. John watched almost passively. Resolved. He raised his gun to his temple, leaving a measly few centimeters between metal and flesh. He breathed in. He breathed out.

“Hey, asshole wearing Bob’s face!” John yelled. His voice didn’t crack, thank fuck. Sentry didn’t look back. John persevered past the inattention and demanded, “You said you didn’t want to hurt me? Well, here’s two choices, shithead: hurt Sam or save me.”

John didn’t wait–couldn’t wait–and pulled the trigger. Many things then seemed to happen at once: someone, a woman, screamed a protest; a sound like thunder cracked in John’s ear; his gun was jerked upward and out of his hand by an outside force; and a flash of pain tore across his skull. Aware only of the fact that he, miraculously, wasn’t dead but was in a shit-ton of pain, John stumbled back, boots finding no purchase at the building’s edge. He fell backward into the open air, catching a glimpse through his stinging eyes of Sam crashing weightlessly to the floor as the figure holding him turned around.

The world blurred blue and grey as he plummeted downward before abruptly coming back into sharp focus. John lurched as his momentum was arrested, the movement rolling his stomach. He blinked, hopelessly attempting to clear the blood running into his eyes. Stories above him was a blurry form in black, hand extended. John could almost swear the hand was trembling.

John looked down, and his breath hitched. He was suspended in the open air, hundreds of feet up. It was impossible, and yet, in the world they lived in, it wasn’t. His eyes screwed shut as John attempted to even out his shaking breaths. The cold air stung across his forehead, the pain keeping him present, as he was floated upward. John could almost hear a voice saying something past the ringing echoing in his skull. Whatever it was, it sounded concerned.

John felt his feet touch solid ground, and a hand at his shoulder steadied him. He blinked his eyes open. Through the red haze and fuzzy black dots dancing across his vision, he saw Bob–and it could only be Bob. He was shaking like a leaf as he clutched John’s shoulder. Behind him stood a gaping Sam Wilson. He looked as if he’d stopped mid-sprint, but judging by his direction, he hadn’t been trying to flee from Bob as John had instructed–he’d been running toward John. To the Captain’s right was Ava, body flickering in and out of existence. She seemed to gain some control of her powers, helmet retracting to reveal her widened, glossy eyes. Her hair was plastered to her face, and she was panting in short breaths. She had to have pushed both her powers and physical strength to their limits to reach this floor of the building as fast as she had.

John focused back on Bob. Black shadows were creeping across his face, but began to recede as Bob breathed out, “You’re okay?” There wasn’t a trace of gold in his eyes.

John grinned, hoping his teeth weren’t too bloody, and said, “There you are, Bob,” before promptly collapsing to his knees as his body and mind gave up the fight to remain conscious.

Chapter Text

John came to awareness slowly. His mouth and throat were dry, and the sharp scent of antiseptic stung at his nose. An incessant beeping rang in his ears. He cracked his eyes open, only to screw them shut again as his vision was assaulted with a stark white environment. His head hurt like hell.

His eyes snapped open again a moment later because what the fuck. He felt his breath quicken in pace.

“John, calm down. You’re in the hospital.”

He blinked, trying to focus his vision past the blinding lights, and looked toward the voice. John felt himself relax as what he had heard matched what he saw. It was Bucky.

“Bucky?” he croaked. Shit, his mouth was dry. “Is everyone–?”

“Everyone is fine,” Bucky answered. He wasn’t in uniform, dressed instead in his street clothes. He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and the lines on his face seemed more pronounced. He sat forward in his chair, a half-grin on his face. “That’s the third time you’ve asked, in case you were wondering.”

John stared at him, not comprehending his words.

“You’re coming off the sedative, Johnny,” said another voice. Accented, female. John was spared from having to search her out in the room as Yelena stepped softly into his vision, hovering to Bucky’s right. She was dressed comfortably as well. “Think you can stay awake this time?”

“No promises,” he grumbled.

There was a weight on his forehead, and John raised a hand to investigate but paused as he observed the brace on his right hand. He turned his hand over and experimented with wiggling his thumb. It twinged with the movement.

“You broke your thumb,” Yelena explained softly.

John let out a slow breath. “Yeah. I remember.”

He looked up to see Bucky and Yelena exchange a glance. Yelena gave Bucky a nod before smiling at John. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. She said, “You seem more awake this time. Let me get a nurse.”

She slipped lithely past Bucky, pushing aside a flowery curtain to exit through a sliding glass door concealed behind it. John briefly caught a glimpse of a busy hospital ward before the curtain fell closed again.

“You’re a VIP,” Bucky noted. “Means you get to have the curtain closed.”

“Lucky me,” John replied. He supposed he was grateful for the modicum of privacy it provided. The New Avengers weren’t exactly popular, but they were public figures regardless, and John was well aware how nosy people could be.

The room lapsed into silence, broken only by the annoying, steady beeping.

“How bad was it?” John found the courage to ask.

Bucky’s eyes softened, but he didn’t mince words. “Bad. Not as bad as it could have been, but still pretty fucking bad. It’s been about a day and a half.”

“I was sedated the whole time?”

“Intubated, operated on, sedated. The whole ten miles,” Bucky listed. John accepted the information numbly. “Pretty sure the serum burned through half the hospital’s propofol.” He gestured to an IV pole to his left and John’s right. John counted three separate IV bags. “You’re working on their Precedex now.”

John snorted. “You a doctor now?”

“I had a lot of time to sit here and stare at the bags.”

Their conversation was cut short as Yelena reappeared in the room with a nurse. Yelena and Bucky observed quietly as the woman, whose nametag read “Ashley,” ran through a few quick assessments with John. He confirmed his name, where he was, and the year. She had him take a few sips of water to ensure he could drink without choking. It helped ease the dryness in his throat by a fraction.

As the nurse went through the motions, they were joined in the small room by a critical care doctor who introduced herself as Dr. Choi.

“Good to see you more awake, Mr. Walker,” she said with a smile. She then gave a brief explanation of his medical treatment. He’d been intubated in the field and rushed into imaging and neurosurgery once he arrived at the hospital. The gunshot had impacted across his hairline on the left side of his face, rupturing pieces of his skull that needed to be extracted from his frontal lobe. His neurosurgeon–a man named Dr. Shepard–would need to come by to assess him as well. Dr. Choi, though, was reassured by his responses. No overt signs of permanent brain damage, he supposed.

“We have you on antibiotics to prevent any infection in the wound,” Dr. Choi explained. “You’ll also need to take an antiepileptic twice a day for a week to prevent any chance of seizures. For now, though, we’ll start weaning you off the Precedex since you’re less agitated.”

Dr. Choi then rattled off some numbers to the nurse, and Ashley went about pressing buttons on the machinery linked to the hanging medications. John eyed the IV bags as she did so. He did feel strangely calm, and he found that he wasn’t looking forward to what awaited him in his mind when the medication wore off.

The doctor and nurse left shortly thereafter, apparently satisfied that John wasn’t in any imminent medical danger.

Once they had left, Yelena scooted a chair closer to John’s hospital bed. She flopped down in it and commented, “At least they did not have to shave all your hair.” She motioned to the left side of her face. “Just a little bit off the left. It’s fashionable, really. All the kids these days are doing undercuts.”

“I’m not a kid, Yelena.”

“But you will look so cool to them.”

John rolled his eyes, but he appreciated what Yelena was doing. Distraction. It was half working, but John felt antsy. Maybe the drug was wearing off even faster than he thought it would. Stupid serum.

His hand itched to reach for his phone, but he had no idea where the device was. He wanted to see the news, to see if anything about this…incident had been reported. If he’d been picked up in the field, he couldn’t imagine that it hadn’t. Without a way to access the information himself, he would have to settle for asking.

“How much of this went public?” he questioned with a vague gesture.

Yelena gave him a flat look. “Who the fuck cares?”

John blinked at her. “Uh, we all should? Our press was bad enough. Now we fucked up a mission with Captain Amer–”

Yelena held up a hand. “Uh-uh. Nope. I can’t listen to this.” She turned to Bucky. “This is why I said we have to confiscate his phone.”

“Confiscate my phone? What the fuck?”

The expression on Yelena’s face was understanding, too understanding, as she considered him. “I’ve seen you reading the news. Stories about us, about yourself. I used to do the same, but I’ve learned to distance myself. It’s not good for you.”

“Okay, I think you’re being a bit dramatic,” John said, his hands raised placatingly. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Bucky input flatly. “There’s nothing to be concerned about. You only shot yourself in the head, is all.”

John flinched at the words, and Yelena reached over to backhand Bucky across the arm, giving him a harsh glare. Bucky winced, either from regret at what he’d said or from Yelena’s smack. He sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“Look, we have to talk about it,” Bucky stated. His eyes were sympathetic as he considered John. “Maybe it’s better to while some of that,” he jerked his head at the medications, “is still in your system.”

John’s hands fell, and he clutched at the scratchy hospital blanket to keep them from shaking.

“We don’t–it’s not a big deal. I did what I had to.” The words spilled out fast and defensively. “Did you talk to Sam? Or to Ava?”

“Yeah, we did,” Bucky answered. He paused for a beat, deliberative. “We have the audio logs from the mission, too.”

John stilled at that. They’d heard? They had listened to his argument with Sam and to everything that came after?

“There was a moment in the vault,” Yelena said, her voice soft. John gave her an inquisitive look. What did the vault have to do with anything? She continued, “It was when we got out of the elevator shaft, and Bob sent you to the Void. You stepped toward the ledge, John. We shouldn’t have ignored that.”

“I–that doesn’t count. That was the Void,” he argued.

“It didn’t count that time because of Bob, and it doesn’t count this time because of Bob, too?” Yelena asked sceptically.

John shook his head. “Not Bob. Sentry.” It was an essential clarification. Bob may not have been there to hear, but it needed to be said that it wasn’t Bob’s fault.

“Sentry,” Yelena acknowledged. “Still, tomato, potato.”

“Tomato, to-mah-to,” Bucky corrected idly.

“Oh my god, whatever. Stupid American saying.”

John couldn’t help himself. He laughed. The situation was just so ridiculous to him all of a sudden. He was in a hospital room with Bucky Barnes–former Winter Soldier, best friend of Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson–and Yelena Belova–former Black Widow, sister to a late Avenger—two people who shouldn’t care about him. People he shouldn’t know well enough to find their antics amusing and not frustrating, especially in his current circumstances. If he’d been informed a few months ago that this was the direction his life would take, he would have shot the person who’d told him.

When John caught his breath again, he half-expected to find Bucky and Yelena looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Instead, they looked something akin to fond.

He was, unbidden, reminded of Lemar. Lemar had been in the literal trenches with him, and they had understood one another like the back of their own hand. After he had died–had been murdered–it felt like John had lost a lifeline. His rope had frayed and snapped, and he’d been sent plummeting in the pitch-dark. Olivia had tried. She had been there for him, a hand reaching out, but there were so many things he couldn’t bring himself to tell her. About war, about the shadow ops he ran for Valentina. Even if she–and the world–had seen him at his worst, John didn’t want her to think any less of him than she already must.

It was ironic to reflect on, given the inevitable conclusion to their relationship.

When she was gone, he threw himself into Valentina’s missions with abandon. She had promised him, at the beginning, that there was a purpose to them. That he would have to start in the shadows and fight to gain back the respect he’d lost. He had thought, then, that if he just did enough missions, it would be worth something. The promise of a clean slate, a new start, compelled him enough to drive him forward with reckless ambition, chasing after a life that he’d lost.

But if something had happened on one of the many shadow ops, and he hadn’t come back? Well, it wasn’t as if anyone was waiting for him at home. Lemar, though, was waiting for him on the other side.

Then the job had almost killed him, and he’d somehow ended up helping save New York. He supposed he had gotten that clean slate, in a way, and more publicly than he would have liked. But more importantly, he had met them.

If Lemar were here, he would want John to talk to someone.

“What’s going on in that head over there?” Bucky inquired gingerly.

Too much, he thought. He took a breath and steeled himself. Finally, John spoke, “I didn’t want to die. You said you listened to the comm recordings?” Bucky and Yelena both nodded. Yelena inched closer, leaning forward attentively as John continued, “Sentry kept saying he didn’t want to hurt me–the Bob part of him, I guessed. Nothing I’d said had worked to talk him down, and, fuck, you should have seen it. I thought he was going to kill Sam.”

Bucky fidgeted at the words, brows furrowed and mouth downturned into a frown.

“I had to do something,” John insisted. “I thought if I put myself in enough danger, that would snap Bob out of it, or distract him enough for Sam to get away. But he’s inhuman. If he had realized what I was up to, it would have been over. I did warn him–I acted fast because I had to, but I…” his voice trailed off. The moments before he lost consciousness were a blur. Had he thought that Sentry would be fast enough to save him from the gunshot, or had he not?

Yelena’s voice was quiet, sad. “You didn’t want to die, but you thought you would?”

Fuck. He couldn’t deny it.

John turned away, staring at one of the flowers on the door’s curtain. His head jerked in confirmation.

He started as a hand rested on his. John looked down as Yelena uncurled John’s non-injured hand–he hadn’t realized how tightly it had been clenched in a fist. There were small crescents of red on his palm and staining the white blanket. Yelena took his hand in hers. She was a surprisingly tactile person, John had learned, despite her upbringing as a child assassin.

“We’re glad you’re here, you dummy. Please don’t leave.”

“I–” his voice cracked. John leaned back, pressing his free arm against his stinging eyes. Yelena rubbed comforting circles against the back of his hand as he worked to collect himself. After the burning in his eyes abated, he rubbed his hand across his face, thankful that no tears had fallen. The ceiling above him was tiled white with black specs. He wondered if he could count them.

“Thank you for talking to us,” said Bucky’s voice, drawing John’s attention back to the room. He had a hand resting on Yelena’s shoulder. “I know what it’s like to think you can’t open up to anyone. But we’re a team now, and we have each other’s backs.”

“More than a team,” Yelena asserted with a squeeze of John’s hand. “A family, okay?”

John didn’t have a great track record with family, but then, neither did any of the other Thunderbolts.

“Okay,” he agreed. His voice was hoarse.

Silence lingered in the room for several moments, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“How are Bob and Ava?” John finally asked. “Bob didn’t…go all Void, did he? I’m assuming not since we’re all here.”

“No, no Void,” Yelena confirmed. She was still holding his hand. John found that he…didn’t mind.

“Alexei is with both of them at a hotel across the street. They took some convincing to leave, but they needed the rest last night. Besides, the hospital only allows one person to stay overnight and two visitors max during normal hours,” Bucky elaborated.

“They’ll want to see you now that they know you’re awake, and we still have a couple of hours left for visitation,” Yelena said. “Would you be okay with them coming?”

John nodded. “Yeah, I need to see them.” He paused, contemplative. “How’s Sam? Sentry wasn’t exactly gentle with him.”

An expression flit across Yelena’s face, gone far too fast for John to register what it had been. Bucky let out a breath and answered, “He needed some stitches, but he’ll be fine.” It seemed as if there was more he wanted to say. His mouth opened, then closed.

Yelena took any chance he had to continue. “We can let Alexei know they can head over, if that’s alright?”

When John confirmed it was, Yelena smiled at him before she slipped her hand out of his. She pulled out her phone to send a text, chewing her lip as she did. Once it was sent, she looked back up at him. There was hesitance in her eyes.

“You want to say something,” John noted.

Yelena expelled a puff of air, and a stray strand of blond hair was blown out of her face.

“Bob may not have ‘gone Void,’ but he and Ava are not…alright,” she revealed. “You scared all of us, but they had to…see.”

“...yeah,” John acknowledged, his voice quiet. Fuck.

Bucky drew their attention as he stood from his chair. He patted Yelena’s shoulder before maneuvering himself to John’s right.

“I spent some time looking into therapists,” Bucky said. “You already know I had court-mandated therapy with Dr. Raynor. I hated it at first, but…it did help me. We’ll all be starting later this week.”

John cringed. He had met with shrinks in the past. It had been mandated on him, too. Not after his stint as Captain America, but before, during his military time. He had run too many operations in hostage rescue and counterterrorism not to have seen many a mission that had ended poorly. With the worst ones came an obligatory meeting with a counselor, when in a location that allowed for it. John had known what to say to get out of any follow-ups, and Lemar had eventually stopped scolding him for doing so when he realized John wasn’t going to stop.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and John met eyes with Bucky. Bucky, who had been brainwashed into a literal weapon for years upon years, but had lived through it and was standing here telling him that therapy was useful.

“That’s…fair,” John agreed with a sigh.

Bucky smiled slightly. His hand curled in a fist, and he tapped John lightly on the shoulder. His metal hand then produced a small game console, and he handed it to John. He accepted it incredulously, turning it over in his hands.

“What’s this?”

“Something for you to occupy yourself with,” Bucky answered. He fidgeted awkwardly, as if embarrassed. “It, uh, has Tetris. I read that it can help with–” he gestured vaguely, “–well, I read that it can help.”

John found himself getting choked up at the gesture. It was small, simple.

It was everything.

The moment was broken as a knock sounded on the glass door. It slid open, and Bucky moved back to his chair at the end of the bed as the neurosurgeon appeared at the doorway. John identified him as Dr. Shepard by his nametag. The man glanced between the three in the room, his expression understanding.

The doctor introduced himself and first asked if they had any questions.

“When can I leave?” John questioned, and both Bucky and Yelena shot him chagrined looks.

“Not today,” Dr. Shepard answered. “But I’ll admit, this is a bit unprecedented for me. You’ve already recovered much more rapidly than we would expect.” He shrugged. “There’s no reliable clinical data on super soldiers. I anticipate you can leave tomorrow, if you continue at this rate.”

John nodded. He could handle one more day in the hospital.

The neurosurgeon went on to describe the procedure he’d performed and showed them a series of scans as he talked. Hearing and seeing it laid out made John’s stomach roll. His fingers ghosted across the bandage secured across his head as Dr. Shepard concluded his explanation.

“We’ll switch your Keppra over to tablets this evening, but keep the antibiotics IV for now,” Dr. Shepard said. He closed out of the computer screen, the scans of John’s brain vanishing into a blank monitor. “We have you on higher doses than we would normally, but again, super soldier. The drug concentration was too low with our average doses.”

After confirming they had no more questions, the doctor slipped out of the room with a promise to check in on him again the next day.

“The others are in the waiting area,” Yelena announced after the man had gone. She typed out a message on her phone before looking at John. “We’ll have to trade out with the visitor rule. You’ll be okay for the next few minutes?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

She pointed her finger at him, half-playful, half-serious. “You better not.”

Bucky and Yelena exited moments later. Bucky cast one last look over his shoulder before he went, his eyes unreadable. The curtain fell shut, and his teammates were concealed from his view. John rested back on the hospital bed, gaze fixed ahead. He noted a small TV hanging in the corner of the room. John had enough experience with hospitals to know the remote lying on a tablet next to him would operate it. He could turn it on, find a news channel. His hands itched to reach for it.

John flipped open the console Bucky had given him and turned it on. It was easy to find Tetris on the home screen, and John launched the game. He played the puzzle game idly. It did its job and distracted him from his thoughts while he waited.

John played through a few games until his focus was interrupted by his next visitor. She introduced herself with a harsh comment.

“You motherfucker.”

John looked up from the game he was in the middle of failing at and raised a brow at Ava. Her form flickered as her molecules settled on their plane of existence–she must have phased through the door, explaining why John hadn’t heard her approach. Her suit was hidden under a baggy hoodie and a pair of sweats.

“Good to see you, too,” John said. The game chimed as John lost.

Ava’s face twisted, her expression cycling through a rapid succession of emotions. She shook herself and moved forward, going intangible as she phased through the hospital bed. Her form reappeared in the chair that Yelena had previously occupied, shifting and flickering before settling. Her head rested in her hands, hair hanging loose and messy in front of her.

“Ava–”

She cut him off with a hoarse whisper. “I thought I was too slow. Hell, I was too slow. I phased through the wall right as the gun went off, and all I saw was a spray of red before you fell. I thought you were fucking dead, John.”

A distant scream echoed in the recesses of his mind, a memory. It sounded a lot like Ava yelling his name.

Ava brushed her hair back and looked up. John was startled to see tear tracks lining her face, and it struck him that he had never seen her cry before.

“I might as well have spent the last day in the Void, for how many times I’ve seen you fall, over and over again.”

“I’m sor–”

“Don’t fucking apologize to me,” Ava demanded, and John’s mouth snapped shut. “Just don’t do anything that fucking stupid ever again.”

“I won’t,” John promised, and he wanted to mean it. He told himself that was good enough, for now. He paused as Ava wiped a hand underneath her eyes, then added, “I know you don’t want me to say it, but I am sorry that you had to see that.”

Her hand stilled, and she let out a shaky sigh. “I don’t want you to be sorry for me. I wish you’d be sorry for yourself.”

The words settled like a blow to the chest, and John winced. It took him several moments to gather his thoughts before he replied, “In the military, I got used to the idea that I might die.” Ava let her hand fall, giving John her full attention. There was no hint of her usual derision at John’s mention of his military experience.

John continued, “Sometimes death felt like an inevitability, but I kept making it out. A lot of people that I fought with didn’t. A lot of good people. Whenever we lost someone, I found myself wondering why them and not me, you know? I think…I think that’s stuck with me. I was tired of being the one left behind, because it fucking sucks.” He took a breath. “So, I am sorry. I’m sorry that I almost left you behind.”

His voice trailed off, and Ava nodded slowly. Her eyes were understanding.

“It does fucking suck,” she parroted. “So, we both agree then, right? Never again. No one is getting left behind.”

“Ohana means family.”

Ava’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Pardon?”

“Next movie night: Lilo and Stitch. You’ll get it then,” John clarified with a genuine grin.

Ava huffed, but her smile was real. “Only if we don’t let Alexei buy the snacks this time.”

“Definitely not,” John agreed with a shake of his head. “That was awful.”

“Why are we talking of my snacks?”

Speak of the devil. John and Ava turned to find Alexei shuffling into the hospital room. He was the most dressed-down John had ever seen him, wearing simple black attire. The Russian seemed to radiate warmth as he stepped into the room, smiling widely at them.

“Are you wanting snacks? I can go get some of the Wheaties, and the Poptarts–”

“We’re fine, Alexei, thanks,” John interjected. “I doubt that snacks are on my list of hospital-approved food.”

“This is tragedy. Why would hospital not let you have what you want?” Alexei asked, sounding genuinely puzzled, as he sat heavily in the unoccupied spot next to Ava. The question, though, must have been intended as a rhetorical one, as Alexei continued, “It is good to see you awake and well.” He patted Ava on the shoulder. “Had our Ghost so worried she rushed ahead of me.”

Ava looked away, embarrassed. John found the reaction amusing, given the emotional vulnerability of the conversation they’d just had. He’d tease her for it on a better day.

Alexei continued to chatter, and John and Ava let him fill the silence. John asked how their mission had gone, and Alexei informed him that they had successfully infiltrated the compound.

“We left in hurry, but Falcon stayed behind to wait for the clean-up crew from Valentina to arrive,” Alexei reported. “He is nice man, good man. Good at fighting but not as good as we New Avengers.”

Ava’s expression soured, and she muttered under her breath, “Wish he had come with us.”

Alexei paused. “Yes, me too.”

The room lapsed into stilted silence that was broken by a chime from Alexei’s phone. He always had the sound on, and it was always loud. He produced his phone from his pocket and swiped a finger across the screen, announcing, “Lena says that visit time is up in less than an hour.” Alexei frowned. “Why does hospital do this?”

Ava stood from her chair and explained, “It’s just standard, Alexei,” before asking, “I take it that’s our cue to let Bob have his turn?”

“Yes, that is what Lena said.”

Ava phased through the hospital bed once more, reappearing at John’s right. Her expression was vulnerable as she considered him.

Her voice was quiet. “No leaving anyone behind, right?”

“Never again,” John affirmed.

There was a small smile on her lips as she turned. “Good.” She phased out the door, and John idly wondered how much she was freaking out the hospital staff by doing so.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Alexei. The Russian had not stood but leaned forward in his chair. “You are good man also. Fighting with you is great honor, and I wish to continue to fight as comrades. We do this, yes?”

John was getting a little tired of his teammates causing his eyes to sting.

“Yeah, Alexei. We can do that.”

“Good,” Alexei said with a firm nod. It was then that he stood. “I will go get Lena and Bob.”

John was left alone for the second time, and, still not quite trusting where his thoughts might lead, returned to playing Tetris. It helped to both occupy him and to drown out the sounds from beyond his room. He was in an intensive care unit, so he could imagine how hectic it was just outside the door. Aside from the persistent beeping, he could hear distant alarms and the chatter of concerned medical staff. There seemed to be some kind of commotion at one point, and John heard distant, raised voices.

Ashley popped in for a moment to check on him while he waited for his next visitors, and she chatted idly with him about Tetris as she adjusted the dose of the Precedex down. John tried not to feel anxious over that, then wondered if that was why he was feeling anxious. The thought process was circular and never-ending, so John drowned it out by upping the difficulty on his Tetris game.

He made it through a few rounds before he started to grow concerned. It hadn’t taken Ava and Alexei this long to get to his room after Bucky and Yelena had left. He looked toward the curtain-concealed glass door, wanting to reach out and move it to see into the hospital ward.

As if he had willed it, the door opened moments later. It was not, however, Bob who shuffled past the curtain. Bucky was back.

John shot him a confused look and asked, “I thought Yelena and Bob were coming.”

Bucky ran a hand across his beard and sighed. “That was the plan, yeah. Bob…had a bit of a moment when they got to the ICU.”

John wondered if Bob’s ‘moment’ was the commotion he’d heard earlier.

“...is he okay?”

Bucky shook his hand in a so-so gesture. “He wants to see you, but he panicked. This is difficult for him as is, and he doesn’t have great experiences with hospitals.”

John felt a swell of guilt take hold. He knew that Ava had taken it hard enough; he couldn’t even imagine what he’d done to Bob. He was snapped out of his thoughts by a literal snap. Bucky’s hand was extended, and he shook his head once he noted John’s attention.

“This isn’t your fault,” Bucky asserted firmly. “Don’t go there.”

“...right.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t push the issue. He wound around the room before settling on a couch by the room’s window. John noted folded blankets and a pillow set above it. He remembered what Bucky had said earlier, that the hospital allowed one visitor to stay overnight. Somehow, he hadn’t connected that to meaning that someone would.

“Did you sleep here last night?”

“I did, and I’m staying tonight. The rest are headed back to the hotel.”

John wondered what it said about his mental state that he wasn’t offended that Bucky felt the need to babysit him in a hospital room, of all places. In fact, he wasn’t remotely close to offended. He was grateful.

A family, he mused, reflecting on Yelena’s earlier words and his joke to Ava.

Yeah. He guessed they were one.

Chapter Text

John woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest and his breath shaky. There was a metallic taste in his mouth. He couldn’t remember the dream–no, nightmare–that he’d woken from. John never knew which he preferred: knowing or not knowing. Was it better to have the bad memories readily at his mind or to not, forced instead to reflect on all the terrible things he’d seen or done that he could have dreamed about?

Given his current circumstances, he did have a fair guess as to what the nightmare entailed. The ringing in his left ear and pounding pain from his skull served as confirmation.

John sat up slowly, casting a glance to his side to see that Bucky appeared to be sleeping. Soft light was filtering in from the window, and it reflected off the vibranium arm that Bucky had taken off and set above the bed. It was odd to John that Bucky was so nonchalant with the arm, given not only the utility it served for him but also the precious metal it was constructed from. Though he supposed someone would have to be incredibly stupid to try to steal the thing from right under Bucky’s nose.

The clock on the wall noted the time as just before seven in the morning. John was surprised that he had slept as decently as he had. The hospital was hardly ever a restful place in John’s experience. They had also taken him off the sedative in the evening, and John had been paranoid as to how that would affect him. He found that he, thankfully, didn’t feel much different as long as he kept himself distracted.

John had played a lot of Tetris. He had been mildly chagrined when he realized the game console Bucky had given him didn’t have access to the internet–they were treating him with kid gloves. He still didn’t know where his phone was.

A sudden thought rolled his stomach, first from fear, then from shame that it had just occurred to him. If anything had been reported, then had Olivia seen? They may be divorced, but they had still known each other since they were high school kids. Then there was Jack to think about. They were working out the finer details of visitation now that Olivia was more open to the idea, but John had visited a handful of times since being named a New Avenger. They weren’t on the best of terms by any stretch of the imagination, but they were better than before. John needed to know if she’d heard or been told anything.

John threw a pillow at Bucky. Bucky’s hand shot out and intercepted it mid-air, and he lowered the pillow slowly, revealing his annoyed expression.

“Good morning,” he grumbled, sitting up and setting the pillow behind him. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes.

“What was the news, and did Olivia see?” John asked urgently.

Bucky paused, momentarily caught off guard. He reached behind him to grab his vibranium arm, attaching it as he spoke. “Yeah. She called a couple of times over the past two days. Yelena has your phone, so she’s been the one mostly talking to her.”

“What does she think happened?”

Bucky sighed, folding his hands in front of him. “The whole story isn’t public. The only thing the public knows is that you and Sam were hurt. Valentina started running interference pretty much instantly, so it’s stayed under wraps.” Bucky shrugged. “The one thing she’s good for.”

John stayed silent, waiting for Bucky to elaborate.

“Yelena told Olivia you were shot, that’s all. She knows it was in the head, and what needed to be done medically,” Bucky explained. He seemed to deliberate for a beat. “Sam spoke to her briefly, too. He told her you were shot saving his life.”

John blinked at him. “He…did?”

“Well, that’s what happened, isn’t it? He didn’t lie,” Bucky stated plainly. His eyes softened. “Anything else you want to share with her is your decision to make, not ours.”

Shit, John thought. What was he going to tell her?

They lapsed into silence, and Bucky pulled out his phone, typing on it. He explained that he was letting Yelena and the others know he was awake, in case Bob wanted to try to visit again when visiting hours started.

Soon, they were bombarded with medical staff. His nurse arrived first with a fresh IV bag of antibiotics to hang and some antiepileptic tablets for John to choke down. Dr. Choi came after and informed him that he should be discharged later that afternoon after the neurosurgeon signed off. The man was performing surgeries in the morning, so they would be stuck waiting for a bit. John knew it was protocol to have the surgeon clear him and tried not to be too frustrated that he’d be stuck sitting around in a hospital bed all day when he felt fine.

Well, mostly fine. His head didn’t hurt that much as long as he didn’t focus on it. But he’d be damned if he asked for painkillers. He’d dealt with worse.

“Yelena says not to order breakfast,” Bucky noted, looking up from his phone. “She’s coming over with Bob, and they’re bringing something.”

“Thank god,” John said appreciatively, and Bucky nodded in agreement. Hospital food was the worst, and the one meal he’d had the evening prior had already been one meal too many. He was grateful his doctor was allowing his teammates to bring outside food–he supposed she knew how much the cafeteria food sucked, too.

Bucky shrugged on his jacket and stood, saying he’d be back after Yelena and Bob visited. He would be arranging their jet back home in the meantime.

Once he was gone, John listened intently for any sounds of commotion from outside his room. He didn’t hear anything that seemed out of the norm for an intensive care unit, and soon the glass door to his room slid open.

“Knock knock!” chimed Yelena as she slipped through the curtain. She was carrying a plastic bag adorned with a diner’s logo in each hand and did a little wiggle with her shoulders as she brandished them. “We have pancakes!”

“Uh, I don’t have pancakes,” said Bob as he shuffled into the room. He didn’t look the worst John had ever seen him, but his hair was messy and there were pronounced bags under his eyes. His hand shook slightly as he held up a bag as well. “I have clothes for you.”

“Which is very important because no one wants you walking around in a hospital gown,” Yelena joked as she set her bags on the small, movable table next to John’s hospital bed and went about extracting carry-out boxes from them.

John’s eyes flicked between Yelena and Bob, and Yelena gave him an encouraging look that seemed to say, Just roll with it. John acknowledged it with a nod.

“Hah, very funny,” he griped with a roll of his eyes. He pushed a small button on the side of his hospital bed so he could sit up straighter. “Thank you, though, for the pancakes and clothes.”

“If even Bucky complained about the hospital food, then it must have been bad,” Yelena said, raising her brows for emphasis. Bob was loitering behind her, having set his bag down on a counter. Yelena peeked into the pancake boxes before distributing them. As she handed them out, she listed, “Blueberry for John, banana for Bob, and, the best, chocolate chip for me.”

She then steered a fidgeting Bob into a chair before plopping down in the chair next to him. Yelena took a bite of her pancakes and exclaimed, “Oh, this is so good! Very good diner choice, Bob.”

“The hole-in-the-wall places are always the best,” Bob said softly. His own pancake box remained closed.

“That’s true,” John agreed as he cut his pancakes. They’d even gotten him blueberry syrup.

Yelena continued to chat as they ate, or, rather, as she and John ate. Bob had at least opened his carry-out box, but John hadn’t seen him eat anything. He continued to follow Yelena’s lead and act normally, even if he was dying to discuss…things with Bob.

The opportunity came shortly thereafter. John turned away for a moment to set aside his pancake box–his appetite had yet to recover fully–and found Bob with his head bowed and shoulders shaking when he turned back. Yelena and John shared a look, and Yelena reached out to grab Bob’s carry-out box and place it on the tablet before resting her hand on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” Bob choked out. “I fucked up bad this time, huh? What I did, what I made you do–” his voice cracked and shuddered. “Always making things worse.”

“Bob, I’m fine–” John’s next words died in his mouth as Bob looked up sharply. His disbelieving, teary eyes landed on the dressing secured around John’s skull.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say it when we all know it isn’t true.”

John let out a slow breath. “Fine, you’re right. I’m not…okay. But what happened wasn’t on you, Bob. That was Sentry.”

Bob shook his head fervently. “Sentry is me. I remember how pissed I was listening to what Sam said, and I chose to give in to that anger and go after him. I was just…so angry. I wanted to hurt him. It’s all so messed up.” His voice broke. “I’m such a mess.”

Yelena rubbed Bob’s shoulder to comfort him as he collected himself. John considered Bob’s words and managed to say, “Bob, if there’s anyone who gets that…it’s me.”

Bob gave him a questioning look, and John sighed. He didn’t want to talk about it, but maybe it would help.

“When Lemar died, I saw red. That man I killed? I convinced myself that he had killed Lemar to help justify to myself what I did. The worst thing is, even knowing now that he wasn’t directly responsible, I still don’t feel sorry that I killed him. If he hadn’t been holding me back, Lemar might not have died.” John shrugged. “I regret how it happened, and that’s all. So, how fucked up is that?”

Yelena remained quiet, but John noted her reaction to his words. There was a flash of understanding in her eyes.

“You haven’t talked about that before,” Bob noted faintly.

John snorted. “Why would I want to?”

“Yeah,” Bob said with a nod. “I get that. Thank you for sharing. It…it helps to know someone understands that anger.” He took a steadying breath. “I guess this is why Bucky is putting us all in therapy, huh?”

“Lucky us.”

There was a beat of silence before Bob spoke again. “I still…I almost got you killed.”

“But you saved me, too,” John countered.

“The way that it happened–” Bob cut himself off with a jerk of his head. There were tears in his eyes once again. “I almost wasn’t fast enough. Why did you–why would you–?”

Bob’s sniffles filled the room.

“I don’t–” No, that wasn’t right. John did know why he’d done what he had, and sugarcoating things to Bob wasn’t going to be helpful in the long run. But the words were difficult to say. John was getting tired of dissecting and discussing his fucked up decision.

Yelena filled in the gap for him. “You made a choice, and you chose Sam.”

Bob abruptly stood, causing Yelena and John to start.

“I’m going to hug you now,” Bob announced before striding over and doing just that, his lanky arms looping over John’s shoulders. John froze before awkwardly maneuvering one arm around a shaking Bob. Yelena gave them a smile before standing and moving to John’s other side. She wrapped her arms around both of them and squeezed.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Bob whispered. “We’re all here to support you, okay? Just like you guys were for me.”

Shit. There went his eyes stinging again. Unbidden, he relaxed into the hug and placed his free arm around Yelena. They lingered in the embrace for several moments. It was warm.

“Okay,” John said thickly. “I get it. Good group hug.” Shit. There were tears involved.

Yelena pulled away with a grin. “Group hugs are kind of our thing.”

Bob stepped back as well, wiping at his eyes. “I think it’s a nice thing to have.”

“Whatever you say,” John managed. God, he couldn’t believe he was crying. This was mortifying. Yelena produced a box of tissues from somewhere and distributed a few among the three of them. John pressed a hand to his eyes and said, “Eat your pancakes, Bob.”

Bob laughed, a genuine chuckle, and replied, “Aye, aye, sir.”

Bob and Yelena both settled back into their chairs as John went about an attempt to erase any evidence that he’d been crying. Yelena gave Bob his carry-out box, and, true to his word, Bob began to pick at the pancakes. John scrubbed a hand across his face, a collection of wadded tissues in his other hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit yesterday,” Bob apologized between small bites. His voice was quiet. “The hospital reminded me of the lab, and then with everything–” he shuddered.

“It’s fine, Bob,” John reassured as he deposited his handful of tissues in a trash can by his bed. “I got pancakes out of you coming this morning, so no complaints here.”

“Do you think you have to stay through lunch?”

John shrugged. “Not sure. Waiting on the neurosurgeon to be done doing neurosurgeon things so he can say I’m fine to leave.”

“You feel fine enough to leave?” Yelena questioned. “Truly?”

“I won’t lie and say my head doesn’t hurt, but I’ve had worse. Being here isn’t going to help with that. I’d rather go home.”

Yelena nodded slowly in acceptance. “Okay. As long as you promise to let us know if you feel off, alright?”

John agreed to her terms, and both Yelena and Bob appeared reassured by his acceptance. They moved their conversation to lighter topics as Bob finished his pancakes, with Yelena and Bob regaling him with tales of their stay in the hotel. As they told it, Alexei had eaten everything from his and Bob’s room’s mini fridge before working his way through the fridge in the girls’ room. John snorted, unsurprised. The man loved his snacks.

It was nearing ten when Yelena received a text that caused her face to drop into a blank expression as she read it. John and Bob shared a look at her reaction.

“What’s up?” John inquired.

Yelena plastered a smile on her face as she looked up. “It seems like our time is up for the morning. Bucky is on his way back.”

It was clear she was omitting something. John frowned but elected not to press the issue. He didn’t want to risk an argument in front of an already emotionally volatile Bob.

Bob gathered up the carry-out boxes as Yelena sat forward in her chair, hands folded in front of her. She was quiet as she asked, “Bucky told you I talked to Olivia?” John gave her a stiff nod in response, and she continued, “She would like to hear from you. I told her that hopefully you could talk today. I’m sorry if that was presumptuous of me.”

“It wasn’t,” John replied. He gave her a pointed look. “I should talk with her, but I need my phone to do that.”

Yelena stuck her tongue out at him. “You can have it when you leave, then you can call her.” She pointed a finger at him. “That still gives me plenty of time to delete or lock some apps.”

“Yelena–”

She cut him off. “John.”

“Yep, and I’m Bob,” Bob input nervously. Yelena and John both glanced at him, taking a moment to calm the brewing argument.

John sighed. “Fine. How about we talk about it later?”

“I can work with that.”

They left shortly thereafter, taking the remnants of their breakfast with them. Bob handed John the bag with his change of clothes before leaving, giving him one last anxious smile as he did so.

“See you soon?”

“Yeah, Bob. See you soon.”

After they’d gone, his nurse returned briefly to unhook him from the antibiotic as the bag had finished infusing. Free from any lines, John was able to change quickly into the simple sweats, t-shirt, and hoodie that had been given to him. He returned to the hospital bed and sat cross-legged while playing yet another game of Tetris. The console had a few other games on it, but John found that he got the most enjoyment and distraction out of Tetris. It reminded him of when he’d played it as a kid.

He didn’t look up from the game as Bucky returned, noting his presence in his peripheral vision. Bucky didn’t say anything and continued to linger by the doorway. Finding the behavior odd, John paused the game and looked up at him with a brow raised.

“Are you just standing there for a reason?”

Bucky chewed his lip, taking a few moments to answer as he deliberated his words. “I didn’t come by myself.”

Oh, John thought, that’s what Yelena wasn’t telling me.

Bucky continued, “He wants to talk to you, but I can tell him to leave if you want me to. It’s your decision.”

John closed the console and set it at his side. He drummed his fingers against it restlessly. Did he want to talk to Sam Wilson? Not particularly. Should he talk to Sam Wilson? Probably. He ceased his tapping against the console and motioned Bucky forward.

“Let him in,” John said.

“You sure?”

John rolled his eyes. “Why did you bring him here if you weren’t going to let him in after I agreed to see him?”

“God, don’t be annoying on purpose,” Bucky retorted. With no further ado, he pushed aside the curtain and rapped his knuckles softly on the door. Sam Wilson appeared moments later, and he shuffled through the door. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but took both off as the room’s curtain fell shut. A disguise, John figured, since he was much more of a public figure than any of the New Avengers. There were a couple of butterfly bandages across the gash on his cheek, and he was favoring his right leg as he moved.

“You’ve looked better,” John quipped.

Sam glanced at Bucky and tilted his head. His voice was hesitant as he responded, “Yeah, man, so have you.”

John didn’t say anything more as Sam settled into a chair at the foot of the hospital bed. Bucky remained by the door, leaning against a counter with his arms crossed. The room was quiet, save for the standard persistent beeping present in the hospital. God. It was awkward.

“So, did you want to say something or…”

Sam leaned forward and pinched his brow, his eyes shut. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to work out what exactly for the last two days.” He sat up and met John’s eyes. “The first thing I should say is I’m sorry, but that feels inadequate.”

“You’re going to have to clarify,” John said, his tone flat. “If you’re only sorry because you almost watched me blow my brains out trying to save your ass, then you can leave.”

“John–” Bucky interjected urgently, but John held up a hand to silence him, watching Sam. His expression had fallen at John’s words, but not into anger. That was regret on his face.

“Yeah, I probably deserve that,” Sam acknowledged. He looked briefly at Bucky. “You know that, too, Buck. What I said about your team was so far out of line, it wasn’t even in the stadium anymore.” He paused and took a breath. “You don’t have to believe this, but I regretted it the moment I walked out of that room.”

The thing was…John did believe him. Even with their rocky history, John knew that Sam wasn’t a spiteful person by nature. He was reminded, distantly, of that day–the day he’d lost Lemar. When Sam and Bucky came after him, Sam had tried to talk John down, sympathizing with him before telling him to give up the shield. And wasn’t that always the root of their issues with the other? The damn shield. Legacies and the struggle to live up to them.

“I believe you,” John voiced, and Sam slumped with relief. Bucky visibly relaxed as the tension in the room ebbed.

John shrugged and continued, “And it wasn’t like the argument was one-sided.” He paused, debating how to continue before he decided on the truth. “I knew how you’d react to me using the shield, and I did it intentionally. That one’s on me.”

Sam’s eyebrows drew together as he considered the words.

“Sure, I’ll let you have that one,” Sam finally said before he laughed, a hollow sound. “I’ve been thinking over the past couple of days…having the shield, it’s a burden. I knew that after Steve gave it to me, it was part of the reason I gave it up. Now that I have it again, it seems like I just keep feeling inadequate. I realized that one of the only people who may get that…was you.”

Nope. Absolutely the fuck not. John did not want to go there with Sam Wilson, even if his words rang true. Cracking under the weight of the shield had been what caused the downward spiral that had been John’s life for the past three years until he’d been manhandled by circumstance into the Thunderbolts. He would be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that was terrified–was still terrified–when Valentina had thrust him back in the public eye as part of the New Avengers. It felt as though he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to fuck something up irreparably and face the same consequences he had when he’d failed as Captain America.

Not that he would say any of this to Sam. He’d settle for sarcasm.

“I can take it back if you don’t want it anymore.”

Sam shot him a look before turning to Bucky. “He’s hilarious.”

“You get used to it, unfortunately,” Bucky commented with a grin. He then uncrossed his arms and said, “There was something I wanted to say, too. I never apologized for all the shit I gave you back when you had Steve’s shield. Sure, you were an asshole sometimes, but so were we.” He sighed. “It wouldn’t have mattered who they gave the shield to, but you were right–we never gave you a chance.”

“It never should have been on you to live up to Steve,” Sam added. He shook his head. “There won’t ever be another Steve, and we didn’t treat you fairly.”

John blinked, caught off guard by the sudden apologies for what was three years in the past. He thought he and Bucky had resolved to move past their past issues without ever directly acknowledging what had gone down. John leaned back, collecting his thoughts. When he had been given the shield, he had seen it as another mission–an inspiring one, sure, but an order nonetheless. He’d been picked as the man for the job partly for his service record, but John wasn’t naive enough not to realize that half the reason he’d been chosen was for his blonde hair and blue eyes, the color of his skin.

When he had the shield, John had focused far too much on proving himself and less on what being Captain America meant outside of being a soldier. It had made him reckless when operations hadn’t gone to plan, and it had only gotten worse the longer he had the shield–he had interfered with Sam and Bucky’s attempts to stop Karli, too. John had asked to work with them, sure, but what he had truly wanted was their advice and for them to step aside while he handled things.

And giving speeches about righteousness or encouraging people to live up to higher ideals? That wasn’t John. He’d given up on believing in the inherent goodness of people years upon years ago.

He could be a soldier. He could fight and save people–he wanted to help people, if he could. But he would do it as a Thunderbolt, and not as Captain America. It was a much better fit.

“I made mistakes too, but…apology accepted,” John finally responded. He focused on Sam. The next words were difficult, but John felt he needed to say them. “You should stop trying so hard to be like Steve and just be Sam. There’s a perfectly fine Captain America hiding in there somewhere.”

“Just ‘perfectly fine?’” Sam asked with a grin.

“Don’t ask for more from me.”

Sam chuckled. “Nah, of course not.”

Bucky considered both of them, a faint smile on his lips, but remained silent. Feeling very done with discussing overly personal topics, John decided to shift the conversation.

“So, what happens now?” John asked. “You still planning to come after the Avengers name?”

Sam was quiet, mulling over his thoughts.

“I can admit what I said about your team was out of line, but I can’t give up on the name,” he asserted. “More importantly, this mission proved to me that the Avengers shouldn’t operate under government control. I tried myself to operate under Ross, and we all saw how that ended. Steve fought to make sure that the Avengers would be a force for protection that wasn’t beholden to any kind of political favor or machination, and that’s what I want them to remain.”

“There was something off about this mission from the beginning,” Bucky input. “The team assignments, having Bob come in the first place–it’s suspicious to say the least. Valentina had to be after something.”

John considered his words and found the suspicions to be justified. But none of them had wanted to question Valentina, not with Sam and Joaquin present. For one, they needed to put up a good front in front of Captain America, and for two, they didn’t want to reveal too much about Bob.

“Of course she was, it’s Valentina. It’s not like any of us actually like working for the woman who experimented on Bob and tried to kill all of us,” John grumbled.

But it was worth it to stay together. Valentina, abhorrent as she was, had connections and was able to secure them a base of operations, funding for the supplies they needed. They didn’t have a Tony Stark to back them up financially.

Sam held up his hands. “Roll that back a second. Valentina tried to kill all of you? And she’s the reason Bob is…like that?”

John cast a befuddled look at Bucky. “What did you even tell him?”

“I was avoiding talking about Bob,” Bucky explained with a shrug. “And I wasn’t there when she sent you all after each other in the vault.”

“Jesus, Bucky, no wonder he didn’t believe you when you told him we weren’t in on Valentina springing the whole ‘New Avengers’ thing on us.”

“Would you have wanted me to tell him about Bob, or–”

“Look, it doesn’t matter,” Sam interjected. “I have more information now, and I can see why you didn’t tell me about Bob. It was personal, and I didn’t help by being pissed off the bat.” He folded his hands in front of him. “I want to figure something out. There isn’t a fix to this that can happen overnight, but…your team should keep doing what you’re doing until we work out the logistics. Just, for the love of God, vet the missions Valentina chooses to send you on a bit more, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Bucky agreed. “We have leverage on her, and we can use it.”

Sam shook his head in exasperation before standing from his chair. He said, “We can talk more about it later, when things have cooled down.”

He then focused on John, and his eyes were sympathetic. John instantly tensed.

“I know this isn’t something you want to talk about with me,” Sam started, “so I’ll just say one thing: I worked with a lot of vets with PTSD after my service. Bottling things up will just cause it to explode. You’ve got a good team around you, man. Talk to them, and take care of yourself.”

John didn’t reply–couldn’t reply–but forced a curt nod to acknowledge the words. Sam turned and tapped Bucky on the shoulder with his fist as he passed by him. He didn’t say anything else before putting his cap and sunglasses back on and exiting the room.

John let out a breath and went to run a hand through his hair, catching it on his wound’s dressing instead. He ran his fingers across it idly.

“Thank you for agreeing to see him,” Bucky said. “It’s good we were all able to talk.”

“Yeah, whatever,” John grumbled.

But, against all odds, he was glad that he’d talked to Sam, too.

John hung up his phone and took a steadying breath. His conversation with Olivia had been stilted, but it hadn’t gone horribly. It was short–less than five minutes–and John hadn’t told her the full truth behind his injury. Maybe he would, one day, but that wasn’t a conversation for the phone, and it wasn’t something to drop on her when they hardly talked anymore.

He was also able to say hi to Jack, and that alone made the conversation worth it.

Yelena meandered over to the bench John was sitting at and sat next to him. She tapped her shoulder against his and asked, “Ready to go?”

John had been released from the hospital a couple of hours ago. Dr. Shepard had made it back to John’s room to clear him shortly after Sam had left, and after that, it had been a matter of changing his bandages before he was allowed to leave. John had seen the gunshot wound for the first time as his nurse went about removing and applying new dressing. He didn’t know what Yelena was talking about when she said he would look cool. The way they’d shaved his hair was ridiculous. It would be a long couple of months waiting for it to grow back.

The inevitable scar he’d be left with would be hidden in his hairline once his hair had grown out, and John found he was grateful for it. He didn’t need Bob and Ava to have a visual reminder of what they’d seen him do every time they looked at him for the rest of their lives. He suspected he’d take up wearing a hat in the interim.

The Thunderbolts had picked John and Bucky up from the hospital–Alexei was thankfully not driving–and they headed out to the landing strip that John, Ava, Bob, and Sam had flown into what seemed like ages ago. The team chattered aimlessly on the drive. John didn’t speak up much, leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed as he let their voices wash over him.

When they’d reached the landing strip, Yelena had pulled him aside to give him his phone so he could call Olivia. He had found a bench that passed for remote and dialed. While he talked to her, the rest of the team had filed into the awaiting jet. Which led them to where they were now.

“Yeah,” John answered. He waved his phone between them. “Are you confiscating my phone again?”

Yelena’s lips quirked into a half-grin. “No. I already applied child locks to any social media and the internet.”

John gave a long-suffering sigh. “Thought we were supposed to talk about it first?”

“We’ll talk about it in a couple of days,” Yelena countered as she stood. “I’m practicing tough love.”

He rolled his eyes but accepted Yelena’s interference. After all, he could maybe, just maybe, admit that she had a point. He stood as well, and the two of them joined the rest of the Thunderbolts on the jet. John sat at the back, stretching across the bench seating at the table. No one fought him on taking up two seats.

Once they were in the air, Alexei announced, “We have very important event to plan for.”

The other five gave him quizzical looks, and Alexei clapped his hands in excitement.

“It is movie night tomorrow!” he exclaimed. Bucky groaned dramatically in mock annoyance. Alexei continued boisterously, “We have yet to pick movie.”

“Lilo and Stitch,” Ava offered. Her voice was questioning as she raised a brow at John, as if asking if she’d gotten the name right.

“That’s the one,” he confirmed.

Bob smiled as he looked between them. “I love Lilo and Stitch. The cartoon, though, right? Not the live action?”

“Never the live action.”

“You are not picking the snacks this time, Dad,” Yelena commented.

Alexei frowned, his enthusiasm dimming by a fraction as confusion took root. “What is wrong with my snacks?”

The two of them began to bicker over American foods, with Bob and Ava throwing a few jabs in as well. As they did so, Bucky moved to the back of the plane to sit across from John. He produced a folder and slid it across the table to John.

John eyed it suspiciously before sitting up and grabbing it. “What’s this?”

“Just open it.”

John frowned but went about unlatching the folder’s clip and slipping the pages out from within it. He flipped through them, and a dangerous hope bloomed in his chest. Bucky had given him what looked to be shield schematics. The shield looked like the one Valentina had given him when she’d rebranded him as US Agent with a couple of small variations.

“Is this…?” his voice trailed off.

“Got tired of waiting for Valentina to do something about yours,” Bucky answered with a shrug. “Sam and I have some connections in Wakanda.”

Wakanda. That meant…the shield would be vibranium, and not the far more breakable concoction of metals he’d been working with before. John looked up at Bucky, shock likely evident in his widened eyes.

“We should have it within the next week or so,” Bucky elaborated. “Gives you time to rest before you can start practicing with it.”

“This is–why would you…” John choked out. Bucky didn’t answer the half-question, and, yeah, John supposed he didn’t have to. John knew why he’d done it: they were a team, a family. They looked after each other.

John gathered himself and declared, “Bob isn’t touching this one.”

“Wait, what did I do?” asked Bob’s confused voice as he turned back to John and Bucky.

“Nothing, Bob,” John said, grinning. He set down the folder and hit Bucky playfully on the arm before standing. “C’mon, Bucky. We have to help settle the debate on what the best movie snack is.”

Valentina drummed her fingers across her desk impatiently as the assistant in front of her took ages to pull up the video and audio feed on the tablet in his hand. Mel would have been much more efficient, but Valentina, unfortunately, could no longer trust the girl to be loyal.

The assistant finally found what he was looking for and handed the tablet to Valentina. She accepted it with a loose smile and tossed out a “Thanks,” for good measure. The assistant lingered in the room, and Valentina raised her brows at him.

“You can go,” she instructed without room for question. He stammered an apology and fled out the door. Valentina rolled her eyes.

She directed her attention to the tablet and clicked the play button. Audio from the recent mission had been synced to what video feed they’d been able to obtain, and Valentina watched intently. The first half of the video held little importance to her–Walker, Wilson, and Starr infiltrated the tower, fought some guys, blah, blah. She sat forward in interest when Sentry appeared. It took longer than Valentina had expected it to; after all, finding the Sentry in Robert again had been the purpose of the mission.

It had been designed as a pressure test. Every step and machination was an intentional one to raise stress: the teams selected, the hours spent waiting on a plane or bus, the convoluted communications system. Valentina had even put the cherry on top by ensuring Ava would be trapped in the server room. If there were any questions, Valentina would wave away suspicions regarding Hydra having such technology and claim that Hydra was how she had acquired it, given that Starr had initially been an asset that Hydra might need to control.

Holt and his team had been stationed in a building across the road, ready with a newly improved kill–or, more accurately, knockout–switch and a fortified containment unit. Valentina was ecstatic that they hadn’t needed to use them. What she had gained from the mission was even better.

Valentina watched the feed, unflinching, as Walker aimed his gun at himself and fired. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on Sentry–no, Robert’s response. Any ire he had for Sam Wilson was lost the moment a fellow New Avenger was in mortal danger.

She paused the video after Robert had floated Walker back into the room. Valentina set down the tablet, a smirk on her lips.

“So, that’s how we control you, Robert.”