Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

‘Walker was such a shit Captain America it’s no wonder his wife left him lmao’
‘That man is a fucking cunt and a war criminal’
‘loser’

John was sat in bed, mindlessly scrolling through the vast amount of hate comments on various forums, each one somehow worse and more hard-hitting than the last. He had meant to be fast asleep by this point, but he was glued to his screen, the glowing device had become a prison of vitriol.
He thought he deserved it all, seeing all these comments. John Walker was a shit Captain America. John Walker was a shit husband and father. It was objectively the case. He believed he deserved the feeling of hundreds, if not thousands, of people spewing their hatred online. Each new word was a bullet drilling itself into his chest.

The guilt was overwhelming, but it was the anger that had a chokehold on the scruffy man. Living in the negativity of his past was addicting for John, he had tried to make peace with his feelings of guilt and grief after reliving some of his worst moments in The Void, but while he tried to seem cheerful and unaffected on the outside, he couldn’t help but slip into his old patterns of self-loathing, newly refreshed from the resurgence of the old memories.

Scrolling past further poison, John’s anger started to boil over. On the verge of tears (only the verge, John doesn’t cry, he tells himself), the malevolent words looped through his mind, stuck like a broken record, a negative feedback loop growing stronger the more he scrolled. Curses and slurs flew by as he gritted his teeth, his hand clenching harder around his phone, knuckles whitening.

“FUCK!” He yelled in an almost-hushed but definitely still audible tone (he didn’t want to wake anyone up - they might ask what was wrong, heaven forbid).

Against his ‘better nature', he threw his phone across the bedroom, hitting the wall and ironically knocking some anger management books he had never read off the shelf with a loud bang, followed by a heavy thud as they fell to the ground.

That better not wake anyone up.

Almost as if he manifested it into existence, there was a knock at his door.

Fuck.

“Walker? You alright?” The voice belonged, unmistakably, to Bob.

John huffed. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him this angry, this dishevelled, this pathetic.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… dropped my phone.” He got up from bed to pick up his phone and replace the books on the shelf.

“Uhuh… That sounded a bit more than dropping a phone. I heard you shout? You sure everything’s fine?” Bob repeated.

“Yeah, Bob, don’t worry about it.” What the fuck is this guy even doing up still? It’s like… - he checks his phone - 2am? And how did he hear me yell? I was really quiet. Kinda quiet. Quiet-ish. Was he just standing outside my room?
“Go back to sleep.”

“Walker I know you well enough to tell when you’re bullshitting me, what’s going on? Can I come in?”

John sighed, knowing it was probably faster and easier for both of them if he let Bob in and see that everything was, in fact, fine. He didn’t want him freaking out, overthinking about what that noise was, potentially instigating another Void episode. He knew that line of thinking was a little dramatic, but after he encountered it once, he knew he’d do anything to not face it again. Besides, he should probably check on Bob and see why he’s awake at this time too.

“Door’s open.” He replied.

Bob walked in wearing his oversized ‘Eat Sleep Game Repeat’ T-shirt (is it ironic? We will never know) and fuzzy Charizard pyjama pants.

God that man is such a nerd.

He looked around the room briefly to see what the source of the crash was, not knowing what to expect, but being slightly surprised to see nothing (he didn’t notice the mark on the wall John’s phone left).

“Why are you up? It’s like 2am.” John said, accusatorially, sitting upright on the side of his bed.

“Oh, uh… You know, nightmare stuff… Just making myself a snack before I go back to bed.” Bob responded tiredly and awkwardly.
“What about you? Why were you yelling, what was that noise?”

“I told you, Bob. I dropped my phone. I was doing push-ups.” Not too far removed from the truth, as John usually did do push-ups before and after bed.

“Right, right, you usually keep your phone in your loose pyjama pants pockets and yell loudly when it falls 2 inches.” He squinted his eyes, replying sarcastically.

“How bad was your nightmare?” John avoided the question, but also spotted sweat beaded on Bob’s forehead and wanted to make sure he wasn’t freaking out Void-style or anything.

It felt like I was suffocating.

“Wasn’t anything crazy, ’sall good.”

“Do you wanna… Talk… About it?” Please say no please say no please say no I’m really tired and genuinely want to sleep now please say no

“Nah.. No, I- I’m good I think.”

Fuck he kinda looks like shit. All sweaty and gross kinda. Jesus. What sort of ‘not crazy’ nightmare does that? He doesn’t seem fine. What would Yelena do? Or Bucky. Or Ava or anyone else but me, really.

John can imagine Yelena telling him to make sure Bob feels safe and comfortable and that the worst thing he could be when he’s like this is alone.

I’m so gonna regret this.

“Bob, do you wanna…” This is dumb I’m so tired. “Do you wanna stay in my room for tonight? I'll sleep on the chair, you take the bed.” John gets up and points at the uncomfortable-looking office chair by the desk. He’s usually a jerk but he isn’t an asshole. Well. That much of an asshole.

Bob seemed surprised he’d even offer that.

“Oh, that’s- It’s alright. I mean, thanks man, that’s really nice of you. But, I- I’m good, really.” He smiles sheepishly, scratching his arm.

Oh, cut the bullshit.

“Bob, you look like shit. It’s really late and we’re both really tired, you’re taking the bed and I’m going over here.” John grabs a pillow and stumbles over to the chair.

“No, dude really.. I’d feel like an asshole if I stole your bed and you had to sleep in that fuckin.. evil evil chair.” He yawned. John stares at the evil evil chair blankly, before yawning himself.

Well yeah, duh, I don’t wanna sleep in it either but you look awful and it’s freaking me out. Okay, whatever, I’m too tired for this shit.

“Me neither. Fine, look. It’s a twin bed, it can fit us both. So…” John picks out a spare blanket from his closet and chucks it at Bob, who catches it clumsily.
“You don’t snore, do you?” He asks flatly.
Bob chuckles in response.

“Thanks Walker. I really appreciate it.” Bob looks at him with his blue eyes, before hopping into bed, knowing he probably would sleep a lot better next to someone he trusts.

“Yeah, uh, no worries. Whatever. Goodnight.” John turns off the light and gets into bed next to Bob, who has already wrapped himself up in his blanket like a burrito. It’s not too different from being in the army and sleeping next to his soldier buddies in the barracks. Just… next to a guy with the potential to become the most dangerous weapon known to man. In his Pokemon pyjamas.

“G’night.”

Bob is out like a light, feeling a lot calmer now that he feels safe next to someone, as if Walker could protect him from his terrifying nightmares by walking into them and punching them in the face. Although he did kinda do that once…

John isn’t as lucky and stays awake for at least another hour, thinking back to the horrible comments from strangers on the internet. He’s looping the words and phrases back and forth in his mind, trying to tell himself they aren’t true, but knowing that they are and feeling like he deserves to hear them. His hands clench at the thought of it all, but his overthinking and self-loathing session is cut short when Bob begins snoring. Not obnoxiously loud, but loud enough to snap John out of his pity/guilt/grief party. Bob’s snoring slowly becomes background noise, helping lull John into a deep sleep, finally.

The bed feels more comfortable than usual.

Chapter Text

John wakes up before Bob, naturally. Used to getting up at the crack of dawn for missions and training, etcetera, his body clock makes him snap awake at 9am - later than usual, sure, but still early-ish considering he fell asleep around 3am.

Bob is still fast asleep, lightly snoring against the wall in John’s spare blanket. He occasionally makes little giggling noises, like a nerd laughing at a bad, niche joke. John can’t help but smile and exhale a little in response, before grabbing his clothes from his closet and heading to his bathroom to get changed.

There’s nothing planned on the New Avengers itinerary today, but that won’t prevent John from doing his daily jog around the block. As he leaves the bathroom after getting changed into his sweatpants, John has an idea.

“Bob.”

“Bobby.”

No response.

Bob is startled awake when a cushion is gently launched at his head. Or where John assumes his head is, tucked away beneath the blanket.

“Huh? Wuh?” Bob mumbles groggily, slowly moving his head up, eyes blinking at the bright overhead lights.

“Rise and shine, Bob. We’re going for a jog.” Walker smiles at the idea of being able to show off his excellent running skills while Bob struggles to keep up. He may have six-pack abs, but Bob doesn’t regularly work out and John very much doubts he has much stamina. Besides, the exercise could be good to clear both their heads.

“Nuh uh!” Bob mumbles before slamming his head back down into the pillows.

“Yuh huh!” John responds, throwing another cushion in Bob’s direction.

“Fuck offff John, ‘m sleepyyy…” The words are muffled through the blankets.

These pillows smell good. He yawns.

“Nope. I’ve decided. Come on, get up, it’ll be good for you.”

Receiving no response, John walks over and yanks the blankets off Bob.

“I said rise and shiii- “ He’s cut off when Bob suddenly bolts upright, eyes glowing gold.

“Shit, man, sorry-“ John apologises, all colour flooding from his face, realising he had perhaps overstepped. Bob’s eyes fade back to the usual brilliant blue, and he shakes the drowsiness off his face, adjusting to the lighting.

“Okay, okay, man, I’m awake, fuck…” he responds, seemingly oblivious to his physical reaction to Walker’s disturbance.

“Okay… Well, uh, good. Now go get dressed and meet back here in 10 minutes. Bring a water bottle.”

“Do I have to? It’s so early, can’t I just go back to sleep or, like, not go jogging?”

“Yes, you have to. Because I say so, now hurry up.”

Bob begrudgingly slumps toward the door, scowling at John as he slowly makes his way out of the room.

“9 minutes!” John yells as he leaves, hearing the footsteps pick up speed as they fade into the distance.

20 minutes later, the pair are on their jog. 

“Can we please slow down a little bit?” Bob is already almost out of breath.

“Dude, we’ve just started. We’re not even going for a run, this is supposed to be a jog.” John isn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Well some of us don’t have super stamina. I might have a really fit body, but I’m starting to think that doesn’t actually help that much. And you know I don’t feel confident trying to use my powers. Especially for jogging.”

John scoffs in response, “Maybe if you actually did exercise from time to time, you’d be able to keep up!” He grins.

“I literally do! I use the tower’s gym! I do, like, weights and stuff.” Bob huffs.

“I’ve never seen you in there?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you only use it at the crack of dawn like a freak!” He tries to pick up the pace and overtake John, at this point sweating buckets.

“Aw, you know my gym schedule.” John replies sarcastically, “Wake up earlier then. I can show you how to actually use the equipment. There’s no way in hell you know what you’re doing with it.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He forms a shit-eating grin, as he overtakes Bob to show off.

“Asshole.” 

After another 15 minutes, Bob finally gives up and stops to properly catch his breath and finish off the rest of the water from his ‘New Avengers’ branded bottle. John would usually continue his jog for at least another 40 minutes, but he understands Bob has his limits, and slows down to a halt with him. Bob is panting intensely, trying to form a sentence.

“F- Fuck, dude. You do this everyday? Are you a masochist or something?”

John exhales as he laughs. “It’s really not as hard as you make it out to be. And I’m not just saying that cause I’m, uh, enhanced. I would do this shit in high school too.”

“Well fuck me then, I guess. Fuck, I woulda hated you in high school. Show-off.”

“Mean.” John shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “You’re so mean to me, Bobby. Okay, let’s head back then. You desperately need a shower, Jesus.” He stares at the sweat-soaked man. He looks like a sad, wet puppy.

“Shut up. I’m never doing this again. At least not with you.” Bob glares, trudging back to the tower.

“Come on, Bob, you know this was fun. And jogging is good for you.” John wraps his sweaty arm around Bob’s neck, bringing it down so he can ruffle his hair up with his knuckles, like his brothers would do to him as a kid.

Trapped under his armpit, Bob gets a whiff of the man’s sweat-infused musk-scent.

Holy fuck he smells good. What? Huh?

Bob’s cheeks flush at his own thoughts and he breaks free of John’s grasp and pushes him away playfully.

“What? Uh, oh, right yeah, whatever.” He swallows and quickly breaks eye contact.

The pair arrive at the tower, saying their goodbyes and continuing on to have their respective showers.

What the fuck was that, Bob? He thinks to himself in the shower. Bob had always been attracted to women, but he couldn’t deny he generally seemed to prefer men. In theory, at least - Bob had had several girlfriends in the past, but never a proper boyfriend. He’d been flirted with by men before, sure, but nothing ever really happened. So why was he suddenly so flustered? 

Was it just because he’d hadn’t been touched by a man in a friendly way like that in forever?

No.

Was it because he was really tired from exercise and his brain was frazzled?

Nah.

Was it because of John’s masculine pheromones being shoved in Bob’s face?

Noooo…

Was it because… Bob was developing feelings for John...?

Fuuuck… Bob’s eyes widened in realisation, his stomach sinking.

Fuuuuuuccckkk....

Chapter Text

Bob lay in bed with his giant stuffed bear Yelena had bought him from IKEA, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. He was distracting himself in an effort to avoid thinking about his newly evident crush on Walker. He told himself it was just a fleeting feeling: if he just avoided thinking about it for a few days, the feeling would fade away on its own. He was wrong.

As Bob continued swiping through the short-form videos, he would keep finding videos of sweaty men working out; men that often seemed to look just like John.

Is my phone fucking psychic or something? I wanna see, I dunno, horses and Warhammer videos, why do I keep getting this shit?

He would occasionally favourite a video or two. Or twenty. Because holy shit that guy’s hot what the fuck.

At the moment, however, Bob was watching the entire ‘Mean Girls’ movie on TikTok because that’s a thing you can do apparently. As he watched, he heard a knock at his door. 

Probably Yelena with Taco Bell again, yummmm

“It’s open!”

In walked John, wearing a black long-sleeved t-shirt and blue jeans (which really defined his ass, Bob didn’t think that but I did because it sounds hot). Bob was surprised to see the man, as they never really came to each other’s rooms, generally only meeting if they bumped into each other around the tower, or whenever the team met up, be it for a mission briefing or just for the occasional movie night. 

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” Bob sat upright, immediately aware of his awful posture, melting into his mattress. He felt a little nervous, trying not to think of his thoughts about John over the past couple days. This obviously did not work.

“Oh, nothin’, just got back from seeing Carl.” 

Carl Manner was John’s designated therapist, much to his disapproval. Bucky tried to get the team on board with therapy, working with Mel to find specialised therapists that suited each member’s needs. As stubborn as John was, he wasn’t stupid and finally agreed to seeing Carl, who specialises in both military trauma and relationship issues. At the time, Walker felt incredibly pissed but also a little humbled at learning Carl’s specialisation, but ultimately agreed therapy would benefit him in the long term.

“We were going over the usual boring stuff, yada yada, and I, uh, said I’d try to make more of an effort to do stuff with people, y’know, and I kinda already spend some time with everyone else on missions and at the gym now and then, but I realised the other day, I don’t really see you that much, Bob.”

John felt awkward and vulnerable, feeling like a kid on the first day of school trying to make new friends. He tried his best to appear nonchalant.

“So, uh,” John gulped, “I really liked our jog the other day. I was thinking maybe we should make that, like, a weekly thing? Or something. If you want.”

Bob was pretty stunned by the whole thing, having tried to forget the moment at the end of their last exercise and now was asked to repeat it weekly.

“Uhh… I dunno dude,” he smiled softly, “maybe we could do, like, something else? Board games maybe, o- or something? It was fun, don’t get me wrong, I’m… just not a huge running guy, y’know… s- sorry…” Bob spat out with an awkward chuckle, dropping eye contact.

John’s nervous demeanour dropped. 

“Dude. C’mon. You just sit in here all day looking at memes and shit,” John gestured towards Bob’s phone, “No offence, man, but you really need to get out more,” he smiled.

John’s condescending tone really pissed Bob off. But, unfortunately for him, John was right. The only times he left the tower was to do the odd bit of grocery shopping and very rarely go on a quick walk around the park alone when he was feeling himself start to dip mentally. As much as he wanted to avoid John until his stupid crush expired, it would probably help him a bit, and help Walker too. But Bob wanted more than just exercise out of the proposed routine.

“Okay, let’s make a deal.” Bob placed his fingers together in front of his lips.

“What kinda deal?” John asked with furrowed brows.

“I will go on one run a week. With you. If,” he emphasised, “ we get to get sweet treats afterwards. And, uh, also if we do a me-sized run, not a super-soldier crazy run-til-you-pass-out run, okay?”

John crossed his arms, chuckling.

“Fine by me, Bob. You have yourself a deal. So, meet downstairs, tomorrow? 8am?”

“8am!!?”

“9.”

“9am!!?”

“Jeez, alright… 10am? Absolute latest. Some of us have lives, Bob.”

“Ughh. Fine, whatever, Walker.”

Bob huffed and puffed as the two of them jogged through the nearest park, inhaling the freshest air he had experienced since his last outing with John.

At this point, even the former military man was beginning to sweat beside Bob, despite running at a slower pace for him. Passing by the pond, Bob’s eyes fell onto a nearby bench.

“Okay, okay, wait,” he winced, slowing to a halt, “timeout. Fuck…”

Bob sat down, holding a hand to his rapidly beating heart. John sat down beside him.

Birds flew overhead and the sun shone brilliantly through the leaves of the surrounding trees. They sat quietly for a while, catching their breaths.

John was the first to break the silence.

“Thanks for doing this, Bob.” he smiled gently, leaning back. “Feels great doesn’t it? Getting out here, moving around - fresh air and aching legs?”

His tone was a little mocking, but also felt like he genuine cared about the other man’s opinion. Bob swayed his head and chuckled in response.

“Sure, Walker. Probably feels a lot better when you’re used to it, I guess, haha.”

There was something quite tender and innocent about this moment, the bright beams of sunlight cascading through John’s blond hair, tinting it golden, and creating a halo around his head. Bob’s thoughts about John from the other day came flooding back to him, but twisted from a purely sexual feeling into something more romantic. John looked so beautiful when the sun hit him from this angle, the slightly dewy sweat on his brow and cheek glistening. He looked like glazed bread, soft and fresh from the warm oven.

“Bob? You alright, bud?”

Bob blinked and jolted his head back slightly, grounding him. He realised he had just been sat staring at John for a few seconds and hadn’t heard a word he had said.

“Oh! Uh, yeah just… tired, I guess, haha. Ooh and hungry — can we go get a milkshake or something now? You promised.”

Walker chuckled. “Yeah, okay, Bob. A deal’s a deal. Where are we going?”

“Ummm… “ he pondered, “Ooh! There’s this place nearish the tower, that’s where Yelena said she gets my milkshakes and stuff on weekends. They’re really good, Walker, I think you’ll like it. They do doughnuts too!” Bob’s eyes lit up at the thought of a nice cold chocolate milkshake. This would surely cure the aching from all the running he had persevered.

“I don’t do milkshakes and doughnuts, really. Maybe on a cheat day. But I just had one of those yesterday, so…” John could see the disappointment in Bob’s eyes and felt bad. “But I’ll still go! I can pay.”

This answer was clearly satisfactory to Bob, as he leapt up from the bench enthusiastically. John got up too, letting Bob lead the way.

“Shakeout?” 

John stared at the glowing LED sign with a grimace. “What the hell kinda name is that?”

“I like it! It’s like ‘take-out’. Or ‘make-out’? Who cares, it’s really good. I haven’t actually been in person before, but it looks cute!”

Bob walked into the busy store, its bell dinging as he opened the door. Vibrant yellows and peachy orange squiggles covered every wall, a white screen displaying all the menu items above the counter.

Bob walked up to the cashier and ordered ‘The Volcano’ — a double-chocolate shake with whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles and a cherry on top. Bob didn’t really like cherries, but it came with the shake, so whatever. John repeated that he didn’t want anything, so Bob also bought some chocolate-stuffed donut bites to share. (Bob really likes chocolate if you couldn’t tell.) As Bob went to get out his New Avengers credit card to pay (because of course Valentina would’ve gotten them those), John pushed in front of him and paid with his.

“I, told you, I got it.” He smiled warmly with his underbite. What a gentleman.

Jesus, John, are you trying to get me to fall in love with you? I hate you I hate you. Stop being nice, you’re supposed to be an asshole.

They sat down at a small, circular table by the window. Bob took a deep sip of his shake, letting out a quiet moan in approval.

“That kinda stuff’s gonna kill you, Bob.” John said condescendingly, crossing his arms. 

“Oh nooo, the horror, guess I’ll just have to come back as The Void and make the whole of New York feel shame about drinking a milkshake, oh noooo…” Bob mocked, getting a disapproving stare in response.

Bob opened the pack of donut bites, offering some to John.

“No thanks. You only get to look like this,” he gestured up and down his body, “by not eating junk. Or, I guess in your case by taking some super serum, no offence.”

“Rude.” Bob scowled, “Dude, I bought them to share, try one. They’re so good when they’re still warm.” They did look very appetising, the steam rolling upwards out of the bag.

John grabbed a donut bite. “Fine, but only cause I paid for them.” He popped it into his mouth and did a few exaggerated chews before swallowing. 

“Holy shit.” His eyes widened, grabbing another donut bite to savour.

“Right? Told you they’re good.” Bob said through another sip of milkshake.

He removed the cherry and placed it to the side, on a napkin. 

“You don’t want that?” John eyed the small red fruit.

“Nah, I don’t really like cherries. Love the flavour in like, artificial shit, but hate the fruit. You have it.”

John picked it up and popped it into his mouth, the sweet glaze on top coating a small part of his lips in shiny syrup.

Oooohhh why is that kinda… oh my god shut the fuck up shut up shut up

Bob took a sip from the straw to shut his brain up. “You wanna try some?” He reached out his milkshake to John.

“Uh, sure, just a bit.” John accepted the plastic cup, tasting a small amount of ‘The Volcano’.

He nods his head, handing it back. “ ’s good. Way too sweet though. But I can see why you like it.”

Bob finished the last of the shake, taking out the straw and tilting the cup back as he drank the remaining whipped cream, getting some around his lips.

“You got some…” John said, pointing at the corner of his own mouth.

“Oh, thanks.” Bob rubbed his sleeve on the wrong side of his face.

“No, uh…” John leaned slightly forward, as if to wipe it off, but Bob quickly rushed to clean it himself, wiping the entire mouth area.

“I got it!” He gulped awkwardly.

This isn’t a fucking romance movie, Jesus, Bob thought.

John leaned back in his chair.

That was a weird reaction.

“Ready to head back?”

“Yep!” Bob hurriedly grabbed his water bottle and got up, eager to avoid any form of intimate moment with John. Once again, Bob began overthinking.

I just… fuck, man, I can’t fall in love with him, it’s just- I dunno. Ughhh I hate this. Fuck, is it too late? He’s hot, like objectively, that’s not a weird thing to say- but wouldn’t it be weird? The man had a wife and a kid. Not that that’s a bad thing! Or anything! But let’s be really honest right now, there’s no way he would ever think of me that way, right? 

Chapter Text

Several days passed by and Bob believed he was starting to get over his recent schoolboy crush. John had been away from the tower with the rest of the team, bar Alexei, who had essentially been given baby-sitting duties over Bob.

Everyone else was off fighting some kind of mud creatures attacking science labs? Or something? Bob wasn’t really paying attention in the meeting where they had discussed the situation, mainly because he was trying to avoid thinking about or looking at John anymore than he absolutely had to. Either way, this gave the man some nice alone time (when Alexei wasn’t roaming around keeping an eye on him and coming up with ideas on how to utilise his powers despite him explaining how he can’t really use them.) 

During this time, Bob picked up an old hobby of his — baking. He had tried baking in the past, as a kind of coping mechanism during his upbringing — he liked that he had control over the outcome, as long as he followed the recipes correctly. Unfortunately he wasn’t able to bake often as his volatile childhood meant that any kind of mess or distraction was seen as a crime to be punished by his father. But that was years ago. This time, Bob was in control, and he could make as much mess as he wanted to. Today’s dish — cherry pie. Bob knelt down by the oven, happily staring through the yellowed glass at his cooking dessert. The timer for the pie was almost done.

“Whatcha cooking, Bobby?”

Bob jumped at John’s words, as they broke the relaxing white noise of the oven humming. He quickly got up and turned around to see John leaning on the kitchen counter island, peering over at the oven. He was absolutely covered in dirt.

“Jesus, Walker! Warn someone before you sneak up on them, fuck.”

“Thought you heard me, my bad.” John said nonchalantly.

Bob stared at John’s soiled uniform in confusion. “What happened to you? Had a clean fight?”

“Oh, that. Ha, Right. Yeah it was fine, just some nut-job making sentient mud minions to steal shit. I was just gonna head to my room for a shower, but thought I smelled something tasty.” He leant his torso past Bob, to stare at the oven again.

“Oh, yeah, uh, I’m making cherry pie. I, uh, haven’t really baked since I was a kid. Thought it’d be nice to have after your fight… thing.”

“Aw, Bobby…” he smiled endearingly at the kind gesture, “Well, it smells really fucking good. I’ll be back in a bit after I clean up to try some with the others when they get back in a bit.” John left the kitchen, leaving some muddy footprints Bob would probably have to clean up himself.

As John strut away, Bob started to think about him getting in the shower.

Oh my god you pervert what the fuck is wrong with you oh my god shut up. I thought we were over this fuckkk

Before he could finish the self-deprecating thought, Bob’s phone alarm went off. 

Fresh from the oven, steam billowed off the pie, the scent of cherry and pastry overwhelming the kitchen. Bob was quite proud of his creation, it looked quite professional — the criss-crosses of pastry formed perfectly square windows for the deep red cherries to show through.

After 15 minutes of cooling, Bob picked up the pie to move it to the fridge to cool faster. As he turned around from the countertop, he was startled by one newly-clean John Walker. The sudden surprise caused Bob to lurch backwards, dropping the pie, crumbs and syrupy cherry clumps sprawling across the floor.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Bob yelled, crouching down to pick up the larger chunks of pie and place them back in the dish.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry, fuck.” John scrambled to help salvage the pie, “I’m sorry, Bob. I thought you heard me.”

“Stop fucking sneaking around like a ninja, dude, holy fuck!” 

“I’m really sorry, Bob, I feel so bad.” John scrunched up his face, the back of his hands covering his eyes.

“It looked really fucking good too.” Bob tried to hide his frustration, knowing John didn’t mean to scare him into destroying his pie, but it was the first time in ages he had baked and he was really proud of himself.

“Sorry, Bob. Sorry. I’m an idiot, sorry.” he frowned sadly.

“Stop fucking apologising!” Bob yelled in anger, his eyes glowed gold, causing John to shut up and back down in subtle fear. Bob grabbed the almost-filled pie dish and stood up, leaving John kneeling quietly on the floor.

There was a moment of silence as Bob placed the ruined pie on the countertop, his head held down in defeat, shoulders hunched over the dish and breathing heavily. John got up slowly and walked to Bob, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder.

Bob took in a deep breath.

“I- I’m sorry I yelled. I know you didn’t mean to scare me.”

“No, no, Bob… It’s my bad. You said earlier I move too quietly.” John leant over slightly to look Bob in the eye, “But that is definitely still edible.”

“Walker, no. I can’t let anyone have any now. Half of it went all over the floor. It’s gotta go.”

As Bob moved his hand to pick up the dish, John’s arm swooped in and grabbed it before he could, stepping away from Bob.

“What? No way, man. You made this, we can’t just chuck it out!”

“It’s just pie, Walker. I can make another one tomorrow, or something.” Bob reached for the dish, but John pulled it further away from his hand.

“Sorry, Bobby, no can do. This smells and looks way too fucking good to trash. And I don’t waste food, it’s like a whole thing.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, the pie dish in the other.

Bob dropped his arm to his side in defeat.

“Whatever, man, if you wanna eat floor pie it’s your funeral.” He raised his hands in acceptance.

“Well at least I died doing what I love. Eating… floor pie.” John walked over to the drawers and pulled out a fork, taking a seat on the barstools at the kitchen island.

Bob chuckled at his comment and leant on the counter across from John.

As John pierced a chunk of pie and chewed it, he made a shocked expression.

“Holy shit, Bobby,” he swallowed, “this is fucking amazing.”

Bob smiled softly at the praise. “Really?”

“Yeah man,” John gestured at the pie with his fork, covering his mouth with his fist, “you gotta try some.”

“Gross, dude. I’m not eating floor pie.”

“I’m serious, Bob. This may be the best pie I’ve ever eaten.” He stared at the other man solemnly, offering him his fork.

Bob weighed up the idea of eating freshly-grounded pie for a few seconds, ultimately deciding he wanted to know if John was just being overly nice, or if his pie actually was delicious. He took a small chunk of pastry with a generous amount of cherry filling to his lips and chewed, giving back the fork. His eyes widened in realisation. The cherries, while in a overly-liquidy syrup, were deliciously soft and perfectly sweet. The warm pastry was pleasantly crispy, but not too crumbly.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Right? Dude, Bobby, you gotta do this more often, this is really fucking good.”

“Okay, if you promise not to destroy the next one.”

“Dude. I said I’m sorry.”

“I’m still chucking this floor pie out, though. I’m not letting anyone else eat it.”

“What? No! I told you, I can’t waste food. And this is really good.”

Bob didn’t really want to overstep and get into why John was so adamant about his stance on food wastage, so he decided to be generous instead.

“Fine, but you’re gonna have to eat the whole thing yourself, cause I’m not touching that. One bite of floor pie was enough.”

John looked down at the pie, deciding if he could stomach the entire thing. It wasn’t one of his cheat days or anything, but it tasted incredible, despite its battered state. Whatever, one pie can’t hurt.

“…Fine.” He dug in, getting red syrup around his mouth and on his beard.

God, he looks so good eating that. I could lick the syrup off his beard. Jesus Christ Bob can you actually shut the fuck up…

Occasionally John would let out a quiet, soft moan or grunt as he made his way through the pie, Bob trying not to appear as flustered as he was internally. It felt oddly sensual, just sitting there, watching across the counter at the man eating an entire cherry pie he had made for 6 people. Bob wondered if he should leave John to it, but he couldn’t draw himself away from the scene.

As John neared the end of the dessert, he let out a small, quiet burp into his fist. A shiver went down Bob’s neck. 

“ ‘Scuse me. Ughh, okay, think I’m done. That was so good, thanks Bobby.” 

He got up to dispose of the empty dish, snapping Bob out of his momentary haze.

“Next time, I think I’ll share.” John chuckled. “Hey, uh, I think everyone’s upstairs debriefing about this mud golem dude, if you wanna come up?”

“I’ll be up in a minute!” Bob awkwardly thumbs upped toward John, who left for the elevator.

Bob would’ve left with John if it hadn’t been for his erection, forcing him to stand leant over, with the kitchen counter as cover. He felt so embarrassed by his physical reaction. Did Bob really find John so attractive that it made him hard? Or was it to do with the scruffy man eating a pie messily? Or was it to do with the scruffy man eating an entire New Avengers team-sized pie messily? Probably the first one right? Right?

Chapter Text

It’s two days later, half of the team are having breakfast in the kitchen.

“How about apple?” John asks.

“Wha?” Bob responds through a mouthful of cocoa flakes.

“For the next pie, I mean. Apple pie? It’s my favourite kind.”

Before bob can reply, Yelena interrupts, putting down her bowl of Froot Loops, “You guys had pie?”

“I, uh, baked one.” Bob shrugged, “The other day. I told you how I used to bake as a hobby as a kid.”

Yelena smiled, “Oh that’s so cute, Bob! Wait, how come we didn’t get any?”

“That was my bad, actually,” John wiped the toast crumbs off his lips, “ I may have dropped it on the floor a bit. Then Bob made me eat the whole thing.”

“No I didn’t!” He gave a shocked look to Yelena, “John has this weird thing where he can’t waste food so he ate it all! I wanted to throw it away!”

“Nuh uh.” John bit into his toast.

“Oh, is that why he fell asleep in the middle of the debrief?” Yelena chuckled.

“Nuh uh!”

Warm apple aromas wafted through the kitchen, towards John’s bedroom, drawing him out like a moth to a flame.  He walked in to see Bob standing next to a beautiful pie on a cooling rack. John licked his lips.

“You made it?” He asked.

“Ask and you shall receive,” he smiled, “Apple and cinnamon. I had to, uh, improvise the recipe a little bit, the video I followed was pretty awful.”

John inhaled deeply through his nose. “Smells fucking great, Bobby.” He sat down at the kitchen counter, “Can I try a piece?”

“Not until it cools down. And I’m saving it for movie night later.”

“Whaaat? Come on, Bob, cut a small slice so we can try some.”

“Sorry Walker, you’re gonna have to wait. I think we’re watching Alien 2 tonight?”

“Is that the good one or the bad one?”

“No clue.”

John eyed the pie.

“Just a little slice.”

“John, no! Just wait a couple hours.” Bob tore a piece of foil and wrapped it around the pie’s top, before placing it in the fridge.

“Whatever,” John shrugged, “I’ll see you in a couple hours, then.”

As evening rolled around and the sun began to set, the team were sat around the massive flat-screen TV, watching as two face-huggers skitter across the floor. Well, the team minus Alexei and Bucky, who were away doing god-knows-what. In front of the large couch occupied by the group, the glass table was strewn with various Taco Bell wrappers.

John scowled at the huge screen, “It’s so stupid, they have auto-aiming guns and they can’t shoot for shit. Give me one of those, you’ve got some dead xenomorphs in, like, an hour, tops."

Ava responded, “There’s no way in hell you’d survive thirty seconds with one of those things, Walker, what are you gonna do, annoy it to death?”

Yelena laughed loudly, “No, he would bore them to death by giving them an hour-long lecture on gun safety in space ships.”

John shot them both an unimpressed look. As the pair giggled, Bob stopped paying attention to the film.

“Wait, wait! Pause. Pause here one sec. I’ve got dessert.”

John got up eagerly, “Oh fuck yeah, I’ll get plates.”

Bob lightly dusted powdered sugar over the top of the pie he had left out for a while to reach room temperature.

“That looks so fucking good, Bobby. Good job, dude.” John stated earnestly, placing a hand on Bob’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Walker.” He smiled before carefully placing the pie onto a plate and into the microwave for a minute.

Eventually both men returned to the couch, John setting down the plates and silverware, followed by Bob, pie in hand, Ava and Yelena looking up from their phones in interest.

Yelena sat up straight to see the dessert, “Holy shit, Bob, that looks amazing!”

Ava inhaled, “Smells great, too. Is that apple?”

“Thanks guys,” Bob blushed at all the praise, “Yeah, uh, John wanted apple pie, so… Apple pie!”

After plating up between the four of them, they continued watching the movie and muttering praise about Bob’s fantastic pie. By the end of the film, over half the large pie still remained, as everyone was sated from their Taco Bell meal - enough leftover pie for everyone to have a slice tomorrow.

“I’ll put this in the fridge, so help yourselves when you want.” Bob gleamed, silently very proud of how well everyone responded to his baking. It felt so good to provide something for the team, even if it was just housekeeping and baked goods. Receiving praise from John made him feel especially warm inside, but he would never admit that.

The next morning, Bob was in the kitchen with Yelena and Ava, preparing his cereal in his exercise outfit before his weekly run with John. Opening the fridge for some milk, Bob noticed the pie dish had vanished.

“Did you guys enjoy the rest of the pie?” He asked thoughtfully, still relishing in his appreciated baking abilities.

“Oh, I haven’t had any since last night, are there still leftovers?” Ava asked.

“I haven’t had any either, but I’ll have some later.” Yelena added.

“I don’t think there’s any left. Is Alexei back from his trip already?” Bob wondered if the large Russian man had returned early and pilfered the dessert.

“No, don’t think so? He said he’d be gone a whole week.”

“Bucky?”

“Still in Florida.”

Bob paused.  Then who had the entire rest of the pie? This one was even bigger than the last, surely it couldn’t be-

Before he could finish the thought, John appeared behind him, running attire on, water bottle in hand.

“Ready, Bobby?”

“Uh, yep! Just lemme clear up one sec.”

“I’ll be in the lobby. See you guys later.” He nodded at the two women before  exiting the kitchen.

Light shone faintly through the overcast sky as the two men ran through the park. The weekly jogs had slowly become weekly runs, as Bob became more confident with the exercise. At the centre of the park, Bob slowed to a halt and the pair sat down on a bench.

“You’re getting better.” Walker huffed as he drank from his water bottle.

“Yeah?” Bob wheezed.

“Yeah. More stamina. I haven’t really had to slow down for you much either.”

“Wow, thanks, Walker.” Bob rolled his eyes.

“You should train with me at the gym. Would be nice to train with someone who can take a super soldier. Someone who actually has the time to, at least.”

“I don’t know, man, it’s a lot of effort and I don’t even go on missions with you guys. Also I can’t exactly use my powers. Can’t you ask Alexei?”

“Absolutely not. That guy gets way too competitive and way too enthusiastic.  But look, Bob, even when you’re not Sentry-mode, you’re still practically invulnerable. So I could spar with you without having to worry too much about breaking your bones. Besides, even outside of missions and stuff, it’s just good to know how to fight properly. And, no offence, but whatever Yelena’s been showing you probably isn’t something you could replicate.”

John was right, whenever Yelena would try and help Bob out at the gym, she’d always show him something crazy, like a technique for disarming someone which usually ended with Bob splayed out on the mat like a thoroughly disarmed starfish.

“Yeah,” Bob sighed, “okay, well I guess if we bump into each other there, we can do something.”

“So, never then.”

“You’re so annoying. Look, I can maybe try it out, but if I hate it I’m never doing anything you say ever again."

John chuckled, “good enough for me.”

After a few more minutes of recovering from the run, they decided to jog over to the Shakeout.

“You go sit down, I’ll order.” John nodded at a table in the corner.

Minutes later, John walked over with two milkshakes and a bag of donut bites.

“I thought you said this stuff would kill you?” Bob said mockingly.

“Yeah, probably. I think I might just make Saturdays my cheat days so I can enjoy this stuff guilt-free.” He took a sip of his chocolate shake.

“What’s there to be guilty about?” Bob asked, “Unless you were the one who stole the pie I made?”

John coughed as he sipped his shake. “What?”

Bob leant back with crossed arms and an accusatory expression on his face. “I asked everyone else where it went and nobody knows. It’s really weird.” Bob said sarcastically, “You said apple pie was your favourite, right?”

John was speechless and his face quickly became red. “…Okay, you got me…”

Bob’s eyes lit up in vindication, his hunch had been correct. “I knew it!”

“You said we could help ourselves!”

“That was enough for four people!”

“It was really fucking good, shut up!” John lowered his volume, becoming increasingly aware of the other people in the shop and his embarrassment increased.

Bob looked at John with a shit-eating grin. “We don’t have dessert tonight, now. You owe me for the ingredients to make some.”

“Okay, Jesus, whatever, sure.” He was incredibly flustered by the spontaneous confrontation, avoiding eye contact.

There was a lull in the conversation, as Bob realised he was pushing John perhaps a little too far. 

“You know, I could have just made you your own pie if you wanted one so bad.” Bob smirked.

“Dude, shut up.” he snorted with a smile, “I was just hungry and it was there.”

“I’m serious, I like baking, I’m more than happy to do more. I’d just like to be told if everything I make is going to vanish in one night.” Bob smirked.

“Okay, okay, sorry… It was just a one-off thing, it won’t happen again.”

Bob relished in seeing John so flustered, so guilty-looking. It was quite the compliment, baking something so delicious that someone like John couldn’t resist it. Bob took the cherry off his shake and placed it to the side, John promptly picked it up and ate it, his face a similar colour to the fruit.

Fuck, he looks so cute like this.

“Can we drop by the store on the way back, pick up some ingredients?”

“Yeah, of course.” John ate a donut bite, “Hey, tell you what, I feel bad, so how about I help with the next thing you make?”

“Really? Can you bake?”

“…Well, no. But I can measure shit! Or whatever. Olivia was, uh…” he trailed off, not meaning to have brought up his ex-wife, “Olivia was always the baker of the family…”

There was an awkward silence as Bob was unsure how to respond. Eventually he spoke up. “What should we make, then?”

John was grateful for the lifeline. “Maybe something easy-ish? Just so I can keep up.” He chuckled to himself, realising that a few weeks ago it was Bob who couldn’t keep up.

“Cake? Cake’s pretty easy, you can’t really mess it up. Well, you can… But you won’t. Maybe chocolate?”

“Sounds good. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Well, you could…..

“We could make it tomorrow? My battery’s kinda dead at the moment.”

They both finished the donut bites and their shakes before heading back to the tower, stopping along the way to pick up flour, sugar, milk, cocoa powder and eggs. John insisted on paying and carrying it all back.

Bob was excited to bake with John; to show off his baking skills to his crush he still felt guilty for having.

John was excited for cake.

Next time: Cake.

Chapter Text

I hate this fucking feeling. I haven’t had this bad a crush since fucking high school.

Bob was lying awake on his bed with the lights off, staring up at the ceiling.

Why? Why the fuck do I keep falling for the most unavailable people? A fucking divorced straight guy? Jesus Christ Bob, that’s a new low, even for you. I know I shouldn’t! Why can’t I just flip a switch and stop caring? We slept in the same bed together for fuck’s sake! That’s a little gay, right? Ugh, who am I kidding, I’m not that delusional. This feeling is just festering in me, I thought it would go away, but it just won’t! God, I wanna tell Yelena so bad, I know she’d knock some sense into me. But there’s no way I’m telling anyone. I’m not gonna embarrass myself like that.

Bob fell into a cycle of overthinking, overanalysing his feelings for John that he wish he could just get rid of, push away, anything. Eventually Bob’s small spiral tired him out and he fell asleep.

John fidgeted on the leather couch. He was lost in thought, staring at the small ceramic bulldog on the table.

“Wait, what?” He snapped out of it, and focused on the man sitting across from him in an armchair.

“I asked what you were baking later, you didn’t say.” It was Carl Manner, John’s therapy specialist. He was in his mid-40s, with dark skin, curly hair and a thick moustache. His office was bright and warmly lit, with expensive mahogany furniture. John always thought it smelled like cats. 

“Oh, uh…” he picked up where he had left off before getting distracted, “Uh, cake. Chocolate cake. I’m making it with Bob.”

Carl nodded. John had clearly been taking his advice about spending more time with his teammates to heart.

“It’s good you’ve been socialising more. We’ve been over how important it is to be there for people. I’m sure it’s been good for Bob, too.”

“Yeah, it’s been… nice. I mean, he deserves the attention. I was worried he’d really hate the running and stop after the first time. But it’s nice to do it with someone else. Sometimes I think he gets me more than the others.”

“Do you think the rest of the team don’t understand you?”

“Nah, I think they do. But with Bob, it’s like… I don’t know, like he always knows what I’m thinking. And, you know… It’s nice to take a break from all the fighting and missions and stuff.” He thought back to last year, when Bob used his powers and saw John’s most shameful moments.

“Have you baked before?”

“Uh… not really, no. At home… Before the… divorce…” he gulped, “it was always Olivia who would do the baking. I’d try to help out a bit, but I’d usually just get in the way. So I’d stick to regular cooking.” 

John hung his head slightly. It still stung to bring up his divorce, even after almost a year of therapy. Like re-opening a deep wound.

“It’s alright, John. Baking is a constructive experience. I’m sure Bob will appreciate the help.” Carl turned a page in his notebook, “And how is the doomscrolling?”

“It’s… I’m getting better. I’ve been keeping myself distracted.” Mainly by eating pie and then jerking off… he thought.

“Okay, well distractions can be good, but I think you should consider limiting your screen time, especially before bed.”

“Yeah, okay.” He faked a small smile. Yeah I’m not gonna do that.

John was becoming more and more open to help and to therapy, but he was still John Walker: stubborn, and a glutton for some level of self-deprecation — whether it was bad for him or not.

Later that day, Bob and John were in the kitchen preparing the cake mixture. John was forced to wear Bob’s apron as he didn’t have his own, and Bob refused to be held responsible for ruining his clothes.

“Okay, you whisk the eggs and I’ll weigh out the rest of the ingredients and then you can mix them all together.”

“Shouldn’t I be doing the weighing? I don’t wanna mess up by over-mixing or whatever. I know that that’s a thing.”

Bob looked at him with a questioning expression.

“You’re not going to mess up anything, John. Just… whisk the eggs and stir the ingredients together, it’s practically impossible to mess up.”

“Okay.”

John cracked and whisked the eggs in a bowl, while Bob measured out the sugar, butter, flour, milk and cocoa powder. 

“Do I put the eggs in now?”

“You can, I prefer to mix the dry ingredients first, so sugar, butter, flour and cocoa powder. Maybe a pinch of baking powder too.”

“Alright, I’ll do that, then.” 

John put the bowl of whisked eggs to the side and combined the dry ingredients, while Bob checked if the oven had reached the correct temperature yet.

“Now the eggs?”

Bob checked the larger ceramic bowl to find all the dry ingredients blended thoroughly.

“Yeah, looks good, add the milk and vanilla extract too.”

“Yes, sir.” John muttered playfully, “Uh, how much vanilla am I putting in?”

“Just a cap-full.”

John poured the remaining ingredients into the bowl and began mixing slowly. Bob buttered the round cake tins and placed baking parchment neatly within, then turned around to check on John, who was now mixing very aggressively.

“Jesus, Walker, slow down a bit. You’re mixing the batter, not beating it. Here, like this.” Before John could respond, Bob grabbed the bowl and wooden mixing spoon from him.

“See, you fold in the batter like this, so it becomes airy and fluffy when baked.”

John watched Bob as he explained, he enjoyed seeing the man in his element, happy and flourishing. He also enjoyed how Bob took command over him in the kitchen, he felt like he was back in the military taking orders, but this time it was from someone he actually liked and appreciated. John was eager to please Bob by showing a keen interest in his hobby. He couldn’t afford to embarrass himself by messing up. But while Bob was correcting his technique, John didn’t feel embarrassed or weak. If it were anyone else taking over his duty, John would probably grab the bowl right back and refuse to let anyone tell him what to do. But Bob was different, he was… kind, he was… nice. And gentle. John remembered the evenings where he’d cook dinner with Olivia — the laughs and smiles, the quiet mutual appreciation of the other person while they prepared their own parts of the same meal. He also remembered the moments he’d try to help her with some of the meals when he’d had a bad day. When he was agitated, aggressive. He’d smashed a fair few of their dishes, mostly just through incompetence, but occasionally through unfiltered anger and frustration. He regretted those moments severely, wished he could have taken them back. But the dishes were broken, the mixture was on the floor. You can’t un-bake a cake.

“Okay, your turn.” Bob handed the bowl back, pulling John from the depths of his mind.

John silently nodded and began repeating Bob’s technique, folding the waves of batter into themselves calmly, in direct contrast to his previous violent method. John didn’t understand how it was that Bob, of all people, could bring out this calm, this warmth in him. But he wasn’t going to question it. Maybe it was just his therapy finally kicking in.

“That looks great! Let’s pour it into the trays and we’ll put them in the oven.”

John filled the dishes and carefully inserted them both into the hot appliance.

“How long ’til they’re done?”

“About 20 minutes. Ish. Wanna watch something on TV?” He clapped his hands together gently.

“Uh, sure, like what?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, let’s just see what’s on.” Bob skipped out of the kitchen and hopped onto the couch.

The pair watched an episode of The Simpsons, but inevitably ended up on their phones, scrolling in almost-silence which was only interrupted by Bob’s occasional giggles. His goofy chuckle reminded John of when he let Bob stay in his bed and he woke up to him giggling similarly in his sleep. His laugh was really cute, John thought in a totally hetero way. 

Was it weird that he was so quick to let Bob into his bed? 

No, right? 

He was just worried about him. 

And it’s easier to keep an eye on him if he’s… in the same bed as you? Whatever, Bob knows I was just being friendly and nice, nothing weird. Bob does know that right? He did act kinda weird that time at the donut store, but I just figured he was tired or something.

Music cut the white noise of the TV as Bob’s phone timer went off.

Chocolate scent wafted through the kitchen as they removed the cake from the oven. It had risen perfectly and seemed beautifully spongey. They waited for a while for the cake to cool before decorating it in store-bought frosting. Bob tried his best to make the icing even, but without a turntable, it was pretty difficult — Bob thought it looked good enough anyway.

“Pretty good, right?” Bob took a step back from his masterpiece, looking to John for validation.

“So good.” Leaning against the counter, John scraped the remaining frosting from the container and ate it slowly, not fully paying attention to Bob.

“Dude, that stuff’s like ninety-nine percent sugar.”

“Well it tastes good, so…” he licked the frosting-covered knife clean.

“I thought you were more of a savoury guy?” Bob arched his brow.

“Eh, you’ve converted me.”

Bob smiled softly, before placing the cake in a transparent container and into the fridge.

“Thanks for helping out, Walker.”

John smiled in reply, “no problem, Bobby. It was fun. What are we making next?”

Bob didn’t expect John to be so receptive to the baking process.

“Oh, I wasn’t really planning on making anything else for a bit, to be honest…”

“Oh.”

“But! You know how to make cakes now, so… yayyyy! … We can come up with something next week, if you want? But if you really wanna bake stuff I can send you some recipes?”

John was pretty disappointed. He only really wanted to bake stuff if Bob was going to be there. “Um. That’s alright. I can wait.”

He had been pretty bored the past week, almost nothing exciting had happened and, with half the team gone, John found himself feeling useless. He’d tried to spend less time online, as per Carl’s instructions, but outside of his phone, he didn’t really have many hobbies outside of exercising. Baking with Bob was a welcome break. It was fun and distracting, while also making John feel useful and needed. Spending time with Bob in general made John feel useful — anything stopping The Void from returning must be important, even if it was just making baked goods. John needed to be needed; it made him satisfied and content, knowing he had value.

As he helped clean up with Bob, John felt quite domestic. Even in the silence, it felt nice to be near Bob. He just had such a bright presence. 

While Bob washed the ceramic bowl, John watched him. Something had switched on in his brain; it was like John was seeing Bob for the first time. They had known each other for over a year, but it felt so much longer. With a blank expression, John scanned Bob from head to toe. He looked so warm, so cosy, so inviting in the warmth of the overhead kitchen light.

Hug him, John thought.

What?

John furled his brow at the idea.

Well that was fucking gay.

He quickly brushed off the impulsive thought and returned to drying a plastic jug.

Ooh, maybe brownies next time… he thought.

Chapter Text

John lay awake in his bed, shrouded in darkness. He reminisced about his ex-wife and their son — silently scanning his mind for the happiest moments he could remember. The first time he kissed Olivia. Their rainy wedding in the countryside. The birth of their son. 

He knows it isn’t constructive for him to dwell on the past, but he can’t help it. John has always been one to obsess over every mistake he has ever made, and one so significant is just too unavoidable. Too unbearable. 

Even though it still hurt years later, he froze himself in the dread and regret, letting it eat at him from the inside. Had this masochistic streak always been there? Maybe a little, but it was definitely strengthened when he took the serum. Every facet of his character, good and bad, was amplified a thousandfold. John Walker was a good man, a strong man. But above all, he was an impulsive man. His time in the army had taken its toll both physically and mentally, leaving him with PTSD. Sometimes he would wake up in his room in the tower in a cold sweat, the sound of gunfire and yelling echoing through his mind, the volume of which rivalled only by his heart racing. 

Even now in his room, he could feel his heartbeat picking up pace. If he punishes himself any further there would be no chance of him getting to sleep tonight. He needed something to distract himself. As he went to pick up his phone, he remembered Carl’s advice — to limit his screen time before sleeping. John considered ignoring the idea entirely, when his stomach growled, interrupting the thought. With heavy bags under his eyes, he was too tired to get up and make a healthy snack. That was until he remembered there was still some leftover chocolate cake in the fridge. Now, that’s worth getting up for.

John winced at the bright fridge light. As his eyes slowly adjusted, he took out the cake container and placed it gently on the kitchen counter. Half of the chocolate beauty remained from the evening’s meal, and John placed his knife atop the dark frosting in position to slice a small piece. Before he cut in, he paused before he widened the angle of the slice. He’d had a pretty rough night, he deserved a little extra. Besides, Bob’s baking was so fantastic it was hard not to indulge a little. Bob was correct yesterday, John always had preferred savoury foods to sweet, but there was something so truly intoxicating about his desserts. Maybe he was becoming addicted to the sugar, but maybe it was just the comfort of the unhealthy food that John enjoyed the most. For the majority of his life, he had remained steadfast in avoiding unhealthy foods for the most part, save cheat days where he would spoil himself. But even then, most of the time those meals consisted of savoury junk — burgers and pizza. Only Bob could have given John such a sweet tooth. The first bite was deliciously moist and rich.

How does he do it? How does he make something so bad for you taste so good?

Perhaps John had a pretty dramatic outlook on treating himself to a few fairly unhealthy foods, although he had previously eaten an entire pie, followed closely by an additional one half of an entire pie. He was thoroughly impressed by Bob’s ability to bring something this delicious into existence so easily. Thinking back to the first pie incident, John remembered how satisfied he felt by eating the whole thing. Sure, he was pretty uncomfortably full, but the heavy feeling in his stomach felt like being covered in a cozy weighted blanket. It was no wonder he fell asleep and missed almost the entirety of Yelena’s debrief. On top of that, it also felt nice to show Bob some appreciation for his contributions to the team. He deserved the praise, after all.

John finished the last forkful of cake and inhaled sharply, before stifling a burp with his fist. Satisfyingly full, he deposited the container back into the fridge and slowly trudged his way back to his room. Although he hadn’t consumed a tremendous amount of food, John still felt a little bloated.

I’ll work out more tomorrow, he thought, mindlessly feeling his abs.

Comforted by his late night snack, John fell asleep surprisingly quickly, successfully distracted from his previous masochistic mental spiral. He hoped there would still be some cake left over in the morning.

It was the next night and John was back in his dimly-lit bedroom. He was on his phone again. This time, however, it wasn’t to feed his masochistic self-deprecation, it was to watch porn. The film was one of John’s old favourites — a classic pizza delivery scene, with a hot blonde woman with huge tits and a scruffy brunette skinny-fit guy with slight facial hair. He’s hot too, John thought, but not in a gay way! The pizza delivery guy also kind of looked like Bob, which John didn’t realise until the cock in his hand was already hard.

I think it’s pretty normal to think some guys are hot. Like it’s not gay to think a dude is objectively handsome. And so what if you think about fucking a dude, cause it’s not gay unless you’re the one being fucked! Right? Is that? How that works? Fuck me, we’ve all had thoughts about the naked guys in the locker rooms, it’s basically unavoidable to think about when you’re surrounded by free-flying dicks. Besides, me and the guys would always joke about that stuff anyway, you know, slapping each other’s asses and stuff, it was always a joke!

I mean. There was that guy in the high school band, fucking, what’s-his-name? I dunno, but he was super into me. Must’ve given him the wrong signals or something cause he tried to kiss me after a game. He was kinda cute I guess, but I wasn’t gay. I’m NOT gay! 

John decided to prove to himself that he was straight. He would only stroke his cock when the pizza dude was the centre of focus, and when he got soft he would conclude that he only likes women. Except he didn’t get soft. The pizza delivery guy’s loud moaning and his scrunched-up-in-ecstasy face just made John harder and closer, until, to his surprise, he finally came onto his hairy chest. His eyes widened.

Well, fuck.

After he cleaned up after himself, he had a serious internal dialogue with himself about the situation.

Okay John, I know you’re not gay because you have a wife and kid. Had.

Jesus Christ… 

So… what? Am I bi, then, or something? 

No, I- I don’t-

Fuck, aren’t I way too fucking old to be having this crisis thing?

He sat in silence for a while, holding his hands together with his back hunched over.

I mean… I guess it does kinda explain some things. Like high school drama club…

And Lamar and Olivia HAVE asked me if I was gay before. Was this obvious to everyone else but me?

Wait, fuck, does this mean Dad was right whenever he called me a faggot?

Okay, John huffed with a laugh, his heart beating rapidly, actually fuck this. I’m not dealing with this right now, maybe I’m just tired or something, I dunno… 

As he tried to fall asleep, he couldn’t help but replay the porn scene in his mind, trying to figure out if he did actually find the dude hot or not. The slight erection in his pyjama pants over the thought of his naked body told him all he needed to know.

Two nights later it’s Halloween. There’s a small party being thrown in Avengers Tower, just the gang and a few of their friends. And a few of their friends’ friends. Okay, so maybe it was less of a small party and more of a ‘woah hey dude my friend’s going to a party at Avengers Tower wanna come?’ domino effect which concluded with 30 - 50 people mingling around the top floors. Yelena even managed to convince Bucky to stick around for it, and he invited Mel, who invited others, who invited others, etcetera… So now there was very loud music and bright lights and spooky decorations everywhere. And lots of snacks, of course. And alcohol.

Yelena is somewhere in the crowd, making fun of Bucky’s devil costume he had no intention of wearing. It was originally intended for Ava, but she refused it, her main argument pertaining to her having to wear her suit, so she opted for an honest-to-gosh actual ghost costume — a white sheet with eye holes cut out. Yelena was a little disappointed she didn’t get to see Ava wearing the red horns, but she had to admit her new costume was pretty funny. She herself was dressed as a stereotypical American cop, complete with aviator glasses and stick-on moustache. Alexei even managed to make it back from his trip in time to join the party, although without an actual costume, he donned his Red Guardian attire and proceeded to spend the entire night explaining who he was to every single person. 

Bob was dressed up as a vampire, with a black and red cloak, and surprisingly realistic fake fangs. While he wasn’t particularly one for large-scale social situations like this, he had to admit it was a very fun party. The music was good, the snacks were great, and the costumes were (for the most part) fantastic. He stuck by Yelena for most of the night, but made sure to socialise with as many people as he could manage before his social battery would run out. It was always nice to see the less-serious side of the New Avengers, and seeing Bucky with red face paint smeared on and Yelena with that stupid moustache was truly a sight to behold. But where was John?

Before the event had ramped up, as people began trickling into the party, John was still downstairs in his bedroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, with a neutral expression, eyeing his cowboy costume. He wanted to enjoy himself, enjoy the party, but he couldn’t stop thinking about his… troubling… thoughts. He had expected them to disappear over night, but the more he thought about them the more it seemed to solidify them. Any attraction to men he had felt in the past, he had assured himself it was a normal, straight thing that every man felt. He lifted the lukewarm beer to his lips and tilted his head back to take a long sip. At least this party would be a great distraction.

“Bobbbyyyyy!!” John stumbled his way over to the vampire, a beer can in his hand.

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to, Walker.” Bob turned around to see him and was suddenly embraced in a very tight, very warm hug.

“Are you drunk?”

“Mmmm maybe a liiittle. I went t’go get more beer.” John rubbed his face. His eyes looked tired and he was slightly slurring his words. Bob knew that in order for a super soldier like him to get hammered, he must’ve had about a gallon of beer.

“Jesus, how much have you had?”

“Enough- Urrp-“ John let out a drunken burp, “It’s a partyyy! C’monnn.” John nodded his head sleepily, while a large grin on his face.

Bob tried to evaluate him, to see if he was alright.

God, he does look good in that cowboy costume though.

John poked him hard in the chest, “D’you want anything? T’drink?”

“Uhh, nah, I’m good.” Bob was already pretty tipsy anyway from the various spirits being passed around. He felt very aware of how John’s hand lingered on his shoulder.

There was a long silence in which John stared into Bob’s eyes with an unreadable expression.

“You’d make a-“ “Anyway, so-“ They interrupted each other and chuckled.

“You go.” Bob gestured toward John and he smiled.

“You’d make a good vampire.” He felt the collar of Bob’s cloak, rubbing it between his fingers. Their faces were getting close enough for Bob to smell all the alcohol on his breath.

“Thanks, man. You’d make an even better cowboy, I reckon.”

John snorted in response, “What’s- What’s the sayin’? Uh, spare a horse, ride a cowboy? Or somethin’ haha.” He looked up from Bob’s collar and to his eyes, with a drunken smile, his own eyes half-lidded and full of want. John’s breath was hot on his face.

Bob’s face flushed red. Was his face getting closer?

What the fuck is he doing? What the fuck’s going on? Is he joking? What?

John backed off suddenly, as if he had just heard what he had said.

“Sorry, uh… sorry. I’m gonna- I’m just-“ John stumbled over his words before retreating back into the crowd, leaving Bob frozen in place.

HELLO?!? WHAT? WHAT? What was that? Is he? Was he?

“Bob? You alright?” It was Yelena. She had seen John tear himself off Bob before speeding off.

“Uh, y-yeah, just… Yeah, what?” Bob snapped himself from his frozen state and focused his attention on Yelena, who had lost the glasses and moustache.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Bob shook his head, “Think John’s just had a bit too much to drink.” He chuckled.

“Was he being an asshole again? Do I need to talk to him?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Hey, where’d your moustache go?” Bob desperately wanted to change topic.

Yelena pointed behind her at Ava, who had somehow attached the accessories to her white bedsheet. The occasional “cop ghost! cop ghost!” could be heard through the loud music.

“Seriously, Bob, if he said anything, I can-“

“It’s fine! He’s just being stupid, nothing new there.” He looked back into the crowd.

John was back in his room, surrounded by empty beer cans. He held a half-empty bottle of whisky in his hand, taking the occasional swig. Once again, he stared at himself in his floor-length mirror.

God. Just look at you. Fucking pathetic.

He fell back onto his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He took another swig of whisky, and lifted up his cowboy shirt to rub his distended stomach. Turns out chugging over a gallon of beer and spirits makes him extremely bloated.

Ughhhh… Fucking idiot… Fuck it hurts. Shit…

He rubbed his face aggressively. He believed he deserved that kind of pain. Especially after whatever the fuck he was doing with Bob just then. John had neither the clarity nor the sobriety to think properly about his impulsive thoughts and actions. But he did know he was wrong about the party being a distraction from his newfound thoughts. Now he found himself face-to-face with them. But he’d deal with those tomorrow. John fell asleep quickly, one hand still wrapped around a bottle, the other feeling the pressure of his tight, bloated stomach.