"On your Left"

He was invincible, or so Bob and his team believed.

So, when a dangerous target was trying to escape, Bob, in a rare manic state, offered to go after them as his team secured the hostages. After assuring the others he could do this, that they had taught him well and that he had his invulnerability, they agreed to let him go. Bob was ecstatic that he was able to do something to actually help, outside the rare household chore, and those famous last words echo in his mind as he follows behind the one responsible for the chaos:

What could possibly go wrong?

As Bob catches up to the target, he goes to land a punch, but his fist is stopped in mid-air by a shimmering wall of magic. He froze for a second. He'd never fought a magic user before. His opponent seemed to notice his panic and grinned at him, a dark promise of pain to come. With a flick of the wrist, Bob was sent flying backwards, knocking over a few trash cans and landing hard on his back. The attack had stunned him for a second but didn’t hurt. Bob pushes himself back on his feet and charges the magic user again.

As they collided, the energy in the surrounding area shifted, each blow Bob tried to land was masterfully blocked by a shimmering wall of magic. As Bob stumbles back after another failed attack, the magic user finally decides to switch to the offensive. For the first time since getting his powers, Bob experienced pain. Violet bolts of energy whizzed around him, some missing their mark, a few he pushed away with his telekinesis, but most piercing into his skin. Bob had been familiar with pain for as long as he could remember, but this was worse than anything he felt. It was a tearing, a burning that went deeper than flesh, it made his movements slow and his head foggy. Like the bolts weren’t only causing wounds but draining his energy.

As his energy waned, his foe was merciless. A whip, forged from what looked like a living flame, lashed out, cracking against Bob’s chest. Each strike stole his breath, leaving trails of fire dancing across his usually impervious skin. The smell of ozone and something akin to burnt sugar filled the air. Bob’s team flashed in his mind. They were counting on him to deal with this threat. He couldn't let them down, but he was losing ground quickly. Any attempt to advance was met with that flame-like whip and an invisible force that yanked him around like a puppet on strings.

"You... you won’t… won’t get away" Bob gasped, stumbling, his vision blurring at the edges. The world tilted and he fell to his knees.

“This was an adorable attempt,” the sorcerer said, letting out a low chuckle. “But you and your ‘New Avengers’ are out of your depth.”

The New Avengers. His team. His friends. The people who had seen him at his worst and had pulled him out of that dark place. He was letting them down. He was making things worse… Bob let out a shuddering breath, spitting out blood he once more pushed himself to his feet. All he needed was one good hit… Just one.. He charged forward, ignoring the protests of his muscles, the burning in his veins. Just one Hit. He anticipated the whip and the violet bolts of energy. He got closer, ready to grab the man’s jacket. But Bob failed to see the new spell forming. The air crackled around them, an unseen power pulsed between them and made the hairs on the back of Bob's neck stand up. That’s when he noticed the orb, the size of a fist and glowing white-hot.

“You are a fool, Bob Reynolds. You and the rest of those washed-up wannabes are playing at being heroes. You will never be more than nothing,” the Sorcerer's tone had gone from mocking condescension into a chilling certainty. “Killing you will do the world a service.” The orb shot forward, and Bob threw his hands up in front of him, trying to stop it. But along with the bone-deep pain, doubt had trickled into Bob’s mind, cutting him off from the full power of the Sentry.

The orb strikes Bob square in the chest.

There was no sound, not at first. Just a quiet detonation of pure force that vaporized the surrounding air. Then the pain. Oh the pain! He’d never felt agony quite so enveloping, tearing through every cell of his body, stripping away his invulnerability layer by painful layer. He was so consumed by it, he didn’t even realize he was screaming. He was flung backwards, a broken doll tossed aside, crashing through a brick wall with a sickening thud that resonated deep in his bones. Dust and debris rained down on him. He lay there, amidst the rubble, the world a spinning chaotic mess of blurred colors and muffled sounds. He tried to move, to push himself up, but his limbs wouldn't obey. A coppery taste filled his mouth.

“I.. can’t.. Let you get away…” Bob rasped, his voice so soft it couldn’t be heard by anyone else. Much less the sorcerer who’d made a portal in the alley and slipped through it.

_

Ava’s head snapped back, her eyes wide. “Did you all hear that?”

A cold dread, sharp and sudden, pierced through Yelena. “I don’t like the sound of that.” Her voice was tight, a coiled spring of anxiety. “Come on, the hostages are secure.” She gestured, a frantic, jerky movement, urging the New Avengers out. Why did they send Bob alone? The question clawed at her, a frantic bird trapped in her chest. He was the Sentry, a titan in the making, but he was also inexperienced and didn’t seem to like the idea of hurting others…

The alley air, thick with the stench of something acrid, hit them like a physical blow. And then they saw him. The sight punched the air from Yelena’s lungs. Bob. A broken doll tossed amidst the jagged teeth of a decimated brick wall, his form a grotesque splash of crimson and gold against the muted grays and browns of the debris. The sheer, brutal efficiency of the assault was etched into his stillness, a silent, screaming testament to the violence that had exploded here, then vanished. He shouldn’t have gone alone… The thought was a lead weight in Yelena’s stomach.

“Bob?” The name was a breath, a wisp of sound, as Yelena started forward. Each step was a lifetime, the distance between them an elastic band, stretched taut with a rising, suffocating panic. “BOB?!” The yell tore from her, raw and ragged, as she broke into a desperate run. Behind her, the others surged, a wave of grim-faced determination. Ava and John, weapons drawn, their muzzles scanning the oppressive shadows, hungry for a target. John’s jaw was a knot of barely suppressed fury, his knuckles white on the grip of his sidearm. He looked like he was praying for the culprit to reappear.

Yelena skidded to her knees beside Bob, the rough concrete biting into her skin. Her hands, trembling, reached for him, rolling him onto his back with a gentleness that belied the storm raging within her. The others fanned out around them in a tight, protective circle.

“Вот дерьмо…” The Russian curse escaped Yelena’s lips, a shocked exhalation. The full extent of his injuries slammed into her with the force of a physical blow. A constellation of bruises, angry and purple, marred his skin. Puncture wounds and cuts, dark O’s, wept blood. Burns, puckered and raw, painted trails of agony across his torso. And then she saw the worst of it, a deep stab wound in his chest just under his sternum.

“How did this happen?!” Alexei’s voice was a gravelly mix of outrage and disbelief. Bob. Their walking fortress, their supposed paragon of invincibility, rumored to possess the strength of the original Avengers combined, now a broken figure in a rapidly spreading pool of his own blood, his breath a shallow, rattling thing.

“We can worry about the ‘how’ later,” Ava’s voice was a whip crack, cutting through the stunned silence. “He’s hurt badly. We have to get him out of here and back to the tower.”

A shudder ran through Bob’s frame. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing dull, pain-filled orbs. “It’s… it’s my fault.” His voice was a wet, gurgling whisper, each word an effort. “I… I failed. I should’ve been able to catch him.”

“No, no Bob.” Bucky was there, kneeling, his voice a low rumble of reassurance, though his eyes, scanning the horrific tableau of injuries, betrayed his shock. “This isn’t your fault. We should have sent one of us with you.” The unspoken question hung heavy in the air: how to move him without inflicting further damage.

Bob’s head moved, a weak, jerky motion on the rubble-strewn ground, his hair matted with sweat, dust, and something darker. "I should've been stronger. I let the team down." A fresh wave of despair washed over his face. "I... I can't even feel my legs."

“Easy, Bob,” John’s voice, surprisingly gentle, cut through the charged air. "We'll get you out of here. You've taken a hell of a beating, but we'll get you patched up in no time."

“Dad, Ava, help me lift him,” Yelena commanded. The crimson stain on the ground was spreading, a morbid tide. There was no time for a 'perfect plan'. They needed to move, now. Carefully, oh so carefully, they gathered him, their movements slow, deliberate. Yet, as they shifted his weight, a pathetic whimper, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony, was wrenched from Bob’s lips, a fresh jolt of pain tearing through his ravaged body.

“We’ll get him back home,” Ava said, her voice tight, glancing over her shoulder at Bucky and John. “You two see if that Sorcerer is still in the area.”

“Gladly,” John’s reply was a low growl, his eyes burning with a cold, hard light.