#crueltyerror

it’s not often they have to attend any of the fancier events, undercover or as themselves, but this particular gala was for charity and the only request made of him was to make an appearance. no speeches, no photo ops, no schmoozing required. just show up alongside other avengers, and smile politely for a few hours. for charity, he could tough it out for a few hours. even if he’d rather be out on the field facing down some hydra goons than these philanthropists currently patting themselves on the back for doing the bare minimum they could with their wealth.

it had taken some tactical persuasion to get james to attend as his plus one, but the sight of him cleaned up in a nice suit alone made the effort well worth it. if he spots any photos from the event later steve might have to stealthily save them and get it framed and sneak it onto a wall or shelf in the apartment somewhere. it would be one perk to knowing there would be eyes and cameras on them all evening; just one more aspect of these galas that makes his skin crawl. some days the publicity he had to do as an avenger felt a little too close to his uso days and it left a sour taste in his mouth.

so when james makes it clear he’s had enough for the evening, done with the crowd and the cameras and ogling, steve was happy to oblige. hand rests on the small of james’s back and gently angles him ever-so-slightly towards the closest exit he’d scoped out, saying a polite goodbye to the senator who’d cornered him in conversation as he does so. once he’s able to step away, hand never leaving where it’s placed against the soft fabric of a suit jacket, steve makes a subtle signal to the closest avenger in eye line (nat makes a barely perceptible nod back) and starts making a path to the door while avoiding as much of the crowd as possible.

years of reflex bring an easy excuse to the tip of her tongue; oh, just caught myself on the coffee table the other day, y’know i don’t even remember where that came from, i slipped on the stairs, how clumsy of me, can you believe it? but there’s something so genuine about how he’s asked, in the way he’s looking at her and the ugly bruises splotching her skin, that causes the words to catch in her throat.

suddenly shes reconsidering, wondering what harm there could be in telling the truth. it’s a habit she hadn’t given any thought to before, the little lies told to cover for others or herself. to ensure no one is wasting their time worrying about her, not when there’s always something more important and pressing to be concerned with. it had started when covering for a partner she couldn’t stomach the thought of any longer, then for herself when she was slipping through the cracks and playing double agent, and then to ensure no one questioned her durability as she continued on in this line of work, choosing to keep the focus on her fellow agents and civilians.

while the old memories seeping into her mind caused her hands to tremble, there was no one to cover for this time, so winnie can admit that trying to lie to grant's face seemed like it would be awfully foolish.

it takes all the kid’s willpower to not openly scoff at an avenger. he had to be kidding, right? even at sixteen he can feel the pressure of expectations and survival nipping at his heels every day, and it was getting harder and harder to keep running from it. growing up is already hard, growing up as a mutant with prolific parents was a whole different kind of hard.

not to mention he’s been cursed (oh, he can see several disapproving faces in his mind, reminding him he’s supposed to think of his genes as a blessing) with powers that require so much restraint he can barely trust his own emotions. god forbid he get too worked up and blow himself or something else up. and somehow he’s expected to be using these powers to help people, to justify his own existence, even when that means facing people double his age and twice the experience. no pressure.

there’s never really been time to entertain the idea of a normal future, a life that could ever include things like college and whatever normal human teenagers had to think about when looking ahead. this school, these people, this path, is all he’s ever known.

how could clint, despite being the hero he is and being surrounded by super powered individuals, really understand any of that?

he can feel the frown on his lips twist into something more petulant, anger smoldering deep in his chest. arms remain firmly crossed over his chest, if only to not be visibly fiddling with his blaster. something tells him it wouldn’t matter if he pulled it on the man before him, anyways; he’d find himself disarmed in a second anyways.

“doesn’t matter. doesn’t change that it’s happened this way,” he replies, hearing how childish his voice sounds to his own ears. but he hears dewlanna’s voice rumbling in his head and sighs, looking away from anakin.

head remains firmly in his hands, palms digging into his eyes as if the pressure could relieve the ache settled deep into his bones. kind as her words were, reassuring as her solid presence there beside him always was, he did not deserve it. not the softness, not the chance to take some of the weight from shoulders that are already overburdened.

the guilt planted in his gut has had decades to sprout and climb like ivy through his chest and constrict his throat. every misstep, every life he could not save, every bad call, even his own ignorance— all caused it to grow and thicken and threaten to choke him. and some days, the real bad days, he wishes it would. he wishes he could put him out of his misery so he could feel like he wasn’t struggling under the weight of the world and its expectations, as though he hadn’t picked it up of his own volition all those years ago.

but the root of it all always comes back to the same faces, the same moments. he feels his mothers cold hand in his own, watches helplessly as james’s slips away from his and disappears into the wind and snow. his memory is perfect to the point of being a doubled edged sword; he can not forget. every soul he’s failed, every mistake he’s made, every word spoken he’s come to regret, it all lives inside his skull and taunts him when he closes his eyes.

and here nat is, offering something that feels too much like an excuse.

you couldn’t have changed what happened.

but if he’d done something differently, used a different strategy, made a different call, maybe he could have. maybe no one would have been lost, maybe no one would have gotten hurt.

the last thing he wants is a redo of what happened when were both swallowed up by grief after bobby left them. eddie hates himself for it all but it finally feels like they're back to a place they haven't been in years. he doesn't want to screw that up by not showing up or pushing too hard but it might actually be the thing that kills him. he swallows hard as he walks around buck's house, stepping over weeds and taller grass like it hasn't been touched in weeks. buck loves yard work. he shakes it off every bad gut feeling he's having. he makes it to the back door and he looks in, noticing that the door is unlocked so he slides it open. buck is there. awake and standing in front of him like he was going to lock the door. he can tell the place is a mess even in dark.

why aren't the lights on ? he goes to say something but buck is gone. the bedroom door shuts in the distance and he's left alone again. his chest aches and he's fighting every instinct to just run in there with demands to tell him what the hell is going on here. with him. instead he just puts himself into work mode. he grabs a trash-bag and gets to cleaning up the trash. he does the dishes and starts a load of laundry. his stomach growls and it snaps him out of his don't feel, just get it done headspace so he must be pretty hungry. he fights with himself for a minute. buck wants space but he also needs to eat. he rubs his hands together and walks down the hallway, he leans his forehead against the door and barely taps on it with his knuckles. " hey buddy, you want lunch ? i'm starving. y'know, chris has never once complained about my sandwiches so how about i make us a couple ? "