The facility was too quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that meant “mission accomplished.” No — it was the stillness of something waiting to be found.

John Walker slowed his pace, eyes narrowing down the long metal corridor. Behind him, Bucky adjusted the grip on his pistol. Bob, at the rear, scanned the shadows with a soft, worried crease in his brows.

“Anyone else hear that?” Bob asked suddenly, voice low.

They all froze.

A soft, broken sound echoed down the hallway.

It was faint — nearly drowned out by the hum of flickering lights and the cooling bodies of dead tech — but it was there.

A whimper.

Sharp. Wet. Human.

“Third door on the right,” Bucky murmured, already moving.

They reached the door in seconds. Reinforced steel. Padlocked shut.

Walker knelt beside the frame and tugged at the handle. “Locked.”

Bucky frowned. “Someone didn’t want this opened.”

More whimpering.

This time it was clearer — like someone trying not to cry. Trying to disappear.

Bob’s breath caught in his throat. “We need to open it. Now.”

No more questions.

With a grunt of effort, Walker raised his shield and slammed it into the lock. The door didn’t budge.

Bucky stepped in beside him, metal arm gleaming.

“Together,” he said.

The door flew open with a deafening clang, slamming into the wall and revealing a room that reeked of blood, bleach, and desperation.

And there — in the far corner, curled so tight you looked half your size — was you.

Your arms were wrapped around your knees, trying to hide your chest. Your skin was scraped, bruised, and streaked with dried blood. IV ports dangled from your arms. And worse — you were naked.

You let out a cry and shoved yourself deeper into the corner, eyes wide with terror as the three men stood frozen in the doorway.

“Shit,” John muttered. “She’s just a kid.”

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, kneeling down and holding up both hands. “It’s okay. We’re not here to hurt you.”

But you were shaking. Mute. Pressed into the wall like it might swallow you whole.

Bob took one step forward — slow, careful, eyes flicking instantly to your exposed body. His face tightened.

Then, without a word, he unclasped the thick, blue cape from his shoulders.

He held it low so you wouldn’t flinch, then gently draped it over your shivering form.

“There we go,” he said quietly, voice soft as clouds. “You don’t have to be scared. I’ve got you.”

Your breathing hitched as you stared up at him. Tears filled your eyes. And Bob, he didn’t hesitate. He knelt down and, with one careful motion, scooped you into his arms — cape tucked tightly around you, shielding every inch of skin.

You didn’t fight him.

You just trembled. Silent. Fragile.

Bucky and John exchanged a glance but said nothing. Whatever you’d been through… it was worse than they imagined.

⸻

When they met up with the others in the hangar, Yelena’s smile dropped instantly.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, stepping forward.

“She was locked in,” Walker said quietly. “No food. No clothes. They left her to rot.”

“Animals,” Ava spat.

Alexei stared for a long moment, then crossed himself.

Bob just held you tighter.

“She didn’t say anything,” he murmured. “Not a word. But she let me carry her.”

Your face was buried in his chest, arms trembling under the thick folds of his cape. You didn’t speak, but you clung to him like a life raft.

And that’s exactly what he was.

⸻

On the Jet the flight home was silent — not with tension, but with reverence.

Bob stayed seated with you nestled in his lap, his arms cradling your body as gently as if you were made of glass.

You never once moved away.

Yelena passed him a water bottle to offer you. He held it near your mouth, and to everyone’s shock, you sipped. Barely — but you trusted him.

You didn’t acknowledge the others. Couldn’t. Not yet.

But when turbulence hit and your fingers tightened in Bob’s suit, he only smiled down at you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you let yourself believe it might be true.

You were a test subject. You were a kid—probably no older than twenty. And the second you stepped foot into the Thunderbolts’ tower, your healing began.

⸻

Your healing journey started with yelena:

Yelena didn’t push when you didn’t eat the first night.

She just stared down at the untouched food with a sigh and muttered in Russian under her breath, something halfway between annoyance and concern. The next morning, she came back — tray in hand, this time with oatmeal and banana slices shaped into a smiley face, and a mug of something warm with cinnamon steam curling into the air, something the former Captain America had made just for you.

“You didn’t eat,” she said matter-of-factly, setting the tray beside you. “So now I’m bribing you. Congratulations. You’ve become a hostage to my hospitality.”

You blinked at the bowl, then at her.

“I swear it’s not poisoned,” she added, holding up both hands. “If it was, Bob would’ve cried halfway through stirring.”

She didn’t expect a thank you. She didn’t get one, either.

The next day, it was scrambled eggs and toast — cut into little squares (courtesy of Bucky) like she was feeding a toddler. She perched on the foot of your bed, scrolling through her phone like she had nowhere better to be.

“Just one bite,” she murmured, almost like she was talking to herself. “Then I can yell at John with a clear conscience.”

On the fourth day, your fingers shook when you reached for the spoon. She didn’t say anything — just passed you a napkin without looking up. Her voice stayed light. Teasing. Like this was all normal.

By the end of the week, there were post-it notes all over the kitchen.

“If you eat the soup, I’ll let you braid my hair. Warning: I talk a lot of trash.”

“Bob made muffins. You don’t want to disappoint him. He has sad eyes.”

“Eat something or I’ll tell Alexei you need cheering up. You know what that means.”

You still hadn’t spoken. But you were eating.

One night, when you drifted off on the couch, curled into John’s army hoodie, Yelena pulled the blanket over your legs. The sleeve slipped off your arm.

And that’s when she really saw you.

The outline of bones. The thinness of your wrist. How your shoulder blades looked like they might cut through your skin.

Her expression didn’t change. Not outwardly.

But her hand stilled.

And for the first time, her voice wasn’t joking when she whispered to the empty room, “I’ve got you now, okay? You’re not going to break.”

Then she sat on the floor beside you.

And stayed.

⸻

Next came the loudest member, alexei:

Alexei was loud, clumsy, and had absolutely no concept of personal space.

But somehow… you didn’t mind.

Maybe it was because he didn’t look at you with pity. Didn’t tiptoe or whisper. He just treated you like you were alive, not fragile — like joy was still something worth chasing.

One afternoon, he barged into the kitchen wearing a dish towel as a cape and a colander on his head. “Do not be alarmed,” he announced. “Red Guardian is here to defend snack time.”

Bob blinked. Yelena rolled her eyes.

You… let out a small, unexpected snort.

Alexei gasped, hand on his chest. “Was that laugh? Did I hear laugh?! You have been blessed by the Guardian’s presence!”

Your hands flew to your mouth, surprised by the sound. He grinned wider.

From that day on, he was relentless. Sock puppet shows. Dramatic retellings of old missions (“There were six bears, I swear—no, seven!”). A constant, chaotic storm of ridiculous energy designed for one purpose: to make you forget, just for a minute.

One night, after you smiled — a real one — he sat back in his chair, quieter than usual.

“They did not take you,” he said. “You are still here. I see it.”

And in that moment… you believed maybe he was right.

⸻

bucky was next after that day:

You never said a word. Not to him. Not to anyone.

But Bucky never asked you to.

He noticed early — the way your eyes tracked every sound like they might be a threat. The way you kept your back to the wall, flinching when anyone entered the room too fast. The way you gripped the hem of Bob’s hoodie like a lifeline.

So Bucky gave you space… but he also gave you presence.

You’d find him in the hallway outside your room some mornings, sitting with a mug of coffee, reading a weathered paperback. He didn’t knock. Didn’t hover.

He just existed nearby — calm. Predictable. Someone who could sit in silence without making it uncomfortable.

One evening, you startled during a movie — a sudden explosion on screen.

Before you even registered it, Bucky was beside the couch, crouched down in front of you, one hand held palm-up near yours, not touching.

Your breath hitched.

“I get it,” he said gently. “Too much noise sometimes.”

You didn’t answer. Just stared at his hand — scarred, calloused, real — and after a long moment, you let your pinky brush his thumb.

He said nothing. Just nodded like it meant everything.

The next day, he brought a book to your room. The Secret Garden.

He didn’t read it aloud. Just left it on the nightstand and tapped the cover once. “One of the good ones.”

Later, he caught you curled on your side with it open on your lap, lips moving silently as your finger traced the words.

When the nightmares came — and they always came — you’d find your door cracked open. Not by accident.

Bucky would be down the hall, hoodie pulled over his head, earbuds in one ear, metal arm resting on his knee. He never asked questions. He just sat there. Every night.

And though you couldn’t say it yet… a small part of you started to believe:

You weren’t alone. Not anymore.

⸻

Ava was next:

The phaser never hovered.

She didn’t overwhelm you with softness or pity. She simply showed up — a quiet presence with clean clothes folded in her arms and a hairbrush in her hand.

“These might be too big,” she said one morning, holding out a plain black hoodie and leggings. “But they’re yours. No having to return or borrow.”

You took them without meeting her eyes.

Afterward, she found you in the bathroom mirror, trying to tame the mess of your hair with shaking fingers. You didn’t ask for help. But you didn’t flinch when she stepped beside you and gently reached for the brush.

“Can I?” she asked.

You hesitated, remembering when those people would yank and pull your hair, or cut it but still you nodded.

She worked slowly — careful not to tug, careful not to crowd. Her fingers were warm and steady as she moved through the tangles, the silence between you soft and comfortable.

“There,” she murmured, brushing a final strand behind your ear. “Better.”

You glanced at your reflection — the clean clothes, the neat braid, the faint color in your cheeks.

For the first time, you looked like someone becoming.

Over the next few days, she left little bundles on your bed — folded tops in soft fabrics, sweatpants with drawstrings, simple rings and earrings like you might’ve picked for yourself once.

And she never made it a big deal. Never told you what to wear. She just let you choose.

That was her way of saying: This body is yours again.

Not theirs.

And when she caught you one evening tracing your fingers over the silver band on your thumb — the one she’d quietly slipped into the pile — Ava smiled.

“You picked a good one.”

⸻

john was next:

John didn’t pretend to understand what you’d been through.

But he knew how to rebuild something broken — brick by brick, breath by breath. So when you started eating again, sleeping through the night, and walking with a little less tremble in your step, he showed up at the training room early one morning with two mats and a towel slung over his shoulder.

“No punches,” he promised. “Just movement. Just control.”

You hovered by the doorway, unsure.

He didn’t coax. Just dropped into a stretch and started his warmup like it was nothing. Five minutes later, you quietly sat across from him, copying his motions — stiff, slow, but willing.

The sessions stayed wordless for a while. No pressure. No lectures. Just him, showing up. Patient. Steady.

And then came the sparring.

He kept it light, barely tapping your arms, letting you find your footing. You hated how weak you felt. He saw it in your eyes — the frustration, the fear that you weren’t someone anymore.

Then one day, it happened.

You blocked a blow just a little too hard — or maybe it wasn’t your muscles that reacted. Maybe it was something deeper.

A burst of blue light, violent and raw, cracked through your palm like lightning. It slammed into John’s chest with a force neither of you expected.

He flew backward. Crashed into the far wall with a heavy, echoing thud.

You froze. Eyes wide. Heart racing.

Then you crumpled into the corner of the room, pulling your knees to your chest, trembling like a child who had broken something too precious.

John groaned, dragging himself up, hand over his ribs.

“Okay,” he muttered, coughing. “That was new.”

You didn’t look up. Just shook your head, curls hiding your face. Your chest heaved. You thought he’d be angry. Scared. You were scared.

And then — boots stepped closer.

And arms wrapped around you.

Strong. Real. Safe.

John knelt there in front of you, holding you to his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. His voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Hey, hey. I’m alright. You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t.”

You clung to his shirt, breath shaky, chest tight.

“You’ve got power,” he whispered. “That’s all. And we’re gonna figure it out — together.”

No bark. No orders. Just warmth.

Just John — letting you fall apart without judgment.

And staying until you could breathe again.

⸻

bob was last:

Bob had watched them all find their way to you.

Yelena with her constant hovering, armed with snacks and sass and fierce protectiveness — always pretending it wasn’t tenderness underneath.

Alexei, storming through every room like a bear in a costume shop, pulling laughs from you like it was the only thing that mattered.

Ava, so gentle, giving you soft fabrics and quieter choices — never treating you like glass, but always giving you control.

Walker, guiding you through each move in the gym, pushing just enough to show you your strength — and holding you when your powers cracked through the surface.

Even Bucky had found his way in. Sitting beside you on the bad days. Letting silence be safe again.

Bob… wasn’t sure what was left for him.

He was the quiet one. The overlooked one. Always had been.

But you kept sitting next to him.

Not touching, at first. Just close. Like his presence was a lighthouse in a fog you couldn’t name.

And then one day, as you sat on his lap like you had on the jet and at some-point you ended up hiding you face into his chest when an silly argument between Alexei and Walker started, he let you stay like that.

And then again, the next day. And the next.

Eventually, your spot wasn’t beside him — it was on him. Curled in his lap on the jet, pressed into his chest on the couch, dozing off with your palms on his chest. He never moved unless you wanted him to. Never asked questions. Just offered you the stillness you’d been denied for so long.

He didn’t talk much. Not because he didn’t want to — but because you never looked like you needed words.

You needed breath. Warmth. Something safe to rest your bones against.

And that, he could give you.

But late at night, when the tower was quiet and the others had gone to bed, he’d stare down at the top of your head and wonder: Am I helping? Or am I just here?

He told himself it didn’t matter.

That just being was enough.

Then one night, while you were curled in his lap under a shared blanket he brought from his room, he sighed and murmured, “Yelena’s furious with me. Says I stole her muffin again. Swears she counted them this time.”

Your head stirred faintly against his chest.

“She’s wrong, though,” he continued softly. “It was Alexei. I saw him. Tried to hide it in his boot like a goblin hoarding treasure.”

There was a beat.

And then — the faintest breath of a sound.

A snort. Half a laugh. And then, quieter still:

A hoarse voice spoke “…Liar.”

Bob froze.

You did too.

The word hung in the air between you — fragile, trembling, real.

His eyes widened. He looked down slowly, breath catching.

“Did you just…?” He blinked. “Did you—say something?”

You were already curling into yourself, pulling the blanket tighter, face warm with embarrassment.

But he smiled — soft and stunned — and took your hand gently in both of his.

“You did,” he whispered. “You talked.”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t pull away either.

And after a moment, you rested your head on his shoulder again — quieter now, but not afraid.

“I knew you’d find it,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I didn’t know it’d break me like this, but… I’m glad it was me.”

He didn’t tell anyone that night.

The facility was rotting at the seams, half-sunk into the wet dirt of a forest that hadn’t seen daylight in days. The concrete walls were cracked and moss-eaten, but the energy thrumming beneath the surface wasn’t dead. It was waiting.

The team moved in a loose wedge formation through the first chamber, boots crunching over old debris. Bob stayed near her side, silent, his gold-and-blue Sentry suit humming faintly under the weight of his calm restraint. He hadn’t activated yet, but the way his jaw was locked — he was ready.

She felt the hum first — in her stomach, in her ribs, under her skin.

The hallway ahead flickered with movement.

Ava called out, “Movement left!”

And it was like a wire snapped.

Doors burst open, and figures poured out — modified, armored, not fully human. The air shimmered around them like heat waves, and in that moment, she stopped thinking and acted.

Her hands rose and in an instant, her power bloomed — soft and cold, a luminous blue that lit the entire corridor. It wasn’t unstable like before. Not wild. It moved with her.

One gesture and the air crackled. A surge of power launched forward, threads of glowing magic lashing through the enemy front like silk knives. They staggered, lifted from the ground, tossed back like leaves in a storm.

A hand reached for Yelena — she flicked her fingers and blue magic coiled around the attacker’s wrist, snapping it backward. Another figure tried to vanish into a shadow-step — she closed her fist and froze him mid-phase, then shattered him into ash with a sweep of her arm.

Walker stood frozen for a second as one of the supersoldiers sprinted toward him — and before he could even block, her glowing tether wrapped around the target’s neck and yanked them into a wall so hard the concrete cracked.

“Jesus,” he muttered, staring at her. “You’re terrifying.”

She said nothing. Just floated forward, blue light curling behind her like smoke.

In seconds, it was over.

The hallway was a ruin of sparks and groans. The team regrouped quickly. Ava gave her a quiet nod. Yelena touched her shoulder, light and brief. She didn’t flinch.

Bob watched her for a long second, something unreadable in his expression.

She looked away.

⸻

The deeper they moved, the colder it got.

Her magic buzzed faintly in her palms, like it was warning her. Tasting the air. Her boots scuffed against the concrete as she trailed behind Bob, every nerve wired, her eyes scanning the shadows.

When they split up again, she and Bob took the north corridor. His presence was a calm anchor beside her, the edge of his golden cape brushing her arm as they turned a corner.

That’s when she heard the first whisper.

Not a voice — more like a vibration.

The air changed.

She raised her hand slowly, and Bob paused, instantly catching the shift in her energy. Her palm lit with blue light, soft and haunting, casting both their faces in ghostly color. He nodded once — go ahead.

The ambush hit like thunder.

Dozens of armed figures erupted from false walls and dropped from above, perfectly coordinated. Bob shoved in front of her, light starting to crackle off his suit. But before he could do anything — she stepped past him.

And unleashed it.

A cyclone of blue erupted from her outstretched arms — magic that sang, that screamed, that bent the air. She lifted her arms and the power obeyed, ribbons wrapping around enemies mid-sprint and smashing them into opposite walls with bone-snapping force.

Someone drew a blade — she pointed and the weapon dissolved. Another one lunged, and she twisted her wrist — their body froze midair, contorted painfully, and she dropped them like a puppet with cut strings.

Someone grabbed Bob’s cape. She turned her palm outward, a pulse snapped through the hallway, and the attacker simply ceased. Gone.

Bob turned his head, watching her with a kind of awe — not fear, not worry — just quiet reverence.

When the bodies fell silent and the blue light died down, her chest heaved, sweat shining at her temple. She didn’t look at him.

She looked past him.

At the smoke.

It crept along the floor like rot — unnatural, oily, slow. She stared as it began to coil upward into something tall. Something shaped like a man. Blacker than shadow. Empty eyes opened.

She blinked.

And the hallway was gone.

⸻

It was the cold that hit her first.

Then the sting in her wrists, the weight at her ankles, the sound of machines humming overhead. The table was real. The straps were back. The room was white — too white — and voices droned behind the glass.

“She’s plateauing. Hit her harder.”

“Pain responses are inconsistent. Try breaking her rhythm.”

Gloved hands. Force. Pressure.

A face she couldn’t see. A name they stripped from her.

“Stop—!” she tried to scream, but nothing came out.

They were everywhere. Inside her head. Inside her body.

Her blue magic sparked — flickering, confused — but she couldn’t grab it.

The panic rose so fast it drowned her.

Then hands touched her — warm, firm, steady.

A voice: “Hey. I’ve got you. You’re not there.”

She choked in air and opened her eyes — her face was pressed to Bob’s chest, his arms around her, shielding her with everything he had. She trembled in his grip, breath catching.

Behind him, in the memory, the Void watched.

Bob turned his head and glared at it.

Gold light erupted from behind him, burning into the scene like a new sun, and everything shattered. The sentry protecting the girl.

⸻

They landed back in the real hallway.

Smoke curled from the floor. Bob’s cape was still around her shoulders. She was shaking, wide-eyed, heart racing.

He held her carefully.

“You said it wouldn’t reach me,” she whispered.

“It didn’t. It was a memory—”

“But it saw me.”

Bob’s face crumbled. “I didn’t know—”

“You should have.” Her voice cracked. “You should’ve protected me from that.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it.

She stepped out of his arms.

The others had arrived. Their faces twisted in worry, but she didn’t want to be touched. Didn’t want to hear anyone.

She walked past them, past Bob, straight to the jet.

⸻

She didn’t speak once on the flight.

Bob sat across from her, staring but silent. His hands were in his lap, still dusted in ash. She curled into herself like the blue glow might never come back.

He wanted to cross the cabin. But she looked like she’d vanish if he tried.

When the jet landed, she was gone before the door finished lowering.

He followed her, jogging down the corridor. “Please—just tell me what you need. Please.”

She turned the corner and didn’t look back.

⸻

He searched for an hour.

His Their room first . The rooftop. The balcony near the archives. The lower gym, the kitchens, the lab storage where she once curled up on a crate when overwhelmed. He checked the garden Yelena kept alive, even though she didn’t go there much anymore.

Nothing.

His voice cracked when he told the others: “She’s not anywhere.”

Yelena’s face turned pale. Ava nodded once and darted off. Alexei muttered something about the vents and disappeared.

Bob just… stood.

Then his phone buzzed.

John: Found her. She’s safe. Let her be for now.

⸻

John sat quietly in the corner of his room.

She was on the floor, his oldest hoodie wrapped around her, sleeves pulled over her fists. One of his medals — scratched, chipped — was in her hands, like it was keeping her tethered to this moment.

He didn’t ask how she got there.

Didn’t speak.

He just sat. Back to the wall. Quiet.

Five minutes passed.

Ten.

Then — without looking — she shifted sideways, leaned into his shoulder, and rested her head there. Her body was still tense, but her breathing eased.

John didn’t move.

She fell asleep.

And he stayed like that. Not as a soldier. Not as a teammate.

Five months.

It had been five months since they found her—locked in a room no bigger than a closet, naked, shivering, barely breathing. Five months since Bob had wrapped her in his cape, since she’d flinched from every voice but curled into his chest like she knew even then that he was safe. Since she’d spoken her first word, her voice barely more than a breath, whispered into the curve of his shoulder.

Now she stood in the training room in her very own leggings that Ava and Lena bought her and one of bobs tee, her bare feet braced steady on the mat. Her hair was longer, healthier. Her skin wasn’t sickly pale anymore. She’d put weight back on—her thighs soft and thick, her arms strong, her stomach solid. She wasn’t heavy by any means, but she didn’t look like a ghost anymore either. She looked present. Planted. There.

A dark blue shimmer sparked around her fingers, warm and light. She stared at it, breathing in deep and slow as the energy pulsed outward like a heartbeat. It didn’t scare her anymore. Not as much. Not when she was like this—calm, centered, focused. In control.

She flicked her hand to the side and the blue light snapped outward like a ribbon, curling mid-air and vanishing with a hum.

“Well, damn,” John muttered from the side of the room, arms crossed. “You keep that up, and I’ll be out of a job.”

She shot him a small smirk over her shoulder. “Promise?” She asked, causing a chuckle from Ava.

Alexei cackled from the bench. “Yes! Talk more trash! We must encourage the chaos!”

Yelena tossed a towel at him.

“Again,” Bucky said, nodding toward the mat. “Focus on precision. Not just power.”

She inhaled. Let it out slow. Turned back toward the center of the room.

The energy came easier now—less like a current ripping through her and more like breath, something natural. She formed a small shield with both hands, stepped back, and launched it forward with a sudden burst of strength. It crashed into the target dummy at the far end of the room and sent it flying.

John whistled low.

“Okay, maybe I am out of a job.”

⸻

Later that night, the rooftop was quiet. Besides Bobs room, where she now stays instead of her own room, the roofs her safe place.

She sat cross-legged on the warm concrete, a light breeze tugging at the hem of Johns hoodie that’s she first dressed in after being saved. The lights of the city blinked in the distance. Bob stood near the edge of the balcony, leaning his elbows against the railing, watching her with that same quiet curiosity he always had when she worked with her powers.

She liked showing him.

Maybe because, unlike the others, he never tried to take over. Never corrected her form or gave instructions. He just… watched. Present. Still.

She let the energy come slowly this time, letting it dance between her palms like smoke. It glowed dark blue, shifting shapes—first a ball, then a ribbon, then little sparks that looked like fireflies.

Bob crouched beside her.

“You always make it look like art.”

She looked up at him. “It doesn’t feel like that when it’s… big. When it gets too much.”

His eyes searched hers. “You’re not afraid of it anymore, though.”

“Not usually.”

A pause.

“But sometimes?”

She hesitated. “It’s in me. All the time. Like pressure behind my ribs. Some days I feel like if I breathe too hard, I’ll lose it.”

Bob nodded slowly, understanding in his silence.

“I’ve seen what happens when I’m not in control,” she added, voice lower. “That first time… when I hit John, it wasn’t even on purpose. What if next time I hurt someone worse? What if I can’t stop it?”

“You will,” he said.

She shook her head. “How do you know?”

“Because you’ve already done something harder than that.”

She frowned.

“You’ve lived with it. Survived it. And now you’re learning to use it. That’s harder than just letting it explode.”

She was quiet for a while. Then: “What about you?”

Bob looked out over the skyline.

“What about me?”

“I’ve shown you my power. You’ve never shown me yours.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I don’t show anyone. Not if I don’t have to.”

“Because of the Void?”

He nodded.

“The Sentry’s power is… more than I can explain. And the Void is the other side of that. The balance. The cost. I try not to let him out.”

“But you’re not scared of me,” she said carefully.

Bob looked down at her, expression softening.

“No,” he said. “Never.”

They sat in silence again.

She reached out, forming a tiny butterfly in her palm out of light and color. She let it float upward between them, flickering against the night sky.

Bob watched it until it disappeared.

“I trust you, you know,” she said.

His breath caught—just a little.

“I know.”

She didn’t say anything more. Just leaned her head gently against his shoulder and let the light in her hands fade away.

And when he tilted his head to rest against hers, neither of them moved for a long, long time.

John Walker had never expected to be the big brother type.

But somewhere along the way — in between missions, fights, and watching her crumble into silence — he became exactly that.

He never said it out loud. Never needed to. But the way he hovered quietly around her, making sure she ate, slept, breathed — it said more than words ever could.

She hadn’t left his room in three months.

Everyone on the team had started to move on. Not because they didn’t care, but because they didn’t know how to help. The witch — their strange, powerful, quiet girl — had retreated into herself completely after the mission where her powers exploded and the Void had showed her something no one else could understand.

She didn’t speak anymore.

Didn’t eat unless John brought it straight to her.

Didn’t cry, didn’t ask, didn’t explain.

She would bathed, but as soon as she came out she’d back in pajama shorts she was given by Yelena and of course, his military hoodie she’s always wears when she’s hurting, the same hoodie he’d given Bob so she had something to cover her up.

So John just… stayed. Day after day. Quietly taking care of her like it was his job. Like it was sacred.

He left snacks near her favorite blanket that Bob had Gaven John knowing she wasn’t gonna be back in his room for a while. Switched his pillowcase when she fell asleep. Tucked her hair gently behind her ear when it got in her food, sometimes tying in back for her. Some days, he’d try to get her to talk.

“You want tea or water today, kid?”

She didn’t look up.

“Maybe we go to the gym? Just to watch? I’ll even let you time my sets and cheat.”

A slow blink. Maybe a flicker of a twitch.

Other days he wouldn’t ask anything. Just sat near his her bed, leaned against the dresser, telling her stories from his army days or memories of his late best friend.

She never answered.

But she was listening. And that was enough for him.

One afternoon, he came back to find her still in bed, hadn’t eaten the crackers he left or moved in hours. Her skin looked dull, her eyes even more so. So, with a long sigh, he crouched down beside her.

“Okay. Guess we’re doin’ this the stubborn way.”

He scooped her up gently, bridal-style, cradling her with all the ease of an older brother who’d done this a hundred times before. She blinked up at him, but didn’t resist.

“Outside time,” he mumbled, voice soft. “Sun’s good for sad brains.”

He carried her to the private balcony outside his room and laid her down on the cushion in the sunlight. Draped a blanket around her shoulders. Sat next to her in silence.

Twenty minutes later, she leaned her head against his arm, cheek warm from the sun.

He didn’t say a word. Just smiled.

The next day, he brought Alpine.

Bucky’s moody white cat had no love for many people, especially him — but she adored the witch. Always had.

The girl’s eyes lit up a little when Alpine padded into the room and leapt onto her lap, purring. She didn’t smile — not yet — but she lifted a shaking hand to pet her.

Alpine nuzzled in like she’d never left.

John watched from across the room, arms crossed loosely, and felt something deep in his chest shift.

His little sister was still in there. She just needed time.

And then — on a night thick with quiet — she finally spoke.

He was brushing his teeth in the bathroom when her voice called out.

“John?”

He dropped the toothbrush in the sink and rushed out, trying to hide the panic on his face.

“Yeah, kid?”

She sat on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, Alpine curled in her lap.

“Do you think I’m… disgusting?”

His heart cracked.

“No,” he said without hesitation. “No, I don’t.”

She stared at the floor, lips trembling.

“I killed them. Back on that mission. All of them. Without thinking.”

“You saved Bob’s life,” John said gently. “That’s not something to be ashamed of.”

Her voice was quieter now. Fractured. “The Void came out. He saw everything.”

She paused.

“I’ve never told anyone what they did to me in the lab. Not really.”

John sat beside her, slow and steady, hands in his lap.

“They didn’t just hurt me with powers or needles,” she whispered. “They broke me. They locked me in dark rooms. Tied me down. Shocked me until I screamed. And when that wasn’t enough…”

She swallowed. Her eyes went glassy.

“They let the guards do whatever they wanted to me. For days. Weeks. Until I stopped fighting. Until I gave up.”

John clenched his jaw but didn’t speak.

“I was a thing to them. Something to poke. Something to use. And when the Void showed me that memory again, I thought…”

Her voice cracked completely.

“I thought maybe Bob saw it and realized I’m… ruined. That maybe he’s only stuck around out of guilt.”

John reached over slowly and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in tight.

“You are not ruined,” he said firmly. “You were hurt. You were used. And it was never your fault. Not for a single second.”

She curled into his chest, shoulders shaking, her tears soaking into his shirt.

“Bob doesn’t pity you. He just didn’t know how to help. He’s been beating himself up for months.”

She sniffled.

“I feel so broken.”

“You’re not. You’re just healing. That takes time, kid. But you’re stronger than any of us, and that scares the hell out of people who don’t know better.”

She didn’t say anything else.

Just laid there, small and tired, and let him hold her. Like a kid who needed her big brother to keep the monsters away.

He didn’t let go.

Neither of them knew Bob was sitting outside the door, knees drawn to his chest, head leaned against the wall, crying silently.

He’d only come by to ask John how she was doing. But he stayed — rooted there — as he listened to the only person in the world he wanted to protect tell the truth he never knew.

Tears ran down his cheeks, slow and quiet.

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t speak.

Just stayed.

John Walker opened his bedroom door half-asleep, planning to go make coffee — and immediately tripped over something large, solid, and alive.

“Jesus—Bob?!”

Bob Reynolds was curled up on the hallway floor like a kicked dog, his eyes half-open, hair wild, hoodie rumpled.

“You slept here?”

“Sort of,” Bob mumbled. “Didn’t want to leave.”

John blinked at him, then offered a hand and hauled him to his feet. “You look like hell.”

“I think I might be dying.”

“You’re not dying, you’re just an idiot.”

Bob gave a weak chuckle, then fell quiet. “How is she?”

John sighed. “She’s… okay. Still scared. Nervous. But she slept.”

“I heard what she told you last night,” Bob said quietly. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I was gonna leave, but I couldn’t make myself. I didn’t mean to—”

“Bob.” John stepped closer, jaw tight. “Stop.”

Bob froze.

“You wanna talk to her?”

He nodded slowly.

“Yeah, well… hell no.”

“What?”

“You think a little sad puppy face gets you back in her life just like that?” John said sharply. “She broke down thinking you pitied her, man. She told me what happened to her in that place and thought you’d hate her for it.”

“I don’t—!”

“I know you don’t,” John snapped, not yelling — but the edge in his voice was sharp. “But you hurt her. Maybe not on purpose, but you did. And she’s still figuring out how to breathe again. You don’t just get to waltz in with an apology and fix it.”

Bob’s face crumbled. “I just want to try.”

Down the hall, a door creaked open. Bucky leaned out, hair messy, coffee in hand.

“You done yelling?”

”I wasn’t yelling,” John muttered.

Bucky cocked his head. “Could’ve fooled me. Walls are soundproof, but I’ve got ears like a bat.”

Bob started to slink away, but Bucky stopped him. “Not you. Stay.”

John sighed. “Buck, don’t—”

“I’m not saying let him in. I’m saying let her choose.” Bucky stepped forward. “You trust her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then let her decide.”

John hated that it made sense. Hated it more that it came from Bucky, of all people.

With sighed through his nose, John ran a hand down his face, and turned back to his room.

Inside, she was sitting on the floor near the window, a blanket with Alpine in it covered her lap. She looked up, slow and guarded, eyes dulled with exhaustion.

John approached carefully and crouched beside her.

“Hey, sweetheart. Bob’s out there. Wants to talk.”

She didn’t react.

“But listen to me,” he said gently, hand resting near hers, his pinky lying over her own. “This is your decision. Not his. Not mine. I need you to say yes or no — out loud. A shrug doesn’t cut it.”

She stayed still.

“I’ll stay right outside the door,” John added. “I won’t let him hurt you. You’re safe. Always.”

After a long, long pause, her lips parted.

“…Yes.”

“Yeah?” John leaned in. “I need a real answer, hon.”

She nodded again, a little stronger. “Yes.”

He squeezed her hand, kissed the top of her head, then stood and exited the room.

Bob was still there, pacing like a nervous golden retriever.

“She said yes,” John said. “But if she so much as flinches, I’m dragging you out myself.”

Bob swallowed and nodded.

He entered the room slowly, careful not to make noise.

She was still facing the window, Alpine purring softly across her lap. She didn’t look at him.

Bob knelt on the floor, far enough to give space but close enough to speak.

“I don’t deserve this,” he started, voice cracking. “Being here. Facing you. But I need to try.”

She didn’t move.

“I let you get hurt. I let the Void show you something that should’ve stayed buried. I thought I could protect you by staying away, but that just left you alone. And that’s on me.”

Still nothing.

Bob’s voice broke. “I’ve never hated myself more than I do right now. You think I pity you? No. I admire you. You survived something that would’ve destroyed anyone else. And I let you believe you were broken.”

Her fingers curled in Alpine’s fur, the white ball of fur purring as if trying to comfort the witch.

“I’m so sorry I left you alone in that,” he said. “I can’t undo what happened, but if you want me to stay away forever, I will.”

She whispered, barely audible: “I want to talk to him.”

Bob blinked. “The Void?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He hesitated. But her tear-filled eyes were impossible to resist.

“Okay.”

The air chilled.

Bob’s light faded, in fact all the lights faded — gold draining to grey — and from the shadow emerged the Void.

The shape wore Bob’s face, but the energy was cold, ancient, sharp.

“I did not intend to harm you,” the Void said, voice low and echoing. “What you saw… it was not my doing. It was a reaction. You were too close. I was… called.”

“By what?”

“By fear,” the Void admitted. “Not yours. His. He feared you would die. And when I rose, I saw what was done to you. It was… grotesque.”

He stepped closer, then paused.

“I show others their fears. Twist them into madness. But yours… yours were memories. Truth. And I did not know how to hold them.”

She whispered, “You didn’t want me to see that?”

“No,” he said, genuinely. “You are not like the others. You are not meant to be broken.”

And with that, he faded — smoke trailing — and Bob returned, blinking hard, breath unsteady.

He sank to his knees, eyes wet.

“Can you ever forgive me?” he asked. “I will beg. On my knees. I’ll do anything.”

She looked down at Alpine, who blinked up at her and gave a pointed meow.

She smiled — barely — and whispered, “I forgive you, Bob. But our trust has to be rebuilt.”

He exhaled like it was the first real breath he’d taken in months.

“I’ll build it brick by brick,” he promised.

He moved slowly, carefully — and when she reached up, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to John’s bed. She nestled against his chest, quiet and warm, as he lay down with her tucked beneath his chin.

She whispered, “Sometimes home isn’t a place.”

“Sometimes,” he murmured, holding her tighter, “home is a person.”

They fell asleep like that — safe, whole.

Until—

John walked in an half an hour later, holding a coffee and a cup of tea for her.

He stopped. Blinked.

Bob and her. In his bed. Cuddled up like it was a Hallmark movie.

“EW. In my bed?! Seriously?!”

Alpine hissed loudly.

Right on cue, Bucky strolled by sipping his own coffee and smirked.

“You tell him, Alpine.”

AN || Thank you so much for reading. Whether you follow me or just stumbled across this series, I can’t express how much it means that you stuck through it — especially to the end. This was the final part of the series, and honestly… it’s probably my favorite mini-series I’ve ever written. I poured so much of myself into it — even drawing from my own experiences with trauma (including SA/rape) — and seeing you all connect with the story, with her, with the healing… it’s something I’ll never forget. I truly hope this series became a favorite of yours, too. I can’t wait to keep creating more stories across all the fandoms I write for — with just as much heart and care. Thank you for giving this one a home with you. Take care, and remember you’re are loved and I’m always here if you need anyone to talk to! 🤍