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To everyone else, the Thunderbolts were almost a family. A dysfunctional family, but one no less. At the very least, it was clear that Bucky and Yelena were the leaders of their odd group.
They were family, or at least everyone was but John.
He had already known that he was generally unlikable, which he had been for quite some time. As if the parts of him that made him worth liking had died. Almost as if Lemar’s death had ripped him apart from the inside out and spat out a man that could no longer recognize himself anymore. A man who had spiraled and ruined everything that had mattered. His marriage, his relationship with his child, his image, all crumbled.
So he never tried too hard to get people to like him again. He shut himself off from everyone, did what had to be done, and gave up on trying to change people's minds about him. They all had preconceived notions about him. Nevermind the context, or his side of the story, it all didn’t matter when everyone already thought they knew you. So he stayed out of the way, followed orders, fought like hell, and stopped trying to get people to like him.
Naturally, his teammates resented him. Not the first time but it stung all the same.
People don’t really mention how hard it is to live with people who hate you when it almost feels as if they never tried to know you. At least, that's how it felt. He hates that it still hurts. How he almost longed to belong just one more time, with people who could never fill the hole that Lemar’s death left since nothing ever would, but would help soften its edges when the grief threatened to drown him. Who would bring him back when his mind would take him elsewhere. It's a thought he shoves away.
John knows he is quick to anger. He knows he appears as if he believes that he is better than others. His facade of arrogance was just that – a facade. His anger was all that he could hold onto, fed by his isolation and grief. It seems like he is the only one who knows the second one is fake. How little he thought of himself when the moon came up and the tower was quiet. How he held onto the few moments when they would say he did the right thing, followed his orders well.
And, well, sometimes it feels like his anger is the only thing that he has.
Sometimes, sometimes he can pretend that he fits. When the mission is successful and their eyes brighten just a bit more, even when he is around. When the jabs are light and he can breathe once more, teasing right back at them all. When they would ask for his help, or simply talk about mundane things like Bob’s weird food preferences. Like they were a team. A proper team, one fit for the mantle of the ‘New Avengers’.
When that happens, when he puts down his defenses just a bit, he wonders if he would stop feeling the way he did if he just let them in. Let them see him vulnerable, even if it felt like a death sentence. If he just put in effort to be likeable, to be like the John he was before Lemar died. To be the man that Olivia had married.
Sometimes, he wonders if he was reading too far into everything they said and did. Maybe they didn’t hate him.
But he ruins it, like always.
The morning had started normally enough for a tower filled with misfits who had issues. John had woken up with his dream already fleeting, his body covered in a cold sweat. His shield still laid beside him. It was a habit that formed when his bed would feel too empty and nothing felt quite real, sleeping with his shield by his side. Weird for sure, though he would deny it if asked because no way in hell would he not get made fun of for it.
It was seven o'clock on the dot, which was typical as his body seemingly had the supernatural ability to wake up without a second over or under. It tended to unnerve some people, but it was just another fact about John Walker.
He sighed, grabbing a change of clothes and a towel. Though he hated Valentina with all of his being, he could admit that the showers were great. Scalding hot with the right amount of water pressure to go along with it. His eyes stay open and locked on the door the entire time. The water doesn’t help block out the sound of Lemar’s neck cracking. Nothing ever does.
When he walked into the kitchen, he wasn’t all too surprised to see that Yelena was already sitting down with a cup of coffee. Her eyes looked disinterestedly at her phone screen as she sipped. She looked up at him briefly, nodded her head in acknowledgment, and went back to doing what she was doing. Surprisingly enough, it seems like John was the closest to Yelena out of them all. He respected her command, and she respected him like he was part of the team. A mutual understanding passed between them which was rare for John to experience. Like they were friends. Sometimes.
John nodded back and turned to get started on breakfast. He didn’t know when it became a routine for him to cook breakfast for the team, but he wasn’t opposed to it. Quite the opposite really, as it made him feel useful and kept him busy. Otherwise the team would be eating a lot more takeout. Most of them being horrible cooks, because for some reason their deadly assassin training didn’t include how to cook anything edible. Not that he blames them for that, but it was concerning just how bad they were at cooking.
He probably just started doing it and the team learned to adapt. At least they knew not to make a big deal about it.
He was an asshole, that was just a fact, but he knew each of their specific preferences. Though, he would never admit he cared enough to keep track. Bob liked his eggs scrambled with ketchup, Ava liked her eggs sunny side up, Bucky didn’t seem to care too much but seemed happy enough with them scrambled as well, Alexei liked his with a large amount of black pepper, and Yelena straight up hated eggs.
He takes extra care with Bob’s eggs and doesn’t let himself think about why. About how Bob made him feel seen. He doesn't dare name the feeling.
One by one they started filling into the kitchen, easy chatter filling the air. They didn’t have anything planned that day so it seemed like it would be an easy day that day.
Till John’s phone started ringing. The chatter quieted down as he turned the heat lower. Another fact about John was that he rarely ever got phone calls. People just knew to text him instead. His phone was nearly constantly on ‘Do Not Disturb’ as if he was too busy for notifications, which he was. Bob looked curiously at him, then looked away. The rest looked at his phone. He looked at the caller ID and froze.
“What is it, Walker?” Ava asked, grabbing the spatula from him so she could continue with breakfast. Out of them all it seemed like Ava was the only one capable of keeping the food from burning even if it never tasted quite right in the end. He grimaced as he grabbed his phone and answered the call, completely ignoring her question. He ignored the looks he could feel behind his back.
“John?”
His heart ached. It had been quite some time since he last spoke with Olivia. The last had been a text asking if they could call and talk about him ever getting to see his son. It had been left on read for a month. He lies and says that doesn’t hurt.
“Hey Olivia,” He responded, swallowing as his mouth felt dry all of the sudden. What little chatter was going on seemed to stop, the attention turning to him. He tried to walk away but
it felt as if his feet were glued to where they were.
Olivia had explained as gently as she could that she never wanted him to see his kid, ever. It didn’t help. His ears rang and his fist clenched the edge of the table to the point where it bent under his fist.
“What?” John finally said, with so much anger that he felt as if any character progression he had gone through over those months were in vain, as if he was still and always will be so hotheaded. Olivia remained silent as he tried to control his breathing.
If he had been turned towards the rest of the Thunderbolts, he would have seen the way Bob froze at his tone, at the way the table bent under his fist. Like for a moment, he had seen a part of his father in John. He doesn’t blame him. After all, he was a shitty father and had anger issues that had never dealt with. A loud voice to go along with it and the habit of calling him Bobby which he hadn’t done since all of New York got sucked into the void. At least, that's how it had seemed to John once he had calmed down, alone in his room.
“..John, it has been long enough. We just didn’t–we just,” Olivia paused, "It's time for us to move on. I actually found someone…I recommend you do the same.”
John couldn’t have hung up any faster. The edge of the table that he was bending snapped completely. He saw his hands shaking in the way they only did after a memory, yet all he could feel was excrutiating coldness. Coldness that threatened to drown him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years. Not when the serium in his veins caused him to no longer be affected by something so frivolous like the cold. Or, it should’ve, if the cold wasn’t inside of him.
Bob had left, Yelena did too. So did Alexei. He didn’t care, didn’t even focus on anything but the fact that he was such a screwup that he would never be a part of his son's life. How the only person he wanted to be here with him at the moment was dead. The only one who would be able to understand him. He was the cause of his own misery, his inability to change in any meaningful way. The fact that Olivia moved on while he seemed to still be stuck in time as life moved without him only solidified it.
John could only notice that they left after. He lies and says that it doesn’t hurt. That he knew they would’ve stayed if it was anyone but him.
“Fuck!” John shouted, his voice filled with raw emotion. He could hear a voice near him, but he couldn’t understand anything over the blood pumping in his veins, rushing to his ears. He remembered his shame when Bob had gotten him to think about how shitty of a husband and father he was, too wrapped up in the fact that everyone hated him. Her voice rang in his ear repeating the entire call over again, and his fucking arm wouldn’t stop shaking.
So he punched the wall, and he punched it hard.
Fuck.
Ava had been the one to get him to his senses. She told him that after he had punched the wall, he just stood there breathing heavily for ten minutes, being unresponsive to everything they said. The only way they got him out of it was touching him, and well…
John ignored how Bucky’s eyes softened with what looked like understanding, much different from what he had perceived as apathy on most days. The apathy that screamed how he had still not forgiven him for his blunder as his short time as Captain America. How audacious it was that he had dared believe that he was worthy of the shield, how he dared to dirty Steve’s legacy by killing a man everyone perceived as innocent, nevermind the fact that he was a terrorist who was connected to the woman who had killed his best friend.
Ava said John had punched Bucky. He tried to apologize, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work. They seemed to understand anyway.
He doesn’t remember moving to go to his room, doesn’t remember how he ended up back there again. All he knew is that they let him, and they left him alone. He knew, obviously, that if he wanted to be around people he could just go and find them somewhere in the tower, but he knew. He knew that he was never supposed to do something like that. Not when he was already such a bother. He wouldn’t subject them to him purely because he was cracking once again. They had other things to worry about, other people much more worth the time.
He drifts, and he drifts for one more day. Nobody checks up on him. He lies and says that doesn’t hurt.
Its the third day when John puts himself together enough to pretend that he wasn’t falling apart. Ava made breakfast, and it tasted like blood in his mouth. Nobody asks where he had been, and he ignores Bob’s piercing gaze on him. It was on that day where their next mission came in. Good, he thought, at least he wouldn’t have to feel.
The mission was a breeze, and they came out with only minor cuts and bruises. Nothing to worry about. Except, John was worried. Just worried about something else. During every mission before that one, they would each say something at least once, but oddly he didn’t hear Yelena the entire time. There wouldn’t have been anything during that mission that should’ve stopped her, yet when he had asked her something all he got was radio silence. Even the rest of the squad was silent, which was odd. He would worry that his communicator was broken if not for the fact that he could hear Bob mumble something on his end. He had even asked if his communicator was working, which they had all said yes to.
It was odd, for sure. Especially since Yelena usually shot off at least a couple sarcastic comments and serious orders during missions like this. Even when it was a rough day, he would hear something. Even if it was just a sigh.
He hated that even though it was an easy mission, he still ended up feeling a bit lost during it. Hated how he depended on the direction that she gave. Not even orders half the time, but like..something. The ‘good jobs’ and ‘watch out’, like he was a part of something again. Something he hadn’t had since Lemar.
It wasn’t like the rest of the team weren’t like that. They definitely were. It was just different. Different to John, because Yelena was something like a commander to him. A leader, his north star, whatever she was, she was important. Not to say that the rest of the Thunderbolts weren’t, but it was different in some way that he couldn’t explain. Like how he would look to her when things happened, like it was instinctual. Read her thoughts and feelings on things. A learned behavior from his time in the military, or maybe even before that.
It was something, and now that it's missing it hurts. He lies and says it doesn’t.
It happened again on the next mission. Nothing changed when they got back to the tower. It left him confused, and agitated. He did his best to not take it out on the rest of them. Instead, it turned inwards. He hadn’t slept for the last five days. It was starting to wear him down just slightly. Yet, for as much as he wanted to sleep, he couldn’t fall asleep with the echoing sound of Lemar’s neck snapping and Olivia’s calm voice telling him to move on. With each heavy blink all he could see under his eyelids was Lemar’s rotting corpse and hollow eyes. In the corner of his eyes he could swear he saw him, just staring.
In his worst hours he would see more. See each close call he and Lemar had with death end differently. Each time it would end with Lemar’s blood on his hands and the echoes of his voice telling him that it was his fault. See other soldiers he would get to know briefly only for them to die suddenly in the throws of war. How Ethan had a wife at home, but ended up so disfigured after a landmine that it made it difficult to look at raw beef and not see him. So many others, all dead. Sometimes he hates that he managed to make it out.
Most of the time he would see the battle with the Flag Smashers, forced to watch Lemar die over and over again while the not quite right Lemar would whisper that it was his fault. Sometimes it would deviate and give him just enough hope to make it that more devastating to watch Lemar eventually die. Sometimes it would start as something positive, with Lemar’s distorted laugh and sharp eyes, before the other shoe dropped leaving with his rotting corpse and the whispers that it was his fault.
But sometimes his mind was kind, only conjuring one of the Thunderbolts or maybe Olivia or Lemar above him. Hands around his neck, strangling him. Sometimes they bashed his head in with his own shield, or when it would show Bucky it was always the Captain America shield. A gunshot wound to the chest, a flamethrower the next time, maybe even an explosive. After the brief flash of fear before his death in those moments, all he could feel was relief. At least then it was just him dying instead of someone he actually cared about.
Sometimes his dreams were a mix of everything, barely leaving him any time to even think before the next started.
Lemar used to say that they were both lucky motherfuckers for surviving as many battles as they had. Now Lemar is dead and whose fault was that?
John stopped cooking. There was an uptake in takeout and concerned glances casted his way. Yelena still doesn’t react. He continues to spiral. He still continues the rest of his routines, getting up at seven o’clock even if he never slept to begin with, taking a hot shower, cleaning his shield twice, keeping his appearance neat, and the new addition of ignoring Lemar’s hollow eyes just barely in his field of vision.
Nobody makes a comment on it. Lemar kept on staring. So he isolated himself instead. It doesn’t help, but at least he doesn’t snap at them. They don’t deserve that.
Bucky had checked up on him once. The details were hazy, but John remembered how his eyes kept on darting from the door to Bucky, feeling trapped. The military had instilled into him the habit of always knowing where the exit was, and how to be able to escape fast in case things went south. It was helpful more often than not considering how dangerous his lines of work were, whether that was his time in the military or his time as US Agent, but it only served to make him anxious at that moment. He thinks he snaps at him, remembering how the others eyes hardened ever so slightly. Like before, when he was still Captain America. Almost like when he and Sam had broken his arm to get the shield. He felt like he was drowning. Lemar kept staring.
Bucky leaves. He didn’t know how long it took for him to leave, but he wasn’t surprised. He lies and says it doesn’t hurt.
Tension fills the air the next morning in the kitchen. John keeps his eyes away from the corner he had broken. Yelena stays silent, as do the rest of the team. He knows somehow that it was his fault. He wonders if it was because of what he had said to Bucky. Whatever it was, it made Bucky’s eyes harden once more at him. He doesn’t let himself think about how understanding he had looked after he had apparently punched him. It was already hard to think with the mix of sleep deprivation and the fact that Lemar’s corpse kept on staring in the corner of his eye.
Another mission, an easy one at that. He gets ready silently and ignores the chatter around him. A part of him, the self destructive part, hopes he gets hurt if only so that he could close his eyes without being haunted by his own memories. He would rather die than say that to anyone though. It only proved to himself how pathetic he had become, hoping he would get hurt so he could feel ever so slightly more at peace and, god forbid, worry from his teammates. The understanding in Bucky’s eyes…
It should’ve been an easy mission, and it was without a doubt. Even Bob went with them. Val had apparently wanted him to get more ‘on field experience’, but with everything involving Val, there was probably a secret agenda to go along with it. Wasn’t ideal, but they were trapped to Val as much as she was trapped with them. Plus, Val gave them access to funds and controlled the press better than they really could.
The car ride was lighter than the kitchen that morning. Odd, but nice. Though it was almost like they were trying to avoid the elephant in the room, and he had a feeling that elephant was him. Maybe that was egocentric of him, but the way that Ava kept glancing between him and Yelena spoke otherwise. At least it proved that it wasn’t in his head, because if Ava had managed to catch onto the fact that Yelena was avoiding him then it actually meant that she was. He couldn’t think of the reason why.
John wondered if it had been a minor fuck up he had made during one of their previous missions, or something. He resolves to bake her banana bread, which she had previously stated ‘was to die for’. Which he could agree with, since he always used Lemar’s mom’s recipe and she could bake extremely well.
The mission wasn’t very memorable. They had split up into groups of two: Ava and him, Yelena and Bob, and Bucky and Alexei. Ava hadn’t teased him nearly as much as she usually did. He wonders if he is grateful for that or peeved for being treated like he was breakable or something.
He still couldn’t hear Yelena. He decides against asking if Ava could. He probably should’ve.
It's only when he hears Alexei say “good call Yelena”, where he realizes that maybe Yelena had been talking. Maybe he was the only one who couldn’t hear her. Then, he thinks that maybe that was on purpose. For whatever reason he had fucked up so bad that he was deemed a lost cause by his superior again.
He couldn’t even lie to himself and say it doesn’t hurt because it does. It hurts and he is ashamed.
Ava glances at him in the corner of his eye and he ignores the hot breath that ghosted his neck that he knew instinctively was Lemar. He wishes they could switch places, and he hates that it wasn’t him haunting Lemar, because then it would mean that Lemar was alive. That would’ve been better for everyone that way, because even with Lemar haunting him at least he was alive, and in a cruel way Lemar was still by his side even if the hallucinations made him want to go to sleep forever.
Before he explodes, another enemy pops up and opens fire on them. He ends up knocking him out just a bit harsher than he intended, though he was still alive.
It was time to get back to work.
The car ride was tough to say the least, as there was a ton more traffic they had accounted for as well as the fact that the car ride was nearly silent. What would usually be a blessing only served to make the car ride feel stiff.
The wounded part of him screamed at him for trusting. For allowing him to find direction in Yelena, when his previous commanders had always left him hurt in the end in some way. The pessimistic part of him told him that it was his fault for trusting at all, that he should’ve known it would end poorly for him. He should’ve known that he could never hold onto something good for long. Undeserving, that's what he was. The whole of him just wanted to bite, to fall back into his anger and prove what they already thought of him as – a ticking time bomb. A liability, an asset that they would be better off letting go of.
At least if they kicked him off, it would give him reason to give up and go see Lemar.
“So, any reason why I can’t hear Yelena on the comms?” He asked, his tone carefully casual even if he felt anything but. They all blinked in surprise as John hadn’t spoken much in a while.
“I do not know what you refer to, could hear perfectly fine on little earpiece,” said Alexei, before realizing that he was in fact supposed to pretend that Yelena had said nothing at all and was not ignoring John on purpose. Yelena just sighs, and it feels like the first time he had been acknowledged by her since his call with Olivia, even if that sigh was directed at Alexei.
He stared at her, but her face was blank. Incapable of reading her, he tensed. He waits for her to say something, anything, but she just continues to look at him with the same blank expression. He hates how it reminds him of the look Lemar’s corpse would give him in the corner of his eye.
“What did I even fucking do,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I know you're ignoring me, or at least avoiding me. Just–”
“You don’t even know what you did?” Yelena said to him, scoffing. His hand turns white with how hard he grips his other arm, because no way in hell was he going to lash out and hurt someone else.
Ava leaned away from him anyway, and it hurts. Of course it does.
“You–you fucking triggered Bob! We had to calm him down so New York doesn’t get swallowed, again, and you weren’t there!” She raises her voice, bordering on shouting, and he hates how relieved he is at the fact that she felt something. Even if it was anger, it was better than apathy. Anything was better than apathy.
He understood why they had left him alone. It made sense after all. Between Bob and him, it was clear that Bob mattered much more. Not only in the way that another void incident would be..less than ideal, but in the fact that he was Bob. Kind and understanding in a way that John could only admire, quietly.
“You just had to yell, remind him of his da–” Yelena had started to say, her voice quieter yet angry. Bob quickly jumped in.
“Wait, wait, what? No, John didn’t–doesn’t remind me of my dad at all. Where did you get that from?” Bob quickly introjected. Yelena quickly turned to him, and it left John feeling like an outside observer which was odd considering he had started it by making shit a big deal. “It was just a bad day and anything would have set me off and it just happened to be how much guilt I could sense from John.”
John’s face turned pensive, relieved over the fact that he hadn’t reminded Bob of his father after all. Even if he was a piece of shit person, he hated Bob’s father all the same. Hell, he’d smash that motherfucker with his shield again if he got the chance.
“I–I can’t remember all that well, cause y’know..it gets a bit blurry when I go all void like, but none of you–” were there for John, was left unsaid.
“Wait, you can sense guilt?” Bucky says instead, his eyebrows furrowed in thought. They all turn to him, and a beat, then two passes. Ava had been the one to break it, saying, “out of all things to focus on right now, you chose that?” Bucky raises his hands in a surrendering manner, and they all turn back to look between Bob, Yelena, and him.
He hated how guilty they all looked, so he said “fucking forget about it, you all had important matters. Not like you all have to like me or anything, just don’t–” he stops himself, before he gets too honest. They all knew what he meant anyways. Just don’t leave me alone, shut me out, just don’t stop giving me orders.
Another beat passes, and they look at him like they could see past all the facades he had placed to keep him alive. Like they could see him. The real John, the one who wasn’t too bad of a person, just burned far too often by those he trusted. Like a dog who could only bite because he knew nothing else but orders and pain.
“No,” Yelena said suddenly. His eyes met hers and he could see understanding. Something misaligned shifted in his lungs and it felt ever so slightly easier to breathe. “Bob’s right, for once,” which gets a “hey!” from him, but she continues anyway. “That wasn’t right of me, all of it. It wasn’t right for us to leave you alone either, no matter how pissed we were, because at the end of the day we still…” she inhaled, rolling her eyes almost fondly, “we still care about you, John.”
Bucky jumps in too, his body language reading casual as always, but genuine. “We do like you, even if you're an ass. We are all assholes here. Hell, Bob is one too once you play Monopoly with him.”
He sighed, not because he didn’t appreciate their reassurance, but because he was so tired of spiraling when it really could have been this easy. The feeling in his chest felt suspiciously like hope. He looks back on his interactions with everyone and thinks, maybe, he had just been reading too much into everything. That maybe he had been part of their team, their dysfunctional ass family since their formation.
Alexei started speaking, stating, “we have much to talk about. Best to do inside, yes?”
He looks at them all around him, and he lets himself feel like he was a part of something again. Something good, hell, something Lemar could’ve been proud of. He looks and it feels like he had people around him who cared even with how emotionally stunted they all were. It sure doesn’t completely undo everything, but it was a start.