>Author’s note: Haii:3 this is my first fanfic posted to tumblr ! this fanfic was originally posted to ao3 here. if you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, don’t be afraid to reach out. help is available and you don’t need to struggle alone. call or text the national suicide prevention hotline
the room is dim. not dark. not light. just that grey space in between where shadows don’t stretch, and sunlight doesn’t bother trying to reach. the kind of quiet that buzzes in the ears after the world has gone still, not peaceful silence, but the kind that feels like it’s pressing down on your chest. oppressive. heavy. too much and not enough, all at once.
bob sits on the floor. legs crossed, back against the cold wall, one hand loosely holding onto the hem of his shirt like it might anchor him if he starts to float too far from himself. his eyes are fixed on a crack in the floorboards. or maybe he’s not looking at anything. maybe he’s just… gone again. somewhere deep. somewhere hollow.
his hair’s a mess. stubble growing in patches. dark circles under his eyes like bruises, like he’s been fighting something in his sleep and losing. it’s been— what? a day? two? maybe more. it all blurs together when the fog sets in like this.
the clocks tick but the minutes don’t move. he hasn’t eaten. the last thing he remembers is standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open, staring into the white light like it might offer answers. it didn’t.
his chest rises. falls. slow. almost mechanical. it’s the only thing reminding him he’s still here. still in his body. still alive.
and then—
“pathetic.”
the word slices through the stillness like a blade to skin. bob doesn’t flinch. doesn’t look up. he just blinks, once, like he was expecting it.
“look at you. a goddamn wreck. you think this is recovery? this—this rot? you’re wasting time. wasting breath. wasting space.”
his fingers twitch. he closes his eyes. tries to breathe slower, like maybe he can outpace it. drown it out.
he whispers,
“don’t.”
“don’t what? tell you the truth? come on, bob. you need me. i’m the only one who says what you won’t.”
the voice isn't coming from anywhere. not really. it’s not the walls. not the ceiling. it’s inside him. deep. coiled around his spine like a parasite that’s been there since he was old enough to understand shame.
“you think you’re some tragic little survivor story? no one wants to hear it. they’re tired of your sob story. tired of waiting for you to stop being like this.”
his hands press to his temples. rub hard like he could scrub the voice out, or crack his skull open and let it out like smoke. but it’s no use. it never is. void doesn’t leave. it just waits. watches. digs its claws in deeper when he’s vulnerable.
“they’d be better off without you. admit it. you’ve thought about it. just walking away. vanishing. no notes. no goodbyes. not like anyone would chase you. not really.”
and that’s the worst part.
he has thought about it. more times than he can count. not death, exactly — not the finality of it. but the idea of just... disappearing. ceasing to be a problem. letting the world breathe a little easier without him taking up space in it.
he curls in tighter. forehead to knees. every breath feels heavier now. like it takes effort just to keep his lungs moving. he’s exhausted, not from doing anything, but from existing. from thinking. from feeling this way for so long without a break.
“remember when you used to fight back? now you just let it happen. let me in. maybe you’re starting to see the truth, huh? maybe you’re finally getting honest with yourself.”
his voice is a rasp, raw from disuse.
“i hate you.”
“no, you don’t. you hate you. i’m just the echo. you created me. i’m your shadow. i don’t say anything you haven’t already thought.”
he chokes on air. maybe a sob. maybe just the weight of those words settling on his chest. he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard enough to see stars. he wants it to stop. just for a second. he wants quiet. real quiet. not this twisted, venom-dripping version that lives inside his skull.
but the room offers no mercy. it never does.
he stays like that—folded in on himself, stuck somewhere between now and never—for what could be minutes or hours. it’s hard to tell. the voice quiets, eventually. not out of kindness. just boredom. like it knows it’s already won today.*
and bob?
he’s still here. still breathing. still trying, in the smallest, slowest way possible. and maybe that counts for something. maybe not.
but for now, it’s all he’s got.
the room hasn’t changed. still dim. still silent. still suffocating. the kind of silence that isn't empty — it's crowded; full of echoes, thoughts that crawl up the walls, cling to the ceiling like mold.
bob hasn't moved much. maybe shifted once. stretched his legs. pulled them back in. his body aches, not from action, but from stillness. from existing. it’s starting to feel like punishment.
he hasn't said anything since the last time. the words got stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat and never quite made it out. they’re still there. like stones in his mouth.
but void…
“you’re still here?”
“damn. persistent little thing, aren’t you?”
“fine. let’s really talk, then.”
it’s colder now. he’s not sure if the temperature’s dropped or if it’s just him, slipping further into that place where nothing feels real. he wraps his arms around himself like a shield, but it doesn’t help. the voice isn’t on the outside.
”you remember what it felt like? before all this? when you still believed people could save you? what a joke. you were never built for happiness, bob. not with this mind. not with that thing in your chest pretending to be a heart.”
he digs his nails into his arms. sharp. deliberate. just enough to remind himself he’s still here. still tethered. the sting cuts through the numbness like lightning through fog. but it fades too quickly.
his voice is hoarse when it finally comes out, quiet and broken:
“please… stop.”
”no. i’m all you have. you don’t get to shut me out now. not when i’ve been the only one who’s stayed. everyone else leaves. i don’t.”
there’s a weight to the words now. heavier than before. like void is no longer just mocking him — it’s laying claim to him. staking territory in his mind like a parasite that’s grown too large to ignore.
“let’s face it: you’re not gonna get better. you’ve tried, haven’t you? therapy. meds. fake smiles. long showers. long walks. journaling. screaming into pillows. telling yourself you’re okay when you’re not. you’re still here. and i’m still louder than everything else.”
bob swallows hard. the truth hurts more than the voice itself. he has tried. god, he’s tried. but some nights—like this one—it all feels useless. like he’s bailing water from a sinking ship with his bare hands.
“no one’s coming. no cavalry. no rescue. you could disappear right now and no one would know until you started to rot.”
bob presses his palms to the floor, grounding himself. the hardwood is cold. real. but even that’s not enough. he’s unraveling. thought by thought. breath by breath.
and then— the voice lowers. not loud now. not cruel. worse.
soft. sweet. like a razor blade wrapped in silk.
“you could end it, you know. quiet. clean. no more weight. no more pretending. just peace. imagine it. the silence… but real this time.”
his heart skips. not in fear—in recognition. like something in him has been waiting to hear it said aloud.
he bites down on his bottom lip so hard it splits. the copper taste of blood rushes across his tongue. he focuses on that. anything but that voice.
but it doesn’t stop.
“you don’t have to suffer. not anymore. you’ve done enough. hurt enough. been hurt enough. you don’t even have to leave a note. just… fade.”
his body is trembling now. knees pulled back in tight, his nails digging half-moons into his skin. he whispers something, again and again, like a mantra. like a prayer.
“no. no. no. no. no…
and void—
“you will. maybe not tonight. but soon. and i’ll be there. i always am.”
then silence.
real silence.
the kind that leaves him alone with the damage.
and bob?
he doesn’t move. doesn’t cry. just breathes. shaky. shallow. but still breathing. because there’s a part of him—somewhere, small and buried—that still wants to fight. not tonight. maybe not tomorrow. but soon.
I've been reading quite a few Sentry comics after Thunderbolts came out and I just wanted to share a bunch of things that happen that might give you guys some ideas for your own stories!
The list is below the cut!
Bob has a superpowered Corgi named Normie
Although the breed of the dog is pretty vague in the original 616 universe, it's much more clear in other iterations that Normie is a Corgi! Normie is superpowered just like Bob and even has his own superhero name, Watchdog.
Out of the three, Sentry is the most affectionate
It's very clear in Sentry's 2005 run that Sentry is the most affectionate of the three. Although Bob does love his wife (and the Void has very complicated feelings about her), the Sentry is the one seen being the most confident in expressing his love for her.
The Void taunts Bob... a LOT
This is an obvious one, but the Void oftentimes tries to dig deep into Bob's skin, especially about his wife and mentality. Despite this, the Void seems to be the side of Bob that can see things for what they truly are and is not as easily manipulated as Bob is.
Another thing to note is that in the 2005 run, Bob has his own room where he can seemingly talk to the void face-to-face without needing to unleash him.
The Void has a... complicated relationship with Bob's wife
Like said before, the Void often taunts Bob about his wife, Lindy. In later comics he even wants her dead. Despite this, when under a Skrull invasion, the Void is the one to save Lindy, saying that "Bob couldn't handle it and ran away" as Sentry left the earth thinking that the invasion was his fault. Unfortunately it's not touched on again, but it definitely hints that despite his taunts, he still cares for Lindy just as Bob does.
Bob's weakness isn't just the Void, it's his love
As one of the very few superheroes with a wife, many villains often try to take advantage of this fact to hurt him. Both times that Lindy has died (which I will get to that later) it was done in order to trigger an extreme response from Bob in order to further their plans and make him suffer. One such times Bob had grown so enraged that he had ripped Ares, the god of war, in half. In the other Ms. Marvel had to knock him out before he had killed Ultron.
Another thing to note is that despite all the problems that him and his wife undergo, and even despite her betrayals and fear of him, Bob still can't shake his love for her.
The Sentry has the power to revive those that he touches
After Lindy's first death, Sentry had unknowingly revived Lindy at just his touch. When she awoke, she had no recollection of her death, believing to have only been asleep the entire night.
Bob tends to lean more towards being the Sentry rather than himself
Bob unfortunately doesn't feel as needed as his superpowered persona and unfortunately tends to lean towards being him in most situations. Although it causes more risks with the Void, it still makes him feel needed and important.
The Hulk is one of the very few that Sentry can both call a friend and go toe-to-toe with
The Hulk was one of the very few heroes that remembered Sentry after the world forgot about him, resulting in both being good friends. After Hulk goes on a worldwide rampage during World War Hulk, it is Sentry's job to stop him, and the two fight for so long that they eventually revert back to their original personas.
The Void has the ability to possess people
During a fight between Loki and Dr. Strange, the Void takes over Strange and eventually possesses him after Strange releases him in fear of Loki winning.
Aaaaand that's all i could think of! If you have any more random facts, feel free to leave them in the comments!
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