I'm still a little new to tumblr so im figuring things out as I go!! Marvel yaps, agere/petre, oc posting, and writing fic will be my main content here but everything is SFW ONLY. I dont deal with anything icky and I never will.
Sometimes i write a little bit (not very well) on ao3 !! my user is Orange_puppy and i'm currently working on a Thunderbolts* fic
Sometimes i draw (also not very well) so maybe i'll throw that in here too at some point
mostly i'm just here to yap into the void about my oc (intro post for her here)
Day 10: fav books im such a huge reader and always have been its hard to say one i love books and read everyday and have a big blog where i post about my reading ♡♡♡ i just adore books and kinda wish to illustrate books as a job !!
warnings: big feelings and some damage to a comfort item
link to ao3 vers. here
words: ~4,500
A/N: omg i'm sorry for being so inactive on the writing front. I've had this stored in my docs forever but i moved to a different state so things have been absolutely chaotic as of late. please bear with me
It was difficult to put on a tea party when the whole team was busy. Bob discovered this very quickly. The table had been set with a plastic tea set, colorful tablecloth, and small snacks he could scavenge himself without asking for help. But one thing was missing.
Guests.
Koda and Alexei were out for the day, having gone to the park. Bucky and Ava were in the middle of one of Val’s “promotional interviews” to keep the team relevant. John had disappeared somewhere a few hours ago, probably training by himself again. Yelena was writing out schedules for the littles and making chore sheets so things in the tower would run smoothly. It had only been a few weeks since they became a team officially, and Yelena and Bucky were doing their best to keep everything comfortable and set routines. Bob was immensely grateful, but without his usual caregiver or playmate, he wondered if schedules could really be that important.
Never mind that. Bob could be independent. He could be resourceful. Maybe. The tea party was all set up, so he might as well make the most of it. He couldn’t exactly un-pour the apple juice himself without making a mess. So, determined to find guests for his party, Bob wandered down the halls of the Watchtower. The nursery was fairly scarce, but a few stuffies caught his eye. They were floppy enough to be able to sit nicely in chairs, and big enough to peek over the edge of the table. Perfect. He scooped up a big dog that reminded him of Alexei. And a floppy panther that reminded him of Ava. He scurried back to the table and set the stuffies in their seats, and then ran back down the hall to his bedroom. A large wolf and a soft puppy would do just fine to represent Bucky and Koda. Tucking them under his arm, Bob peeked into Ava’s room. Hopeful eyes searched along the floor and under the bed, quickly rewarded for his efforts. A large ragdoll lay halfway out of a barren toybox, and Bob added it to his growing collection. Its yellow yarn hair made it a perfect fit for Yelena.
Once Bob set up all the stuffies, he was puzzled to find two empty seats. One was his, of course, but the other was… John. Right. Bob scowled to himself and pulled out his chair to sit down and begin the party without him. But… all the rest of the team was there, even Alexei, and he didn’t know Alexei very well yet. Maybe John would come back from training and be sad that he was left out. Bob doubted it, but the thought nagged at the back of his head as he poured out teacups of apple juice. The empty chair taunted him, open and waiting. Really, he had no stuffies that could represent John. Nothing matched him. It was okay to leave him out then, right? There just wasn’t anything to suit him, Bob reasoned. But he thought of Ava's toybox and the doll he had “borrowed” for the tea party. Maybe John had something in his room that would work.
The door wasn’t locked. It was cracked open, even. Cautious little steps carried Bob over the threshold, thumb stuck in his mouth to ease the little voice in his head that said it was a bad idea. A cursory sweep of the room didn’t reveal much of anything, really. The curtains were drawn, furniture lacking any personal touches or decorating. Honestly, the room hardly looked lived in. Bob thought to his own room, with its brightly painted walls and neon stars on the ceiling. The team had been thrown together last-minute, but Bob had immediately settled into the space and made it his own. It seemed as though John hadn’t. The only personal touches were a sleeve hanging out of the dresser, starry blue sheets, and a photo of John with a man he didn’t recognize. He peeked at it curiously, but there wasn’t much to see.
There was one realm Bob hadn’t explored yet. The closet, The voice in the back of his head grew louder, and he knew it was a bad idea. He chewed on the sleeve of his shirt and carefully slid the door open. Thankfully, no monsters jumped out at him. With how dark and dreary the room was, Bob was almost surprised. But inside the closet were a few boxes.
Jackpot.
Bob opened the first box and shuffled through its contents, and his shoulders sagged in disappointment. There were just photos and papers, a few news clippings, and an old, dusty trophy. Another box sat to the side, but it was locked. Bob thought it must be some kind of safe or something. But in the third box, Bob found what he was looking for. A raggedy, worn teddy bear. Bob picked it up gently and looked it over. It didn’t seem to be anything special, and John wouldn’t even notice it was missing before he put it back. Triumphantly, Bob ran back to his tea party and sat the bear in the empty chair.
With all his guests now present, Bob began his tea party. It wasn’t as good as having his real team to play with him, but it did alright. He ate a few snacks and had lots of apple juice, and he chattered away to the stuffies as if they were his friends. But after a while, Bob began to get bored. The stuffies didn’t chat back to him, and he’d used up most of his topics of conversation. He’d eaten all the good snacks, and he wanted Yelena. Maybe she would read him a story. He did like a good story. So he began to clean up, carrying little plastic dishes to the kitchen. He was so engrossed in his thoughts of storytime, however, that he knocked over a teacup right at the edge of the table. A small, startled yelp escaped his mouth, and he cringed as if awaiting a yell or hit that didn’t come. With a deep breath, he forced his shoulders down away from his ears. The teacup was plastic. He didn’t break anything. He wasn’t in trouble. The juice could be cleaned up. The juice. Oh, he’d made such a mess. For a moment, he just stared at the soaked tablecloth and puddle forming on the floor. His eyes watered, and he took another deep breath like Yelena had taught him to do. He could clean up. It was okay.
Bob hurried into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel. When he came back, the spilled juice had spread. It leaked over the edge of the table, dripping steadily onto one of the chairs. Bob stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide and scared. He sniffled as he padded over and dabbed at the mess, but it did little to help. The dish towel lay abandoned on the wet chair, and Bob began carrying the stuffies to the couch to keep them dry. But when he picked up John’s bear, it dripped. The puddle on its chair had spread, and the toy was soaked with apple juice. Bob’s eyes widened, and the tears he had been trying to hold back finally broke free. With a shuddering sob, Bob ran to the common room where Yelena had been working. He crashed into her with a cry, arms wrapping around the caregiver tightly. Tears soaked the neck of her shirt as Bob cried into her.
“Oh, Robby, what’s the matter?” Yelena cooed gently. “What is wrong?”
Bob tried to answer, but his words came out in a jumbled mix of tears and hiccups and shaky breaths. All he could get out was “spilled” and “trouble”. Everything else was lost in the mix of sobs and sniffles. Yelena gently petted his hair and murmured soft reassurances to him until he could breathe again, and she lifted him up onto her hip.
“It is okay, Bob. It cannot be that bad, whatever it is. We will fix it.”
------
John had been in the training room for hours, trying to knock the fuzzy, cottony feeling from the inside of his skull. He knew what it was, but he wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself. Nothing he had tried worked. If anything, the clouds around his thoughts just grew thicker. And strangest of all, he was tired. John didn’t get tired, not anymore. He’d trained much harder and for longer before without feeling tired, even a little bit. The serum made sure of that. But right now, he was dog tired and a little fuzzy, and he wanted to go to bed. It was the middle of the afternoon, not even suppertime yet, and he was already fighting yawns. He’d been training for a long time anyways. Maybe it was time to quit for the day.
As John stepped out of the elevator, he heard Bob crying about something, and he groaned to himself. Just what he needed: a sobbing, crying little fussing about something like a baby. He was sure whoever else was around was coddling the boy like there was no tomorrow. Walking past the common room, he saw just that and rolled his eyes. Of course Yelena was fussing over him. She always was. John shoved down the irritation, letting it mix with the fog over his mind. He made his way to his room and stopped short, seeing his closet open and things scattered about. He… must’ve been a lot more fuzzy than he thought. He didn’t remember going through his closet earlier. He’d put everything away after a shower. Then he could sleep a bit, and maybe the clouds would lift from his head.
Clean and dressed in fresh clothes, John began putting away the papers and photographs scattered across his floor. None of them seemed to be missing, just left out on the ground. He sorted everything into its proper spot and shoved the box into the back of his closet, but the lid of another box tumbled from its perch. He shoved the lid away, but it just fell back down. A frustrated grumble and a second shove didn’t set it in its place either. So with more force than was really necessary, John pulled the box out and shoved the bent cardboard lid back into place.
Wait a minute. Something wasn’t right. Something was missing.
John pried the lid back off and threw it across the room. Yes, something was definitely missing from the box. Something he knew he hadn’t touched. The clouds in his head turned stormy and angry, and no amount of deep breaths could shove them away. He knew who was behind it. Only one person was stupid enough to go through his stuff and take something like that.
Storming out into the common room, John jabbed an accusing finger at Bob. “Where is it?” he snapped. “You went through my stuff, didn’t you? What’s your problem?”
“Walker,” Yelena interrupted. She turned to the side, sheltering Bob from John’s anger. “Enough. He is crying. It was an accident.”
An accident? It wasn’t an accident. Bob went through his stuff on purpose.
“No it wasn’t! Little brat did it on purpose.” He glared daggers at both of them, refusing to shrink under Yelena’s warning stare. He brushed past them, radiating anger like a physical wave.
Sure enough, the dining table was half-decorated like a kid’s tea party, complete with stuffed animals sitting in the chairs as guests. If he wasn’t so angry, John might have found the sight entertaining. But nothing was entertaining now. He was exhausted, his head hurt, he couldn’t think, and the team’s little angel baby had gone through his stuff with no consequence. His eyes landed on a familiar, worn-out looking teddy bear and he sighed in relief. At least it wasn’t lost. He picked up the bear tenderly.
It was wet. And cold. And a little sticky.
A lump rose in John’s throat. His bear? His bear was… wet. And it smelled like apples. The backs of his eyes stung, but he forced that away too. But his breaths shook and his vision narrowed to that one moment, juice-covered bear clutched in his arms. So that was what Yelena had meant by an “accident”. His jaw clenched and he vibrated with anger as he tracked down Bob.
He was still crying in Yelena’s arms. John entered the room, and Bob hid further against her side and whimpered. Yelena hushed him and smoothed down his hair, but John snapped.
“Stop treating him like a baby! He isn’t your innocent little angel! He went through my stuff and ruined my bear-” His voice caught. The hand he was using to point at Bob was shaking.
“Walker, calm down. It is just a bear. It was an accident. It is okay.”
“No, it’s not okay, Yelena!” John shouted. Bob cringed away and hid his face in Yelena’s neck. He’d gone completely silent, cries stopped. “You can’t just baby him whenever he does something wrong! Don’t act like I’m the bad guy here!”
“We will wash it. I will talk to Bob. Calm down. You are making a big fuss over nothing.” She set Bob down, and he immediately scampered away to the nursery to hide. Yelena gestured pointedly at where Bob had run off, glowering at John. “You know better than to yell at him like that. I know you have trash caregiving instincts, but you could at least try. It is your job as a caregiver on this team to make him and Ava feel safe and comfortable. It is not always about you.”
“No, it’s never about me! It’s always about Bob. Always what he wants and what he needs. Whatever the baby needs, right?”
“That is not fair.”
“You aren’t fair! You never are! I hate this stupid team!” John yelled. In the back of his mind, he knew he was being a little overly dramatic. He didn’t really hate the team. He knew Yelena was doing her best to manage a team and two littles. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop either. He stomped out of the common room and slammed his door shut, locking it behind him.
John had immediately flopped into bed, still holding onto the bear. He buried his face in the soft fur, but it smelled wrong. It smelled like apple juice. His throat and eyes burned, but he wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t a baby like Bob. Instead, he turned over and sulked, grumbling and growling to himself. If he was angry, he wouldn’t cry. And only babies cried, or adults when real bad things happened. Like when someone died, not when a bear got juice on it.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been laying there sulking when Ava phased into his room. He hurled a pillow at her without looking, and he groaned in frustration when he heard it hit the wall instead of its target. “Get out of my room.”
“Pouting? At your age? God, you are pathetic, aren’t you?” Ava snipped scornfully. “Nice going with Bob, by the way. Yelena told us what happened. Bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?”
John sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, but Ava phased out of the room before he could chase her out. He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes until the burning behind them faded and he could breathe a little easier again. Yelena had told them, but she didn’t even know what had happened. She didn’t understand. Or care. But she’d told Ava and apparently Bucky, and now he was a monster. Tormenting poor baby Bob for an accident and a toy that didn’t matter. The idea of Bucky knowing, of him having heard what happened, made a cold dread settle into John’s stomach.
Suppertime passed. Nobody came to check on him when he didn’t take his place at the table. An hour, two hours, three hours past supper, and he still hadn’t emerged from his room. And nobody came to ask if he wanted something to eat. He was starving, actually, but he couldn’t bring himself to face the team. He knew the looks they’d give him, the disapproval and judgement and hatred. So he stayed in his room until his hands shook. Bob would be in bed by then, and Ava probably would be too. So when he poked his head out of his room, he wasn’t surprised to see the lights dimmed and doors shut.
The kitchen was empty. Leftovers sat in the fridge, but they looked unappealing and bland. His stomach turned at the thought of trying to force that down, so he searched through the cabinets as quietly as he could. The meal he came up with was pitiful and far from balanced, but it was something. He didn’t bother sitting at the table to eat, simply electing to stand at the counter.
“I hear you have… busy day with Bob today,” Alexei said. John practically jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face the man. Alexei held up both hands placatingly, grinning a little. “Did not mean to startle you. Just making conversation.”
“Get lost,” John grumbled.
“‘Lena was right. You are very cranky today.”
“Shut up,” he snapped. Alexei backed off, eyebrows raised and eyes a little wide. When John turned back to his half-eaten bowl of cereal, he suddenly didn’t feel so hungry. He threw everything into the trash or the sink and retreated to his room again.
His room was safe. The cotton around his thoughts had grown too thick to ignore, and everything made it worse. Small, almost cautious steps led him back to his closet. He fumbled with the lock on the safe with much less dexterity than usual, and he thunked his hand against his head until he was sure he’d knocked whatever screws were loose back into place. But that was only a temporary fix. Once the lock on the box came undone, he grabbed the few contents inside and curled up in his bed.
He didn’t have much in the box. It had been locked, but it didn’t hold money or valuables or weapons. In John’s mind, what it held was much, much worse. A slightly tattered blanket, a softer shirt with a monster truck on the front, and a teether. He looked down at the possessions with distaste and bitterness, but he didn’t put them back. As much as he hated it, he needed them. At least the shirt was cozy. And the blanket was warm. He lay curled up on his side, sulking and chewing on the teether, his back turned to the door. Usually, he would have his bear, too. But his bear was on the nightstand, sticky and smelling of apple juice and wrong, and everything came crashing down. The fuzz around his head turned into static, buzzing and crackling as he tried to justify his tears to himself. He was just angry, that was all. Really, really angry. It was okay to cry if you were angry, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. But surely he was just very angry. He wasn’t sad or scared or lost or so very small. He wasn’t a baby. Bob was a baby, and he was nothing like Bob.
John heard the door click as it unlatched, and his whole body bristled. He stopped mid-sob and went still as a statue. He must have forgotten to lock his door when he came back. He was facing the other way still, but he knew who had tracked him down.
“Alexei said I’d find you here.” Bucky. Angry Bucky. John curled up a little smaller and didn’t say anything. “I heard what happened today. That’s a new low, even for you, Walker. You know Bob is… delicate, especially when he’s regressed. What’s the matter with you?”
Still nothing. Bucky walked closer, steps heavy and loud to warn John of his approach.
“We’re supposed to be a team, Walker. And as a caregiver on that team, I expect better from you. Honestly, sometimes you act more like a toddler than Bob does. Quit sulking and grow up.”
Oh. Yeah, John knew those words. He was deeply familiar with that command. So he sat up and rubbed the tears from his eyes, sniffling quietly. The teether dangled from his mouth, but he shoved the blanket off of him and onto the floor. He didn’t need it anyways. He wasn’t a baby. But why was Bucky suddenly looking at him like that? John hiccuped and let the teether fall from his mouth. That must be it. Bucky wanted him to be a grown-up. He wasn’t supposed to be little. Grown-ups didn’t need teethers. They also didn’t need monster truck shirts, so he went to pull that off too.
Bucky’s hands were suddenly on him, grabbing him, and John yelped and kicked But… Bucky wasn’t hurting him. He was pulling on his wrists, coaxing him to let go of his shirt and leave it on. The tears started again, and John turned his head so Bucky wouldn’t see. But a cold metal hand caught his chin and oh-so-gently turned him to face him. John cowered, barely breathing as he met Bucky’s eyes. They were soft. They weren’t angry anymore. In fact, he almost looked hurt. He swiped away John’s lingering tears with his thumb as he knelt beside his bed.
“John…?” Bucky whispered. “John, are you… little? I- Why didn’t you tell us? C’mon, bub, look at me.”
John wrenched his head away from Bucky and crossed his arms over his chest, shrinking into himself in a way that was so not John it made Bucky’s chest ache. “No. ‘M not a baby. I’m not little.”
“You’re not a baby,” Bucky agreed. “You’re a big kid, huh?”
John ducked his head but eventually nodded, casting a wary glance in Bucky’s direction. But the anger he’d been carrying when he entered had dissolved, leaving behind a worried caregiver and a deep concern. “Not a baby,” John repeated.
“No, not a baby.”
John moved a little closer, wiping tears and snot off his face with his arm. Bucky cringed and held a handkerchief up to John’s nose instead. His mind whirled with questions and worries and frustration, but he forced it aside. He could ask John more questions when he was big again, and they could talk about his behavior in the morning. For now, John was just upset and guilty and small. Interrogating would just make him shut down.
“How about you tell me what happened today?” Immediately John began to protest, but Bucky stopped him. “I’m not going to yell at you. Just tell me your version of what happened today.”
John threw himself at Bucky, crying full-force. Nobody had asked him what had happened. But Bucky was asking, and he was listening, and he said he wasn’t going to yell at him. So he dove into the story, how Bob had taken his bear and how he was really a very special bear and his name was Gus, and how Gus was a gift from Lemar, and how Bob ruined him with juice and didn’t even say sorry and nobody helped or asked why he was upset, and how Gus smelled wrong because he smelled like apple juice and not his friend, and how he was always wrong and Bob was always right and how he was so, so hungry and nobody had even asked him if he wanted supper. And Bucky, for his part, just held him as he sniffled, equal parts baffled and worried. John had been a little all this time, and Bucky hadn’t noticed. Nobody had noticed. But… it made sense, didn’t it? The emotional outbursts, how easy it was to goad him into anger, his attachment to Lemar, his lack of caregiving instincts and skills, the way he sought out approval at every turn. He was little. Nothing was as painfully obvious as that as John whined into his neck, hands clutching onto his shirt like he was scared to let go.
“John, we can fix Gus. We can wash him. He’ll be okay. And we can get you nice things fit for a big kid. We didn’t know you were little. If we had, we would’ve taken care of you just like Robby. I’m sorry, bub. I’m so sorry.” John didn’t say anything. He just nodded into Bucky’s shoulder with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, buddy. It’s okay. I’ve gotcha now. We’ve got you.” Bucky didn’t have the heart to move him, so he just held him until the tears stopped and John was half-asleep.
Bucky lay John down and tucked him in with the ragged blanket. He made a mental note to get a new one, something soft and cozy for him. He returned the teether to John’s mouth, and he managed a weak smile at how fiercely he chewed on it. He wasn’t sure if he’d brushed his teeth, or if he had really gotten ready for bed, but he was already half-asleep. He’d be okay for one night.
“I’ll be right back, alright? I’ve gotta go grab something,” Bucky said. He disappeared out the door, and John was too sleepy to fuss about it. But he came back quickly, a couple stuffies tucked under one arm. “I know these aren’t Gus, but Koda says you can borrow them.”
John reached for a soft, floppy tiger. Bucky pressed it into his arms and repositioned the blankets around him. He mumbled a quiet “thank you” through a yawn, and Bucky ruffled his blond hair.
“Go to sleep. We can talk in the morning and get everything straightened out. I’ll put Gus in the wash so he’ll be all fresh when you wake up.”
John didn’t need much convincing. He was so tired, worn out from training and crying, and Bucky was being so nice to him. He had a tiger to hold, and the team would be nice to him now. At least, he hoped so. He curled up small and closed his eyes, asleep almost instantly.
Bucky watched over him for a minute, making sure he wasn’t going to wake up. He looked exhausted and miserable, and Bucky’s chest twisted. He mentally kicked himself for missing all the signs of a little and the ways he’d handled him under the assumption he was a caregiver. He’d make up for it.
“Sweet dreams, bub,” Bucky whispered. He rubbed his shoulder and slipped out of the room, latching the door behind him. The bear was tucked under his arm, and he headed into the laundry room with it.
Four littles and three caregivers. Everything would be fine. He could work with this.
