WINGS
Joaquin Torres x fem!reader
9.9k words
Tags: HEAVY angst, fluff if you squint, cursing, detailed scenes with blood and gore, little bit of conjecture with backstory of Joaquin, no use of y/n, use of she/her pronouns
a/n: im back and angstier than ever, enjoy almost 10k words of me making human sunshine have a sad backstory!! Yippee. Let me know if you guys like me branching out with other characters or want me to stick to John Walker (our himbo king) anywayssss enjoy!
Everyone knows what you did.
Your hand shakes as you start to fill out the visitors form the nurse had given you, her chestnut-colored eyebrow arches as she watches you. Suspicious blue eyes hidden under brown lashes make you want to curl into a ball, she knows. You pull your hat down lower over your eyes, praying silently no one would recognize you, or if they did, they'd be smart enough to leave you alone.
This was never supposed to happen.
Smiley, that's what you had called Joaquin Torres for almost five years. Not because you didn't know his name, but because that was the most notable thing about the captain. It wasn't just because he seemed to smile in the face of injury, or grinned when he got pinned to the training mat, but the dimples that appeared in his cheeks whenever those pearly whites made an appearance, usually accompanied by a flirty comment. That is what made Joaquin - Smiley. You had to get used to the compliments from him very quickly, being careful to not mistake his casual flirtiness as a serious proposition. Of course, you would have never denied that Joaquin was handsome, objectively so, and his kind heart made it nearly impossible not to like him.
You quickly grew a bond with the Falcon, unable to resist creating inside jokes for the two of you to snicker at when doing recon together, spending nights at each other’s apartments, then in each other’s rooms when Sam got the base. Joaquin seemed to slip past all of your guards, nestling his way into your heart, that smile that could melt an ice cap searing itself onto your subconscious.
The memories make it so much harder for you to move forward when the nurse quietly directs you to the fourth floor of the hospital, room 14A. Your feet feel like lead as they land on the stark white tile, God you hate hospitals. You associate them all with the same thing: death, and that needs to be the last thing on your mind as you get into the elevator, pressing the button for floor four.
“Its just a scratch, cielo, nothing to write home about,”
Your heart twisted at the nickname, translating to ‘sky’ in english. He had coined the name when he found out you were his ‘eyes in the sky,’ which eventually he shortened to ‘sky’ or cielo.
You dabbed more of the antiseptic over the cut on his cheek bone, your other hand holding his jaw, “You still look like shit, Joaquin,” you watched his eyes flit away from yours at the usage of his given name.
“I’d like to think he just added to my already rugged charm,”
You sighed, “What were you thinking, going after him, he’s nearly a foot taller than you, you moron,”
His face dropped a little as you said that, his eyes avoiding yours, “He was just... being a douchebag, saying things that didn't need to be said, okay? I— I don't like guys who talk like that.”
You let the silence hang for a minute, narrowing your eyes at him as you placed a small band aid onto his cheek, “What did he say?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, you could see the embarrassment swirling in the hazel irises.
“What did he say, Joaquin?”
He internally flinched when you said his name like that, like an accusation, “He was talking crap about you, okay?”
You rolled your eyes, sitting down on the stool in front of him, “You moron! You shouldn't have gotten into it with—”
“I don’t care! I don't give a crap! I don't like it when they talk about you like they do! You’re our recon for God’s sake and all they can do is talk about you like you're some piece of meat—”
“And? Joaquin, I don't care and neither should you—”
“Well I do, cielo, okay? I really do care when they talk like that, about anyone, but especially about you.”
Your stomach turned when he said that ‘especially about you,’ fuck, this was turning into something more emotionally charged than either of you could handle.
“Joaquin, I appreciate that, but you can't go out and get hurt for my names sake, its wrong—”
“I dont care, cielo, it pisses me off, and im not just going to stand by while some douchebag talks about the different ways he’d have you in his bed.” His usual soft brown eyes were hard, heated, angry. You silently pleaded with him to drop the issue, to just let it go, to not go deeper than either of you were ready to go with this.
You couldn't ask him why it pissed him off, couldn't question the emotional elephant in the room, why did he seem to care about you so much?
Your stomach lurches as the elevator shakes a little before sliding up the steel support beams with a low screech. You smooth down your shirt, staring at the disheveled reflection of your outfit in the glazed metal of the elevator doors. The guilt screams at you to turn around, you're late anyways, why bother coming at all? Everyone knows what you did, they've already told him. You swallow the lump in your throat, your index finger absentmindedly picking at the cuticle of your thumb, you'll only realize that you're bleeding when you put on hand sanitizer later.
“You can get skin cancer from that, y’know,”
You didn't answer him, giving a slight nod and a quiet, “Mmhmm,” in response.
He smiled wider, sliding his chair over next to yours, “You don't care to get skin cancer?”
Again, you nodded, slowly moving your eyes off the blank screen of your desktop to meet the soft brown eyes belonging to Joaquin.
“What was the question?”
His smile dropped a bit, his head cocking further, “You good? You've seemed off since we got off comms with the team,”
You swallowed, nodding, “Yeah, yeah I’m okay, just a little tired,” You can tell the second the words left your mouth he caught on to the lie, his face betrayed his inner monologue of, ‘really?’
“I’m okay...” you trailed off, looking back at the screen, “I just... I don’t know, sometimes I worry I don't do enough research or look through the environments thoroughly enough. What if I sent the team in and forgot about the pressure sensors? Or the cameras? Or heat signature sensors? They could all get ambushed and—”
He placed an assuring hand on your shoulder, “Hey, woah, woah, slow down, carino, you're gonna give yourself a brain aneurysm with all that overthinking.” he laughed, a soft smooth sound that seemed to calm your nerves.
You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes. “Just—”
“Just nothing, you are the best reconnaissance this team could ask for, you're thorough. I watched you go back through the information at least five times.”
“Six.”
“Six times! That's way more than what an average recon agent would do. You care about this team in a way that I can't seem to wrap my head around, despite all the crap they give you. You care about them like they're your family, that's good. I know you like to give off this whole vibe of ‘i dont give a shit what happens to any of you’ but I see how badly you want them to come back. I see the way you pick at your nails whenever they go in and we lose communication. I see your heart, cielo,”
God, the thought of his words makes you tear up as the elevators chime open. You never could hide anything from the watchful eyes of Joaquin. In fairness, neither could he.
Joaquin couldn't hide the way he stared at you whenever he got a little too drunk. How he'd make up random excuses to come over to the office with you, or host movie nights at his two bedroom apartment just to see you, if you didn't come, he considered the night a waste. He got especially bad at the way he looked at you whenever you came into the office. How his hazel eyes would go a little wide whenever you chose to wear a skirt, or a blouse that made your figure look phenomenal to him. He'd throw out a, “Hey gorgeous,” or “You look ravishing today carino, what's the occasion? Our first date?” and every time you'd respond with an eye roll and trying to not let the heat on your cheeks show.
It threw you for a loop when he mentioned a girlfriend, sitting at his desk, typing away. You watched him laugh at his phone, “What? Are you talking to your girlfriend?”
“Actually, yeah,”
His answer was serious but nonchalant, as if he didn't think that much of the fact. Meaning, he didn't see the way your hands froze over your keyboard for a split second, he didn't catch the way you slightly leaned forward because your stomach lurched. You felt something awful and bitter in your throat at the idea of someone else making him laugh, someone else getting to see that all-too-charming Torres smile. Jealousy. The realization made you want to throw up and cry all at once. He had a girlfriend; he was making comments about you being gorgeous and he had a girlfriend. Does that mean they were all lies? He never truly felt anything? How could he flirt with you like that—
Your mind shut that thought down, he flirted with everyone like that. Hell, he'd even flirt with the older women in the office building you two worked from. You're not special, you're just his friend, and god did you have a hard time accepting that.
From then on any time he was on his phone, or laughed at something on the small rectangular screen, a part of you wanted to throw a pencil at him, while the other part of you wanted to stab the said pencil into your eye for feeling jealous.
It all had come to a head just before the mission to stop Sidewinder, which devolved into the mess that was Red Hulk.
It was late at the base that Sam had gotten set up shortly after he was deemed Captain America, the new title allowing him leniency to get you and Joaquin a new place to stay, rather than commuting from your apartments. Of course, you kept your apartment, wanting something to fall back on in case you were unable to stay at the base. Or rather, because something told you you would need the extra space away from Joaquin.
Not in a bad way, not because you were annoyed with him, but it seemed like his flirty comments had upped the ante. Now accompanying his compliments were subtle touches. A hand lingering far too long on your waist to push past you, holding onto your forearm when helping you up from the mats, his mouth hovering just a breath away from your ear whenever he wanted to tell you something in a whisper. It was all you could do to not snap. He has a girlfriend, it's wrong to flirt like this, but it's not flirting, it's just Joaquin...right?
The two of you were alone at the base, some random reality show playing on the tv. Joaquin always joked that you two acted like a married couple: he'd do the dishes and you'd put them away, or if he cooked (which he usually did) you would do the dishes. You had dismissed the comment with a head shake and a short laugh. But that night felt charged, like something was on the verge of snapping.
He had put the last of the bowls next to the sink, on the marble counter, when you turned around to grab, dry, and put them away. Of course, due to your vertically challenged height, the best option to increase your stature would be to climb on top of the counter. As soon as you get your leg up onto the marble, you heard a low laugh, “Cielo, get down before you crack a rib and I gotta take your sorry ass to the emergency room,”
Before you could respond you felt two hands sliding over your waist, way too warm for comfort. You're slid off the counter, your back pressing against his chest. Everything felt too close, you couldn't breathe, your eyes fluttered shut, “Okay, Smiley, I get it,”
You got a waft of his cologne as he reached over you to put the dishes away, leaning into your ear, “Really? Because if you did, I don't think you would have tried to parkour your—”
“I get it, Joaquin, okay? Just, back off for a minute,” You snapped at him, harsher than you meant to but he took it seriously, backing up until his back was against the counter opposite of you. He held his hands up defensively, as if dealing with a rabid animal, “Okay, backing off, sorry,”
You turned to meet his eyes, noting the way the usual shine was dimmed, indicating his hurt. “You’re okay, I’m sorry, I'm just—”
“Don’t apologize, obviously something's wrong, what did I do?”
You froze, you couldn't exactly explain it. Was it the fact that he's been so much touchier lately? The comments? The flirting? The girlfriend? It was all of it and more. “Nothing, Joaquin, nothing just, I'm sorry okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you,”
“Dont lie to me, cielo, somethings wrong, you can’t lie to me,”
“I am fine Joaquin, just drop it,”
“No you're not, what is it? Did I say something? Cielo, tell me, Did i do something—” he started to step closer and you twitched.
“Just stop Joaquin! Please! Stop calling me cielo, stop the touching, stop the flirting, stop being so damn nice, stop....” you took a breath, your eyes alive and intense with feelings unknown, “Stop being you dammit, I can't take it,”
The confusion and hurt in his eyes was enough to make you want to drop dead right then and there. “I- I don't get it, cie—” you watched him take a breath, his shoulders dropping slightly, “I don't get it, I can't really not be me,” His voice held so much regret, like he was sorry for not being able to not be himself.
That's what sucked, you couldn't blame Joaquin for being like this, it's who he is, it's his character. Something that everyone knows about him, it's how he shows his love. But you were starting to feel something that was more than just a simple show of affection, something much, much deeper than you were willing to go.
“I just…you can't flirt and be all touchy with someone you don't... you don’t want like that. Especially not when you have a girlfriend,”
Silence enveloped the both of you, his expression becoming even more confused, “I have a—” He shook his head, “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean ‘what do I mean’? You have a girlfriend. You told me so a few weeks ago, you were laughing at your phone—”
He laughed, an empty and bitter sound, “Crap, I need to stop trying to be sarcastic,” he rubbed his hand over his face.
“What?”
“I’m terrible at sarcasm, cielo— crap, sorry, I’m just... I suck at being sarcastic, or joking like that. I was being sarcastic, I don't have a girlfriend, I promise.”
He was being honest, you could always tell. The way he didn't avoid your eyes, his eyebrows pinched together, the man was being as truthful as he could manage with you.
“Why would you care if I did though?”
The question threw you off balance, your eyes widened at his words. Your throat felt dry, that bitter taste rearing its ugly head on your tongue. The acid in your stomach churned as you felt jealousy start to spark up. “I wouldn't,"
“You’re trying to lie to me again,”
“I don’t care, I wouldn't care, I was just—” you sighed, leaning back against the counter behind you, your hand rubbed at your face.
“You seemed like you cared a lot,”
“Only because I thought you were flirting while you had a girlfriend and I’ll be damned if I'm the ‘other woman’,”
“I’d be damned to make you the ‘other woman’, who in their right mind would make you a side chick? You're the whole damn package,”
The comment made your cheeks go red, how did this go from flustered to angry back to flustered so quickly? “You can't just—”
“Just what?” he stepped towards you again, tentatively, almost like he was checking to see if you'd push him away again. “Just tell the truth?”
You stared at him as a response, your eyes pleading with him to not do this right now. You couldn't be what he needed, you couldn't provide the response he wanted.
“The truth is, cielo, I don’t flirt with everyone, I don't get touchy with everyone, I only do that to you. Because I like seeing you get all red, I like watching your eyes widen just a little when I tell you that you look amazing. I enjoy making your day a little better with a compliment or comment, even if it means you roll your eyes at me and brush it off. I like doing all that because... because I like you, cielo.” he grabbed your hands gently, brushing over the back of them with his thumb. “I like that you're blunt, you know what you want, I like the fire I see in you whenever you're passionate about something, but I also like the softer side of you that no one gets to see, besides me. The one that worries about the team when we lose communication with them, the one that tells me to ‘fly safe’ whenever me and Sam go out, I like that, and I like you so much, it's been killing me that you don't pick up on me flirting with you.”
Your hands went stiff, like someone had poked you with a lightning rod. Your eyes were wide as they stared up into his. His only shone with love, affection, warmth, while you were sure yours showed how scared you were, how unsure you felt of it all. You couldn't respond, you were stuck, your shoulders hunched up almost to your ears, as if you were trying to curl in on yourself.
“Cielo? Are you—”
“I need to get some sleep,”
You quickly side stepped the waiting Joaquin, bolting to your room and locking the door, too afraid of what was on the other side to open it until the next morning, when maybe by some miracle, he had forgotten all about the conversation.
In the kitchen, you had left a wide-eyed, confused, hurt Joaquin, who stared at your door as if willing you to walk back out and say that you wanted him too. He wouldn't blame you, he thought, if you didn't want him. Plenty of people haven't wanted him and he survived, but a small part of him felt like he may not survive it if you didn't want him.
You could've blamed the fogginess in your head on the lack of sleep, maybe even point a finger at the countless assignments, clad in identical manilla folders, sitting untouched on your desk. You knew the real reason, why you were so brain-dead. All of your brain power was rerunning his words through your mind.
“because i like you, cielo”
“i like the fire i see in you”
Every single syllable he said had made you want to cry, throw up, and just toss your body off the highest level of a building at the same time. You didn't say anything back to him, you just left him in that stupid kitchen, all alone, probably thinking that you didn't like him back.
But did you?
Did you like him in the way he liked you? Joaquin is good looking, he has a great personality, is funny, can charm the pants off of anyone, but do you like him? You couldn't answer that question clearly. You liked how close you were with him, you liked the familiarity of it all, and dammit did the past week feel like hell without a cheery-faced captain sitting next to you to help you through it.
You didn't blame him for not wanting to be near you, especially after you left him hanging in the kitchen that night. He had opted to take the assignments with same, leaving you by yourself doing research on battle fields, different terrorist organizations, criminal enterprises, etc. When you did see him, he didn't seem any different, giving you the same Joaquin brand smile that made your entire day better.
It gutted Joaquin when you left him on ‘heard’ that night. He had poured out his heart to you, to someone he's known since before the Blip, someone that held him through his grandma’s death. You've seen the man cry and he does not do that in front of people, you were familiar to him, and he loved it. But he's not the type to hold a grudge, even if the grudge felt like it might break out of his rib cage the moment he saw you. He smiled, but it killed him to act normal around you, to act like your non response to him didn't make him question his self-worth as a person.
As the Red Hulk shit show got shittier, leading you, Sam, and Joaquin to the Indian Ocean, you and Joaquin seemed to get more distant, barely cracking a smile at the other when eye contact was made. Aboard the government issued vessel, you wracked your brain as Captain America prodded you about any information on the statue, or any of its materials. All the while, your hands flew across the keyboard, trying to get into the main two jet pilots' GPS system to stop them from attacking the ship.
“I don't know—” You tried to wave Sam off, but he kept pressing, his gaze flickered between you and the screen a few yards in front of the steel desk you were seated at.
“C’mon, I need something, you're telling me you can't get their sights off of us? There's not some magic code or something?”
You glared at him for a split second before someone (most likely Joaquin) suggested the pair fly up and stop the jets themselves. You were wary, unsure of the risk, but with a little pushing from the President, Captain America and Falcon were off.
You watched them on the large projected screen, their wings stark against the blue sky as the pair zipped around the atmosphere. You picked at your nails as you watched Joaquin bob and weave between the bullets splattering the airspace from the enemy jet pilot. Something was nagging at you, something deep in your subconscious, you forgot something. Something important, fuck what was it?
You turned for a split second to think, but someone quickly got your attention, Sam’s wing had been clipped, not too bad, just a little—
The waters are polluted.
“The water’s polluted.”
You repeated the thought out loud to the random Naval officer standing next to you, “Excuse me?”
You rushed forward, past the workers, desperately trying to get to comms with Sam and Joaquin, “I need communication with them. Now.”
Your tone was deadly serious but no one offered up any help. Simply staring wide eyed at your slowly spiraling form as you darted for a computer, quickly finding a way around the jammers that The Leader had put in.
“The waters are polluted! Don't fall—”
You used to hate the high drop rollercoasters, the way your stomach climbed into your throat, threatening to come out through your mouth. You never did throw up but you had gotten close quite a few times.
You watched his body fall in a spiral motion, reminiscent of a Death Spiral, a motion usually done when a jet starts to barrel towards the ground at a high enough speed that nothing will stop its impact. The entire right wing of his suit was shot to pieces, the shrapnel falling like steel confetti into the polluted waters.
You didn't see him land in the ocean, you were too busy retching up your lunch on the metal floor of the vessel. Tears stung at your eyes as you tried to speak, time turned into a blur, you couldn't think.
What was probably only a few minutes, it felt like hours later, you heard the Life support over the radio,
“His chest isn't moving, I've got no pulse,”
You broke, quickly hurrying out of the main station to a side hallway, throwing up again before you started to sob. The tears kept coming, you couldn't stop them, your hand wiped hurriedly at your eyes, desperately wanting to keep calm again. Joaquin was dead, he's dead.
You felt hands on your shoulders before you were pulled into a hug, you recognized Sam's voice as it filled your ears, “He’s gonna be okay, kid, he's strong,”
You shook your head, “They said he's dead—”
“No, no they found a pulse, it's weak but it's there, they're getting him to a hospital now.”
It's not like you hadn't gotten the countless texts from Sam after he stood next to you while they tore open Joaquin’s side, you just didn't want to answer. You were forced to when Sam knocked on your door.
“You should go see him,”
“No visitors allowed,”
“I pulled the ‘I’m Captain America’ card, and it's you im sure he'd love to see you,”
“Are you sure about that Sam?”
“Positive,”
“How?”
“He won't stop asking to see you,”
You had let the silence hang, your eyes narrowed at Sam’s, you could tell he was being genuine. It had been two weeks since Joaquin had been placed at St. Mary’s, and you hadn't seen him yet. Not because you didn't want to, no, you just couldn't see him like that, it was your fault.
“I can't see him, Sam,"
“Why the hell not?”
“Its my fault he's in there,”
“Its not,”
“I forgot about the pollution, I let you two go in blind, and maybe you haven't heard but he basically confessed his love for me and I left him on fucking heard because I’m a selfish bitch who can’t talk about her feelings!” You snapped at the Captain, your eyes wide and intense, he kept a neutral expression, he didn't seem surprised about your recollection of events from almost a month ago.
“You knew about the conversation.” You phrased it like a statement, not letting him get away with a half-truth.
“Joaquin told me about it at sparring the next day, he talks way too much,”
“I’m guessing he was hurt?”
“More like crushed, but he wouldn't want you to know that.” Sam paused for a moment, sighing, “Look, come, don't come, I don't care, I just think he would like to see someone familiar aside from me.”
That's what brought you here, standing outside room 14A, holding a small bouquet of flowers and a ‘Get Well Soon’ card. You nod to the agent stationed outside Joaquin’s room, he lets you inside. The room smells like flowers, antiseptic, and a small hint of Joaquin’s musk, the kind that only shows up when he's showered and hasn't put cologne on.
You look around the stark white room, god everything reminds you of death. Images of his spiral into the ocean flash in your head, you're tempted to run out, but the kind-looking nurse smiles at you, “Family?”
“Friend.” The word wrestled out of your mouth when you said it.
You sit down in the uncomfiest chair you've ever had the displeasure of sitting in, in your life. There's a small wooden table attached to an arm which is attached to his bed, it has some—scratch that, plenty of empty pudding cups. The sight brought a half-smile to your face, he always had a sweet tooth.
As the nurse leaves the room, an inescapable feeling of dread rolls over you, resting over your shoulders like a wet, soggy blanket. You shift in the seat for a while, picking at your nails, looking around the empty room, contemplating your jump out the window. You can't take it, you stand up, walking over to the large glass pane that gives you a perfect view of the airforce base just a few miles away. The low rumble of jets taking off is audible, but not so much that its annoying, its something that only someone with a keen eye for flying aircrafts would enjoy—
“Can’t hardly sleep at night, they practice night drills,”
His voice makes you jump a little, turning your head. You have no idea how he manages to looks so cheerful, even when his side is in fucked up shape, and his right arm may never properly heal. His wide brown eyes stare at you, almost like they've been looking at the back of your head since you stood up. His voice, a usual chipper bright tone, now has a rough edge to it, like he's been screaming in pain.
“Could always ask Sam to move you,” you offer softly leaning against the window sill as you look over at him.
He gives a rough, painful laugh, trying to sit up a little, “And hear him bitch about trying to get me the ‘perfect’ room? No thanks,”
You shake your head, looking down at your now bleeding cuticles, you were amazed he could make jokes in the shape he’s in.
“What?” he notices the incredulous look on your face, your soft laugh making his heart do flips.
“You officially died for three minutes and you're joking about hearing Sam bitch about your room,” you look at him with your lips pressed into a flat line, your eyes blinking rapidly at him as if showing how absurd the current scenario is.
“Can’t help that I’m a joking-after-I’m-announced-dead kinda guy,” his grin splits into a wide smile, the whites of his teeth shining with the light from the window.
You let out a rough laugh, pushing off the window sill and walking to the end of his bed, “Would you be serious for a second? Can you just stop being—”
“Being me? I already told you, cielo I can’t do that if I tried... and believe me ive tried,” the last part was said as a whisper, almost as an after thought.
You cock your head at him, your eyes silently pleading with him, for what? You didn't know. You didn't want to be in this situation, you wanted to go back to before.
“I... when they pulled you out of the water, they—” you pause, looking down at the white bed sheet, “They said you didn't have a pulse, your chest wasn't moving. Then, in the operating room, I watched you flatline.” your voice breaks, you take a breath to recover before forging on, “You flatlined for three minutes, Joaquin, and all I could—could think about during those three minutes was how I'd never get to talk to you again. I'd never get to see that dopey smile of yours that you get whenever you do something stupid. I'd never get another meme sent to me in the middle of the night. I'd never get to have another movie night with you again. I would never get to...” you trail off, finally looking at him.
“I’d never get to tell you that I like you too, hell, I think I’m in love with you, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t cope with not having you in my life, stupid fucking smile and all.”
His face shone with something akin to relief and subtle joy, his lips curling up into a half smile. He didn't say anything, just staring at you. After a moment of silence, you furrowed your eyebrows,
“Look, if you don’t wanna talk, I understand, I—I can go,” you swallow the lump in your throat, turning to walk away when you hear a soft “Mmph,”
His entire body is frozen still, you look back at him, watching his head give a soft jerk to the side, then his hand twitches,
“Joaquin?”
His legs start to twitch under the blanket, his body moving in a jerky motion, causing the metal sides of the bed to creak. He's seizing.
“Joaquin?”
You quickly walk over to him, grabbing his arm, you press your free hand to the ‘Call Nurse’ button. “Nurse? Nurse! Help! I need help! Joaquin? Hey, you're gonna be okay,” his eyes stayed on you as the doctors started to push you away, leaving you to wonder what was happening.
They quickly rolled him out of his room, you hot on their heels, but a nurse turned to stop you, “Ma’am I need you to stay back—”
“I’m his friend, what's going on?”
“We don't know yet,”
Someone called the nurse’s name, making your attention divert to the hall, where you noticed something had fallen onto the floor. You followed the nurse halfway to his destination, bending down to pick up the item.
Your fore finger and thumb pinched the shaft of it, staring down at the black, shiny barbs that came off of it. A feather, a 4 inch black feather.
You stare down at the black barbs attached to the pale, skin-colored shaft, your mind reeling with the possibilities. A feather falling off of Joaquin’s bed, how does a bird manage to get into a hospital room, better yet, into a hospital bed.
You're ripped out of your thoughts when Sam’s voice rings in your ears as he comes up behind you,
“Whats going on? I was down in the lobby and alarms started going off,”
You don't get a chance to respond before two more doctors sprint past you, running to the same room the last few doctors ran to.
“I don't know, I was just talking to him and he started to...” You trail off, your forefinger and thumb turning the feather over.
“What the hell is that?” Sam eyes the shiny look of the black barbs, stark against the white background of the hallway floor.
“I dont...I dont know,” your mind couldnt make you form any other response than that, your brain too busy with processing everything to make sense of the feather, of Joaquin’s seizure, your feelings you just unloaded on him.
Did your feelings really make him seize? Is that a good thing? Prolly not.
You turn to Sam to ask him what's next when a sudden crash reverberates through the entire hospital floor. Both of your heads whip to stare down the hallway towards the room that they had rolled Joaquin into. Its deathly silent, your chest tight from holding your breath, your eyes stinging from not blinking, maybe the crash was just a doctor dropping a syringe—
The door to the room breaks as a doctor is thrown through it, the flash of a white coat letting you track their body as they hit the wall.
You and Sam don't say a word before you're both sprinting down the hall, skating to a stop to check on the unconscious doctor while the rest of the medical staff begin to filter out of the room. You can sense the nervous atmosphere as they quickly get out of the room, letting you and Sam enter without a hitch.
Everything seems normal at a glance, but when you look closer you notice the shattered glass cabinet on the far side of the room. You can hear heavy breathing, like someone has just run a marathon and is trying to get their heart rate down. You hear shuffling coming from the other side of the bed, near a large window. As you round the edge of the hospital bed, your eyes land on Joaquin.
Over the years of knowing Joaquin, you joked that he was human sunshine. Always smiling, even when he was half dead, his brown eyes bright as the pearly white teeth shone in a wide grin. He could cheer anyone up, willingly too. If someone hated his guts and was having a bad day, he'd be the first to offer a joke, or try and get them to feel better. You had to dig to get past the ‘im fine’ attitude he always put up. You only ever saw him cry once in the years you've known him, that was when his grandma died. Even then, you had to pry it out of him. He had told you that night something you'll never forget, even if it was only said because of the alcohol in his veins,
“I just feel like I always need to be the fearless one, y’know? Like everyone is always so scared and I just need to be the one that's okay, and I like being that. It's nice...” he looked at you before continuing, "It's nice to be needed like that.”
Needless to say, it's jarring to see such a cheery person look like hell. His eyes were closed, but you could see faint wet lines down his cheeks, his hands were squeezed into tight fists, his knuckles white and pressing into the ground as he knelt on the floor.
“Joaquin?”
Your voice was barely coherent to him, his head twitching just slightly. He felt like his entire torso was being ripped apart from the inside, his head pounded in time with his heartbeat, making it feel like someone was repeatedly punching him in the face. His eyes blink open slowly, looking at you as you kneel in front of him, hands outstretched like you're dealing with a wounded animal...you might as well be with how little brain power he feels he has.
“It hurts,” his voice is a tight whisper, you can see the beginnings of tears in his eyes. Not only is he in pain, he's confused which scares the hell out of him. He threw that poor doctor into the door, he didn't realize he was a doctor, he thought he was being hurt. Everything hurts, it's all he can think about.
“Where? Where does it hurt Joaquin?” you were trying to get his attention by using his first name, trying to ground him. His answer scared you more than it helped,
“Everywhere,” you hear some sort of movement, but not from him, his hospital gown had come apart in the back, revealing what looked to be two huge black bruises between his shoulder blades. You were about to ask what happened when you watch them shift.
Okay, so definitely not bruises.
Maybe some sort of infection? A parasite—
It all clicks at once and suddenly you wish you didn't visit him today.
“Fuck,” your voice whispers softly as you tear your eyes away from the masses in his back, looking down at the tile floor. He cocks his head at you, “What? What is it?” his teeth grind together as he speaks, trying to hide the fact that he's in pain.
“I’m so sorry, Joaquin, I should've told you, I shouldn't have sent you and Sam in. I— fuck.”
His eyes widen further as you apologize, “What do you—” he doubles over, his face almost planting into the floor. You hear the door swing open as five armed soldiers shuffle in, all of their barrels aimed at the defenseless Joaquin on the floor.
You immediately shoot up, looking over at Sam who looks just as confused, “What the hell is happening?” you ask, trying to stand in front of their sights, protecting Joaquin.
“We got a call about an abnormality, something to do with the adamantium and this soldier being affected by it, we've come to detain him until further arrangements can be made.”
Detain? They want to detain a U.S. soldier? What the hell?
Sam seems to pick up on the confusion, nodding to the soldier who spoke, “Look, he’s okay, he's just in some pain—”
The sound that seems to be ripped from Joaquin’s vocal chords echoes through the room. It starts as a groan but quickly devolves into something akin to a screech. You glance at Sam who nods to Joaquin as a silent, ‘take care of him, I've got this,’
You leave the situation in his hands as you turn and kneel back in front of Joaquin, whose forehead seems to be glued to the floor. “Joaquin, hey, I need you to look at me,”
You regret asking him that as he lifts his head, fresh hot tears roll down his face, his eyes bloodshot, “What the hell is happening to me? Fuck it hurts so bad, it— shit, I can feel it everywhere,” you watch the masses under his skin move around a little as he speaks.
A sigh escapes your lips before you rest your hand on his shoulder, “The adamantium, I forgot about the side effects of it, plus it had polluted the water around the celestial, I should have told you and Sam. I basically sent you in blind.”
His dark eyebrows furrow at you, “What do you—” he cuts himself off with a painful groan, his entire body shifting as he tries to lessen the pain.
“I mean, the divers who found it, the people who swam in the water around it, hell even the fish, Joaquin, they all died within two weeks of contact,”
The pain seems to take a backseat to confusion as he looks at you, "It's been almost a month since contact for me,”
You nod at him, “I know, I think something else is happening,”
“Like what—”
A sickening sound of skin ripping echoes through the room, making your skin crawl. You watch him double over in pain as the masses press against his skin until they break free.
Two massive wings emerge from his back, feathers slick with blood, jet black and shiny. The feather you found in the hallway floats in your mind for a minute, your eyes trained on the wings, “Holy shit,”
Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath, until your eyes trail down to the blood pouring out of Joaquin’s back, down to the floor, pooling around his knees. You turn to Sam and the soldiers, “He needs help, he doesn't need to be detained,”
The soldier seems to dismiss the blood loss that is occurring right in front of him, "That's for us to decide, ma’am,”
Everything happens so quickly you barely register the sound of glass being broken, the quick gust of air. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, and Joaquin is gone.
3 missed calls from Cap’n’Merica
“Look kid I get that you think its your fault but we gotta find him”
“He’s only gonna come back if you're here”
“At least just come to the base”
You love Sam but fuck can he be persistent.
You throw your car into park, looking up at the daunting building…okay, not daunting but still imposing. The new-looking base used to make you feel at home, knowing a certain brown eyed smile was waiting for you inside. Now? God, now it just feels like it's taunting you… I know what you did, we all do
Sam waits for you inside, shoulders tensed, bent over leaning on the desk that used to belong to Joaquin. Still does, he's just not here. At least that's what you tell yourself. You try to not spiral out about where he is, if he's in pain, if he's alone.
“Do you always try and imagine what would happen in the worst case scenario or are you just that way naturally?” you recall Joaquin teasing you about it.
You had been in the middle of ranting about all of the ways the mission he was set to go on could go wrong. The intelligence gathered is wrong, they go in blind, someone ends up shot, the world is taken over by bad guys–yes…you did that naturally.
“Whatever,” you replied with a mouthful of mini MnM’s (Joaquin had started to buy those in stock for the vending machine outside of your office after you had claimed that the chocolate to candy paint ratio was better than the normal kind) “I’m either right about everything or I'm pleasantly proven wrong,”
The dark eyes had stayed on you for an oddly long amount of time, silent, a world record for the talkative brunette. You had turned your head slightly away from the bright blue light of your desktop, cocking your head at him. “Smiley?” you asked with a short laugh.
He seemed to be snapped out of a trance, “yeah, yeah I guess that makes sense,” he muttered with a soft smile.
You eye Sam with a narrowed gaze, “I dont know why they want to bring him in, he’s a good man, he’s a captain in the army for fucks sake.” you practically hiss.
“Look, kid, I get that, okay? I really do, it's not fair but.. He’s different now. You saw him, I saw him, he’s–” Sam sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “He’s different now, something in that water changed him.” you watch him look around for a moment before pulling on his jacket. “I’m gonna go talk to the Attorney General and ask them not to put out a nation-wide alarm for an ‘eagle-man’ on the loose because lets be honest, nobody needs that right now,” he points a finger at you expression soft, “you, you need to stay here in case bird boy decides to show up.”
You open your mouth to protest, “Sam–”
“Ah, nope, no, no look at me,” your eyes meet Sam’s, “When he was in the hospital, all he wanted was to talk to you, even after everything that the two of you… after what was said,” he cocks an eyebrow to say the silent part: or rather what was said, “He still wanted to talk to you, out of everybody, it was your name that came out of his mouth.” he sighs, obviously tired. Over the last three weeks, you had forgotten that Joaquin was like a brother to Sam. Watching him die on the table was hard for him too, you have to remind yourself of that.
“You stay here, be here in case he comes back because I don't doubt…you’ll be the one he wants to see,”
Those are the last words he says before patting you on the arm and leaving you alone in the large base. You stare at the empty desk for a long while, maybe two minutes, maybe an hour, you don't know. After wandering the empty place you decide to try and get some sleep.
“I really don't mind sharing a bed, I promise, cielo,” Joaquin smiled at you as he opened the door to the cramped motel room.
It was December, the smack dab in the middle of this stupid month, and of course you and Joaquin were sent on a ‘small’ road trip to BFE Idaho. Road trips aren't so bad with someone who insists on talking the entire time. And of course, because your luck is shit, you both get stuck with a one bed room… classic.
“I’m fine on the floor Joaquin–” you tried to argue with the brunette as he flung your duffels onto the floor.
“I’d prefer to sleep next to you,”
It was a quiet confession, not meant to be romantic, more of an embarrassing need to admit. He looked the part, face slightly red as he looked at you from across the dim motel room, his eyes trying to stay on yours. You didn’t say anything in response, you just nod once, a simple ‘I understand’. Because, for all the smiles and jokes he fronts with? You can see beneath that, you see the broken soldier who still has nightmares about the comrades he couldn't save, about the Blip, about the screams of his brothers in arms.
You'd heard him scream in his room enough times in the base to know he still suffered through PTSD-induced nightmares, even now.
So maybe that's why you choose to sleep in his bed, hoping some small part of him can feel your presence in his space and feels a semblance of comfort wherever he is.
You jolt awake, hearing a beeping, an odd sort of beeping, the classic alarm sound, a steady three beeps every other second
beep beep beep pause beep beep beep
You’re disoriented as you stumble out of the room to the desktop, eyes blurry as they try and focus on the radar built into the satellite on the roof. Why is there a green dot getting closer?
You head to the roof with a small tablet, the radar blinking on the screen as you open the door to the top level. The night sky is dark, blinking with stars, able to be seen with the lack of light pollution around here. Your sleep-filled eyes blink in an attempt to try and see whatever is making the radar go haywire.
Nothing.
A small part of you had forgotten why you were here, at the base, expecting to go downstairs to see Joaquin, to have a conversation with your best friend. As you turn, you hear a barely there pht, your eyebrows furrow as you spin on your heels, scanning your immediate surroundings. The radar pings loudly and you shut off the tablet, “stupid piece of shit–” ppht you try to pinpoint where the noise is coming from when suddenly–
Thump something drops onto the roof.
No…someone drops onto the roof.
Two black wings spread to full length, filling your eyeline. Your heart sinks as you come to focus on the body between them, kneeling… no, bent over. Hunched almost. What looks like blood has been smeared all over his sides, his hands dark with the substance. Your heart physically breaks as you stare at him, unable to move.
“Pretty sick landing right?” Joaquin’s voice is raw, raspy enough to make you cringe. You're by his side in a moment, quickly trying to assess what the hell is happening. “Joaquin what–”
“I don't know,”
“I mean how did you–”
“I don't know I just…” he stares at you, his eyes heavy, has he slept?
Instinctually your hand reaches for his cheek, “Joaquin…”
He looks like he could cry from the relief of you finally being here. “You have… no idea how many times I've needed you this past month, cielo,”
Your heart clenches, you can see the hurt on his face, you left him in that kitchen, words fallen on deaf ears, you left him alone in that ocean, left him alone in the hospital, you left him alone… for the past month.
You can't bring yourself to do anything other than grip the back of his head and pull him into a hug. Your arms sit over the top of his back, just above the black bases of his wings. He doesn't respond, you think he's going to push you away when you hear a sniffle then two arms wrapping around your middle. He's crying…the man you've known for almost six years, who you've only seen cry once, is crying. Not even that, he's sobbing.
His body shakes as he holds you, arms tensed around your middle like you're gonna let go and disappear. After a while you can hear him trying to say something. You don't pull away, turning your head to speak into his ear, “Joaquin? What… what are you trying to say?”
“It hurts,” his voice is broken, cracking at the edges.
“What hurts?” you ask quietly, but you could guess it had to do with the two giant masses on his back.
“Everything,” he sobs out, holding you tighter if that's possible.
You peel yourself away from him and swear you can see him shake his head and reach for you, “We gotta get you inside,” you mumble to him, your hand splayed on his bare chest. You look down at the rest of his form, he's just got boxers on, not surprising, his hospital gown probably got torn to shreds.
He's reluctant to go inside, not wanting to walk or stand anymore, but eventually, with you helping him, he weakly limps down the stairs to the main floor.
You have to convince him to shower, he knows it's going to hurt to get water on the open wounds in his back. What you don't see is his own pride tearing him down for needing help.
Joaquin grew up as the oldest brother, he helped raise his other four siblings. He was taught the classic mantra: Real men don't cry, they don't ask for help, and they sure as hell don’t let it be known if they're hurting. Growing up, he was relied on as a father figure almost, packing and driving his siblings to school at the age of 13. By the time he could legally drive, he drove all of his brothers and sisters to doctors appointments, after school activities, parties, anywhere they needed to go. He did it gladly, anything to put a smile on their faces.
When he was shipped off, he swore to his younger siblings that if they ever needed anything, to just write to him.
They never did.
Nobody wrote to him.
When he got back, they had moved, nobody told him, nobody emailed, wrote to him, nothing. After all he did, he was left alone.
Maybe that's why he watched you closely when the two of you got close, always opening up just enough to keep you interested, but never wanting to go too deep in fear of you leaving him.
That night in the kitchen, what you didn't see after you left him alone was a stunned Joaquin, confused, suddenly blasted back into a fresh off deployment soldier who was left behind by his own family. He never thought you of all people would leave him too.
His eyes are bleary as he steps into the shower, surprised when you appear in front of him, fully clothed, slowly getting soaked in the warm water.
“This is gonna hurt,” he can hear your voice, but it's muffled. He just nods in response, trusting you despite the logical part of him screaming at him to push you away, just like you did to him.
When the water hits his back, it almost breaks you to watch one of the strongest men you know crumple under it. His nose scrunches up, his eyes squeezing shut as he grips the wall with one hand, the other screwed up into a fist.
“Joder,” he hisses under his breath.
“I know, I–”
“No you don't," he seethes, his eyes flaring with anger and hurt, can you blame him?
You sigh, nodding, “no I dont, I dont know, I just… I have some pain killers I can give you, just let me help, Joaquin,”
He stares at you for a few moments, seemingly torn between anger and giving in to the deep seated need for your comfort.
Joaquin seems to choose the latter as his head hangs, letting you get a small glimpse of the top of his back, the blood staining it as if he had been trying to claw the wings out of his own body.
You step up in front of him, a rag in your hand slowly making contact with his skin. You hear water droplets hit the wall as his wings flit at the contact, his head jerks to the side. Your hand gently glides over the top of his back, feeling the scabbing tissue beneath the material of the rag. You hiss softly, trying your best to not hurt him, but it seems breathing too hard injures the brunette.
Your head is right near his head, you sigh softly, not wanting to make him think too hard but you need him to know how you feel.
“I… I don’t know if you remember anything before you started seizing,” you mutter, eyes going to his.
He furrows his eyebrows a little, wavering between wanting to tune you out and hearing every word you have to say… and every one that you don't say.
You take his silence as permission to continue on, “I… I like you too, Joaquin, I–I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and that night.” you sigh, shaking your head, “I was terrified, I was scared you didn't know what you were getting into with me–” you watch him let out a pained laugh, you sigh, “I understand if you feel different because of how I left you, I really do Joaquin, I know you're angry–”
“I’m not angry, cielo,”
The softness of his voice catches you off guard. You blink a few times before leaning back and looking up at him. He shakes his head, “how long have I been gone?”
“A week,” you respond quietly, barely heard over the shower.
“You wanna know what got me here? Back to this place?” he asks through a groan. At your silence he continues, “I went to your place four days ago, it was the first time these things,” he gestures to the fluttering black wings cramped against the shower tiles, “wanted to rest, so I went there. If your neighbor asks about an eagle sitting on your window sill… that was me.” he looks like hes trying to smile but it appears as more of a grimace than anything.
“I wasn’t… I was at my moms place,” you mutter in reply, your eyebrows furrowing as you place your free hand on his face, “How long did you stay there?”
His eyes flutter shut at your touch, his face leaning into your touch, as if he’s been craving it “Four days, wanted to see if you'd come back,”
You didn't go back to your apartment, too upset to be around anything that reminded you of him, “I didn't," you whisper
He nods slowly, “Only came here because…” he trails off as if trying to come up with an answer “I don't know why I came here I just kinda knew you'd be here,” he smiles painfully down at you.
You don't know what to say, your eyes flitting between his. You lean up and press your forehead against his, “Joaquin… fuck I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for leaving you alone, for letting you go in blind, for the mission, for–”
Your words are muffled by lips pressed against your own. You freeze, your eyes widening, taking in the view of Joaquin with a pained expression on his face, fear almost radiating off of him. He pulls away after a moment, searching your eyes and you swear you can see the fear shining in his eyes, he's scared, scared you’re gonna leave him like everyone else has, you're gonna leave him for a second time.
You don't. You press your lips back to his, your hands cupping his face.
You hear him sigh in relief, his hands leaving the walls to grab at the soaking wet fabric of your shirt. He laughs a little at the realization that you are fully clothed in the shower.
After a moment you both pull away for air, "I'm still sorry–”
“Dont make me kiss you again, cielo,”
