Jonathan Spencer "Yearner" Storm would honestly thrust his whole heart and soul into finding a way to make everyone remember Peter if he could just because he loves him that much.
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.Â
Guests.Â
Koda and Alexei were out for the day, having gone to the park. Bucky and Ava were in the middle of one of Valâs âpromotional interviewsâ 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.Â
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 couldnât 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 Avaâs 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 didnât 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 wasnât anything to suit him, Bob reasoned. But he thought of Ava's toybox and the doll he had âborrowedâ for the tea party. Maybe John had something in his room that would work.Â
The door wasnât 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 didnât 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 hadnât. The only personal touches were a sleeve hanging out of the dresser, starry blue sheets, and a photo of John with a man he didnât recognize. He peeked at it curiously, but there wasnât much to see.
There was one realm Bob hadnât 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.Â
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 didnât seem to be anything special, and John wouldnât 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.Â
With all his guests now present, Bob began his tea party. It wasnât 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 didnât chat back to him, and heâd used up most of his topics of conversation. Heâd 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 didnât come. With a deep breath, he forced his shoulders down away from his ears. The teacup was plastic. He didnât break anything. He wasnât in trouble. The juice could be cleaned up. The juice. Oh, heâd 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.Â
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 Johnâs bear, it dripped. The puddle on its chair had spread, and the toy was soaked with apple juice. Bobâs 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.
âOh, Robby, whatâs the matter?â Yelena cooed gently. âWhat is wrong?â
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 âspilledâ and âtroubleâ. 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.Â
âIt is okay, Bob. It cannot be that bad, whatever it is. We will fix it.âÂ
------
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 wouldnât 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 didnât get tired, not anymore. Heâd 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. Heâd been training for a long time anyways. Maybe it was time to quit for the day.Â
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⌠mustâve been a lot more fuzzy than he thought. He didnât remember going through his closet earlier. Heâd put everything away after a shower. Then he could sleep a bit, and maybe the clouds would lift from his head.Â
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 didnât 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.Â
Wait a minute. Something wasnât right. Something was missing.Â
John pried the lid back off and threw it across the room. Yes, something was definitely missing from the box. Something he knew he hadnât 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.Â
Storming out into the common room, John jabbed an accusing finger at Bob. âWhere is it?â he snapped. âYou went through my stuff, didnât you? Whatâs your problem?âÂ
âWalker,â Yelena interrupted. She turned to the side, sheltering Bob from Johnâs anger. âEnough. He is crying. It was an accident.â
An accident? It wasnât an accident. Bob went through his stuff on purpose.
âNo it wasnât! Little brat did it on purpose.â He glared daggers at both of them, refusing to shrink under Yelenaâs warning stare. He brushed past them, radiating anger like a physical wave.Â
Sure enough, the dining table was half-decorated like a kidâs tea party, complete with stuffed animals sitting in the chairs as guests. If he wasnât so angry, John might have found the sight entertaining. But nothing was entertaining now. He was exhausted, his head hurt, he couldnât think, and the teamâs 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 wasnât lost. He picked up the bear tenderly.Â
It was wet. And cold. And a little sticky.Â
A lump rose in Johnâs 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 âaccidentâ. His jaw clenched and he vibrated with anger as he tracked down Bob.Â
He was still crying in Yelenaâs 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.
âStop treating him like a baby! He isnât your innocent little angel! He went through my stuff and ruined my bear-â His voice caught. The hand he was using to point at Bob was shaking.
âWalker, calm down. It is just a bear. It was an accident. It is okay.â
âNo, itâs not okay, Yelena!â John shouted. Bob cringed away and hid his face in Yelenaâs neck. Heâd gone completely silent, cries stopped. âYou canât just baby him whenever he does something wrong! Donât act like Iâm the bad guy here!â
âWe will wash it. I will talk to Bob. Calm down. You are making a big fuss over nothing.â 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. âYou 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.â
âNo, itâs never about me! Itâs always about Bob. Always what he wants and what he needs. Whatever the baby needs, right?â
âThat is not fair.â
âYou arenât fair! You never are! I hate this stupid team!â John yelled. In the back of his mind, he knew he was being a little overly dramatic. He didnât really hate the team. He knew Yelena was doing her best to manage a team and two littles. But he couldnât quite bring himself to stop either. He stomped out of the common room and slammed his door shut, locking it behind him.Â
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 wouldnât cry. He wasnât a baby like Bob. Instead, he turned over and sulked, grumbling and growling to himself. If he was angry, he wouldnât cry. And only babies cried, or adults when real bad things happened. Like when someone died, not when a bear got juice on it.Â
He wasnât sure how long heâd 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. âGet out of my room.â
âPouting? At your age? God, you are pathetic, arenât you?â Ava snipped scornfully. âNice going with Bob, by the way. Yelena told us what happened. Bit of an overreaction, donât you think?âÂ
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 didnât even know what had happened. She didnât understand. Or care. But sheâd told Ava and apparently Bucky, and now he was a monster. Tormenting poor baby Bob for an accident and a toy that didnât matter. The idea of Bucky knowing, of him having heard what happened, made a cold dread settle into Johnâs stomach.Â
Suppertime passed. Nobody came to check on him when he didnât take his place at the table. An hour, two hours, three hours past supper, and he still hadnât emerged from his room. And nobody came to ask if he wanted something to eat. He was starving, actually, but he couldnât bring himself to face the team. He knew the looks theyâd 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 wasnât surprised to see the lights dimmed and doors shut.Â
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 didnât bother sitting at the table to eat, simply electing to stand at the counter.Â
âI hear you have⌠busy day with Bob today,â Alexei said. John practically jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face the man. Alexei held up both hands placatingly, grinning a little. âDid not mean to startle you. Just making conversation.âÂ
âGet lost,â John grumbled.Â
ââLena was right. You are very cranky today.â
âShut up,â 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 didnât feel so hungry. He threw everything into the trash or the sink and retreated to his room again.Â
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 heâd 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.Â
He didnât have much in the box. It had been locked, but it didnât hold money or valuables or weapons. In Johnâs 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 didnât 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 wasnât sure. But surely he was just very angry. He wasnât sad or scared or lost or so very small. He wasnât 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.
âAlexei said Iâd find you here.â Bucky. Angry Bucky. John curled up a little smaller and didnât say anything. âI heard what happened today. Thatâs a new low, even for you, Walker. You know Bob is⌠delicate, especially when heâs regressed. Whatâs the matter with you?â
Still nothing. Bucky walked closer, steps heavy and loud to warn John of his approach.Â
âWeâre 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.â
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 didnât need it anyways. He wasnât 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 wasnât supposed to be little. Grown-ups didnât need teethers. They also didnât need monster truck shirts, so he went to pull that off too.
Buckyâs hands were suddenly on him, grabbing him, and John yelped and kicked But⌠Bucky wasnât 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 wouldnât 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 Buckyâs eyes. They were soft. They werenât angry anymore. In fact, he almost looked hurt. He swiped away Johnâs lingering tears with his thumb as he knelt beside his bed.Â
âJohnâŚ?â Bucky whispered. âJohn, are you⌠little? I- Why didnât you tell us? Câmon, bub, look at me.âÂ
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 Buckyâs chest ache. âNo. âM not a baby. Iâm not little.âÂ
âYouâre not a baby,â Bucky agreed. âYouâre a big kid, huh?âÂ
John ducked his head but eventually nodded, casting a wary glance in Buckyâs direction. But the anger heâd been carrying when he entered had dissolved, leaving behind a worried caregiver and a deep concern. âNot a baby,â John repeated.Â
âNo, not a baby.âÂ
John moved a little closer, wiping tears and snot off his face with his arm. Bucky cringed and held a handkerchief up to Johnâs 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.
âHow about you tell me what happened today?â Immediately John began to protest, but Bucky stopped him. âIâm not going to yell at you. Just tell me your version of what happened today.âÂ
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 wasnât 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 didnât 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 hadnât noticed. Nobody had noticed. But⌠it made sense, didnât 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.Â
âJohn, we can fix Gus. We can wash him. Heâll be okay. And we can get you nice things fit for a big kid. We didnât know you were little. If we had, we wouldâve taken care of you just like Robby. Iâm sorry, bub. Iâm so sorry.â John didnât say anything. He just nodded into Buckyâs shoulder with tears in his eyes. âIâm sorry, buddy. Itâs okay. Iâve gotcha now. Weâve got you.â Bucky didnât have the heart to move him, so he just held him until the tears stopped and John was half-asleep.Â
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 Johnâs mouth, and he managed a weak smile at how fiercely he chewed on it. He wasnât sure if heâd brushed his teeth, or if he had really gotten ready for bed, but he was already half-asleep. Heâd be okay for one night.
âIâll be right back, alright? Iâve gotta go grab something,â 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. âI know these arenât Gus, but Koda says you can borrow them.âÂ
John reached for a soft, floppy tiger. Bucky pressed it into his arms and repositioned the blankets around him. He mumbled a quiet âthank youâ through a yawn, and Bucky ruffled his blond hair.Â
âGo to sleep. We can talk in the morning and get everything straightened out. Iâll put Gus in the wash so heâll be all fresh when you wake up.âÂ
John didnât 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.Â
Bucky watched over him for a minute, making sure he wasnât going to wake up. He looked exhausted and miserable, and Buckyâs chest twisted. He mentally kicked himself for missing all the signs of a little and the ways heâd handled him under the assumption he was a caregiver. Heâd make up for it.Â
âSweet dreams, bub,â 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.Â
I'm not the biggest John fan, but boy do fanfic writers know what to do with his character. Like okay, yes, with fanon and everything, I could see him warming up and getting better with the others, and him being a regressor (although incredibly secretive and embarrassed about it) or a CG (although probably VERY confused and maybe a little weirded out at first). And yeah, idk I've warmed up to it lol
