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itwillbethescarletwitch · 24 days ago

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bob reynolds x fem!witch!reader

thunderbolts x fem!witch!reader

i promise this one is nothing like “Forever Us”

i was lowkey thinking of doing a taglist but idk if enough people want that 😭

(feel free to leave criticism so i can improve on my writing unless it’s bad, then like sugarcoat it)

It’s the quiet before the storm—Bucky’s voice low and steady as he lays out the plan, tension coiling in the room like a live wire.

“This is high risk. Incredibly dangerous. I’m not gonna lie to you.”

I sit with my arms folded tight across my chest, feeling the weight of the briefing settle into my bones. The mission is dangerous. We all know that.

But my mind isn’t on the mission. Not entirely.

Across the table, Bob’s eyes flick to mine—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough.

That look: the quiet fear, the unspoken be careful, I can’t lose you.

I drop my gaze quickly, heat rising in my chest. If Yelena catches that look, we’re screwed.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Yelena jokes, smirking as she bumps my shoulder. “Someone actually falls in love with Walker?”

I let out a soft laugh—tight, nervous. Bob’s lips twitch like he wants to smile, but his fingers are clenched on the table.

No one knows.

No one knows that for the past three years, Bob has been my everything. That I’ve woken up tangled in his arms more times than I can count. That when the nightmares come, it’s his voice that pulls me back.

No one knows.

And we’ve worked so damn hard to keep it that way.

⸻

The Mission

It all goes to hell in seconds.

Gunfire, shouting, the sharp crack of crumbling concrete. The air is thick with dust and panic. My magic hums under my skin, ready—waiting.

Focus, Y/N. You’ve done this before.

And then—Yelena’s scream.

“Y/N!”

I turn.

The ceiling above her is collapsing.

Time slows.

I reach for her with my magic, a sharp surge of red-gold energy—tearing through the debris, shoving it away with everything I have. She’s free, tumbling out of the way, gasping—alive.

But I don’t see the beam coming for me.

There’s a groan of metal. A crack of stone. And then—

Pain. Blinding, shattering pain.

Bob…

Darkness

I’m floating.

I think I hear voices—shouting, crying. Someone screaming my name like it’s the only word they know.

“Y/N! Baby, please, no—”

I feel hands—gripping, pulling, frantic. Something warm on my face. Tears? Blood?

The darkness pulls me under before I can find out.

⸻

Two Months Later

The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room until I opened my eyes.

The ceiling above me was sterile white. The light too bright, too sharp. The ache in my body was deep, a heavy kind of exhaustion that sank into my bones.

I blinked slowly, my vision blurry, adjusting to the light—and then I saw him.

A man, sitting beside me. His face was pale, tight with exhaustion. His eyes—wide, shattered, desperate. He was holding my hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.

“Y/N?” he breathed, voice cracking, barely a whisper. His fingers gripped mine tighter, a tremble running through him. “Oh my God, you’re awake…”

I stared at him, throat tight. My mouth was dry.

I didn’t know him.

His face didn’t spark anything.

“Who… who are you?” I croaked, my voice hoarse and broken.

His entire body flinched—like I’d punched him straight through the chest. His eyes filled with tears, lips parting like he was going to speak, but nothing came out. He just sat there, holding my hand, staring at me like the world was slipping through his fingers.

And then—

The door burst open.

“Y/N!”

A woman ran in, blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, face lit upwith joy. She was moving fast, like she couldn’t get to me fast enough.

“Yelena, wait—” Bob’s voice cracked, but she wasn’t listening.

She was already reaching for me, arms out like she was going to hug me—

And I yanked myself back.

My heart jumped in my chest, panic rising fast, hot and sharp. My breath came quick and shallow as I scrambled back into the pillows.

“What is going on?!” I gasped, voice rising, shaking. “Who are you people?!”

Silence.

The team stood frozen in the doorway.

A dark-haired man in a black t-shirt—John? A taller guy with a grim expression—Bucky? Another man, broad and solid, standing slightly behind—Alexei.

They all stared at me like I’d just shattered their world.

“Y/N,” the blonde woman—Yelena—said slowly, voice cracking, her hands lifting like she was begging me to calm down. “It’s me. It’s Yelena. Don’t you remember?”

I shook my head hard, panic bubbling in my chest like I couldn’t breathe.

“No, I—” My hands trembled as I pressed them to my temples. “I don’t—I don’t know you! I don’t—”

The room blurred.

Alarms on the machines spiked.

Footsteps thundered down the hall as a team of doctors and nurses rushed in.

One of them spoke quickly, calm but firm, hands moving to adjust the IV. Another held me down as I tried to thrash, my body too weak, too heavy.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” one of the nurses said, voice soft and practiced as she pushed something into the line.

I felt a sharp coldness spread through my veins—and then everything slowed.

The panic dulled. My limbs grew heavy.

I could hear voices, distant and muffled, like they were underwater—

The door clicked shut behind them, and the moment it did, Bob stumbled back—his shoulders hit the wall like the air had been knocked out of him.

His hands trembled at his sides. His chest heaved with shallow, uneven breaths, eyes glassy and haunted.

Bucky stood frozen in place, arms folded tightly across his chest, jaw clenched so hard the muscle ticked. He looked like he might punch a hole through the wall just to feel something.

John ran a hand down his face, pacing a few feet away, eyes dark and unsettled.

And Yelena—Yelena was pacing.

Her hands were on her hips, moving in tight, frustrated circles. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts, like she was trying to keep it together but barely holding on.

“She didn’t recognize me,” Yelena muttered under her breath, voice sharp, thin, like a thread about to snap. “Me. I’m her best friend. How the hell—”

She stopped abruptly, turning to the doctor as he stepped into the hallway.

The whole team snapped their focus to him like a spotlight.

Bob’s voice broke the silence—raw, barely above a whisper:

“What’s wrong with her?”

The doctor’s face was grave, eyes heavy with sympathy.

“She’s suffering from retrograde amnesia. Given the extent of her injuries, it’s likely trauma-induced. She’s lost… a significant amount of her memory.”

“How much?” John asked, voice rough, brow furrowed in frustration.

The doctor hesitated.

“That’s what we need to determine. We’ll run a full series of scans and cognitive tests, but based on what we’ve seen—she doesn’t seem to remember any of you. Or her powers. Or the team.”

Bob flinched at the word powers.

The doctor went on, gentle but firm:

“We’re going to do everything we can to help her regain her memories, but there’s no guarantee. Sometimes… the memories don’t come back.”

That last sentence felt like a knife twisting into Bob’s chest.

He sank down onto the nearest bench, elbows on his knees, hands threaded together so tightly his knuckles turned white. His head dropped forward, his shoulders shaking with silent, ragged breaths.

Yelena’s pacing slowed, her jaw tight as she tried to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

Bucky stood stock-still, a muscle jumping in his cheek, his expression hollow.

Even Alexei—usually the loudest, the most unbothered—stood in the corner, arms crossed, his brow furrowed deep.

No one spoke.

No one knew what to say.

They’d lost you.

And Bob—Bob looked like he’d lost the whole damn world.

——

It had been a week.

Seven days since I’d opened my eyes. Seven days of… nothing.

The doctors told me I was healing well—physically, anyway. They said it was a miracle, the way my body was recovering, how my bones were mending faster than they expected, like I was stronger than I looked.

But my mind?

My mind was a stranger.

They kept showing me things—videos, pictures, stories whispered like secrets. Yelena would sit at my bedside, her phone in her hands, scrolling through videos of us.

Her and me.

Laughing in a kitchen. Dancing like idiots. Screaming along to some song I couldn’t place, breathless and wild and so, so happy.

“See? This was us. You loved this song. Remember?”

I’d watch the screen like it was someone else’s life. Someone else’s joy.

“That’s… nice,” I’d say, smiling, trying to match the curve of her lips.

But it wasn’t mine.

It wasn’t me.

Bucky tried once too. Sat beside me with a cup of coffee in his hand, his voice warm, telling me about a safe house. How we’d been stuck for days. How I’d apparently eaten all the protein bars, taught him how to knit with scraps of yarn from my gear bag.

His eyes crinkled at the edges when he spoke, like he was reliving it, the warmth of it lighting up his whole face.

I just stared.

Blinking.

Trying to feel something.

Nothing came.

And him.

The man who sat quietly in the corner—Bob.

He didn’t say much, but he was always there. I could feel his eyes on me, soft and full of… something. Something I couldn’t name, couldn’t hold.

He brought me things.

A sweater—grey, soft, worn at the cuffs. He held it out like it was sacred, like it was a piece of me I couldn’t remember.

I ran my fingers over it, felt the fabric, but it was just… a sweater.

A necklace, too. Silver, delicate, with a tiny crescent moon that glinted under the lights.

“You never took it off,” he told me, his voice barely above a whisper.

I tilted my head, studying it like an artifact in a museum.

“It’s pretty,” I said, almost an apology, before I set it back down.

And when I did…

I saw it.

Just for a moment—the way he broke.

His shoulders slumped, his face shattered in a way that made my chest ache, even though I didn’t know why.

I could feel it.

Feel that I was missing something.

Someone.

I could feel it in the way he looked at me—like I was everything.

But I couldn’t reach it. Couldn’t reach him.

That night, I woke up in the dark.

The lights on the machines cast a soft glow, painting the room in pale shadows. I shifted, careful, and saw him.

Bob.

His head was bowed low, forehead pressed against the edge of my bed. His hand was curled in the fabric of the sweater, knuckles white.

He wasn’t making a sound, but his shoulders trembled. His breath hitched—once, twice, quiet and sharp.

I watched him, and my heart twisted so hard it almost hurt.

I didn’t know why.

I didn’t know him.

But I wanted to reach out.

Wanted to say something.

Wanted to fix whatever was breaking inside of him.

I just… couldn’t.

So I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, even though it felt like something inside me was unraveling, thread by thread.

Like there was a gaping hole in my chest where something important used to be.

And I had no idea how to fill it.

Or if I ever could.

———

It was getting harder to look them in the eye.

Every time they brought me something—an old photo, a hoodie, a book—I could see it, plain as day, written across their faces.

The hope.

The heartbreak.

They wanted me to remember.

And I wanted to so badly.

I wanted to give them something, anything to take the edge off the pain.

So when Bucky sat down next to me one morning, a battered book in his hands, I tried.

He handed it to me gently, like it was made of glass. I turned it over in my hands, running my fingers across the faded cover.

It was some old paperback. Dog-eared, the spine cracked in half from being read too many times.

“I, uh… I used to read this to you,” Bucky said, voice soft, like he was afraid he’d spook me. “On long flights. You’d get nervous, and it helped you sleep.”

I could feel him watching me. Waiting.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Oh, right,” I said, forcing a little laugh like it was all coming back to me. “Yeah, I… I remember.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up.

“You do?” he asked, leaning in just a bit, like he couldn’t believe it.

I nodded quickly.

“Yeah,” I lied, flipping through the pages like they meant something to me. “You’d read to me on flights. It was… it was calming.”

He smiled, relief flooding his face.

And I felt sick.

I hated this.

Hated lying, but I couldn’t stand the way they looked at me. Like they were breaking apart a little more every time I said “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

So I tried to fill in the blanks.

I smiled at Bucky, tried to match the warmth in his eyes.

“Yeah, I loved it when you read to me,” I said, holding the book close to my chest. “It helped, you know? Way better than… than those hot chamomile drinks. I hate chamomile.”

The second the words left my mouth, Bucky’s face froze.

His eyes narrowed, confusion bleeding in.

“Chamomile?” he repeated, his voice quiet, but there was something in it—something that felt like a cold wind cutting through the room.

I shifted in my seat, heart pounding, the edges of my smile faltering.

“Yeah?” I offered weakly, trying to play it off. “I’m not a fan.”

But Bucky just sat back slowly, his expression shifting.

“Y/N,” he said softly, and it hurt.

That’s when I realized it.

I’d messed up.

I didn’t know what it was about chamomile, but I’d said the wrong thing.

And I could see it in Bucky’s eyes—he knew.

He knew I was trying to make him feel better.

That I didn’t remember a damn thing.

The relief on his face crumbled into something else.

Something hollow.

And I felt the weight of it all crash down on me.

I wanted to disappear.

Wanted to sink into the bed, into the floor, into anywhere but this moment.

But I couldn’t.

I could only sit there, holding a book that meant the world to him and nothing to me, watching the light die in his eyes.

——

They came in one by one.

I felt like I was on display—Exhibit A: Girl With No Memories.

Ava was next.

She slipped in quietly, like a shadow, holding something small in her hands.

A little silver keychain—sleek, black, minimalist.

“I gave you this,” she said softly, almost shyly. “For luck. Before that mission in Moscow.”

I stared at it like it was a relic.

“Oh,” I said, the lie catching in my throat, tasting like rust. “Yeah, I… I remember. It was a, um, lucky charm, right?”

Ava’s face softened, just a little, like I’d handed her a glass of water in the middle of a drought.

“Yeah,” she said. “You told me you kept it in your jacket pocket. Always.”

I nodded quickly, trying to keep up, to keep them whole.

“Yeah, I always had it on me,” I said, clutching it in my hand. “It… it made me feel safe. Like I had you with me.”

Ava’s eyes glistened. Just a flicker, but it was there.

And I felt like the worst person alive.

But then—because the universe had a sense of humor—I tried to addsomething.

“I used to, um, rub it when I got nervous. Like a fidget thing, you know? Kind of like how I always bite my nails.”

Ava’s expression froze.

Her eyes darted down to my hands—neatly trimmed, no signs of ever being bitten.

I felt my stomach sink.

Shit.

She just nodded once, quietly, and left without another word.

⸻

Next came Alexei.

Big, loud, heart on his sleeve.

He brought a damn stuffed bear.

I held it awkwardly, like it might explode in my hands.

“We win this in Prague,” he said proudly. “Carnival game. You yell at the man because you think it’s rigged. He give you the bear just to make you leave.”

I laughed, because it sounded like me.

“I remember!” I blurted, clinging to the thread. “It was… fluffy. I named it… um…”

Alexei beamed, waiting.

“Bear.”

His face fell.

“It was Misha,” he said quietly, his voice dropping like a stone. “You named it Misha. After my uncle.”

The silence stretched.

I wanted to die.

⸻

John came in with a football.

“Signed by the whole team,” he said, grinning. “You were talking shit about how you could out-throw me. We made a bet—remember?”

I swallowed hard.

“Yeah,” I lied again, my voice barely holding. “I remember. We played in the park. I, uh… I won.”

John’s grin twitched, just slightly.

“You lost,” he said, his voice gentle, like he didn’t want to break me. “By a mile. You blamed the wind.”

Oh.

Right.

I looked down at the football like it was a bomb.

“Right. The wind.”

⸻

Yelena was the worst.

She came in glowing with hope, like she was holding her breath for a miracle.

She had a hoodie in her arms—my old one, apparently.

“I stole this from you,” she said, plopping it into my lap. “You were so mad, but I told you it was mine now. You let me have it.”

I ran my fingers over the fabric, trying to feel something.

“Oh, yeah,” I forced out. “I remember. You always stole my stuff. It was kind of our thing, right?”

Yelena grinned.

“That’s right! And you always called me a—”

“A thief,” I said quickly. “I called you a thief.”

Yelena’s face froze.

Her voice softened.

“No, you called me a gremlin.”

The air in the room shifted.

Her smile faltered, her eyes dimmed.

I felt the lie crack between us, splintering like glass.

Yelena stared at me for a long, long moment.

Then she stood up and walked out, hoodie forgotten in my lap.

⸻

And then…

It was Bob.

Bob, who walked in holding the simplest thing of all—a note.

Just a little folded piece of paper.

His hands shook as he held it out to me.

“I wrote this to you,” he whispered. “After that mission in Cairo. You were hurt, and I was so scared, and… I couldn’t say it out loud, so I wrote it down.”

I took it, my fingers brushing his.

His hand trembled like a leaf.

I opened it.

It was just a few words.

“You make me brave.”

Something inside me twisted, sharp and cold.

I wanted to remember.

God, I wanted to remember.

But there was nothing.

Just a blank void where our love should’ve been.

I looked up at him, and his face was shattered.

I could see it—all the hope, all the quiet, aching love he carried, slipping through his fingers like sand.

So I tried.

I tried to give him something.

“I remember,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You wrote this because… I, um, I always made you coffee. With sugar. And, uh, you’d always forget to add the sugar, so I’d do it for you. Right?”

His face crumpled.

Tears welled in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he choked out, voice breaking. “You hate sugar in your coffee.”

And that’s when I knew.

It was over.

The pretending. The lying. The hope.

It was all gone.

And I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over.

Not for me.

For them.

For him.

———

Bucky’s voice was the one that broke the silence.

Low. Careful. Like he was afraid I’d shatter if he spoke too loud.

“You should get some rest, kid.”

I blinked up at him, dazed, my arms still curled around the bear.

He shifted his weight, looking at the mess of objects scattered across the bed. His expression softened, just barely. “We’ll, uh… we’ll take this stuff out. So it’s not… too much.”

I sat up straighter, the hoodie tugging over my knees, the necklace catching the light.

“No,” I said quietly, my voice catching on the word.

They all turned to look at me again, like I’d just spoken a foreign language.

“I want to keep them here,” I continued, my throat tight. “And… I want to get dressed. In real clothes. Not this…” I tugged at the hospital gown, frustration flashing in my chest. “I need to— I need to see the places. The places you remember me in.”

Yelena took a step forward, her expression flickering with hope and heartbreak all at once.

“You want to go out?” she asked, her voice careful.

I nodded, swallowing down the sudden swell of nerves.

“Maybe if I see them… the memories will come back.”

No one said anything for a long, long moment.

Then Bucky let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright. Let’s give it a shot.”

One by one, they nodded.

Yelena was first—she took me to the kitchen where we’d apparently spent hours dancing like idiots, the place where I used to steal her snacks and argue about movie nights. She tried to recreate the moments, swaying to music, waving her arms like she didn’t have a care in the world.

I tried to smile. I tried so hard. But nothing clicked.

Alexei and John took me to the sparring room next—John told me stories about how I’d trash-talked him mid-spar, how I’d laughed in his face when I won. Alexei mimicked my stance, showed me how I used to tilt my head when I was ready to fight.

I nodded. I said “that’s nice.” I tried to feel it, but the emptiness was crushing.

Ava took me to the roof—where I’d apparently gone to think, to breathe, to watch the stars. She stood beside me in the cold morning air, silent, just waiting.

Nothing.

Yelena tried again after lunch. Took me to our shared room, showed me the stack of journals we’d written dumb notes in, the little trinkets we’d collected from missions. She played me a video of us lip-syncing to some song—my face was glowing in it, my eyes sparkling with mischief.

I stared at the screen, my lips parting, willing myself to remember.

But it was like watching a stranger.

And then there was Bob.

The quietest. The last.

He didn’t say much as we walked, just a silent, steady presence at my side. His hand hovered near mine, like he wanted to grab it, but he didn’t.

We reached the spot—a small, hidden garden tucked behind the building. It was overgrown, wildflowers tangled in the grass, and I could feel something aching in the air.

Bob stopped a few feet away, like crossing into the space physically hurt.

I looked around, frowning at the quiet beauty of it all.

“It’s pretty,” I whispered, turning to him. “What is this place?”

Bob’s breath hitched.

His hands trembled at his sides, and I saw the way his jaw tightened, the way he blinked hard, fighting the tears.

I reached out without thinking, gently brushing my fingers over his knuckles. His hand flinched, but then he gripped mine, like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“Bob,” I asked, soft and careful, “why is this place important to us?”

He swallowed, his voice rough and barely there.

“This was ours.”

I stared at him, eyes wide, heart stuttering.

He let out a shaky breath, the words spilling like a confession he’d been holding too long.

“This was where we went after every mission. Just the two of us. We’d sit right there”—he gestured to the bench—“and talk about everything. Or nothing. You used to bring me coffee. I’d tell you the stupidest stories, and you’d listen like they were the most important things in the world. We’d watch the stars until you fell asleep on my shoulder.”

His voice cracked, and his grip tightened on my hand.

“I told you I loved you here. First time. You laughed because I was so nervous I could barely get it out. You said you loved me, too, and we just… sat here. For hours.”

I felt my breath catch, the weight of his words sinking into my chest.

I could see the hope in his eyes, the desperate need for something—for a flicker of recognition, for a smile, for a whispered “I remember.”

But there was nothing.

Just a hollow ache.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

Bob shook his head, blinking fast, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly, even though I could see it all over him—how much this was killing him.

He let go of my hand then, stepping back, his shoulders shaking.

And I just stood there, watching him—watching the man who clearly loved me more than anything in the world—break right in front of me.

And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

——

We sat there in the cool night air until the wind started biting at my skin, until the lights in the windows above us flickered back on—until it felt like the whole world had moved on, leaving us in the dark. Bob had calmed, mostly. His breathing was steadier, but when I glanced at him, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose pink from crying, and I felt a sharp pang in my chest I couldn’t explain.

“I should…” he started, voice barely above a whisper, and he glanced at the doors leading back inside. “We should get you back.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into my bones. My body still felt heavy and sluggish, like every movement was a struggle. But when Bob pushed open the doors, holding them for me like it was second nature, I felt that same strange pull—like I belonged with him, even if I didn’t understand why.

The med floor was quiet, humming with low lights and machines. My bed sat empty in the corner, but as I moved toward it, something tugged at the corner of my vision.

A door—barely cracked open down the hall.

It wasn’t the room they usually brought me to. Not the one with the familiar faces and soft blankets and the quiet hum of machines. No, this room… it felt different. Like a secret. Like it meant something.

I stopped. My feet wouldn’t move. My breath caught in my throat.

“Y/N?” Bob’s voice was soft behind me, but I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t tear my eyes away from the door.

Something deep inside me whispered, Go.

So I did.

I stepped forward, feeling my pulse quicken, feeling my fingers tingle like they wanted to reach for something, like they were brushing up against the edge of a memory I couldn’t quite catch.

The door creaked as I pushed it open, and a wave of… something washed over me.

The room was dim, bathed in warm light. A blanket draped over a worn couch. A coffee mug on the table, cracked and chipped. A photo on the wall—me, smiling at the camera, tucked under Bob’s arm, both of us looking like we’d won some inside joke.

I stared at it, heart hammering, but… nothing.

Just a faint, dull ache. Like I was looking at a life I should know but couldn’t touch.

Behind me, I heard the shuffle of feet. I turned and found them all there—Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, John, Ava—crowded in the hallway, watching me. Hopeful, tense, like they were holding their breath waiting for something.

But I didn’t know what they wanted.

I took a shaky step back, arms wrapping around myself. Bob’s eyes were the last I saw before I turned away and drifted back toward the med floor, back to my hospital bed, back to the only thing I knew—the steady beeping of the machines, the sterile sheets, the crushing weight of not remembering.

I sat down on the bed, staring at my hands. My chest burned, my eyes stung, and I felt so small.

“Please,” I whispered under my breath, not even sure who I was talking to. God? The universe? Myself? I didn’t know. “Please… let me remember something.”

The tears slid down my cheeks before I could stop them.

I wanted to remember. I wanted it so badly it felt like my ribs were cracking under the weight of it.

A soft knock at the door. Yelena.

“Hey.” She stepped in quietly, holding two cups of tea, like it was just another day. Like we were the same. Like we were us.

She sat on the bed beside me, close but not touching, and offered a small smile. “Can we just… talk for a bit?”

I nodded, wiping at my eyes, feeling raw and exposed.

We talked—about small things at first. The weather, the latest movie that came out, TikToks. And then… something slipped out of me.

A phrase. A stupid phrase.

Something I didn’t even realize I knew.

Yelena’s breath hitched, her eyes going wide, her tea forgotten in her lap.

“Wait. Say that again.”

I blinked at her. “What?”

Her hands trembled as she grabbed my arm. “Say it again.”

I repeated it, unsure why it mattered so much, but it was like I’d cracked something open, and Yelena was shaking.

She bolted from the room, calling for the others. My head spun as the door burst open again and the team flooded in, eyes wide, staring at me like I was some kind of miracle.

But I wasn’t. I didn’t know why I’d said it. I didn’t remember the meaningbehind the words. It was just… there.

For the next three weeks, that was all I had.

One tiny, fractured piece of a puzzle I couldn’t solve.

One phrase.

One sliver of a connection.

And it wasn’t enough.

Not for me.

Not for them.

Not for Bob.

———

The beeping of the heart monitor was the first thing I heard. Steady. Reassuring.

But it wasn’t the same today.

The hum of machines, the scratch of paper charts, the sterile white walls… it all felt heavier.

I blinked, eyes blurry from sleep, and when I turned my head toward the glass doors of my hospital room—toward the world I wasn’t part of—I saw them.

Bob and Yelena.

They were standing just outside, framed by the morning sun bleeding through the windows, voices hushed but sharp with emotion. I couldn’t hear everything—just the low, muffled hum of words—but their body language… it hit me like a punch to the chest.

Bob’s shoulders were shaking. His hands pressed to his face. His whole body looked small, caved in on itself like he was folding under the weight of something too heavy to carry.

Yelena was gripping his arm, trying to steady him, but even from here, I could see the tears in her eyes too.

“—you loved her so much.”

“Three years, Bob. Three years.”

“—the love of your life, and she doesn’t even—”

“I know, I know,” he sobbed, voice breaking. “God, Yelena, I know.”

I felt like I was watching a scene from someone else’s movie. Like I wasn’t supposed to see this.

But it hurt.

It hurt in a way I couldn’t explain. Like a deep, gnawing ache in my chest, twisting tighter and tighter the longer I watched them.

The love of your life.

My throat felt tight. My fingers dug into the thin hospital blanket, gripping it like it was the only thing tethering me to the ground.

They were talking about me.

About a version of me I didn’t know.

A version who laughed and loved and lived.

Who had a family in them.

And I didn’t remember any of it.

The tears welled up before I could stop them, blurring my vision as I watched Bob break down in the hallway, his body shaking with the force of it.

I wanted to remember. I wanted to run out there, grab his hand, and tell him I knew him. That I loved him back.

But I didn’t.

All I could do was sit there—weak, empty, watching the man who loved me like I was his whole world crumble because I wasn’t that person anymore.

And that’s when I made a decision.

No more sitting here. No more waiting for my memories to come back like magic.

I had to fight for them.

I didn’t care if it took days, weeks, years.

If Bob—if all of them—had fought to keep me alive… then I would fight to remember.

For them.

For me.

For us.

Even if it broke me in the process.

——

It started small.

The next morning, I woke up early—earlier than usual—because I couldn’t sleep. My head felt like it was full of static, and my heart felt like it was carrying a weight too heavy to lift.

So I sat up in bed, pushing the thin blanket aside, and swung my legs over the side. My body still ached, stiff and sore from the damage I didn’t remember. But I moved. I had to.

I looked down at the little collection of things they’d all left me—the sweater, the necklace, the football, the book, the stuffed bear—and I reached out for them.

One by one, I laid them on the bed in front of me.

I closed my eyes, holding each one like it might spark something. A flicker. A whisper. Anything.

I pressed the crescent moon necklace to my chest, whispering, “Please.”

Nothing.

I stared at the football, trying to imagine it in my hands, thrown across a field. The smell of grass. Laughter in the air.

Nothing.

I opened the book—halfway through, a page marked with a pressed flower—and tried to picture myself reading it, but the words just blurred together.

Frustration boiled under my skin. My hands clenched into fists. I felt the tears coming, hot and angry.

Why can’t I remember?!

I choked on a sob, wiping my tears with the sleeve of the sweater. It smelled faintly of something—him?—and I clung to it like it could keep me from unraveling completely.

“Please,” I whispered again, voice cracking. “Please, just… something.”

Nothing.

I let myself cry.

Let myself fall apart.

Let the heartbreak of everyone else fill the room—Bucky’s quiet grief, Yelena’s nervous hope, John’s stiff concern, Alexei’s awkward care, Ava’s soft sadness… and Bob.

God. Bob.

I thought about his face yesterday, the way his hands had covered his face when he broke down outside the door. The way Yelena tried to hold him together, but he’d crumbled anyway.

I wanted to know why.

I wanted to feel what he felt.

And when I closed my eyes, I could almost hear it. A whisper.

Not quite words… but something.

⸻

Later That Day

Bob came back in the afternoon.

The others had stepped out, giving him a moment alone with me.

He sat in the chair by the bed, hands nervously clasped in his lap, eyes red-rimmed and tired. He looked so small in that moment. So quiet. So lost.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just watched him, heart in my throat.

After a long pause, he spoke.

“I never told anyone this,” he said quietly, his voice rough like sandpaper. “Not even Yelena. Not even… you, before.”

He swallowed, looking down at his hands like they were holding the whole weight of the world.

“My dad… he used to tell me I was nothing special. That I’d never be anything more than what he wanted me to be. Quiet. Small. Invisible.”

He let out a breath, shaky and raw.

“And then I met you. And it was like… you saw me. Every part of me. The good, the bad, the scared little kid who just wanted to be enough. And you told me I was.”

Tears filled his eyes, but he kept going.

“You told me I was enough, and I believed you. God, I believed you.”

His voice broke, and he pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, trying to hold it all in.

And I… I didn’t know what to do.

So I reached out, hesitating for only a second, and covered his hand with mine.

I didn’t know him.

But I felt him.

His pain. His heartbreak.

And I wanted to give him something back.

So I squeezed his hand, gently, and whispered, “You are enough.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide and glassy, and for a second, it felt like the air between us shifted. Like something clicked.

But I still didn’t remember.

And the heartbreak in his eyes when he realized that… it nearly shattered me.

———

It started slow at first.

A flicker. A sound.

Then the crash.

The ground shook beneath me, walls crumbling like sand, a roar in my ears so loud it felt like my head was splitting apart.

I could see the others—running, yelling, someone was screaming—and Yelena—Yelena. She was trapped, pinned down. I reached for her, my hands glowing, glowing with something I couldn’t name. A flash of red—chaos magic, something inside me. I shoved it outward, desperate, get her out get her out get her out—

And then—

The weight.

The sky above me—gone.

Crushed.

Heavy.

Pain.

Darkness.

Nothing.

⸻

I screamed myself awake.

My whole body snapped upright, drenched in sweat, my lungs clawing for air that wouldn’t come.

The machines beside me beeped wildly, alarms blaring.

“No no no no no no!” I sobbed, clawing at the blanket, at the air, at anything that could ground me.

And suddenly—they were all there.

Bucky first, his voice sharp but calm, “Y/N, hey—look at me. It’s okay, you’re safe, you’re safe.”

Yelena right behind him, eyes wide with panic, “What happened?! What—are you okay?”

Bob stumbled in last, his eyes locking onto me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, his voice breaking, “What’s happening? Is she—?”

“I—I saw—” I choked, my voice ragged and broken, tears streaming down my face. My chest ached like it would cave in. I couldn’t stop shaking.

“I saw… the building… it was falling, and I—”

Their faces.

The way they looked at me.

Like I’d just set off a bomb in the room.

Bucky’s brows shot up, eyes wide with something that looked like shock.

Yelena’s hand flew to her mouth, a muffled gasp slipping out.

Bob… oh, Bob.

He looked like he couldn’t breathe.

“That’s… that’s how you got hurt,” Bucky whispered, his voice barely a breath.

The silence that followed felt like a vacuum.

I was still sobbing, gasping, hands fisting the sheets, shaking so hard I thought I’d fall apart.

They were all staring at me, frozen.

I tried to pull myself together, to stop the noise pouring out of me, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop.

Bob moved first—slowly, like I was something fragile, like I might break at the slightest touch.

He sank onto the edge of my bed, hesitating for a split second before he reached for my hand. His palm was warm, trembling just as much as mine.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice thick with something that cut through me. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

And I believed him.

But the image—the building, the crash, Yelena trapped, me reaching out—

It was still burning behind my eyelids.

I had no idea if it was real.

But I felt it.

Like it was branded into my skin.

And now… they were all looking at me like it was real.

Like I was starting to remember.

And that terrified me.

They were all talking—talking—too many voices, too many hands, too much.

“Breathe, Y/N. Please. Just try—”

“Calm down. You’re safe—”

“It’s okay, we’re here—”

No, no, no, stop—

I couldn’t breathe. The walls felt like they were caving in. My chest was so tight it hurt, like there was a fist wrapped around my ribs, squeezing. My ears were ringing, my vision blurring, and I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t tell if I was breathing at all.

And then—he was gone.

Bob.

I caught a glimpse of him stepping out, moving fast. My heart dropped. I don’t know why—maybe it was the look in his eyes, like leaving me for even a second was killing him.

But he was back so quickly, breathless, holding something—

A pillow.

It was blue.

A little dolphin pillow pet.

Worn, soft at the edges, like it had been loved for years.

I stared at it, frozen.

He held it out, his hands shaking, like it was some fragile treasure he was terrified to break.

“You always—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed, eyes glistening. “You always take this on missions. You’ve had it since you were a kid. Since you were five.”

I stared at him, then at the pillow, then back at him.

I didn’t remember it.

Didn’t remember him.

But something—something—pulled at me.

My hands reached out, almost on instinct, and I took it.

It was soft. The fabric was worn thin in places, like it had been hugged so many times it was starting to fray.

I held it to my chest, clutching it like a lifeline.

And then—without thinking—my fingers started to stroke over the plush fabric. Slow, back and forth, back and forth.

The sobs began to slow.

The panic loosened its grip on my chest, just enough to let in air.

The tears were still falling, but I could breathe again.

The room quieted.

No one spoke.

They all just watched—Yelena, Bucky, Alexei, John, Ava—like they were seeing something sacred.

And Bob—

Bob sat there, just inches away, his eyes locked on me like I was the sun and he hadn’t seen it in years.

I could feel the weight of their heartbreak pressing into me from every angle.

I still didn’t remember.

But for the first time, holding that silly little dolphin, I felt a thread.

Something small.

Familiar.

And I didn’t know if it was real, or if it was just me wanting so badly to make them all feel better.

But I held it tighter.

Because maybe—just maybe—it mattered.

———

The smell of Chinese food filled the air, warm and familiar.

Yelena had practically dragged the little takeout boxes into my room, Bucky grumbling about MSG, John pretending not to eat half the egg rolls, Ava balancing a fortune cookie on her nose, and Alexei already halfway through his third plate.

It felt… normal.

For the first time in weeks, it wasn’t about me—wasn’t about what I couldn’t remember or how broken I was.

Just the team, laughing, the low hum of conversation bubbling around me like I wasn’t some shattered version of myself.

Bob was sitting beside me, quiet as always, but close. His shoulder brushed mine every so often, the faintest reminder that he was there, solid and warm.

I was picking at my lo mein when Yelena said something—something stupid about Bucky’s hair gel and John’s “wrestler” cologne.

I grinned, a real, unthinking grin, and before I even knew what I was doing, I spoke.

“That reminds me of when Yelena threw a can of soda at John, and he opened it, and it sprayed everywhere.”

I laughed.

Laughed.

It was so vivid. The sound of the can cracking, the psshhhht of the spray, John’s yelp, Yelena’s smug little smirk.

And then—

Silence.

The room froze.

I blinked, my smile faltering as I realized everyone was staring at me.

Mouths slightly open, eyes wide, chopsticks paused midair.

Bob—he wasn’t breathing. His gaze locked onto me like I’d just hung the moon.

“What?” I asked, a nervous little laugh escaping. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Yelena was the first to speak, her voice a shaky whisper.

“Y/N… you remember that?”

I frowned, my chopsticks hovering over the noodles. “Yeah… I mean, it just popped into my head. It was funny, right?”

No one said anything.

Just stared.

Bob’s hand was trembling against his thigh.

I looked around at all of them, confusion twisting in my chest. The weight of their eyes was too much—too heavy.

I set the food down slowly.

And that’s when it hit me.

This mattered.

This wasn’t just a random memory—this was a missing piece.

A piece of me.

Their faces said it all:

I was remembering.

Even if it was just one tiny thing…

I was remembering.

And the way Bob looked at me, like I’d just come back to him from the dead… it almost broke me.

Almost.

Because I still didn’t understand why it hurt so much.

But I wanted to.

God, I wanted to.

———

After dinner, the room slowly emptied, but Bob lingered.

“Do you want to… go for a walk?” he asked softly, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

I nodded, unsure why my chest felt tight. Maybe it was the way his voice cracked, or how his eyes looked so hopeful, but also like he was holding himself back.

The Tower felt different at night—quieter, softer. The hallways echoed under our footsteps as we moved in slow, careful silence.

Bob walked beside me, his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller.

He didn’t say much at first. Just glanced at me every so often, like he couldn’t help himself.

Finally, he gestured toward a small lounge area with a couch and a dented coffee table.

“That’s where you always claimed the corner seat.” His voice was so quiet, I almost missed it. “Said it was your spot. No one else was allowed to sit there, not even Yelena.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I tried to picture it—me, curled up on the couch like I belonged there.

But there was nothing. Just a hollow space where the memory should be.

Bob must’ve seen it on my face because he quickly moved on, leading me down another hallway.

He pointed to a mark on the wall—an old crack in the plaster.

“You and John… you had this game where you’d try to hit a tennis ball into the vase on the bookshelf. The vase won.” He let out a breathy, almost-laugh. “You hated that vase. Called it ‘The Nemesis.’”

I tried to smile, but it felt… forced.

Still, I could see the way he looked at me—like he was holding onto hope with both hands, even if it was slipping through his fingers.

We kept walking, and Bob kept talking, his voice soft, a little hesitant, like he didn’t want to overwhelm me.

“That’s the kitchen where Yelena taught you to make pierogi. You nearly set the stove on fire once.”

“That’s the hallway where you’d always race Bucky to see who could get to the armory faster. You never won, but you swore you’d beat him someday.”

“That’s the gym… you used to go there late at night, said it helped you think.”

Each word felt like a thread, like he was stitching little pieces of me back together.

I watched him as he spoke, the way he rubbed at the back of his neck, how he kept glancing at me like he was terrified he’d said too much—or not enough.

He was so gentle with me. Like I was glass, and he was terrified of shattering me completely.

I couldn’t help it—my hand brushed his sleeve.

He tensed for the briefest moment, then relaxed, his breath catching in his throat.

We reached a set of windows overlooking the city, and he stopped.

“This was your favorite spot at night.” His voice was barely a whisper.

I looked out at the skyline—lights blinking, streets winding like veins through the dark.

I didn’t remember it.

But God, I wanted to.

I wanted to remember everything.

And when I turned to look at him, I saw it in his eyes—the weight of it all.

The loss. The love. The ache.

He wasn’t asking me to remember.

He was just… here.

And for some reason, I felt like that mattered.

So I stood a little closer.

And Bob—he didn’t say a word.

But his hand brushed mine again, just once, like a whisper.

And I let it linger.

The city lights blurred into smudges of color, and Bob sat still beside me, his hands folded in his lap, shoulders hunched like he was bracing against a storm only he could feel.

I watched him for a long moment, the quiet between us stretching thin and fragile.

I closed my eyes, exhaling softly through my nose, willing something—anything—to come back.

Then, like a ripple across the surface of still water, a feeling rose up.

Not a flash of color or sound, but a memory.

It was dark—so dark, but warm.

I was in his lap, legs tucked over his, curled up like I belonged there, like I’d been there a thousand times before.

We were in a small, quiet room—the lights off, the only glow coming from a soft, flickering candle on the windowsill. It smelled like cinnamon and wax.

Bob had his arms around me, his head resting on mine, and we weren’t talking. We were just… breathing.

His fingers gently traced the inside of my wrist, slow, patient. Like he was memorizing my pulse, the shape of my hand, the lines of my skin.

I could feel his heartbeat through my back—steady, sure, grounding.

And there was music, soft and low—some old record playing, something with strings and a slow, crooning voice.

I shifted a little, my voice barely above a whisper, like I was afraid to shatter the moment.

“Why do you always hold my wrist like that?” I’d asked him.

And Bob, his voice quiet and so full of warmth, answered,

“Because it’s where I can feel you the best. Where you feel real.”

I let out a shaky breath, my hand tightening over his on the windowsill, the city blurring beneath me.

I could feel it now—his thumb brushing over the soft skin of my wrist, the faint scrape of his calluses, the safety in his arms.

I looked down at our hands, still entwined in the present, and whispered, barely able to speak through the tears clogging my throat:

“You used to hold my wrist.”

Bob’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide, stunned—like I’d just pulled the air right out of his lungs.

“You… you remember that?” he breathed, his voice cracking.

I nodded, tears slipping down my cheeks as I squeezed his hand.

“I don’t know why… I just know it felt safe. It felt like home.”

Bob’s breath hitched, and for a second, he just looked at me, like he was afraid I might disappear if he blinked.

Then, slowly, his hand lifted—tentative, hopeful—and he gently cupped my wrist in his large, trembling fingers.

Like I was a memory he could hold on to.

I leaned into his touch, my breath shuddering out of me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I wish I could remember more.”

Bob shook his head, tears spilling freely down his cheeks now, his thumb stroking over my pulse like it was the most important thing in the world.

“It’s enough,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “It’s enough for me.”

And we sat there, in the quiet glow of the city, holding on to the smallestpiece of what we used to be—like it was everything.

The air felt thick between us, like it might crack if I moved too fast, breathed too loud.

I was still holding Bob’s hand, his thumb still brushing over the inside of my wrist—soft, reverent. Like it mattered.

I looked up at him, my voice so quiet I wasn’t sure it would carry.

“Can…” I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. “Can I sleep in your bed with you? Maybe…” I trailed off, fumbling over the words, cheeks burning. “Maybe it’ll help me—I don’t know—I just…”

Bob’s eyes softened, so much warmth it ached, and before I could say anything else, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Of course. Come on.”

He didn’t make it a thing, didn’t make it awkward. Just stood up, quietly taking my hand, guiding me down the hall.

His room was dim, the soft hum of the city outside filling the silence. It smelled like him—warm and familiar, something I couldn’t place but felt like home anyway.

I crawled into his bed without thinking, curling up on one side, clutching my dolphin pillow pet to my chest.

He settled in beside me, careful and slow, like I was fragile. We didn’t touch, not at first, but I could feel him there—solid, safe.

The tension slowly melted into the sheets, and my body felt heavy, weighted by the day. My eyes drifted shut, exhaustion pulling me under like a tide.

But Bob… he didn’t sleep.

I wasn’t sure when it happened—maybe an hour, maybe two—but I felt him shift, so softly I almost missed it.

The bed dipped, the blankets shifted, and then… he was gone.

My eyes stayed closed, too tired to open, but my heart clenched in my chest.

I could hear his footsteps padding down the hallway, the quiet creak of the med floor’s door opening.

I forced myself to stay still, my breath slow and even.

I listened.

⸻

Bob’s POV

I stood outside the med floor, the dim hallway pressing in, the quiet hum of machines behind me.

My hands were shaking. My chest felt tight, my throat raw.

They were all sitting around, half-dozing, half-talking in hushed voices—Ava perched on a chair, Yelena curled up with a blanket, Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. John, for once, was silent, staring at the floor like it had answers.

I cleared my throat, and they all looked up, startled.

I swallowed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“She… remembered something.”

They stared at me, wide-eyed, like I’d just dropped a bomb in the middle of the room.

Bucky straightened, his eyes narrowing.

“Wait… what?”

“She—” My voice cracked, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut for a second, breathe through it. “She remembered how I used to hold her wrist. It was small, but… she remembered it. And she—”

I broke off, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand, shaking my head like I could clear the ache.

“She asked if she could sleep in my bed,” I said softly, almost like I couldn’t believe it myself. “Said maybe it would help. So I—”

I let out a choked breath, shaking my head again, smiling through the tears.

“I didn’t push. I just… let her.”

Yelena’s hand shot up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and glassy. Ava let out a soft, oh, like it had hit her deep.

Nobody said anything.

They just looked at me—at all of it—and let me feel.

For the first time in months, it felt like there was a sliver of light in the dark.

A crack, just big enough to let some hope through.

———

It had been a week.

Seven nights of curling up in Bob’s bed, my dolphin pillow pet hugged tight to my chest, listening to his steady breathing beside me. Seven mornings of waking up in the soft, worn sheets, clutching at the pieces of a life I still couldn’t remember.

Every night, I’d lay there with my eyes squeezed shut, whispering silent prayers into the darkness. Please… please let me remember. Please, just something. Anything.

And every morning, I’d wake up empty.

Until today.

I was in the med floor, sitting at the little table by the window, tracing the edge of the notebook Ava had left me—an old mission log with her neat handwriting in the margins. Bob had gone to grab coffee, Yelena was down the hall somewhere. The sun was warm on my face, and for a second, everything felt almost normal.

Then it hit me.

A sharp, blinding pain—like a blade, cleaving through my skull.

I gasped, the notebook slipping from my hands as my fingers flew to my temples.

No no no no no—

The pain exploded, searing, a white-hot fire behind my eyes. My knees buckled, the chair scraping back as I collapsed to the floor.

A scream ripped from my throat before I could stop it.

The sound echoed, sharp and raw, and then I heard them—footsteps pounding, voices shouting my name, panic crackling in the air like static.

“Y/N!”

“Shit—someone call the medics!”

I was clutching my head, my fingers tangled in my hair, my body curling in on itself as the memories slammed into me, one after the other, no mercy, no space to breathe.

Bob’s voice whispering my name in the dark.

Yelena’s laugh echoing in the kitchen.

The weight of Bucky’s hand on my shoulder during a mission.

A kiss—soft and slow, hands cupping my face, lips warm and so familiar.

John grinning at me with a beer in hand, Alexei teasing me in Russian, Ava’s quiet encouragement in the field.

A building falling, dust in my lungs, Bob screaming my name, the sound so desperate, so broken.

A necklace in my hand.

A dolphin pillow pet.

A silver ring.

His smile. His eyes.

It was too much.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.

I was choking on the weight of it, sobbing as the world spun around me.

I felt hands on me—Bob, Yelena, Bucky, everyone—their voices blurring together into a cacophony I couldn’t untangle.

“She’s seizing—get her on the bed!”

“Her pulse is spiking—Jesus, Bob, move!”

“I’m right here, baby, I’m right here—”

The doctors burst in, barking orders, the metallic sting of needles in my skin.

“Sedate her. Now!”

The world tilted, and the last thing I saw was Bob’s face—his eyes, wide and wet and so scared.

Then the darkness swallowed me whole.

——(no one’s pov in particular)

The moment the sedative hit Y/N’s veins, her body slackened—limp, pale, and terrifyingly still on the hospital bed.

Bob was standing right next to her, hands trembling, the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks. His eyes stayed locked on her face, as if she might vanish if he blinked.

Yelena was pacing, sharp and angry, her fists clenched at her sides, her breath coming in shallow bursts.

John was leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but his jaw was tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.

Alexei stood frozen, eyes wide, like he’d seen a ghost.

Bucky’s hands were braced on the foot of the bed, knuckles white. His voice broke the silence first—low, rough, barely holding it together.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, turning to the doctor with an edge that could cut through steel.

Everyone was thinking it. Bob just couldn’t form the words—could barely breathe as he stared at Y/N’s face, her skin too pale, her breaths shallow under the weight of the sedative.

The doctor scrubbed a hand down her face, looking grim.

“It’s what we call a mass memory attack,” she explained, her tone clinical but laced with something close to sympathy. “Her brain was overloaded with too many memories coming back at once. It’s… it’s too much for the brain to comprehend, so it triggers a defense mechanism. It causes her to seize.”

Bob flinched like the words were a slap.

“A defense mechanism?” Yelena hissed, whirling on the doctor. Her voice cracked—sharp and raw. “You’re saying her brain did this to her on purpose?”

The doctor’s eyes softened, but she nodded. “It’s a survival instinct. Her brain couldn’t handle the flood, so it shut down to protect itself. She’s stable now, but… we need to be careful. Pushing too hard, too fast—it could make things worse.”

Silence fell over the room like a lead weight.

John let out a shaky breath, running a hand down his face. “So what the hell are we supposed to do? Just… wait? Let her suffer like this?”

Bob couldn’t take it anymore. He sank into the chair beside Y/N’s bed, his hands shaking as he reached for hers—threading their fingers together like muscle memory, like he was starving for the feeling.

His voice was a whisper, hoarse and cracked.

“I can’t lose her again.”

No one said a word.

They just watched as he bowed his head, pressing his forehead to the back of her hand, his shoulders trembling under the weight of it all.

Yelena sat down across from him, her hand resting lightly on Bob’s arm. No teasing, no sarcasm—just quiet, shared grief.

Alexei rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a slow breath. Bucky just watched Y/N, his jaw tight, his eyes haunted.

They all stayed there in the dim light of the med floor, the quiet beeping of machines the only sound filling the room.

Waiting.

Praying.

Hoping that when she woke up again, it wouldn’t be too much.

—— Bob’s POV

The med floor was dark, the machines humming in the quiet—steady, rhythmic, a cruel reminder that she was alive but gone all the same.

Bob sat slumped in the chair by her bed, his hands wrapped tightly around hers like a lifeline. His head was bowed, shoulders hunched, and for the first time in years, the tears wouldn’t stop.

He whispered—broken, desperate words barely making it past the tightness in his throat.

“Please… please. I don’t know who’s listening, if anyone is listening, but please—just give her back. Give me back. I’ll do anything, I’ll give up anything, just let her remember.”

His voice cracked, ragged and raw. He squeezed her hand tighter, as if the universe could feel how much he needed her.

“I love her. I love her more than anything. Please—please don’t take her from me. Don’t take this. I can’t—” His breath hitched, tears falling hot and fast down his face. “I can’t lose her.”

His words faded into whispers, desperate prayers spilling into the silence.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged him down, and he slumped over, head resting on the edge of her bed, hand still clasped in hers. His breathing evened out, but his face stayed etched in quiet heartbreak—his eyes fluttering in restless sleep.

—— Y/N’s POV (dreaming)

It was dark.

Not the soft, safe kind of dark—but heavy, suffocating, swallowing me whole. I could barely breathe. Could barely think. Could barely feel.

And then—

A whisper.

Faint, far away, slipping past the dark. My own voice, barely a breath:

“Bob?”

It didn’t feel like my voice. It felt like someone else’s.

And then it was like the dam broke.

Memories—flashes—slamming into me.

Bob’s hands on my waist, lifting me up to reach a shelf, his breath warm at my ear.

His voice, soft and low: “Careful, sweetheart.”

His eyes crinkling when he smiled, like I was his whole world.

The way he said my name—so full of love it hurt.

His laugh when I tried to cook and burned everything.

The feeling of his arms around me when I was scared, when the world felt too big and too loud.

“You’re my best thing,” he whispered once, voice raspy in the dark, his breath brushing against the shell of my ear. “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

Then a sharp shift—another flash—louder.

Lying tangled up in his bed, the sheets a mess, my heart racing as he kissed me, slow and sweet like he had all the time in the world.

The feel of his hand, warm and steady on the small of my back.

The scent of his cologne in the hoodie I always stole.

Another flash—laughter, wild and bright, Yelena’s laugh—the kitchen a mess, pillows flying.

Me and her dancing, spinning, singing to some song I couldn’t remember.

Then—BOOM.

Screaming. Crashing. The weight of the building slamming down, the screech of metal tearing, the terror in Yelena’s eyes before I shoved her out of the way.

Pain.

So much pain.

And then—

Nothing.

⸻

My heart was pounding, breath ragged, like I’d run for miles.

Bob.

His name drifted in the dark, slipping through the cracks of my mind. It hurt. God, it hurt so bad.

“Bob…” I whispered. My voice trembled, thick with tears I didn’t remember crying.

I felt myself reaching, stretching, grasping at threads of something I knewI had—but it was all slipping through my fingers, fading into the dark again.

And then—

Silence.

Just my own shallow breathing, the taste of salt on my lips, the ache in my chest so deep it felt like it might tear me apart.

—

The room was quiet, except for the low hum of machines and the soft beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor. The light was dim, golden slivers of dawn just barely stretching across the floor.

My eyelids felt heavy, like they were glued shut, but I forced them open, blinking into the haze.

And there he was.

Bob.

Curled in the chair beside my bed, his arms folded tight across his chest, chin tucked down, his breath slow and even. His hoodie was rumpled, sleeves pushed up like he’d been wringing his hands through the night.

I didn’t know how I knew it, but I knew—he hadn’t left. Not once.

I tried to shift, wincing as pain bloomed behind my eyes, sharp and relentless, and the tiniest gasp must have slipped out because—

His head snapped up.

“Y/N?” His voice was a broken whisper, his eyes wide, panic flashing across his face. His chair scraped back as he stood so fast it nearly toppled over. “Are you okay? You—shit, you seized last night.”

I blinked, the word echoing in my ears.

Seized.

His hand hovered over mine like he wasn’t sure if he could touch me, if I’d shatter like glass.

“I’m… okay.” My voice was hoarse, cracked from disuse. I swallowed hard, my throat burning.

I looked at him—really looked at him—and the sight of his face sent a strange ache through my chest.

I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles, the way his shoulders slumped like he was barely holding himself together. His lips trembled, parted slightly like he was waiting for something—anything.

And it just spilled out of me, the words tumbling over themselves, so quiet I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me.

“I remember things.”

His breath hitched—sharply, raggedly—and his hands clenched into fists at his sides before he dropped to his knees by my bed, gripping the edge like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“What—what do you remember?” he breathed, eyes searching mine, wide with so much hope it almost hurt to look at him.

“I… I don’t know. It’s all jumbled.” My voice trembled, and I could feel the tears welling up, blurring my vision. “But I see things. I hear… your voice. And Yelena’s laugh. And… a building, I think. I feel—”

Bob let out a shaky breath like the air had been knocked from his lungs, and he pressed his forehead to the edge of the bed, his hand reaching for mine—gripping it tight, like he was terrified I’d disappear again.

“You’re here,” he whispered.

And for the first time, I felt like I almost was.

I squeezed his hand back, the pressure weak but there, and the tears slid down my cheeks silently.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?” His voice cracked, raw with disbelief.

“For… for not remembering sooner.”

His breath hitched, and he shook his head, the motion jerky, desperate.

“No, no, sweetheart. None of this is your fault.”

I closed my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me, but I clung to the sound of his voice, to the warmth of his hand in mine.

Bob Reynolds.

The name pulsed in my mind, heavy, important.

And in that moment, I wanted so badly to remember everything.

His breath was warm against my palm, slow and unsteady, like he was trying to keep it together, but barely. His tears soaked into my skin, hot and heavy, and I could feel him trembling—just a little, but enough.

I shifted closer without thinking, curling in until our foreheads were pressed tight together. I could smell him—clean soap, a little sweat, and something that just felt like him, warm and grounding.

His hand stayed over mine, holding it like if he let go, I might disappear again.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I didn’t even know why the words tumbled out, but they did, thick and shaky.

His breath hitched, and his head shook, slow and desperate, rubbing his forehead against mine.

“Don’t—don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice cracked so hard it broke something in me. “You’re trying. I know you’re trying.”

I swallowed thickly, feeling tears pricking my own eyes.

“I feel so… helpless,” I admitted, voice small, like it might break apart if I said it too loud. “Like I’m standing in front of this huge, locked door, and I can’t—can’t even find the key.”

Bob’s breath stuttered, and I felt him shake his head again, pressing his hand against the back of my head like he could shield me from the weight of it all.

“You don’t have to remember everything all at once,” he said quietly, voice barely a whisper. “Just… just keep holding on, okay?”

I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut, the tears slipping free now, hot and fast.

“I want to,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

His arms wrapped around me slowly, pulling me into his chest, and for a moment, I just let him hold me. My ear pressed to his heart—steady, thudding, solid.

I didn’t remember everything.

But I remembered this.

The sound of him breathing. The warmth of him. The way it felt when the world got small and quiet, and it was just us.

I breathed in deep, holding it, clutching onto the feeling as tight as I could.

“I’m still here,” I whispered. It wasn’t much, but it was the truth.

Bob’s hand tightened in my hair, and his breath shuddered against my temple.

“Yeah,” he whispered, broken and soft. “You are.”

The door creaked open quietly, and I heard soft footsteps—hesitant, like they weren’t sure if they should interrupt.

Bob lifted his head, just barely, and I could see the tension in his jaw. His hand didn’t move from mine.

I turned my head toward the door, and there they were.

Yelena first, holding two cups of coffee, one halfway gone like she hadn’t even realized she was drinking it. Her eyes went wide when she saw me awake—awake and calm.

Bucky behind her, arms crossed tight over his chest, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

John and Alexei were just behind them, hovering in the doorway. Ava lingered by the far wall, her gaze sharp and worried, though she tried to school her expression.

They all just stood there, staring at me like I was some fragile piece of glass that might shatter any second.

I swallowed, my throat tight, eyes burning.

“I… can I ask you guys something?” My voice was soft, hesitant, but it filled the quiet space like a ripple in still water.

They all stilled, turning toward me—Yelena leaning forward, Bucky tilting his head like he was ready for a mission briefing, John folding his arms tighter, Alexei with a small frown, Ava watching from the wall, her arms loose at her sides, and Bob…

Bob stayed still, holding his breath.

“Can you… tell me a memory?” I whispered. “Something about me… about us. Anything.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Yelena let out a shaky breath and leaned forward.

“That time you made me go out in the rain to dance like idiots,” she said, voice thick with a laugh that didn’t quite make it.

And as soon as she spoke, I saw it.

The rain—cold, pouring down in sheets. The way Yelena had been grumbling, arms crossed tight. Me dragging her into the street, spinning her under the grey sky, the pavement slick and shining. I could feel it—the wet hair sticking to my cheeks, the sound of our laughter, the way I yelled, “Live a little, Yel!” and she tackled me into a puddle.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, covering my mouth. “I remember… the rain… the puddle…”

Yelena’s eyes went wide, filling with tears, and she let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

Bucky stepped forward, cautiously. “There was that safe house—three days. We were pinned down, you kept stealing my protein bars…”

My breath hitched.

“…And I taught you how to knit,” I finished, the words tumbling out. My voice trembled. “I tried to make a scarf but it was horrible—all knotted and uneven.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath, nodding, his eyes glassy.

Alexei spoke next, voice rough but soft, “You and I, we made dumplings together… in the kitchen, remember? You burned your fingers on the pan, but you said it was worth it.”

A flash—me standing on tiptoe, fingers red from the heat, Alexei grinning proudly, saying, “This is real cooking.”

I let out a choked laugh, tears slipping down my cheeks.

John rubbed the back of his neck, almost shy. “The football game—backyard. You threw the ball so hard it nearly took my head off.”

Another flash—me laughing so hard I had to bend over, John clutching the ball and mock-shouting, “Are you trying to kill me, woman?!” The sky was golden with the setting sun, and Bob was in the corner of my vision, watching with that small, secret smile.

I gasped again, squeezing my eyes shut.

“I remember!” I breathed.

They all stared at me, wide-eyed, like I was performing magic.

———

Three Months Later

It was warm in the room—one of those soft, quiet nights where the air felt like a blanket. We were all crammed around the big table in the common area: pizza boxes everywhere, drinks scattered, Yelena arguing with John over who’d eaten more, Alexei telling some ridiculous story that had Ava quietly rolling her eyes, and Bucky looking like he was about two seconds from falling asleep with his beer in hand.

I just… watched them.

My team.

My family.

It had been three months since that night. Since the seizures, the pain, the memories that came flooding back like a dam breaking in my chest. I wasn’t 100%—not yet—but I was close. Little pieces still felt out of reach, but it didn’t matter as much anymore. I had them. I had myself. I had… Bob.

I looked down at my plate, fingers twisting the edge of the napkin, and took a shaky breath.

“Hey,” I said, voice soft but enough to quiet the room. Everyone turned. Bob, beside me, instantly shifted closer like he could sense the tremor in my chest.

“I just… I wanted to say thank you.” My throat burned. “I know I scared the hell out of you all. I know… I know it wasn’t easy.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed, trying to hold it in.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” I whispered, eyes moving from Yelena’s glassy stare to Bucky’s quiet nod, to John’s barely-contained frown, to Ava’s soft, sad smile, to Alexei’s sudden, serious gaze.

“You’re all… like my family. And I don’t take that lightly. I never will.”

There was a silence, heavy but warm, and then—without thinking—Bob took my hand under the table. His fingers were warm, calloused, shaking just a little as they curled around mine.

I looked at him, my heart doing that impossible thing it always did with him—like it could split wide open and bloom all at once.

He smiled, barely. His voice was quiet, but it filled every inch of me.

“This… all of this made me realize something.”

I blinked, waiting.

“I love you.” His voice cracked, rough like gravel. “God, I love you. And I don’t ever want to spend another second not knowing if you’re mine.”

I didn’t even have time to breathe before he pulled a small box from his pocket, flipping it open with a nervous, trembling hand.

A ring.

Simple. Beautiful. Us.

My breath caught. My throat burned. My heart felt like it was too much for my chest to hold.

I pressed my hand to my mouth, tears slipping over my cheeks before I could stop them, and I nodded—shaking, crying, nodding over and over.

“Yes,” I whispered, breathless. “Yes.”

The room exploded. Yelena shrieked so loud I winced, John shouted something about needing earplugs, Alexei actually slammed the table, and Bucky just shook his head with a grin, muttering, “About damn time.”

Bob just sat there, holding me, his forehead pressed to mine, and I could feel him shaking—feel the weight of it, the fear, the love, the relief.

And as the laughter and cheers filled the room, I thought—

This is it. This is my life. These are my people.

And God, I was so, so lucky.

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