Archive of Our Own

John never thought of himself as talented. 

Growing up in rural Georgia, there wasn't much around but the school and the Chevron gas station up a few miles from his house that he would park his dad's old two-seater truck at and squint at who was working the counter through the window before heading inside. His buddy, Shawn, wouldn't ID him for the Kodiak dip if he paid in cash and let the guy take a few dollars off the top. 

His high school wasn't anything special either. Mostly outdoor and the majority of funding going towards the football field— not that he ever cared as he was the captain of the football team anyways. He was always fascinated during the shows the band did halfway through the games. The loud instruments, the formations, the flying flags, even the uniforms had him curious. 

John's father told him once that he would rather have a pathetic football player son than a faggot trumpet player one. He never brought up joining the school's band again. 

He learned to play guitar in secret. 

After leaving his U.S. History class in sophomore year, he passed by the wide doors of the band room and stopped in his tracks. 

There it sat— a beautiful, ruby red Gibson electric guitar on a stand. The bright color and the glint of the steel strings beckoning him closer. 

He saved up $1,000 dollars over the next year and a half and bought it off the band teacher with a half-assed promise to join the school's jazz band. 

When he joined the army, he never expected to get the chance to lean into his secret musical hobby ever again. That was until Lemar led him down the abandoned halls of the base they were stationed at when they should've been dead asleep and pushed him in a room with band equipment. 

“Must be for events.” He remembers scoffing and running his thumb over the nylon strings of the electric guitar in the corner. Ruby red. 

“Must be for us now.” Lemar said, turning his head and smiling at John with a mischievous look he always gave when he was gonna convince the other to do something dumb. 

John learned to play the drums over a few months. 

Olivia knew how to play the piano. It was part of their Friday night routine to sit in the living room while John strummed his acoustic and his wife messed with the keys on the black and gold grand piano. They planned to write a few songs together. They never did. 

John learned he could sing on accident. He'd never done much but hum along to something playing on the radio or to keep track of the timing on the song he was trying to play on his guitar when he had the chance to actually play it. 

Lemar had invited him and Olivia out to a bar for his birthday one night, and after quite a few beers and two shots of the strongest bourbon his and Lemar's pockets allowed, he was loose enough to be convinced to take a turn at the karaoke machine. His heart beats fast in his chest as the music slows and the lyrics on the screen start. 

“Used to spend my nights out in a bar room.”

He surprises himself when the deep and melodic sound escapes his lips, Lemar in the crowd cheering and his wife smiling softly and winking as if saying ‘You know who you're singing to right now, right?’

The video was still on his phone, time stamped for April 16th, 2016.

John never woke past 8am, the years in service beat into his system so hard that he still grimaced when he noticed the clock past anytime after 7:30.

He stood and got himself ready for the day, brushing his teeth and putting on a pair of sweatpants and a black tank top. He never wore anything that he couldn't change out of quickly in the case of an emergency and he needed his suit on fast.

Stalking towards the kitchen of the tower, he barely blinked at the woman standing on the counter, attempting to climb into the vent. 

“Morning, Lena.”

“Walker.”

Yelena nodded down at him, huffing when dust fell on her face and she blinked rapidly to get it out of her eyes.

“Barton said he used to do this all of the time, I think he is a liar because these grates are—” The top of her knife bent as she twisted it in the screw and she groaned. “They are super glued shut.”

John didn't say a word and simply poured himself a coffee. After taking a sip, he finally looked up at the situation going on above him and sighed. 

“You need a clutch head screwdriver, your dagger won't do shit.”

He says as he takes another sip. Yelena looks down at him and rolls her eyes, 

“Since when do you know about handyman stuff, Walker?”

John shrugs, “I worked on my dad's truck a lot. He was a contractor, I helped him out at job sites for a long time. You learn a lot that way. I could rewire a house at 17 so that was…cool.” He cleared his throat, realizing he was talking too much. Sharing too much. 

Yelena looked at him with a perplexed expression and just nodded. “Cool.”

She repeated to him, jumping off the counter and patting his shoulder.

“It's nice when you share, I hope you know.”

Then she slipped past him, presumably going to try and acquire a clutch head screwdriver. He shaked his arm where she had patted his shoulder and tried to ignore the comment. Was that condescending? Sarcasm? She doesn't care about your dad, John, why'd you bring that up? 

He takes another sip of coffee and leaves his cup on the counter, maybe he needs to go on a walk. 

John puts in his headphones after pulling on a hoodie and heads out the doors of the penthouse and towards the elevator soon after this decision.

It had become a habit of his to explore the floors of the tower in his downtime, something he had picked up over time through hanging out with the adventurous Lemar Hoskins. 

When sleeping was hard at night on all the different bases they had been stationed at together, John could depend on Lemar to shake him to check if he was awake and ask if he wanted to go on a walk. Walks normally meant searching through the building, avoiding cameras, and making sure to not go into any doors for people with far more clearance than the two of them. 

They'd been caught a total of 4 times, each on different bases as they stopped immediately after getting caught. Until they were transferred again. 

John shook the memories off his shoulders and cleared his throat as he pressed a random button on the elevator. Music blasted through his headphones, something loud and bass heavy to keep any thoughts deeper than that repetitive, low, open E note from forming. 

When the doors opened, he noticed the darkness and emptiness of the floor he landed on. He couldn't help the way his lips curved up a bit in victory at his discovery of an abandoned floor. He stepped out of the doors and set a slow pace, head turning to look at all around. It was a blank area, gray carpet and simple wooden doors. Few of them opened, and most he peered through the windows and decided they weren't worth it. He flicked on lights along the way, whistling along to the song playing because he knew he was alone and whistling wouldn't annoy anyone or earn him a slap on the back of the head. 

You think you're some sort of farmer, Johnny? Whistlin’, hootin’, and hollerin’ on a tractor? Knock that shit off in my house, boy, before I—

John stopped in his tracks when he flicked on the lights in the room he was able to open. It was the largest room along the back wall of the hallway, the door a deep blue color compared to the rest of the rooms around. His eyes scanned the instruments that filled the room and the recording studio behind a glass panel and a separate door in the room. 

He tried to keep from getting too excited like a kid on Christmas. About to turn away and shut the door, shut away his passion, shut away the urge to take advantage of this room just like he would if Lemar was here, his eyes caught a glint of something. Ruby red. 

A guitar sat in the corner of the room, the red slightly sparkly compared to the matte black of the rest of the parts of it. 

He stepped inside the room and shut the door while taking off his headphones, bee-lining towards it before he could think.

“Holy shit.”

John strummed along the strings, seeing if it was tuned or not and grinning when he found that it was. He took it off the stand and placed the strap over his shoulder and across his back so he could play it. However, just as his fingers hit the fret board, his phone was ringing. John picked it up quickly, his annoyance apparent.

“What?” He scowled, his irritation evident. 

“Hey, No need to get snippy with me, mister.”

Ava's voice said over the speaker, John rolling his eyes at that but letting her continue to speak.

“We need you out on the roof in around— as fast as you can.”

That was all he needed to hear, quickly affirming he would rush and setting down the guitar as carefully as he could before running out of the room. John turned back for a second as the door shut.

I'll be back, he thought to himself. 

The mission was a disaster. 

Two minutes into the supposedly stealth mission, a group of gunmen ambushed them. A blown up building and three out of the five of them earning a concussion later, they found themselves back on the jet and headed home. 

John was lucky he had always known to protect his head. 

He sat concussion free across from Alexei. John personally thought it had something to do with the man's very thick skull and that's why he too hadn't earned a nasty hit to the head when they all went diving out the window just as the timer on the bomb went off. 

“Ah— At least we got the file, yes?”

Alexei attempted in an effort to comfort the others on the jet that hadn't spoken in order to avoid the way their heads ached or in general avoiding all of reality at the moment. 

“No, Alexei, we got a thumb drive at most and a few shaky pictures of the file.”

Bucky murmured, pinching the bridge of his earlier bleeding nose as his head throbbed. 

John remained quiet, along with the others who seemed to want to forget today ever happened. He couldn't agree more. 

When they landed on the roof of the tower, Bob was waiting patiently in a lawn chair near the elevator, a diet coke in the drink holder and sunglasses on while he read a comic book. 

“Hey, guys.”

Bob waved casually, seeing everyone's exhausted faces. 

“It's still only late afternoon— I, uh, left some sandwiches on the counter in the kitchen.”

“Little Bob, you are a gift!” Alexei exclaimed as he walked past and patted Bob on the shoulder. Bob just nodded awkwardly. 

Yelena ruffled Bob's hair slightly as she walked past as well, smiling as best as she could while Ava and Bucky followed. John was last to get off the jet, last to get to Bob. He stopped in front of the other's feet and looked down at him for a second. 

“Why are you just sitting here, Bob?” John questioned, looking around while squinting his eyes to avoid the sun's glare. 

“Dunno.” Bob shrugged, laughing lightly and closing his comic book. “I was waiting for y'all, I wasn't awake early enough to get on the comms and find out which channel to set it to and I didn't know when y'all would be back or if you guys would need help when getting here or—”

John patted the side of Bob's face, just twice. 

“Thanks, Bob, it's nice to know you care.”

He didn't know why he said that, or why he touched Bob's face like that. John's grip on his bent shield shifted in his grasp for a moment before he took a step back. 

“I'll…uh—”

John pointed at the doors and immediately walked towards and through them, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to roll off the feelings suddenly hitting him. 

John and Bob got along. A lot better than the others on the team he would say even, considering he didn't talk to half of them if he could help it. 

They bonded over their shared love of comic books. They both enjoyed some of the same movies. Bob would even watch football with him from time to time, asking what everything meant every once in a while and cheering when John's team scored any points. They both even liked the same kind of music. John had figured that out one day as he helped the other man look through his stack of records. 

.He understood this. He understood friendship and comradery. 

What John didn't understand was how he could physically feel himself melt around Bob. 

Bob and his kind eyes, gentle voice, smartass remarks, and bubbly laugh. Bob and his sweaters, his reading glasses, and his habit of picking at his nail beds. 

John didn't understand how badly he wanted Bob's attention. He didn't understand how badly he wanted to touch the other either, how his hand on the small of Bob's back or on his shoulder was enough to make John's rough exterior turn just a bit smoother. 

He walked into the penthouse calmly, not surprised to find that no one was there. They were all most likely showering and either getting ready to go down to the infirmary or “sleep it off” as Bucky had stated he would be doing. John made it to his room and took off the rest of his tactical gear, setting it on his dresser to be cleaned later. 

He tried not to notice the silence in the air. 

John hated the quiet. He hated the eerie nothingness and the anxious waiting for it to be broken, knowing it would never be by something good. 

He wanted to turn on a speaker, he wanted to listen to music and maybe even sing along. John knew that came with a price. Ava and Yelena would mock him mercilessly, Alexei would laugh along with them. They'd go around telling people, maybe even at a press conference they would mention it and the world would know. 

That was the scariest part. Someone knowing about it. 

He didn't know why he had such a fear, it wasn't like he was hiding some evil, deep, dark secret. It did feel that way to John though. 

He didn't linger on his thoughts anymore when the burning hot water flooded down his back. 

After he showered and changed into a similar outfit from the morning, he walked out of his room and into the kitchen. Bucky sat at the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand, staring down at his phone with disinterest. Ava and Yelena were sitting on the couch in the living room, each with a bowl of mac and cheese while an action movie played on the screen. John ran a tired hand down his face and opened the fridge to grab a beer. Due to the super soldier serum, John could no longer get drunk unless he drank a truckload of the strongest alcohol he could find. He didn't mind a beer every once in a while though, a beer every other night had become a habit of his in high school that returned again after basic training and when he wasn't deployed. John thought he must've picked it up from his father, a man who was never seen without that brown glass bottle in his hand. He tried not to let his hands tense when he remembered the smashing, glass breaking beside his head, yelling, screaming, punch—

“Why are you drinking coffee so late?” He asked Bucky, who barely looked up at him and took another sip of his pitch black coffee. I know this asshole drinks frappuccinos like its nobodies businesses, this black coffee shit is performative. 

“Why are you drinking a beer so early? It's 4pm.”

Bucky replied calmly, not even sparing John a glance. 

He scoffed, taking a sip from the brown bottle and walking out of the kitchen. John continued to walk until he was at the elevator and going back down to the same floor from earlier. He did tell himself he would be back. 

The ride down was calm and quiet, not yet so silent that it bothered him but it could also be the anticipation he held in his chest. 

John blinked and he was back in the room, eyeing that red guitar again. 

He rummaged around the room for a little bit, through the cabinets and storage bins. 

John took a look at his findings he had placed in the center of the room after a good ten minutes of searching. He scored three capos, five tuners, a box of reeds for the few woodwind and brass instruments in the room, and a bag of picks with logos from all kinds of different 80s rock bands. Stark had taste, what can he say? 

He found a large amp as well, and he pulled it with the guitar into the recording studio of the room, sound proofed slightly and behind the glass panel. 

John's hands shook a bit as he connected the cord from the amp to the guitar, making him sigh and run his hands down his face when he was finally set up. He had no reason to be so nervous yet he couldn’t get the feeling off his back or out of the tightness in his chest.

He clicked the amp on and immediately regretted it at the high pitched screech it let out. 

“Fuck— who leaves an amp at full volume?” He grumbled to the room, fidgeting with the dials while he grimaced at the static and the loud cracks it would make. When he was settled, he strummed along the strings just to check if they were still in tune. He smiled to himself when he found that they still were, letting his hands rest on the guitar and watch it carefully. 

Should he be doing this? Was he allowed to? 

John knew these were stupid questions but he couldn't help but feel the shame and anxiety crawl up his back, whispering his father's words in his ear. 

“You wanna make big, play some fucking guitar and think you're the shit?” His father screamed, John breathing heavily and not dignifying the man with any response. “You're gonna get a real job, Johnny. You're gonna be a real man.”

John rolled his shoulders back, taking a deep breath as he slid the metal guitar slide onto his finger. He fiddled for a second, trying to remember the right sequence he was meant to hit the strings with. Like muscle memory, he played the first few notes and slid his hand down the fretboard with practiced accuracy. 

The song was one he listened to in high school, recommended by his older brother who lended John CDs when he bought newer ones and grew out of his old music tastes. 

Loser by Beck, popular and recognizable to his era of people he would say. As his fingers hit the notes for the intro, he soon found he remembered the lyrics to sing along too. He stopped playing only for a second to check if he was truly alone before starting up again. 

In the time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey

Butane in my veins and I'm out to cut the junkie

With the plastic eyeballs, spray paint the vegetables

Dog food stalls with the beef cake pantyhose

Kill the headlights and put it in neutral

Stock car flamin’ with a loser and the cruise control—

John’s timing was a bit off, but he took a deep breath and started again from the top. He did this over and over, almost getting so annoyed he smashed the guitar but he knew better and took a few deep breaths before starting from the top yet again.

When he finally made it past the first chorus, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.

Bob: yo, were getting pizza

Bob: what toppings?

John: I don’t mind anything, but get at least one with no pepperoni.

Bob: no pepperoni? thats like THE pizza topping??

John: I get heartburn.

Bob: i forgot you were old, my bad man

John let himself chuckle softly for a moment before putting his phone back in his pocket. He might as well head back upstairs anyways, knowing being gone but still in the building for so long would make people curious.

The last thing he needed was someone poking around and finding out John, the supersoldier and ex-Captain America whom the world now hated, was spending his time messing around with the instruments on an abandoned floor in the tower. It felt shameful, he didn’t even know why. He knew it was just music, he knew it was just a hobby— but it felt like so much more.

He didn’t share things with the team. John didn’t add in on conversations about their pasts, he never mentioned when he liked or disliked anything. He didn’t even decorate his room with anything more than his suit on an armor stand and a framed picture of him and Lemar at a camp in Afghanistan after saving three families. The mother of one of the families refused to leave without a photo with his squad, Lemar’s arm over his shoulders as they all smiled. The photo was facing down on the nightstand now. John had hoped it would inspire him, but all it did was make him think about how much of a failure he was now and how that mother who thanked him and handed him her baby to carry would be so disappointed. 

John turned off the amp, placed the guitar on the ground next to it without unplugging it, and ran a hand down his face while the other sat on his hip. He looked around the room one last time before grabbing his beer and leaving. 

I’ll be back, He told himself. 

A few weeks had passed since John’s discovery of the room and he soon found himself spending a majority of his time there. He figured it actually wouldn’t matter much where he was in the building and for how long when he remembered the team didn’t care about his whereabouts unless while on a mission. He’d finally gotten around to learning how to work the control room after the first week of visiting the room, and after binging a few movie length youtube videos he figured he had it pretty much figured out. 

John wasn’t planning on producing music, he was by no means a lyrical genius and he could mostly only rely on his guitar knowledge to build a song. He liked the idea of getting to hear it all come together though, the guitar and drums and bass that he was attempting to learn now. He had even saved a complete song now, one that he would never be sharing with any living being. 

It came to him late one night, one of those nights where all he could do was lay there and stare at the wall. Closing his eyes was what he needed, but flashes of memories came all at once every time he did so. This time it was caused by that familiar, sick feeling of shame bubbling in his throat.

Earlier that day, John was in the training room using the bench press. He hadn’t noticed through his headphones that Yelena and Bob had walked into the room and was surprised to sit up and see the two of them sparring. The blonde was showing Bob how to dodge punches and sweep people off their feet. It wasn’t immaculately hard, but Bob had a bit of a balance problem at times and was struggling on the ducking and getting low enough to swing his foot out under Yelena. John took off his headphones and placed them around his neck after pausing the music. He stood up and walked over to the two, wanting to offer some help.

“I think Bob needs to practice on someone closer to his own size, Belova.” John joked, placing his hand on the top of Yelena’s head to emphasize her height difference. She grimaced and pushed his hand off of her.

“Shut it, Walker.” Was all she said back, calm and slightly annoyed but only at the remark about her height. Yelena gave Bob a once over and then shrugged, stepping behind John and pushing him forward.

“But he is right, Bob, It might help if you battle someone like Walker. He has the same energy as high school bully or villainous sidekick.” 

Bob laughed at that, smiling at Yelena as she walked over to the benches. John just rolled his eyes, “You know I never actually bullied anyone in high school, right?”

He got into his sparring stance, taking off his headphones and the jacket he had wrapped around his waist. 

“I thought you were the football team captain, isn’t it like— tradition to be an asshole?” Bob replied, not even trying to hide the little smirk on his face. Yelena and him loved to make fun of John, they all knew it was just friendly banter anyways and John didn’t mind seeing Bob’s giggle every time the man had come up with a good joke directed at him. 

“Being an asshole doesn’t mean I was a bully, making fun of others is just mean. You think I’d care enough to shove a kid in a locker?” John glared jokingly, waiting for Bob to finish getting into position. 

“Yes.” Yelena chuckled from the bench, giving Bob an encouraging nod. John tried to ignore the weird pang in his chest. The two of them were so much closer than the others on the team. They went shopping together, had movie nights, and Yelena had even convinced Bob to have a spa day where they sat at the pool with face masks and cucumbers on their eyes. They asked John to slice up cucumbers and make smoothies for them, thanking him and calling him butler…it was an interesting day to say the least. 

He couldn’t understand why it made him feel so weird to see the two of them together, he didn’t want to think about it too hard in all honesty. All he knew was it was best to avoid watching the two of them interact before he started to picture himself in Yelena’s place, picturing himself patting Bob’s face and ruffling his hair, cuddling up on the couch, and movie nights in each other’s room. He shook his head before his thoughts went any deeper than that and threw his first punch at Bob.

The other ducked quickly, determination on his face as he slid his leg out and swung it at John’s feet. The super soldier jumped on instinct, side stepping and waiting for Bob to stand fully back up again. 

Bob rolled his shoulders back and nodded at John again before throwing his own first punch, one that John slid past and grabbed the other’s arm to pull him the opposite way. Bob sighed in frustration and turned around to face John again, hands back up close to his face.

“C’mon, Bobby, that's all you got?” John chided, ducking at another one of Bob’s half-assed swings. 

“I don’t know, Johnny. I think you’re taking it too easy on me.” Bob joked, throwing two punches and ducking to swing his leg under the other man.

John jumped out of the way but faltered for a second, giving Bob the chance to tackle him instead and his back soon met the floor. He was still for a second before his brain decided to work again. No one had called him that in almost 20 years. 

Bob was halfway on top of him, arms around his middle and head tucked under the blonde man’s left ribcage. When Bob lifted his head, he smiled brightly and laughed at a cheering Yelena. 

“I won.” He giggled, looking at John and giving him a curious look when he saw that John had gone pale.

“Hey, man, you okay—?”

John pushed Bob off of him, standing as calmly as possible and nodding. “Good job.” Was all he managed as he patted Bob’s shoulder gently before grabbing his things from the floor and leaving quickly.

John sat in bed that night, trying to remember how to breathe and how to function and how to do anything but just sit there and think. He remembered how to play the guitar pretty quickly and snuck past the living room and out the door towards the elevator.

He was sitting at a conference table when it happened, a meeting called by Valentina about “promotion tactics.”

Apparently the team was lacking in social appeal as said by the woman, who stood at the front end of the room and went through statistics on a slideshow.

“The public wants to know more about this new team, how are they meant to feel safe and protected when the world's first line of defense is a bunch of unknowns?” She emphasized by motioning to Alexei, earning a glare and grumble from the large man.

“We want to know what makes you guys you, what can we pick from each of you and run with?”

Valentina pressed through to another slide, John was already bouncing his leg and trying to imagine himself anywhere but here.

“We’ve done a deep dive on each of you, not just background checks— personality checks.”

She explained further, showing each of their faces on the screen in a sequence that made it clear this powerpoint was made by a random intern. 

“Bucky, we already know so much about you and you’re already popular in the media so you won’t be involved in this but to the rest of you, this is what we’ve found—”

John couldn't help the anxiety crawling through him when she began speaking, it was clear she was about to share things about all of them, things she could use to appeal to the masses and create stereotypes for each of them. Did she know? Did his records from his early days mention him and Lemar’s adventures around the buildings, the music room, the high school teacher selling him the guitar?

He bit the inside of his cheek and watched the screen as best as he could.

“Yelena— we can play into the butchiness right? I’ve got modeling companies climbing up the walls to try and let them style you, I’ll let you take your pick but if we don’t finish this week with at least one suit collection in your name we're gonna have a problem alright?” Valentina’s voice was stern and she quickly nodded when Yelena sighed and agreed.

“Alexei, alcohol is your thing, huh?” She inquired, a video of the man chugging an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the counter of a dive bar from what must’ve been the very early 2000s.

“We’ll get you down to the distilleries and you get your own brand, sound good?” Alexei just nodded with folded arms, deciding that his mission wasn’t the worst. 

“The people have fallen in love with you, Bobby.” Valentina chuckled, almost sarcastic if it weren’t for the slideshow of posts and pictures of Bob describing him almost as babyish and endearing. John smirked, knowing that none of those people would believe that if they heard the way Bob talked when he was playing Call of Duty or how jacked the man truly was under those soft sweaters and loose clothes that he wanted to slide his hands— John stopped thinking and watched the screen.

“How do you feel about being in an interview with puppies?” She asked him rhetorically, both Bob and everyone else in the room knowing there wasn’t exactly room to disagree. 

“Ava— I understand you want to keep your life private and lucky you, you are the world's least documented person so I’m sending you with Bob to the puppy interview and hoping for the best…”

There was a pause in the air as she looked over at John, her weirdly warm smile making his skin crawl.

“Now, John, when were you gonna tell us about your talent?”

“I—”

He was cut off by a video on the screen, Lemar’s voice coming over the speakers and Bucky turned to look at him with wide, knowing eyes. 

“And all it took was two shots of that good Kentucky Bourbon— should've done this ages ago with that shitty moonshine back when we were in North Carolina.”

Lemar laughed, Olivia smiling up at the camera and making sure it caught John on the stage with the microphone, swaying a bit like he couldn't decide to collapse or throw up. 

“I dedicate this song— to my beautiful wife, Lemar. Olivia, you're my baby too.” He laughed into the microphone, Lemar chuckling and steadying his hands as the slow music started. 

“Used to spend my nights out in a bar room…”

The cheering started for a second, some of the crowd recognizing the song. 

“Liquor was the only love I've known.”

His voice was low, smooth and jumping at all the right places to form the perfect melody. 

“But you rescued me from reaching the bottom…and brought me back from being too far gone.”

John winked at the camera, sending a drunken air kiss towards Olivia who rolled her eyes and smiled brightly. 

“You're as smooth…as Tennessee whiskey.”

He took a breath and continued on in the chorus, the crowd quieting down to listen. 

“You're as sweet as strawberry wine.”

A few people began clapping and cheering, recognizing John's ability to hit the higher note.

The video stopped and John sat there as his heart beat in his chest uncontrollably, he felt like he had just been caught. He felt like he was in trouble. He felt sick. 

Yelena cheered happily, and Alexei turned to him to pat his shoulder. 

“You never told us you had the voice of angels, Walker!” The man chided, clapping along with Yelena and Bob who smiled at him softly. 

“Not only that, but you make your own music?” Valentina sounded like she had struck gold. 

John wanted to shoot her in the face. 

“You know we have cameras everywhere, John, and we check those cameras when motion is detected in places where there shouldn't be motion. So imagine my surprise when one morning the cameras showed me this—” She clicked and the slide went to a new video, John in the music room, sitting at the control panel while the video was still on pause. “—from the night before.”

Valentina pressed play and John almost threw up right then. 

John fiddled with the dial, turning up the volume on the drum track that he had recorded not too long ago. It was very simple, mostly just the cymbal and a few low thuds. He wanted the song to be slower, guitar focused. 

When he got fed up with it, he just turned the drums off and grabbed the acoustic next to him.

John sat carefully on the little black stool in the recording room, the guitar on his lap and a pick between his teeth. 

“This is uh— take number four of ‘Girl Crush.’”

He mumbled into the microphone, settling his hands on the guitar and picking a few beginning notes. 

It was a gentle tune, you could see the focus in his brow as he plucked along and strummed. It was sadder, full of want before the lyrics even started. John took a deep breath before he sang, 

“I've got a girl crush…I hate to admit it but, I've got a heart rush.”

John's eyes met Bob’s from across the room and quickly looked away, away from everyone else and the look on his father's face and the smashed guitar in the driveway and the bruises on his jaw that lasted for weeks.

“It ain't slowing down.”

John took another deep breath, “I got it real bad, want everything she has. That smile and that midnight laugh…she’s giving you now.”

John wanted to scream, he wanted to lash out and shoot the screen and tell Valentina everything he thought about her. Yet, he remained frozen with his eyes shielded under the hand he rested his head in. 

“I wanna taste her lips, yeah, cause they taste like you—” John looked down at his guitar, face shielded away from the camera but you could tell by the way his voice shook that his eyes had begun to tear up. “I wanna drown myself, in a bottle of her perfume.”

“I want her long, blonde—”

John hit the table before the next lyrics could play, making the group jolt and look at him as the video stopped. “That’s enough.”

“Why would you do that, Walker, your singing is beautiful?” Yelena motioned towards the screen, starting to smirk a bit. “What, are we about to find out who your “girl crush” is?”

She teased and giggled, Ava joining in and Alexei following suit with his loud bellowing.

John refused to look at anyone, scared he’d meet the eyes of the man across the room and that he would know. 

Bob would know who the song is about. Bob would know why John couldn’t meet his eyes. Bob would know he was a pathetic, girly, useless fag—

John’s father’s words rang in his ears and he knew he had to leave as soon as possible. Valentina cleared her throat and began to speak again.

“John.” She warned.

He didn’t look at her, just staring off at the table and letting his fist unclench in resignation.

“You have two options. You’re either going on Masked Singer or Jimmy Fallon is gonna ask you to sing live in an interview, either way I’m making a rockstar and you’re gonna have an album out by August. Got it?”

“Fuck you.” John said as he pushed out his chair and walked out the door past the woman who was barely phased, knowing that was the kindest way possible he could’ve agreed at the moment.

“Jimmy Fallon it is.” Valentina called after him and turned to the others with a strained smile. “You’re dismissed.”

John was dying, he was convinced he was dying as he clung to his chest and heaved against the wall he collapsed against. He barely made it to the penthouse before his knees gave out and he sank against the back of the living room couch, trying to remember the tactics he learned in basic training to stay calm during combat. 

This wasn’t combat though, John didn’t know what this was.

It was similar to fear, the type of fear he hadn’t felt in a very very long time. It was a fear he remembered in the name Johnny, laced into the taste of the chewing tobacco he quit after high school and the shitty beers his dad drank. It was a sudden, all-encompassing terror that he knew all too well but hadn’t actually felt since he was 18 and saw his father's face for the last time.

“You’re lucky you ain’t gonna be around for much longer, Johnny. How fucking dare you live under my roof after spending all that money on a guitar and going around—” John’s father threw a beer can like he was the pitcher for one of the baseball teams he seemed to love so much. It exploded next to John’s face and the boy crouched quickly to avoid the glass bottle that came after. “—Kissing boys?”

“I’m sorry, Dad—” John pleaded, hands stretched out in front of him in case he needed to catch or swat anything out of the way. He walked around the front of the couch, his seething father on the other side with a gaze that made the fear he felt so much worse. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, boy.”

John felt a tear run down his face and knew he needed to move fast before the others came back into the room. He could only gasp and struggle to lift himself onto his feet, sinking back down to square one when a sob built in his throat and he had to put all his focus on not letting it escape. 

The penthouse doors began to slide open and he knew he was fucked. 

“Are you fucking crying?” His father roared, his fists curled into John’s shirt as said boy tried to hold back the tears that mixed with the blood dripping from his nose. John’s father was holding him up against the door of the truck, spitting in his face as he talked. 

“No, I’m just—” That only earned him another punch to the face which in turn made him look towards the driveway, his guitar smashed to pieces. That only made it harder to stop the crying.

“Who knew Walker was hiding a talent as cool as that? If I could sing that well, I would never shut up.” Yelena declared, Bob and the rest of the team following right behind. John tried to stand again but he just couldn’t, clutching his chest and hiding his face into the crook of his elbow while willing his heart to stop pounding and the tears to stop escaping his eyes.

“You already never shut up—” Bob chuckled before stopping in his tracks and seeing John on the floor with his face covered.

The others stopped as well, all in different states of shock and confusion.

“John?” Bob stepped forward carefully, trying to gauge the situation. He couldn’t see John’s face, and John froze up immediately when he heard their voices so he could avoid his shoulders from shaking with his pathetic sobs.

Yelena stepped forward as well, a little past Bob so she could see a little better. She turned and looked at Ava and Bucky with question and the former just shrugged and phased away while Bucky stepped forward the farthest to crouch down next to John and place a hand on his shoulder. “Walker.” John flinched.

“Oh, pumpkin, let’s get you cleaned up.” Lemar’s mother placed a hand on his shoulder, sympathetic tears springing into her eyes when she opened the door to see the boy’s cowering figure and beaten face. He held onto the few pieces of his guitar he managed to salvage from the mess in the driveway and Mrs. Hoskins ushered him inside. Lemar stepped down the stairs carefully in his pajamas, woken up by the doorbell and rapid knocking on the door.

“Everything okay, Ma?” He saw John sitting at the kitchen table and hurried the rest of the way downstairs to his best friend’s side.

“He found out.” John whispered quietly, tears springing back into his eyes as Lemar stood in front of him. 

“Found out what? John, what did he—” Lemar saw the pleading look in John’s eyes, coming to a realization and pulling the other boy into a tight hug. 

Lemar’s mother was confused, rubbing John’s back lovingly as he cried in Lemar’s arms. “What did he find out, baby?” 

“John has a boyfriend.”

John flinched back, knocking Bucky’s hand off of his shoulder and landing on his forearms. His breathing picked up again and he tried to scramble away from the group of eyes that watched him with so much of something he didn’t know. Pity? Disgust? Anger?

Bob crouched down in front of John, calmly and keeping his hands to himself.

“John.” He said again, calm and gentle as he tried to get the blonde man to meet his eyes. When John finally looked up, it made everything harder. The tears streamed down his face uncontrollably and he was being pulled to sit up again by Bucky and Bob, the latter pulling the crying man forward into his arms. 

“I’m sorry.” John mumbled into Bob’s chest, wincing at the pathetic crack in his voice and how his breathing wasn’t slowing. Yelena sat on the other side of John, knees to her chest and placing a hand on his knee, attempting to show her care through the circles she drew with her thumb. Bucky sat in front of Yelena where there was room, his hand firm on John’s back but not harsh. “Don’t apologize.” Bob whispered back, running his fingers through the short hair on the back of John’s head. The way John would be losing his mind right now if he wasn’t actively sobbing is insane. His breathing began to slow gradually and eventually, as instructed by Bucky, he was taking slow and deep breaths. 

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Yelena attempted, trying not to giggle slightly at the way John glared at her over Bob’s shoulder. He considered it for a moment, and after looking around, realizing these people were holding him and asking him if he wanted to talk, if he wanted to be open and let the words spill out, he nodded slowly and leaned back against the back of the couch.

He didn’t expect Bob to then sit beside him and hold his hand but he wasn’t complaining.

He sighed for a second, trying to find the words and build them correctly. 

“My dad was a piece of shit.” John started, “Like the ‘throwing beer bottles at your head’ kind of a piece of shit.”

Bob squeezed John's hand comfortingly, understanding completely. John squeezed back and took a deep breath. 

“He hated that I wanted to pursue music, he told me constantly that it was girly. That I was a…faggot.”

John sighed, wiping a tear from his face and clenching his jaw at the admission. 

“And when I…”

John waited, leaning his head back to blink away the tears so he could get through his next words. 

“When I proved him right he almost killed me.”

He smiled bitterly, trying to keep the shame and bile building in his throat down. John didn't look at anyone's face, he didn't think he could stomach it if any of them looked at him the way his father had when he found out. 

“Ever since, I just— I can't let people know. It's personal, I can't explain it. I'm a grown man and I'm terrified of people knowing I like to sing.” John laughed as another tear slid down his face, knowing it was the stupidest thing ever. Bob's thumb ran along his own and John couldn't help the way he melted a bit. 

“I still feel like I'm gonna walk through the doors and come home and he'll be here, his fucking Millers Lite in hand. He could've played for the Braves, genuinely, with that pitcher's arm of his.”

This earned a smile and snort from Yelena, who leaned forward and folded her arms on top of John's knees so she could rest her chin on them. It was a comforting weight, something he wasn't used to and a bit like Bob holding his hand— he didn't mind. It was different though, as he saw Yelena more as an annoying younger sister than anything.

“I'm really not that good anyways.”

John mumbled, finding he was starting to lose his words again. 

Bob squeezed his hand and put a hand on the back of his neck so that John was looking at him. If John flushed, he decided that he would pretend he didn't and stare dead on at Bob's dark blue eyes. 

“Don't say that, John. You're really good, man, seriously.”

John's lip shook as he felt the tears collect again. God, John, you are so pathetic. 

“Thank you, Bob.”

“He is telling the truth, Walker. Your voice is immaculate, when your album comes out I will buy all of the records.” Yelena grinned at him, holding her pinky out for John to take. 

“I'm not making a fucking pinky promise with you, Lena.”

John scoffed, shifting to sit up just a bit better. 

He looked over at Bucky who had been silent the entire time, and the man's eyes met his own when he turned. 

“I was…I'm in love with my best friend. Steve.”

Bucky admitted quietly, shocking virtually no one and the three others just looked at each other and waited for Bucky to finish. 

“You can imagine what that was like in the 40s.”

John nodded, appreciating the honesty from Bucky but knowing the other didn't want a spectacle out of it. 

“I'm in love with Bishop.” Yelena blurted out suddenly, finding it a fitting time to admit to it. 

“We already knew that, Yelena.” Bob rolled his eyes, smiling widely at her and pulling himself closer to John when the blonde girl went to flick his forehead. 

“I don't really have anything to share, y'all already know I'm gay.” Bob shrugged, his words making John go still. His mind short circuited and he just looked at the brown haired man with surprise. 

“I didn't know that.” John uttered, to which he was returned a sheepish look. 

Yelena then patted his knee once and stood, taking Bucky by the nonmetal arm and dragging him up much to his confusion. 

“This is our cue to leave, Bucks.”

John's eyes narrowed in confusion at the interaction, looking back at Bob quickly. 

“What's that about?”

Bob looked at the floor and cleared his throat. 

“Wow. Okay. I didn't know this would be happening like this okay. Thanks Yelena.”

The man rambled nervously for a second, taking a deep breath before letting go of John's hand to which said man frowned for a second. 

“John.”

“Bob.” John copied his tone, trying to understand what was going on. 

“I'm gay. I know I just said it and I should've told you earlier but I didn't know how you would react or how you felt about gay people and I…”

Bob started to explain, talking with his hands and looking off so he could get through his words. 

“And you…?” John repeated back, tracking Bob's moving hands and jumping eyes. 

“John, I like you. Like— a lot.”

The blond man's jaw dropped slightly, the breath leaving his lungs completely.

He didn't even move when Bob shook him. 

Bob placed his hands on both sides of John's bright red face, shaking his head a little. “Oh god, John, I'm sorry. Are you mad? Why aren't you saying anything—”

John surged forward before he could realize he was doing it, both hands reaching up to Bob's back to push him closer as their lips collided. Bob's hands stayed in place on each side of John's face, sinking into the kiss as John leaned against the back of the couch once more and Bob found himself higher on his knees, one on each side of John's thigh as he looked down at the blonde man. 

They pulled apart to catch their breaths, the both of them flushed and breathing heavily with wide eyes.

“The song was about you.” John said after a moment. 

“I know.” Bob beams, leaning his forehead against John's and pulling him back into a kiss. A softer, loving one this time. 

“You're gonna take me to that recording room and play me that song live, right?”

All John could do was nod, awestruck and in shock before him and Bob slipped back into a gentle kiss. 

Valentina took a break from checking the music room cameras by herself for a long time after that.