Stucky's daughter

18

In the dead of night, I found myself descending the staircase, the thirst that gripped my throat driving me toward the kitchen. To my surprise, the sight that greeted me was an unexpected gathering of the Avengers, including my fathers. Natasha and Tony, in a state of intoxication, stumbled about, their actions mirroring their inebriation. In the corner of the room, Loki sipped a glass of wine, a mischievous smile dancing upon his lips.

Attempting to navigate the room quietly, my presence did not go unnoticed by Natasha. She snatched my water, her slurred words spilling forth, "ThAnK yOu CuTiE!" Steve cast a quizzical glance in my direction, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry. I met his gaze, weariness etched across my face, and whispered, "I... uhm, couldn't sleep. I had a nightmare... sorry."

Resolute, I seized another drink, intending to retreat to the solace of my room. However, my fathers intercepted my path, lifting me effortlessly into their arms, carrying me to their own sanctuary. Bucky voiced his concerns, suggesting that they too should remain, as the revelry proved too much for his burdened heart. Steve nodded in agreement, and together we settled into their room, seeking refuge in the embrace of one another. I nestled against Steve, his steady heartbeat soothing my troubled mind, and slowly, I drifted into a restless sleep.

With the dawning of a new day, Steve and Bucky remained lost in slumber, their tranquility a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that churned within me. Quietly, I rose from the bed, making my way back to my own room. The weight of emptiness pressed upon me, and in an attempt to fill the void, I adorned the walls with countless photographs of Mia, her smiling face a bittersweet reminder of the happiness we once shared.

Descending the stairs once more, I found Natasha and Tony nursing ice packs against their foreheads, their grumpy dispositions evident. I greeted them with a quiet "morning," receiving only gruff responses in return. Seeking solace, I embraced Wanda, whispering that I would be in the training room should my fathers come searching for me.

For an hour, I unleashed my frustrations upon the boxing bags, my fists flying in a relentless fury. Anger and sadness mingled within me, fueling my relentless assault. Unbeknownst to me, my fathers had silently entered the room, observing my cathartic release. But as fatigue consumed me, my strength waned, and I crumpled to the floor, a torrent of tears cascading down my cheeks.

They rushed to my side, encircling me in a comforting embrace. Sitting amidst their unwavering love, I mustered a weak voice, a voice laden with vulnerability, as I asked, "Will the pain ever stop?" Bucky's gaze met mine, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and determination. With a tremor in his voice, he responded, "Of course, it will fade, baby doll, but it will hurt."

He held me tighter, providing what solace he could, as I sobbed into his chest. My voice, barely above a whisper, trembled as I expressed my deepest fear, "But I don't want it to hurt, Dad." Still, they held me, a haven of love amidst the tempest of my sorrow. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I succumbed to weariness, my tears continuing to flow, an ever-present reminder of the pain that consumed me.

After a few moments, we rose from the floor, making our way back upstairs, our steps heavy with the weight of our shared grief. Loki stood at the top of the stairs, his gaze drawn to the evidence of my tears. I met his pitying gaze, offering a forced smile that failed to reach my eyes. Natasha suggested a shopping trip for the funeral, breaking the silence that hung in the air. Uncertain, I murmured, "I don't know..."

Wanda interjected, her voice filled with gentle determination, "You need a dress. Come on." With a heavy sigh, I slumped onto the couch, the weight of the impending farewell settling upon me.

In the shopping center, the three of us browsed through racks of dresses. Amidst the sea of black, I discovered a simple dress, its simplicity a reflection of my desire to avoid dwelling on the looming funeral. Satisfied, I returned to my room, tucking the dress away in my closet, its presence a silent reminder of the pain that awaited me.

Returning downstairs, I observed my fathers, their tender moments and affectionate kisses filling my heart with a bittersweet happiness. As their eyes met mine, they approached with mischievous intent, their hands reaching out to tickle me. Laughter spilled forth, momentarily erasing the weight of grief that clung to my soul. Loki, a spectator to our display of familial love, smiled knowingly, understanding the fragility of our shared bond.

However, as time wore on, a sense of restlessness overcame me. I longed for the open air, a respite from the stifling atmosphere within the house. With a determination born of desperation, I slipped outside, seeking solace amidst the world outside my doorstep.

And there, in the midst of my solitude, I spotted Peter, alone and contemplative. Part of me yearned to walk away, to keep my heart guarded. Yet, he approached, his words laden with remorse, his voice filled with regret. "Y/n, I'm really sorry, okay? I didn't want her to kill herself... and I didn't mean what I said to you..."

A mixture of pain and anger welled up within me, and I turned away, tears streaming down my face. But Peter, undeterred, grasped my arm and pulled me into a tight embrace. I clung to him, seeking comfort in his unexpected warmth. Through my tears, I managed to utter a single question, "Why did you do it in the first place?"

Peter's response carried a hint of vulnerability, his voice tinged with regret, "Y/n... I don't know. I was angry at you because you broke my nose, fought against me, and won."

Exhaustion and sadness washed over me, tears once again staining my cheeks. He wiped them away gently, his touch a reminder of our shared pain. Sensing my need for solace, he urged, "You should go home. It's cold out here."

Defiantly, I whispered, "No, I think I will stay here for a bit." But Peter, determined to protect me, insisted, "No, go home. Your dads are scared."

A surge of anger coursed through me, and I turned to face my fathers, my eyes brimming with frustration. In a fit of rage, I shouted, "What now, huh? It's not like I would kill myself!" I rolled my eyes in defiance, my legs carrying me swiftly up the stairs, where I locked myself in my room, seeking sanctuary within the confines of my solitude.

I heard Tony's furious pounding on the door, his voice laced with desperation and frustration, "Y/n Barnes Rogers, open the fucking door!" But I refused, my heart consumed by anger, my pain spilling forth in a torrent of words, "No
, fuck off! I know you all hate me, so just leave me alone! J-J-J-just fuck off, you idiots!" Gasping for breath, I realized the magnitude of my outburst, knowing that I would face dire consequences for my defiance.

And then, without warning, Tony kicked down the door, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and concern. He found me on the floor, drenched in tears, my shattered emotions laid bare. Swiftly, he scooped me up into his arms, his grip firm yet gentle, and carried me to the bathroom.

I resisted, slapping at him and futilely attempting to break free, my words spewing forth with venomous bitterness. "You're not my dad! Leave me alone!" But Tony's resolve held strong, his love undeterred. He guided me under the soothing stream of the shower, allowing the cascading water to wash away my anguish, if only for a fleeting moment.

After what felt like an eternity, I emerged, clad in fresh clothes, the evidence of my tears hidden beneath a mask of composure. I retreated to the confines of my room, locking myself away from the world once more. Exhaustion consumed me, and as the weight of the day pressed upon my weary soul, I surrendered to sleep's tender embrace.