Stucky's daughter

32

Closing the distance between us, I embraced her tightly, seeking solace in her familiar presence. Just as a flicker of calm settled upon me, Tony's voice cut through the air, calling for a meeting in thirty minutes, his directive including me as well.

Feeling a rush of trepidation, I darted up the stairs, hastily changing into Bucky's shirt and my shorts. Engrossed in texting Sophie and seeking distraction through online videos, I counted down the minutes until the meeting's commencement.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I emerged from my room, making my way downstairs and into the meeting room. The weight of everyone's gaze settled upon me, their curiosity and concern palpable. My eyes flitted between Peter and Loki, two figures who offered both familiarity and an air of enigma.

As my dad's entered the room, the air grew tense, signaling the imminent discussion. Tony's voice cut through the silence, demanding that I share the truth of what had transpired and how it had unfolded. Confusion clouded my mind as I questioned the purpose of divulging my pain, my hesitance met with frustrated glares from my dad's.

Defying their silent disapproval, I let out a sigh, rolling my eyes in a mixture of exasperation and vulnerability, finally admitting, "I... I don't know."

Collective sighs filled the room, as Wanda expressed her reluctance to intrude upon my thoughts. In that moment, tears welled in my eyes, my voice choked with anguish as I whispered, "Why? What's wrong with me?"

Steve's voice rang out, filled with a mixture of compassion and concern. He reminded me of the visible wounds that adorned my face, my legs, my arms, my back, and stomach. With a wry smile, Bucky interjected, his words a reminder that my pain had left its mark on more than just my own being.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as Clint posed the question that haunted us all. "So, what happened?"

I struggled to find words, my voice trembling with uncertainty, as if the memories themselves were shrouded in a fog of confusion. Urged on by Peter's persistence, I recoiled, issuing a warning, "Don't you dare, Peter!"

His gaze met mine, an unspoken understanding passing between us. He had made a promise, and my vulnerability hung in the balance. It was a delicate dance of trust and secrecy, threatened by the need to release the truth.

Peter's resolve faltered as he spoke, his words shattering the silence, "She... she got beaten up at school. And why does she come home later than I do? Because she's getting beaten up in those dark alleys."

Shock coursed through my veins as his revelation cut through the air, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. Gasping for air, I fled the room, my footsteps echoing down the hall until I found refuge within the solitude of my own room. Steve, ever the protector, pursued me relentlessly, his voice pleading as he knocked on my door, refusing to let me wallow in isolation.

As the door swung open, he enveloped me in a tight embrace, a mixture of apologies and understanding flowing freely from my trembling lips.

Steve's embrace offered a fleeting moment of solace, his touch a reminder that I was not alone in my pain. With tender strokes, he gently smoothed my disheveled hair, his voice soothing as he took my trembling hand. Together, we descended the stairs, my gaze filled with a mix of anger and disappointment as it landed upon Peter, whose careless words had unraveled the fragile peace I had managed to find.

Tony's voice cut through the tension, redirecting our attention to the pressing matter at hand. He inquired about the identity of the perpetrator responsible for my anguish. The name "Flash" escaped my lips, drawing a collective sigh from the room. Bucky rolled his eyes, his frustration evident, as he muttered, "Not that boy again."

In a rare display of solidarity, they all assured me that if Flash dared to lay another hand on me, I had their permission to defend myself. The weight of their support offered a glimmer of hope, a reminder that I was not powerless in the face of my tormentor.

Tony, ever the pragmatist, swiftly moved the discussion forward, declaring that I would have training that day. With determination etched on my face, I changed into suitable attire and made my way downstairs, ready to confront my fears head-on.

Natasha was the first to step forward, her skill and agility unmatched. We engaged in a brief but intense sparring session, where her swift movements and calculated strikes pushed me to my limits. In the end, her experience prevailed, and I found myself on the floor, breathless but determined.

Tony's voice rang out, shifting the focus to Pietro. We traded blows, the adrenaline fueling my every move. In a moment of fierce determination, I managed to land a solid punch, causing Pietro to stumble backward, blood trickling from his nose. He laughed, dismissing the pain as inconsequential, and I offered a genuine apology amidst the shared laughter.

The meeting was called, but this time, I was exempted. Left to my own devices, I retreated to the solitude of my room, seeking solace within the sanctuary of my thoughts. It was a brief respite from the constant scrutiny and inquiries that had consumed my day.