I stepped back, surrendering to the weight of my emotions. Rainwater cascaded down our faces as we exchanged a smile, the droplets mingling with our tears. Shivering uncontrollably, he offered me his jacket, a small gesture of warmth amidst the storm. Together, we made our way back into the house, seeking solace within its walls.
Ascending the stairs, I couldn't help but notice the gravity etched upon my father's face. We shared a glance, a silent agreement that it was time for us to have a serious conversation. They followed me upstairs, and as I began to stammer out an apology, my fathers enveloped me in a much-needed embrace.
Steve, my voice wavering, uttered, "Don't ever put yourself in danger like that again, okay?"
I nodded, my remorse palpable, and we made our way downstairs. But before I descended the stairs, Bucky's voice cut through the air, inquiring about Peter, our dear friend. I turned to face him, trying to mask my inner turmoil, and replied with a stammer, "Oh, um, yeah... I... I don't know. We're... we're good again!"
A soft chuckle escaped their lips as I proceeded downstairs. Laura, always attuned to our needs, handed me a warm cup of tea, a comforting gesture that I gratefully accepted. Settling into a chair, I offered a grateful smile before taking a sip.
Morgan, with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes, caught my attention. "Y/n," she began, her voice tinged with curiosity, "wanna go outside?"
I responded eagerly, my desire for a change of scenery evident. "Of course!"
However, Tony, swaying unsteadily from the effects of alcohol, interjected, "Nope, it's raining, young ladies!"
Recognizing his intoxicated state, I gently took Morgan's hand, impulsively seizing the opportunity for an adventure. We darted outside, the rain-soaked grass beneath us as we settled down. She perched on my lap, and with childlike wonder, she pointed to my pocket, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
I glanced down and discovered the gun. Trying to downplay its significance, I assured her, "Morgan, it's nothing important, okay?"
She nodded, accepting my explanation, just as Tony appeared outside, raindrops clinging to his disheveled appearance. "Go inside, it's cold!" he called out, his voice a mix of concern and inebriation.
Heeding his advice, we raced upstairs, changing into more weather-appropriate attire. I slipped into a mini skirt, pairing it with a crop top, while Morgan donned a t-shirt to complete her outfit. As we descended the stairs once again, our unconventional attires drew puzzled looks from everyone present.
"Y/n, we told you not to wear... this," my fathers reproached, their disappointment evident.
"Dad, it's not that bad," I pleaded, attempting to defend my choice.
Steve interjected gently, "Come on, go change."
With a resigned sigh, I ascended the stairs once more. Upon my return, clad in more conventional attire, Steve smiled approvingly, bringing a sense of relief to my troubled heart. Just as I was about to sit down, Tony's voice shattered the fragile peace, demanding to inspect our pockets and belongings.
Confused and taken aback, I stammered, "What... w-why?"
Tony persisted, his intoxicated accusatory tone revealing Morgan's revelation, "Show me!"
Summoning the courage to protect my privacy, I stood my ground, retorting, "No!"
Bucky, never one to tolerate such hostility, confronted Tony, his voice laced with anger, "What the hell is your problem?"
Unbeknownst to me, Morgan had shared her discovery, exposing the presence of the gun. Overwhelmed by the revelation, I found myself uttering, "What?..."
Thankfully, I had stowed the gun in another jacket, escaping Tony's immediate scrutiny. Determined to investigate, Tony reached for my pockets, only to be met with my refusal. Desperation seeping into his words, he accused, "Why not? Do you have a gun?"
Shaken, I stammered, "No, but it's... it's a matter of privacy and personal space..."
In a moment of volatile inebriation, Tony's words cut deep, his unfounded accusations leaving me teary-eyed. Seeking solace and support, I turned to my fathers, silently imploring them for intervention.
Steve, his voice laced with concern, questioned Tony's state, "Tony, are you drunk?"
Breathing heavily, I winced as Tony gripped my arm, his hold becoming increasingly tight. Morgan and the other children retreated upstairs, finding refuge alongside Laura, Loki, Clint, and Thor. Feeling trapped, I pleaded, "Let me go!"
Releasing his grip, Tony relented, allowing me to flee towards my fathers. Bucky enveloped me in a tight embrace, his comforting presence offering a temporary respite from the chaos. Meanwhile, the others attempted to diffuse the situation and calm Tony's drunken rage.
Once tranquility settled, I found solace in my fathers' embrace, seeking solace in the melodies of the music that provided an auditory escape. Despite the tension lingering in the air, the beckoning call of sustenance drew us to the dining table, where we began to partake in a meal.
Midway through the gathering, I felt the need to cleanse myself, to wash away the turmoil that clung to my skin. Excusing myself, I announced, "I think I'm going to take a shower..."
Acknowledging their silent nods, I made my way to the bathroom. Within the confines of the shower stall, I let the icy water envelop me, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil swirling within. The coldness seeped into my bones, and when I emerged 30 minutes later, I realized my hands were still freezing.
Bucky, noticing my discomfort, clasped my hand in his, his concern evident. "Did you shower with cold water?" he questioned, worry lacing his words.
Confusion clouded my thoughts as I replied, "No, I took warm water. Why...?"
Bucky, tenderly tracing the frigid skin of my hand, murmured, "Your hands are really, really cold."
Steve reached for my other hand, their warmth an oasis in the chill, and together, they tried to infuse it with their own heat. I mustered a grateful smile, appreciating their efforts, before making my way back upstairs.
Lost in the embrace of my phone, I found refuge from the turmoil around me. Unbeknownst to me, my fathers entered the room, Steve resolute in his determination to steer me away from digital distractions. He handed me a book, his unwavering voice commanding, "Here, read a book..."
Protesting my banishment from the virtual realm, I sighed in reluctant acquiescence and reluctantly delved into the pages. Unbeknownst to them, I cleverly concealed my phone behind the book, seeking solace in its familiar glow. Little did I know, my actions did not go unnoticed.
Bucky's curiosity piqued, he inquired, "What's the book about?"
Reluctantly, I turned off my phone, peeking at the cover before responding, "Well, um, it's about World War I."
Bucky's interest piqued, he leaned in closer, his eyes scanning the title. "How did it begin?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.
Caught off guard, I stumbled over my words, desperately trying to recall the historical details. "Um, well, a few years ago... I mean, the Russian army, I think," I mumbled, my uncertainty evident.
Seizing the opportunity, Bucky gently plucked the book from my hands, his eyes catching a glimpse of the concealed phone. Frustrated with my attempt to escape reality, I blurted out, "Oh, wow, my phone was here? I, uh, must have misplaced it."
Bucky's gaze remained fixed on the phone, disappointment lacing his voice. "You should be reading," he stated firmly.
With a defeated sigh, I reluctantly set the book aside, knowing that my digital sanctuary was now out of reach. Bucky, resolute in his decision, pressed further, "Well, no phone for you."
I protested, feeling a surge of unfairness rise within me. "No, that's unfair!" I exclaimed, my frustration evident.
Bucky's voice held a firm edge as he countered, "Do you want two weeks?"
Sighing in resignation, I averted my gaze, realizing that arguing would only worsen the situation. Bucky turned to Steve, engaging in a brief conversation outside the room. Their intentions became clear as Bruce, Thor, and my fathers approached me, forming a formidable blockade in the doorway.
They stood there, their presence a physical barrier as Steve approached me with a syringe in hand. Confusion and fear gripped my heart as I questioned his actions, my voice trembling, "Wait, wait, wait, what's that for?"
Steve's tone remained gentle but resolute as he replied, "The doctor said you needed this, so..."
My protests grew stronger as I backed away, desperately pleading, "No!"
Bucky, sensing my resistance, stepped forward. "Doll, we won't do it the hard way," he assured me, his voice laced with concern.
Yet, determined to maintain control over my own body, I stood my ground, my voice laced with defiance. "My way," I declared firmly.
But the weight of their concern and their duty as my guardians overwhelmed them. Steve's eyes filled with regret as he warned, "We're doing this for your own good, sweetheart."
My heart heavy with a sense of betrayal, I reluctantly allowed them to guide me toward the bed. Bruce and Thor, with a heavy sense of obligation, gripped my arms, their touch gentle but unwavering. A plea escaped my lips, "Let me go!"
Yet, my pleas fell on deaf ears as they maneuvered me onto the bed, my attempts to resist futile. Steve's voice was tinged with sorrow as he implored, "Make it fast, Bruce."
Bucky's grip tightened, his arms offering no escape as I frantically sought freedom. The sting of the needle pierced my skin, pain radiating through my body. Tears welled up in my eyes as I pleaded with my fathers, "Ow, ow, OW, it hurts! Please, Dad!"
Steve's voice, tinged with regret, apologized softly, "Sorry, sweetie, it has to stay there for a few seconds."
I tried to pull away, to remove the unwanted intrusion, but their hold was stronger than my will. Helplessly, I lay on the bed, tears streaming down my face, as Bruce and Thor finally released their grip. They bid me goodnight, leaving me alone with my anguish.
From beyond the closed door, I heard the muffled sound of their voices, speaking in hushed tones. Bucky's words drifted through the air, carrying a mixture of concern and weariness, "Tomorrow, we'll try again... with Natasha, Thor, Bruce, and me, okay, sweetheart?"
Steve's response held a tired resignation as he replied, "Yeah, sure, no problem, baby. I'm tired. Let's go to sleep."
Their voices faded away as they retired for the night, their exhaustion palpable. Left alone with my thoughts, I succumbed to the solitude, seeking solace in the melodies of my music, a bittersweet refuge from the pain that echoed within.
As the night unfolded, the call for sustenance brought us back together at the dining table. We gathered, a fragile semblance of unity amidst the underlying tension. The conversation remained lighthearted, a fleeting respite from the heaviness that burdened our hearts.
Eventually, the need to cleanse my body and soul overwhelmed me. Excusing myself from the table, I announced, "I think I'm going to take a shower..."
Acknowledging their silent nods, I retreated to the bathroom, yearning for the soothing caress of water to wash away the weight that clung to my skin. Inside the shower stall, I sought solace in the ice-cold water, its touch a physical manifestation of my emotional turmoil.
After what felt like an eternity, I emerged from the shower, the chill still lingering within me. As I dried myself off, I heard a soft knocking on the bathroom door. Wary yet hopeful, I inquired, "Who is it?"
Steve's voice, tinged with concern, reached my ears. "Dad... uh, is everything okay?"
Pausing for a moment, I gathered my composure and responded, "Yes, thanks."
The night wore on, the heaviness of the day still etched upon our souls. I climbed into bed, seeking solace within the confines of my room, the silence a respite from the turmoil that surrounded me.
And as sleep finally claimed me, I couldn't help but wonder what tomorrow would bring, and whether I would find the strength to face the challenges that awaited.
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