Splintered Arrows

The next few months were pretty boring, which was fine by me. I finished painting my room in September, and I finished one of the spare rooms around Christmas. One Friday in January, when Steve was over at the compound, he asked me if I wanted to come to one of his support group meetings.

“Sure.” As soon as I said it, I couldn’t believe I actually agreed to go. Was I really going to bare my soul to a group of strangers?

“Okay! The meeting is Wednesday morning, so you can stay at my place Tuesday night, and we’ll come back here afterwards.” Shit. Wednesday would be six years since my parents died; did I really want to do this? I didn’t want to backtrack and suddenly tell Steve I had something else planned- I knew there wasn’t anything planned- but I could tell Clint was worried.

Steve left soon after that, and I tried to avoid having the conversation with Clint. I was successful, at least until I was packing right before Steve came to pick me up.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I know how these things go; the other people tend to think they can help solve all your problems with a single sentence.”

“Yes, Clint. I need the distraction. It helped last year, so I have to try it.”

“Does he even know what tomorrow is?”

“No, and I’m okay with that. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.” I said it more forcefully than I meant to, and instantly felt bad. He looked at me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say I almost scared him. I sighed. “I’m sorry. I just- I can’t go back to Ohio just to visit them, so I need distractions.”

“No, you’re right. You know your limits. You know what you need. Just- take care of yourself. Don’t close up.” Natasha knocked on my door.

“Hey, Steve’s here,” she said. “Is everything okay?” I nodded.

“Yeah, I just got a little annoyed. We’re good. I’ll be out there soon.”

“I’ll let him know,” she said, and closed the door. I turned to Clint and picked up the conversation right where we left off.

“I know. I’ll tell him either tonight or tomorrow. I won’t close up.” I zipped my bag shut and gave him a hug before heading out to meet Steve.

That night, I was racking my brain, trying to figure out how to tell him what tomorrow was. He probably saw the date on their tombstones when we went to have lunch with them on my birthday, but I didn’t know if he would remember that tiny detail.

We were sitting on the couch when he answered my question.

“So, tomorrow. I know what that day is for you.”

“Yeah,” I said, relieved I didn’t have to warn him. “I need the distraction. Last year, I went shopping with Tony for paint supplies, and here we are.”

“If you don’t want to talk tomorrow, that’s okay,” he said. “There’s a couple of people that just come for the company; they come almost every week, and don’t talk at all.”

“Thanks.”

The next morning, we got to the community center half an hour before the meeting would start.

“I’m going to introduce you, but I’m just going to say your name and that you’ve been with us since the Snap, but that’s about it. If you want to share more, you can. I’m leaving it up to you.” I nodded as I helped Steve set up chairs.

At the meeting, Steve introduced me, just like he said he would. “For those of us that have been here for some time, we’re going to do something a little different today. We’ve talked about what we’ve been doing for ourselves, how we’ve been taking care of ourselves. I want you to think about a decision you made before the Snap, something that seemed completely mundane at the time, but it ended up taking you to where you are right now.” For a split second, I could have sworn Steve looked at me. Did he do that so I would actually share my feelings? Still, I knew my answer immediately; before I knew it, my hand was in the air. I caught Steve smile and nod as he acknowledged me.

“This is going to sound really weird, but my decision to take an early exit off the interstate in Missouri.” I looked around and chuckled at the confused looks I got from everyone except Steve. “Yeah, that’s about the reaction I expected.” I spent the next minute or so telling them the beginning of my story; losing my parents, going to Colorado, meeting Clint, and the phone calls. I purposefully left out the fact that it was six years since my parents died. “The day of the Snap, my step-brother and I were going on a camping trip. He disappeared right in front of me. I panicked and called Clint, but I got hit as soon as he picked up. I know some of you might think that the real life-changing decision was calling him, but it was my automatic response. I didn’t know what else to do. If I would have gone even a mile or two further on the interstate that day, I don’t know if I would have survived the crash. I definitely wouldn’t be sitting here right now.” I thought about telling them about what had happened to me since then, but decided against it.

The rest of the hour was spent with everyone else taking turns sharing their decisions. Steve was last, saying that his was going to the Stark Expo with Bucky the night before he shipped out.

“If I wouldn’t have gone, that day would have been the last time I would have ever seen him. I never would have become Captain America, and I wouldn’t be standing here today. The decisions we make, no matter how simple they seem, can change our lives forever. And, as tempting as it is to question whether we made the right decision, the only thing we can do is make the best decision we can with the information we have.”

After he finished, we went over to the snack table, where someone came up to me.

“Hey,” she began, “I’m so sorry about everything you went through. I can’t imagine.” I smiled awkwardly and picked up a cookie from one of the platters; I have never been good at accepting sympathy, despite the amount I received from everyone.

“It’s been hard.” I looked across the room at Steve, who was talking to someone else, and smiled. “I haven’t been alone, though.”

“The Lord does work in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?” I froze.

“What did you just say?” I asked, knowing exactly what she said, but hoping she would retract it.

“I just said that, sometimes, God throws hardships at us to test us, but He also sends us people to help guide us through those hardships.” Great. Instead of retracting her statement, she doubled down. I put the cookie down and turned to face her.

“So, losing my parents was a ‘test’?” I could feel my pulse in every part of my body, but I didn’t care. “Losing my aunt and uncle was a ‘test’? All of this is just some big ‘test’ from God? I was fifteen when my parents died. Fifteen. What kind of god takes a child’s parents? What do I have to prove to God? Why would He put me through all of these ‘tests’ when He already knows everything?” By this point, I was practically yelling, which drew a lot of attention.

“Alex, what’s going on?” Steve said, putting his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off and walked away. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t talk- not to him, not to anyone. I walked out the front door, then practically collapsed onto the concrete. No. Not here. This can’t be happening. Soon, Steve pulled me into a hug, and I could instantly feel a tiny sliver of relief.

“Listen to my voice,” he said calmly. “You’re okay. I’m right here. It’s just you and me right now. We’re gonna sit here for as long as you need, and we’ll talk about it when you’re ready.” I nodded.

“Can- can you keep talking? I don’t care what it’s about; I just need something to focus on right now.” He told me about his childhood; he had already told me these stories, but I didn’t care. Soon, I was calm enough to talk. I pulled away from Steve and moved to a nearby bench.

“You ready to tell me what happened, or do we need to sit some more?” he asked. I sighed, trying to piece together the words.

“After my parents died, especially right after it happened, people would tell me about how ‘it’s all part of God’s plan’ or ‘the Lord works in mysterious ways.’ ‘They’re not in pain anymore’ was always a good one, as if they were sick or anything in the first place. The only pain they were in was because of those same people. I think the one that really took the cake was ‘it’s probably for the best.’” I chuckled at the memory of people telling fifteen year old me that losing my parents was for the best, then tears formed in my eyes. “How could that possibly be for the best, Steve? How can it be part of God’s plan? Even if they were in pain, what about me? I knew how much pain they were in every day. I watched Ama agonize over what she could do to transition. When they died, did those people seriously think I wasn’t in pain?” I knew I was asking Steve impossible questions, but I wasn’t expecting answers; I just needed to rant.

“God’s plan is something I’ve been trying to figure out for myself. Some of the people here, religion is all they have left. It was pretty much all I had before the New York attack. Then, everything changed. I’m still trying to figure out where religion is in my life right now. I’m not going to tell you to just ignore them, because I know how hard it is.”

“Try impossible,” I chuckled.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not going to tell you to ignore them, and I’m not going to tell you to listen to them either. What I am going to tell you to do is think about what you would say to them if the roles were reversed, and pretend that’s what they’re saying to you. If you feel like you can calmly react, you can do that too.”

“But, they need to learn that it’s not always okay to say stuff like that.”

“Who says the responsibility to teach them is on you? The internet is a free resource. Trust me, if I only learned about the 21st century from other people, I would be even further behind than I actually am.” The two of us shared a laugh, then went back to his truck.

“How do you deal with grief?” I asked as we started driving back to Steve’s apartment. He looked surprised, as if he were trying to figure out what to say, so I continued. “I don’t mean like, people you’ve lost on missions; I mean losing Bucky or your parents? Because it’s been six years since I lost my parents, and I still don’t know how to deal with it some days, let alone Charlie and his parents.” He took a deep breath and thought for a minute before answering.

“Well, my dad died when I was a baby, so I don’t remember him much at all. I guess that made it easier. With mom, I had Bucky and his family, but after I lost him the first time, I got destructive. It wasn’t healthy, and it almost killed me. It’s why I flew the plane into the ice. Sure, it may have worked out for the better, but I wasn’t exactly planning on coming back out.” Holy shit. I knew that Bucky fell not long before Steve crashed the plane, but this was the first time he actually told me anything remotely close to what happened.

“That’s not what you were asking,” he said after glancing over at me.

“Yeah, not really.”

“I was getting to my point. When I came out of the ice, it obviously felt like a day or two had passed, not 67 years. I had lost Bucky almost a week before I went down, and coming back felt like-”

“Like it was happening all over again.”

“Yeah. I was completely lost. I didn’t know anyone except Peggy, and she wasn’t exactly doing well. Anyway, before the New York attack, I was just meeting everyone. I didn’t know them, and everyone else just saw me as some sort of lab experiment. Natasha was the first one to actually talk to me like I was a human being, but it wasn’t until I met Sam that someone talked about my PTSD openly. Natasha tried her best, but she was more oriented towards getting me acclimated to the 21st century.

“To actually answer your question, I’m still working on it, too. I know that’s not the answer you were looking for, but it’s all I’ve got. The group helps, but it’s definitely not for everyone. I also draw a lot; it’s honestly the one thing that’s helped, the one thing that’s been constant. Some days, I’ll go to Central Park and just sit there. All day. I’ll draw people, birds, whatever I see.”

“Does it help?” He shrugged.

“Sometimes. But, I talk to people, too. I visit you guys at the compound. I go to my exhibit at the Smithsonian, which will never not sound weird.” I chuckled. “But, it helps for some reason. When I went the first couple times, I didn’t want to be recognized. Now? I embrace it. People want to hear my stories. I see World War 2 vets all the time, and they kind of get what’s happening in my head. Hell, I’ve met a couple of guys who were in the 107th with Bucky. My point is, there isn’t one cut and dry solution to grief. There isn’t a band-aid fix. You have to do more than one thing.”

“Not exactly the answer I was looking for, but I get it. As shitty as that meeting was- no offense- it did help. Being there, being with people who are still living, that helped. As much as I love being with you guys, it’s different being with people who aren’t… superheroes, you know?” Steve chuckled.

“Why do you think I go to the park and the museum all the time? It’s the same reason I started the group. I know that meeting was shitty for you, and I’m sorry she said that. I talked to her for a little bit before I went to find you. She said she didn’t mean to say anything wrong, and that she knew you were hurting; she said she just wanted to help. I tried to explain to her that you had a complicated history with religion, but she didn’t seem to get it. So, I told her to leave out the back door, and that’s when I found you.

“I don’t know if she’ll ever get it. She comes every week, and she doesn’t have anyone else. We’ve all been kind of walking on eggshells around her; you’re the first person to actually say something to her about what she’s said.” I thought for a few minutes about everything.

“Can we stop at Walmart on the way back? I want to get a couple of notebooks. As much as I enjoy painting, I can’t draw for shit. Writing, though? I can do that.” He chuckled and nodded.

“Any ideas about what you’re gonna write?” I smiled.

“I’ve got a couple.”