UNKNOWN GUEST

#127 Stained Legacy

I chuckled, gazing at the painting Nate was proudly holding up to show me. It was a rough but vibrant piece, the brushstrokes quick and lively, as if capturing energy itself. "This is me?" I asked, pointing to a figure that vaguely resembled me, with wild strokes of red hair and blue smudged around my frame.

Nate nodded with a wide grin, the look of an artist thrilled with his creation. Then I pointed to the other red-haired figure beside mine. "And this one?" I asked, a small laugh escaping.

"Your twin! Aunty Nat," Nate replied, as if it was obvious. 

Uncle Clint, sitting a bit off to the side with his arms folded, chuckled at that. "His twin, huh?" he teased. I shook my head, smiling at Nate's logic. As if that title was all it took to make us family in more ways than one.

Nate scampered off into the house, and I watched him go, his excitement and energy leaving a sort of bright echo behind him. But in that moment, the quiet settled back in, and suddenly it was just me and Clint on the porch, the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the faint sounds of his family setting up the picnic area in the yard. 

I inhaled deeply, the fresh scent of cut grass and the smoky hint of the fire from the grill filling the air, grounding me in the moment. It felt good to be back here at the Bartons' farmhouse, in the company of people who knew my parents well, who knew my father and mother as more than just his teammates. 

The hiss of the stove broke me from my thoughts as Uncle Clint turned off the burner and came over, dropping onto the rope bed beside me. He looked out over the yard with a quiet sigh, as if easing into the rare stillness of family life.

After a pause, he cleared his throat. "So," he asked, casually enough but with a hint of genuine concern, "you got any clue?"

I shook my head, feeling that familiar pang in my chest. "Not really. I wait in front of the platform almost every night, hoping..." I paused, swallowing, "hoping they'd just... pop up out of nowhere. That one day, they'd walk right back through." The words caught a little in my throat, but I pressed on. "It's been almost three months now. Still nothing."

Clint's face softened, and I could see him weighing his words carefully. "You think... something went wrong?"

I shook my head quickly, almost too quickly, as if saying it aloud could make it real. "No. They'll be back." My voice was firm, but inside, I clung to the hope with white-knuckled determination. "Doctor Strange told me I just have to be patient. It's the only thing keeping me sane. Without that..." I looked away, my voice dropping. "Without that, I think I would've already lost my mind."

Uncle Clint placed a hand on my back, a comforting, grounding gesture. "Anything else bothering you?"

I sighed, shifting my gaze out to the endless green field stretching before us, its quiet beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil I felt inside. "Actually, yeah. I mean... it shouldn't, but it does." I hesitated, unsure if it was even worth bringing up. But then I remembered Clint's honesty, his bluntness. He'd understand.

He seemed to guess. "The new Captain America?"

I nodded, exhaling sharply. "Yeah. Dad gave the shield to Uncle Sam. He saw something in him—quality, character. But guess what? Uncle Sam just... gave it up. Handed it over to Ross." I almost spat the name. "Dad chose him, trusted him. But Sam says he doesn't feel worthy." I felt the frustration burning inside me. "What more does he need to prove? He's fought against Hydra, against Thanos's armies, against every threat we've faced without a serum, without superpowers. What else should we call him but a hero?"

Clint was quiet for a moment, letting my words settle in the still air. Then, with a sigh, he cleared his throat. "You know, kid... it's not that simple for him."