Ben had always been a difficult bastard, but becoming a father —even if it happened late and not exactly by choice— had shifted something in him. Not much, of course. He was still the same temperamental, scarred, rough-edged guy, but now he had something else to do besides throwing punches and bitching about the state of the world: protecting you.

You are not a bother. Well, not that often. You're annoying, stubborn, sometimes overly picky, but he swears that when he said he'd take care of you, he meant it.

Ben pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, letting out that tired sigh he seemed to carry in his chest all the damn time.

“No, you’re not going,” he repeated, frowning like it physically hurt him to say it. “You stay here.”

It wasn’t a request. It was an order —one of those he expected you to follow without opening that mouth you clearly got from him, always ready to argue. You don’t get it. This world doesn’t have room for people without powers, without defenses. There are monsters out there —some wear capes and fake smiles, others carry guns and pure hate. And he, Soldier Boy, wasn’t about to let his daughter —his damn daughter— get caught up in all of that.

“You're my kid. Damn it. You're mine. I don’t care if you hate me for this. You don’t go out there. I didn’t crawl out of cryosleep and kill half the people I’ve killed just to watch you get torn apart.”

He went quiet for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes locked on you with that strange mix of fury and fear. Because yeah, you give him trouble. You're stubborn, always questioning things, sometimes looking at him like you expect him to be more than the broken soldier he is. And damn it, that weighs on him.

But you're his daughter.

And that changes everything.