bob was talking to your toaster.

or maybe at it. or maybe pleading with it softly like it was a skittish tortoise and not an electrically fried appliance with a deeply suspicious indentation on one metallic side.

either way, the moment you walked into the newly-rebuilt kitchen on sublevel six, he was already crouched in front of it—tall frame folded awkwardly, brown slightly tousled, wearing an avengerz-issued sweatshirt that looked one accidental wash cycle away from becoming crop-top length.

you could blame (or thank) alexei for that one. turns out merchandising on a budget didn't produce great fabrics, go figure.

“...okay, buddy, we’re gonna try again. just breathe. you don’t need to fear the bread.” that was when the toaster hissed. and that was also when robert—alias sentry, god-tier powerhouse, reality-bending celestial question mark—physically flinched and held his hands up like he was defusing a bomb.

it was still difficult for you to believe that the man in front of you had plunged manhattan into perpetual darkness, the void. but as far as his highs and lows were considered, today he seemed to just be bob. plain old bob. which was a testament to how far he'd come, because if you'd been through the shit he had, you'd be locked up.

“hey, hey, it’s okay. i know walker kicked you. i’d short-circuit too.” you weren’t sure if it was the toaster or the sheer earnestness in his voice that made you laugh out loud—yes, you felt like a john walker-sized arsehole for finding this amusing.

he blinked up at you, startled—like he hadn’t heard you come in—then brightened in a way that was almost embarrassingly sweet. “oh! uh—hey. didn’t see you there.” bob straightened up too fast and nearly kneed the marble counter. “ow. no, i’m good. just. you know.”

he motioned vaguely between you and the toaster, then scratched the back of his neck. "ah, right, uh, walker broke the toaster. like, he punched it. really hard."

at your expression of sobered incredulity, he smiled again, a little lopsided, a hundred percent sheepish. “honestly? i just didn’t want anyone else to come in here and blow something up again. so i volunteered.” you noticed then that someone had labeled the toaster with a piece of masking tape: “DO NOT ANGER—R. REYNOLDS”. of course.