The Twins and Lila Growing Adventures

No matter how hard he tried, it was never good enough. A low growl rumbled from his throat, his fists clenched at his sides. "Because I believed I could trust him!" His voice rose, seething with barely restrained fury. "He planted that video for Erik to find! If you were really so close to Erik, how the hell did so much slip past you prior to the trial? I thought—just like you did—that it was a simple case about sport safety! That was your idea! You were the one who told Erik to sue for negligence!" He continued his voice breaking. "At least Lila’s alive! Vera dead!" He choked out the last word, his voice shattering as a broken sob escaped his lips. His chest heaved, and the floodgates finally gave way. "Fuck you, Natalia!" The words came out in as a whisper with a venom he rarely used, his voice thick with grief and frustration. Without waiting for her response, he stormed out of the house, the door slamming behind him with a deafening crack.


No matter what she said to James, he would always take it, twist it, and shove it into some dark corner, never truly facing it. It was like talking to a brick wall, his defenses always up, always dismissing her words. Celia’s voice was cold, resigned. "There’s no point in talking, is there? You’ll just dismiss anything I have to say."  Without waiting for a reply, she turned and started to leave the kitchen, her heart pounding with frustration. But before she could reach the door, Bucky’s voice cut through the air. He grabbed her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. It all happened in an instant. Her body reacted before her mind caught up. She jerked her arm, wrenching it free with a sharp, forceful motion, and before she realized it, her fist connected with Bucky’s jaw. The impact was hard and fast, sending him stumbling backward. He gripped the countertop to steady himself, his eyes wide with shock. Celia froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at him, her heart thudding in her chest. What had she just done? The silence between them was deafening, but it was broken when Erik suddenly stormed out the door, slamming it behind him. The tension in the room hung thick, and in the next moment, Erik was texting Loki, his hands shaking as he typed. He stumbled his way toward the café.

This is what she wanted, she got it, but why did it hurt so much? Her legs became numb and fell to her knees, crying and clawing at the floor. He will be better without her, she was giving him a second chance to be with Celia and his family, and she wouldn't stay on the way anymore.

Bucky was in utter shock until Erik slammed the door, "We will deal with this or end it once and for all," he said firmly, he knew it was an accident, but it wasn't an excuse, "It's your decision," he loves her, god he does, but this endless cycle of torture and suffering has to end, for him, but mostly for her and their children.

Each step sent a sharp, searing pain through his lower back, radiating up his spine until it felt like his body was slowly giving out. Every muscle in his back screamed in protest, tensing and tightening with each agonizing movement. He leaned heavily on the cane, his lifeline for balance. Without it, he knew he'd collapse into a heap, consumed by the pain. Still, he preferred this torment over the broken mess he called home. When he finally reached his mother’s café, now dark and shuttered. His grandfather was already waiting for him outside, his expression etched with concern as Erik approached. “Why did you need to speak to me?” his grandfather asked, the question hanging in the air like a weight. Erik opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat before he could release them. He swallowed hard, his lips pressing into a thin line before he finally signed with shaky hands. "To tell you that Lila is safe. She was there during the funeral." His hands trembled as he continued, feeling the familiar silence settle around him. It wasn’t the first time he had been mute. When he started school as a child, his voice had vanished for the entire first semester, leaving him locked in a world where words were beyond reach. Now, he found himself retreating into that silence once more. "And I don’t want to be alone… or go home.” His hands stilled, and he met his grandfather’s gaze, the unspoken plea lingering between them.

Her right hand throbbed with the lingering sting of the punch, a dull ache that seemed to pulse in time with her guilt. She stared at her knuckles, the skin already darkening to a faint bruise. Her stomach churned, knotting itself tighter with every breath, nausea rising in her throat. She was becoming her mother. The thought twisted like a blade, sharp and unforgiving, cutting through her with bitter realization. How had they gotten here? She knew the answer but couldn’t bring herself to say it, her throat constricting as the weight of it all pressed down on her. Her gaze stayed fixed on her knuckles as she traced them softly with her other hand, the repetitive motion a poor attempt at calming her racing mind. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, holding the breath until her chest burned before slowly letting it go. Her heart still hammered, but she forced herself to speak, though her voice trembled. “I want to deal with this...” She paused, biting her lower lip until it almost hurt. “But I need some time.”

He understood too well, he felt the same. Well, now he felt relieved to hear that his daughter was safe, and quite impressed that she was there and he couldn't even sense her, that made him feel even calmer, if she was able to avoid him, she would be able to escape anyone. He took his grandson hands, "let's get inside, we can stay here for a while," he wasn't coming back either, he didn't know what to do next, but he was sure than going back to Natalia was not an option, after all, it was just a matter of time until he ruined that relationship too.

Bucky nodded," I'll be sleeping on the twins room, you can find me there when you want to talk about this," he didn't want to talk to her right now, things were too... Raw, he also needed to calm down.

The café looked exactly as it had when he and his father had closed it for the last time, though now a thin layer of dust coated everything, a sign of the months of neglect. The chairs were all neatly stacked upside down on the tables, just as they'd left them, and white sheets covered the kitchen appliances. With a flick of his wrist, a bean bag chair materialized in the far corner of the room. He moved toward it, his back aching with each step, and sank down into the familiar comfort of the chair, his body finally easing into something other than pain.

She stood alone in the kitchen, the guilt gnawed at her, a constant reminder that she had failed her family, that her actions had helped tear it apart. What could she do to make things right? To fix the shattered pieces of her marriage? Her mind drifted to James. Could she make amends with him? Heal the rift she had helped create? She glanced around the kitchen, the idea forming. Maybe she could start small—his favorite meal, something familiar, something comforting. It wouldn’t solve everything, but maybe it could be the first step toward repairing what was broken.

As soon as he walked in he went to the kitchen to find something vital, something so important that right now was his number one priority, he almost had a stroke when he couldn't find it in the cupboard, but the he did, and suddenly he felt lighter, "I believe it's a great time to have your first drink with your grandfather," no, alcohol doesn't solve problems, but it helped to clear one's mind, at least for a bit. He poured two glasses of the fine bourbon, one full and the other was just a couple of sips. Taking the full glass he drank it almost entirely, he could enjoy the second and the third cup in a moment, "It seems like destiny find me once again, no matter how hard I try to hide, it always comes and ends up destroying what I love the most, I am sorry Erik for dragging you into this," he gave him a dramatic sigh, "I am the God of Chaos, of course I can't have a peaceful life! So I give up! I won't try to do it anymore!" he poured another glass, "But you know what? Fuck Natalia," alright that came out of nowhere, but it felt so good saying it.

Bucky sat over his son's bed, they can fix this, right? He loves her, God he does, but this was too much for him to handle, he knows he is not perfect, he has failed as a father and as a husband so many times, he doesn't want to put all the blame on her, he is as much as responsible for this than her, but she needs to figure out who she is and what she wants before anything, so he will wait for her to do so.

The small, logical voice in his mind—the one he had been ignoring for far too long—whispered that this was a terrible idea. But, as usual, he silenced it. Gripping the glass tightly, he tipped it back and drained the contents in one go. Almost immediately, a warmth crept up his neck, his face flushing as the strong drink hit him harder than expected. He let out a shaky breath, momentarily dazed. He sighed, thinking bitterly of his mother and signs the same about her. Raising his glsss once more, he gestured for a refill. After all, alcohol was supposed to blur memories, wasn’t it? And today, more than anything, he wanted to forget.

It had taken her three hours to make James’s favorite homemade meal, and during those three hours, her mind had been spinning. She couldn’t stop replaying everything that had led them to this point—all the mistakes, the tantrums, the harsh words. She hoped maybe this meal, paired with one of his old 40s records they had found together in an antique store, would be enough to ease the tension. It was one of his favorites; he used to put it on and pull her into his arms, spinning her around the living room. They used to visit flea markets and antique shops all the time, with the twins tagging along. Vera would wander off to inspect old electronics, drawn to them with fascination, while Erik hunted down the weirdest books he could find, building his own little collection. Now, though, all they seemed to do was argue. She knew it was her fault, too. She hadn’t been herself in so long, lashing out instead of reaching out. As the house filled with the familiar scent of his favorite dish, she felt a pang of guilt twist in her chest. She wasn’t ready to face Bucky yet—not tonight. Instead, she slipped into bed, hoping that maybe tomorrow would bring the courage she needed to fix what she had broken.

"Self-righteous bitch," he whispered as he took his 8th? Glass, "She blamed me! And what about her ill attempts at grandmothering?!" another empty glass and another refill, "Well, she wasn't right for the first time in her life, that must suck? Right? Right?! I mean, she will have a taste of her own medicine," he huffed, remembering her stupid smirk when she was proven right, that awful glimmer in her eyes, totally disgusting.

Nat didn't know how many hours passed, she spent them crying on her couch, she couldn't even step into their bedroom, with all of his things still there. Now she was alone, truly alone and lonely, but that's what she deserved, that way the ones she loves will have the chance to get to live peacefully. Then, someone knocked at the door. Maybe if she doesn't answer they would leave, she wasn't ready to see anyone right now.

Fully intoxicated, he struggled to piece together the jumbled thoughts swirling in his mind, his fingers fumbling as he tried to sign them out. After several failed attempts, he gave up and hastily scribbled his thoughts onto a piece of paper. The words were legible but resembled the clumsy scrawl of a preschooler. It read: “I don’t understand relationships. No one seems happy in them for long. Why does anyone even bother?”

Very few people in her family accepted "no" for an answer, and Thor was no exception. He knocked firmly on the door again, his voice booming with playful authority. "I know you’re in there! If you don’t open this door in the next ten seconds, I’ll rip it from its hinges!"

He read the paper and his mouth began to speak before he could think of an answer, "I don't think one should bother, they would break your heart eventually," then he looked at the content of his glass, thinking about his life with Natalia, it wasn't a bad life, he will always be grateful for it, for what she gave him, "No, it's not like that," he took a deep breath, "It's not like I stopped loving your grandmother, I don't think I could do that," at least for a while, "Just like I don't think Celia doesn't love James, it's more... Complicated than that," he now started to think about all the things they have been through, "Sometimes love it's not enough."

She cursed and try to calm down before opening the door, and what Thor saw... We'll, it wasn't a pretty view, she was all red and with puffy eyes, "Hi, Thor, umm..." what should she tell him? "I don't think this is a good moment for a visit..." now that I made your brother leave,but she couldn't put it like that!

It made sense yet didn’t at the same time; it was the most logical explanation he had ever encountered, yet somehow it felt utterly nonsensical. All he could manage to write in response was simply, "messy." He pause staring at the word only to add, "Vera was" with it reading "Vera was messy." He hug his coat, once his sister's, closer to himself. She was gone and everything was a mess now.


Thor frowned, closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply, searching for clarity before finally reopening them. “Perhaps… or perhaps not,” he said, his tone heavy with unspoken emotions. “I know that Vera has passed, and I know my family. May I come in?"

He smiled reading that last paper, "She was," his eyes filled with tears, "She was a special kind of a mess," he said to his grandson, "We will to this," move on, as best as they could, "Together," he held his grandson's hand.

She didn't really have a choice, "Yeah, come in," she told him opening the door wide enough for him to get through, "But Loki is not here," how could she explain him this? I got rid of him? not the greatest explanation.

He leaned heavily against his grandfather, the weight of his grief nearly unbearable as he shakily scrawled the words, “She was my other half.” His heart ached with the hollow emptiness left behind, a void where Vera had once been. They were meant to face the world together forever. Now, a large part of him was gone, torn away with her passing. No one else would ever understand him the way Vera did and he, in turn, had understood her like no one else ever would.


If this had happened when they first got together, Thor would have immediately assumed Loki had done something reckless to sabotage the relationship, causing him to flee. But now? Now things were different. His brother had matured and he no longer jumped to conclusions. Instead, confusion clouded his features. "What happened?" he asked, genuinely at a loss, unsure of what could have driven Loki away this time.

He hugged his grandson close and kissed the top of his head, "I know... I know..." Gods he knew how must that felt, he had felt like that before, "We will have to live with that, live to honor the life Vera had, live for her," after all, she was like the personification of being alive.

She will have to tell him the same lies she told Loki, "I couldn't endure it any longer Thor, every time I saw him, I just felt resentment, for him pushing Lila away, I felt rage that because of him my daughter could be anywhere, and the fact that we cannot find her," well, it seems she still had tears to cry, "I told him to leave, because I couldn't be with him without blaming him," she explained.

Before Erik began racing, he often sought refuge in cramped, hidden corners of his home, curling up in tight spaces where no one could find him. Whether beneath the staircase, behind stacks of forgotten boxes, or in the suffocating confines of a small closet, he allowed his tears to flow freely. “No, you don’t,” How could they? None of them had faced the same demons he had. His mother, understood how important the bond they shared was to him. Unfortunately she was rarely there for him so he had to cope with all those emotions alone.

Thor noticed the subtle tell, the one he had seen before. Her hands—usually steady and sure—were gripping her sleeves too tightly, her knuckles turning white. It was a nervous habit she had whenever she was hiding something. "Why do you believe you deserve to be alone? And do not say you don't, I know when you're lying Natalia."