Bob sighed to himself when the old Comic book covers caught his eye. Lindy must have stashed them on a shelf in the closet for… what? Safe keeping? As a memento? Or was it to help her remember the things that Robert had made her forget?
He pulled the top booklet from the pile, staring at the cartoon version of himself on the cover, a montage of his many “accomplishments” serving as a backdrop. The Sentry on these pages was a stranger, and yet… Bob Remembered.
Sometimes his life felt like he was living in someone else’s home movies. Faded recollections that lived on in these pages and in his mind, but no where else. For all Robert knew, everything he’d ever thought he knew was a fabrication.
But there was Lindy, wasn’t there? Lindy, who loved him and who was still alive, breathing and laughing and telling him he wasn’t the monster he believed himself to be. And there was Reed Richards, who seemed… If anything, his analytical files on The Sentry made this reality seem all the more real.
Rubbing a palm over the five o’clock stubble sprouting on his chin, Robert sighed and absently flipped open the pages of the Comic. He had to give the Jenkins guy credit, he’d written down everything, made it into fantastical and child-friendly tales. The Sentry hadn’t been this idyllic, the Void hadn’t been just a villain in a trench coat. But, it was nice, to think that these pages would be all anyone would ever remember about who he was before he—
… Well. Before he became This. Some bastardization between self-aware and slave to the forces within him. Robert abruptly tossed the comic book back on the shelf, unable to stand looking at the history that had led him down this path. He combed his fingers into this blonde hair and breathed out unsteadily. If only he’d been… stronger. If only he’d listened to the right people, maybe then Asgard—
Don’t think about it.
Bob closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into the closet doorframe, hard enough that the wooden framing cracked beneath the pressure. No wonder Lindy kept these things around. Comic Books, he thought, were the only place he would ever be remembered fondly.