Chapter Text
Roughly an Hour After Val’s Press Statement
(Not that the world had put two and two together yet. The Thunderbolts—or whatever they’d end up being called—were still under the radar. For now.)
Inside Alexei’s battered limousine, somewhere in Manhattan
The whole car still smelled like ozone and blood. Soot clung to their uniforms, mixing with sweat and dried Void residue. None of them had said it outright, but the fight with Sentry had nearly leveled them.
John Walker sat stiff in the back seat, bleeding heavily from his shoulder. His once-pristine Captain America suit was now torn, stained, and clinging to him like a second skin. He kept glancing at the clock on the dashboard, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.
“I’m late,” he muttered again, for maybe the sixth time.
“Late for what?” Bucky asked from the passenger seat, giving John a quick glance over his shoulder. “Funeral? Hospital? A mirror?”
John didn’t respond. Just snapped, “Alexei, pull over. I need clothes.”
“Clothes?” Ava echoed. “John, you’re—”
“Pull over!”
Minutes later, he came stomping out of a sketchy discount store looking like he’d lost a bet and possibly his mind. His shoulder was now poorly bandaged with gauze, a pad, and what suspiciously looked like duct tape. As for the shirt- he was wearing a sleeveless, glittery tank top that read: Girls Just Wanna Have Fundamental Human Rights in bold rhinestone lettering.
From the waist down, he was still all tactical- combat pants, reinforced boots, and utility gear. The contrast was alarming.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“It was the only thing in my size,” John said gruffly, sliding into the backseat and slamming the door.
Back on the road, Bob- who looked shell-shocked in the middle seat- finally started speaking. “So… what happened? Like, when I was the Void? I remember flashes, but- ” he trailed off, eyes wide and glassy.
No one answered right away. The silence was thick.
“Drive,” John barked at Alexei. “Fast as you can. But don’t break any American laws.”
Alexei gave a grunt of acknowledgement and immediately ran a yellow light with the confidence of a man who believed most traffic rules were optional.
Bob started fidgeting, breathing faster. His fingers twitched like they were searching for something- something grounding. Yelena, sitting beside him, caught on fast. Without a word, she reached into one of her endless hidden pockets and pulled out a fistful of multicolored hair ties.
“You used to do your mom’s hair, right?” she asked.
Bob nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“Then here.” She tilted her head toward him. “Start with mine.”
It worked like a charm. Bob’s focus snapped into place as he parted and braided Yelena’s hair with surprising precision. Then Ava’s. Then Bucky’s, who submitted to a loose half-up ponytail with a resigned sigh. And finally, John-who ended up with at least eight tiny ponytails sticking out of his head in uneven directions. It looked ridiculous. He looked ridiculous. But he didn’t fight it.
By the time they pulled up to the courthouse, the car felt calm again.
None of them knew where they were going until John burst through the courthouse doors and made a beeline for the family court wing.
“Wait- this is a custody hearing?” Ava whispered.
John didn’t answer.
They followed him through the metal detectors and up the stairs, looking like a post-apocalyptic garage band. When they entered the courtroom, the scene screeched to a halt. Every head turned.
There he stood- John Walker, former Captain America- still bruised, still bleeding, hair done up like a Pinterest board for chaotic toddlers, and wearing a glitter tank top in a room full of suits.
His ex-wife Olivia looked unimpressed. Her lawyer, on the other hand, looked like they wanted to throw a file folder through a window.
“Mr. Walker,” they began carefully, “can you explain your… appearance?”
John glanced down at himself, then shrugged like this was all perfectly logical. “The only thing that could calm Bob down after the fight was doing our hair. And, uh, my other shirt was dirty.”
He gestured behind him toward the row of mismatched figures seated together. The judge followed his gaze, eyes settling on the team, who waved enthusiastically.
“And who is Bob?” the judge asked.
“I’m Bob!” he said brightly, speaking completely out of turn.
Instead of reprimanding him, the judge just softened, offering a quiet, “Hello, Bob.”
Then came the call for character witnesses.
Yelena went first. Sharp, unblinking. “He’s loud. He’s reckless. But he never ran- not even when everyone else would have. He’s trying. That counts.”
Alexei stepped up next, planting his huge hands on either side of the stand like he was about to deliver a Soviet war speech. “He bled for New York today. Bleeds for it often. Not perfect. But who is?”
Ava kept it short. “He could’ve left us. He didn’t. Not once.”
Bucky gave the judge a long look, then said quietly, “I’ve fought beside a lot of people. Some of them legends. John’s not a legend. But he shows up. Even when it’s hard. Even when no one would blame him for disappearing.”
Then Bob approached the stand, visibly nervous but beaming. He looked at John like a hero. “When I turned into the Void… I did terrible things. John didn’t treat me like a monster. He didn’t give up on me. That mattered. That saved me.”
Silence followed. Not awkward. Just heavy. The kind of quiet that meant people were listening.
The judge nodded slowly, expression unreadable.
It wasn’t a yes. Not yet. But it wasn’t a no either.
Outside, under a pale spring sun, the group stood in a loose circle. John exhaled for what felt like the first time all day.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
Yelena smirked, twirling one of her braids. “You still owe me lunch. And maybe a new teammate who doesn’t bleed on me.”
Bucky chuckled. “And a new shirt. That one’s traumatized.”
Bob smiled at John, proud and bright-eyed. “We should do cornrows next time.”
John looked around at the group- his team, his circus, his chaos. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.
***
One Month Later
The Tower (Now… questionably baby-proofed)
If anyone had asked a month ago whether the Thunderbolts Tower—formerly a Stark backup facility, then a SHIELD drop site, then briefly occupied by raccoons—would be baby-proofed, the answer would've been a firm no. And yet, here they were.
Every corner now had foam bumpers. Outlets were covered. Breakables had disappeared. Someone (probably Yelena) had stuck googly eyes on every low cabinet just to see if the baby would notice. The elevator door even had a cheerful magnet that read “LITTLE FEET ON BOARD.”
The team knew John had a real shot at getting shared custody. They’d all testified, cleaned up the aftermath, and kept their public appearances mild while the press moved on to newer disasters. But no one had heard a single word about how it went.
Which is why the room froze when the elevator dinged.
Bucky was the first to look up from the couch, where he’d been assembling something that looked suspiciously like a baby gate with a combat knife. “That… better not be another delivery of those weird non-GMO freeze-dried baby snacks.”
Yelena stood in the kitchen, holding a bottle of baby-safe surface cleaner like a weapon. “If it's another box of those organic diapers, I swear I will—”
The doors slid open.
John stood there.
And next to him- strapped into one of those chest carriers that made him look hilariously like a tactical kangaroo- was a small, wide-eyed baby with a tuft of dark curly hair and the kind of expression that said I’ve seen things.
John looked around the room and grinned.
“Surprise.”
For a second, no one moved.
Then Bob gasped audibly. “You got him! You didn’t say anything! Oh my god—he’s so small! What’s his name again?!”
“Caleb,” John said, voice quieter now. He shifted his stance slightly, automatically bouncing the kid a bit. Caleb blinked slowly, unimpressed but calm. “Caleb James Walker. He's here for the week. My week.”
Alexei was the next to speak. “You brought child here? Here here?”
John shrugged. “You guys helped baby-proof it. Might as well use it.”
Yelena had already made her way over and was peering closely at Caleb like she was trying to determine if he was actually real. “He looks like you. But cuter. Less angry in the eyebrows.”
“Thanks,” John said dryly.
Bob rushed over with zero hesitation. “Hi Caleb! I’m Bob! I braided your dad’s hair that one time, you don’t know me yet but we’re gonna be great friends.”
Caleb sneezed in response.
Ava leaned on the wall with her arms crossed but there was a faint smile pulling at her mouth. “Can he survive in this team environment?”
“I mean…” John gestured around at the literal baby-proofed war tower. “We’ve got rubber corners on the coffee table. I think that counts as progress.”
Bucky gave him a long, unreadable look. Then he got up, crossed the room, and clapped John once on the shoulder- carefully avoiding the baby carrier.
“You did good, man,” he said, almost too quietly.
John nodded, throat tight. “Thanks.”
“You still look ridiculous in that carrier though.”
“Yeah,” John agreed, adjusting one of the straps. “But it was the only one that fit.”
That got a laugh from the room.
Before long, Yelena had disappeared into the kitchen and returned with an apple slice for Caleb. Ava put on some low-volume music that didn’t sound like war drums for once. Bob pulled out a bag of baby toys that no one could figure out when he’d bought.
John stood there for a moment, taking it all in- his messed-up team, his miracle of a kid, and the surreal peace that had settled into the room.
He exhaled slowly and whispered to Caleb:
“Welcome to the weirdest family you’ll ever have, buddy.”
Caleb cooed, which John decided to take as agreement.
***
It had been four days since John brought Caleb to the Tower, and honestly? Things were going… weirdly okay.
There were routines now. Bucky made oatmeal every morning and always added too much cinnamon. Ava had developed an eerie talent for getting Caleb to nap by playing lo-fi and pacing slowly while reading mission reports aloud. Alexei insisted on baby-proofing more things each day like they were prepping for a miniature apocalypse. And Yelena? She’d become the self-appointed Guardian of Snacks.
And Bob… Bob was just always there. Talking softly to Caleb, letting him “help” comb through his hair, showing him how to stack foam blocks and then acting shocked every time Caleb knocked them down like it was the first time it had ever happened in history.
John hadn’t said it out loud, but something about this felt… stable. Like he could finally breathe, just a little.
They were all sitting in the common area that afternoon, half-lounging after a low-stakes recon run. Caleb was on the floor, plopped in a mess of pillows and oversized stuffed animals, chewing furiously on a rubber giraffe like it owed him money. Bob sat cross-legged in front of him, making exaggerated faces and doing this strange little puppet voice that somehow worked.
“Sir Giraffington does not approve of your chewing habits, young knight!”
Caleb let out a messy laugh, the kind that was half-giggle and half-sneeze. He slapped the giraffe against Bob’s knee.
Everyone in the room chuckled. It was peaceful. Domestic. Completely unrecognizable from their normal chaos.
And then Caleb paused.
He blinked. Drooled a little. Wobbled forward on all fours.
Then-
“Bob.”
Silence.
Like, instant silence. You could’ve heard a pin drop or a tactical knife fall, whichever came first.
John froze mid-sip of his coffee, eyes wide. Yelena actually dropped her protein bar. Alexei muttered something in Russian that translated roughly to what in the glowing Soviet hell.
Bob looked up, stunned. “Did he… did he just say-”
Caleb, now grinning, patted Bob’s arm.
“Bob!”
Squeaky. Unmistakable. Enthusiastic. Bob.
And then he laughed again, loud and delighted with himself like he knew he’d just changed the entire atmosphere of the tower.
John stared, jaw slack. “His first word was Bob?”
Yelena was already recording with her phone. “Oh my god. This is the best day of my life.”
“I AM HONORED!” Alexei bellowed, clapping Bob on the back so hard it almost sent both of them flying. “Little Caleb knows true hero!”
Ava covered her mouth, trying not to laugh out loud. “No offense, John, but I kinda thought it was gonna be ‘juice’ or ‘boom.’ Not… you know. Bob.”
John set his mug down slowly. “I mean. I carried him in my body armor. I’ve been singing lullabies. I’ve taken three baby CPR classes. And his first word is Bob?”
Bob, for his part, was glowing. Like a puppy who just got knighted. He leaned toward Caleb and whispered, “You’re my favorite human now. Sorry, John.”
Caleb squealed. “Bob!”
John buried his face in his hands. “Unbelievable.”
But beneath the grumbling and the mock betrayal, he smiled. Because it was kind of perfect.
His son’s first word was spoken in a room full of weirdos, soldiers, former assassins, and one emotionally complex clone of cosmic energy.
And somehow, “Bob” made complete sense.
***
The tower was quiet.
Which, for once, was not comforting.
Caleb had just gone down for his nap- face mashed into a stuffed bear roughly the size of his entire body, one tiny hand still loosely clinging to a half-chewed teething ring.
(I know this isn’t following crib safety)
John stood on the balcony, phone in hand, running a thumb along the edge of the case like he could stall for time.
He'd tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. Kids say all kinds of things, right? Nonsense syllables, baby babble, maybe it was just coincidence.
Except Caleb had now said “Bob” at least seventeen times. With intent. With glee.
And Olivia was going to want to know.
So, with the same kind of energy he reserved for walking into landmines and Congressional hearings, John dialed.
“Hey,” Olivia answered, cautious but civil. That was their default now- cautious civility with little mines buried beneath it. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s good. Great, actually. Eating, sleeping, terrorizing the giraffe like a tiny warlord.”
He could practically hear her smiling. “Glad he’s settling in.”
A pause.
“John… is something wrong?”
He exhaled through his nose. “No. I mean- yes. No. Not wrong. Just… something happened. With Caleb.”
“What happened?”
John turned and looked back through the glass doors toward the sleeping baby, who was now drooling openly into his bear’s ear. “He said his first word.”
There was a beat of silence, then a soft intake of breath. “He- he did? Really?”
John nodded even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”
“Oh my god,” Olivia whispered. “What did he say? Was it… Mama?”
John cringed. “Um. No.”
She hesitated. “...Dada?”
Another wince. “Not… exactly.”
A long pause.
“John,” she said, voice narrowing like a blade. “What was it?”
John stared into the horizon like it might offer him mercy. “It was… Bob.”
Silence.
He pressed forward before she could react. “Look, I know. I know. But he spends a lot of time with the team, and Bob’s like- he’s got this face kids just trust. He does puppet voices and hair braiding and he gave Caleb a block tower that makes sounds when you knock it down. He’s basically a one-man babysitting service with trauma.”
“His first word was Bob?” Olivia said again, disbelief now evolving into something a little bit dangerous. “Not Mom. Not Dad. Bob? Who is Bob?”
“Uh… genetically altered clone of the Sentry with some Void-adjacent memory loss, but he’s got a real soft spot for snack time and toddlers. Also, he smells like lavender most days.”
A long, long sigh came through the speaker. “I swear to God, John.”
John ran a hand over his face. “Look, I didn’t plan this. I’ve been reading those flashcard books with him. The ones you gave me! I pointed at apples and dogs and said ‘Dada’ like fifty times a day and all I get is Bob.”
There was a pause, and then- laughter.
Olivia was laughing. Not cruelly. Just… exhausted. Warm. Familiar.
“Of course our son’s first word would be the name of some off-brand superhero sidekick you live with,” she said, still chuckling. “He probably thinks he’s in a sitcom.”
John grinned despite himself. “I think he is in a sitcom.”
“Okay,” she said, sighing again. “Okay. I mean… it’s kinda sweet, I guess. Weird. But sweet. You’re keeping him safe, right?”
“Yeah,” he said immediately, serious now. “Safe. Happy. Loved. And extremely opinionated about which songs play during snack time.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Alright,” Olivia said, her voice softer now. “Tell Bob he’s officially famous.”
“I’ll let him know,” John said. “He’ll probably cry.”
“Good. He deserves it.”
They ended the call not as friends, not exactly, but something close enough. Peaceful. Neutral.
When John turned to reenter the common room, he was met with a wall of faces pressed dramatically against the glass door- Yelena, Ava, Bucky, and Bob front and center, beaming.
“She laughed, didn’t she?” Bob asked, eyes wide with hope.
John didn’t answer. Just muttered “Traitor,” under his breath and walked back inside.
From the nursery, a sleepy little voice murmured:
“Bob…”
John groaned.
The others laughed.
And outside, the sky stayed bright a little longer than usual.