Chapter Text
Flames.
John wakes up to flames curled around his bed frame. He startles, terrified, tumbling to the floor. It’s hot. So unbelievably hot. Not the sweet warmth of his mother’s arms or the jolly fireplace in the winter. Not the heat radiating from the Hoskins’ oven as they bake a fresh pie or the glorious summer sun. It tingles up his limbs as he sees his mother in the doorway, Katie in her arms as she rushes away.
A beam splits from the ceiling and blocks the exit.
Flames curl around John. Surrounding. Suffocating.
He wants his mother, but she left. He wishes Mike would come home soon. He wishes he’ll live to see Mike again.
Flames crackle, drowning out his cries.
It burns.
Far from the first time, John Walker awakes with sweat on his brow. He untwists himself from the sheets and stumbles to the connected bathroom of his scarcely decorated room. John flicks the shower onto the coldest setting. The chill stings his skin as freezing water trickles down his skin, but it’s better than the biting heat of a nightmare. At least the cold water manages to remind his body that no, he’s not in the burning home - the place he was supposed to be safe - his mother left him in, nor is he in any wartorn country watching his brothers and sisters in arms die, and by some miracle, he’s not standing over Lemar’s body after the man took a fatal blow meant for John.
No. John is actually in his bathroom in a half-renovated Avengers tower. He stands blankly under the cold spray of the shower, realizing now he is still in his t-shirt, boxer briefs, and socks. He cringes slightly at the feeling of wet fabric uncomfortably rubbing against his skin as he shifts his balance, coming to full consciousness.
He shuts the water off and quickly shucks his soaked clothes off to not get any excess water on the bathroom floor. After shaking his head to get any excess water out of his hair, he hangs the wet clothes over the shower curtain bar and moves to dry himself with a towel.
It's dark. For a moment, John can’t discern if he ever actually opened his eyes. Is it just the night, or is he still staring at the backs of his eyelids? The reflection of a small nightlight shining in his bedroom flickers in the mirror to prove the former. It is only dark out, John is shivering instead of burning up, and he cannot bear to look himself in the mirror any longer. Just a quick glance to fix his hair or trim his beard is more than enough these days. Even in the dim light, he knows the slope of his nose, his tired eyes and slight pudge. He knows the hideous blemishes along his skin, the burn scars up his left leg and the odd mark on his right arm from the serum injection.
He quickly turns back into his room - the walls are bare and the colors are bland. He rifles through his drawers to replace the soaking clothes abandoned in the bathroom. Freshly dressed, John glances at the dull blue glow of the clock on his bedside table.
3:47
Too close to the time he’d normally wake up to try to go back to sleep. Not that he wants to, anyway. Too risky when nightmares lurk around the corner, itching to crawl back into his subconscious. No thank you.
Instead, he decides to destroy his self-esteem further. He’s emotionally stunted, not oblivious. He knows he’s a self-fulfilling prophecy here. John sits on the edge of his bed and opens his phone. He’s honestly shocked that Valentina or Mel or whoever hasn't parent-locked his phone yet. He agreed to not post anything unsanctioned by the PR department, but that doesn’t stop him from doomscrolling. Post after post turns into articles and interviews dissecting his every move. The positives are far and few between. The new publicity from the whole ‘New Avengers’ deal isn’t helping.
John Walker Smashes Reputation
Deadbeat Captain, Deadbeat Dad: Walker’s Wrecked Home
Ex-Cap Joins Avengers Ripoff
New Avengers Lineup Includes Dimestore Captain America
That one was rough. Detailing exactly how he doesn’t belong amongst a team of redeemable antiheros. The public hasn’t exactly warmed up to them, but they’re beginning to see Yelena for her wonderful leadership and personability, Ava for her snark and charm, Alexei for his good-heartedness, and Bucky – well, Bucky’s always had fans. Val is keeping Bob under wraps for now. There are a couple articles John scrolls through questioning who the smiley man in a sweater frequently seen at stores near the tower is, but they’ve managed to keep him largely out of the public eye. John’s actually gone out of his way to shield Bob from cameras with his body on their few trips to the local market. He knows what the media can do to a man.
This article, however, asks what a screw-up like John is doing on a team of real heroes. That’s not exactly the wording, but he knows what they mean. He knows his failings are too great, his mistakes are unforgivable. The blood on his hands still burns. Flames. Lemar.
His alarm blares. 5:00. He ignores it.
John continues reading.
Walker is oddly out of place, even amongst the misfit roster. The former Captain America’s blatant anger issues and violent tendencies bring the credibility of this new team down and causes the public to wonder: what is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine’s real goal?
To not go to jail, for one.
He can’t help but agree with the article, as always. His presence had made The New Avengers a hard sell. John finds himself frequently wondering if things would be easier if he left the team, but he can’t. He knows he has an attitude around these people, but he’s always been a team player. A pack dog. He needs a squad to take care of and do his part for. The past few years flying solo had been hell. Olivia and baby Michael had helped, given him something to care for, until they hadn’t. Until the solitude of being a glorified secret ops missionary got to him and somehow, not even his own wife and child were enough. How sick is that? John Walker was too far gone, muddled in a pool of his own disgrace and depression, to give his family the love they deserved. He did love them - does love them, still. Of course he does, but it ran its course. They couldn’t stand him anymore and left, as most people do in Walker’s life, taking the last sizable chunk of his heart with them. Now there was nothing left.
So, he needs the Thunderbolts or New Avengers or whatever the hell they are. He might not be kind or friendly or likable, but he can be a shield. Hit heavy when he needs to. It's not easy when the rest of them get along with one another, banter lightly instead of pointedly, when the quips are funny and not tipping over the edge of hurtful. But he needs them, needs to be on this team, needs to serve a purpose. He truly can’t think of one thing he could do if this all went sideways without following a dark path of thought that results in staring at a wall for a moment too long with the switchblade he keeps in the bedside table suddenly clutched in his hand.
John doesn’t want to think like that right now. Actually, he’d rather not think much at all in between missions. He’s happy with the simpler life of being a soldier, coming home, going through the motions, and doing it all again. Maybe it's not living, but living isn’t a luxury John gets to indulge in. He’ll settle on survival.
His alarm buzzes again. 6:00. Shit, past the time he’d normally go on a run. How time cruelly flies.
Hauling himself to his feet, John begins the journey to the kitchen. Nobody’s there yet. He’s not the first one awake, judging by the empty coffee mug in the sink and the mostly full pot in the machine. The mug is fairly plain, white ceramic with a thin red stripe towards the rim - Bucky’s mug. Makes sense, he’s the only one who’d be up and drinking coffee this early. Yelena’s taken to sleeping in, Alexei only waits for someone else to brew the pot, Bob doesn’t drink coffee before eating first, and they haven’t found a form of coffee that Ava hasn’t spat out for being ‘too damn bitter!’
John takes his own mug from the cabinet, denim blue with baby blue stars, and pours a hearty serving to sip while he cooks. It slowly became an unspoken fact that John, despite his many other failings, had the most experience making a good, home-cooked meal. Therefore, when he felt like it, John would cook for the team. It’s a small thing, but it makes him feel useful when he’s able to cook up something for Ava’s tastes or for Bob to give a shy smile about. He begins on breakfast with bacon and the metric fuck-ton of eggs two assassins, three supersoldiers, and one Bob can manage to eat in one sitting.
Slowly, in his peripherals, the team joins one by one, slowly sipping drinks and plating food as it comes up. Yelena helps out by cutting up some fruit, leaving a bowl of raspberries by John’s side that he gratefully snacks on before he’s able to make his own plate.
The cool mornings are nice. One of John’s favorite times, where everyone is relaxed and sleep-rumpled, too tired to pick fights and all the more happy to simply chow down on french toast. He feels at peace, lets himself indulge in the feeling of belonging, knowing it will soon depart from him.
“Where’s Bucky?” Bob pipes up from the silence.
Yelena hums, “Maybe he’s out. Did he stay here last night?”
Bucky has a separate apartment they’re not supposed to know about, but when he disappears so often, there are only so many assumptions to be made.
“Yeah,” John adds, “At least, I think so. His mug was in the sink when I got up.”
“Found him.”
Ava points to the doorway where an exhausted-looking Bucky trudges in, carrying a thick stack of files. Said files thud onto the kitchen island, rattling the dishware in its vicinity.
“Who pissed in your mouth, eh?” John swears Alexei is just fucking with them at this point.
Yelena and Bob make twin grimaces, Ava puts her head in her hands, muttering about how early it is.
“Dude.” John sighs.
“I’m ignoring that.” Bucky takes the safe route, “I had a meeting this morning with Val. I’m sorry to announce that after breakfast, we have a mission. All hands on deck, retrieval mission.”
So much for the relaxing morning. A morning mission causes cranky agents; John dreads the complaints he’ll hear today.
Yelena groans, “All of us for a retrieval? This early?”
“That sucks.” Bob sympathizes.
“You’re coming, too.” Bucky grits out.
All attention snaps to him. The comfortable air is sucked out of the room. John feels his shirt begin to itch around his neck.
“It’s only been a few months. He’s barely trained!” Yelena exclaims, hand on Bob’s shoulder.
Bucky runs a hand down his face, “It’s not my choice. I argued with Val for over an hour on it. She thinks ‘exposure therapy’ will help him prepare for participating in missions.”
“I don’t wanna mess anything up!” Bob worriedly shakes his head. “I don’t mean that… self-depricatingly or anything, I promise. I just don’t want to get in anyone’s way, press the wrong button or something.”
“That’s why I got a compromise. You stay on the jet and observe comms, take some notes, I guess. Stay safe, stay stress-free, stay put.” Bucky pats the file in front of him.
Bob looks nervous, John sees the way his shoulders hunch slightly as he starts to pick at his fingernails. John refills Bob’s mug and pushes it into his fiddling hands. He ignores the warmth in his chest when Bob grins up at him before adding cream and sugar.
John clears his throat, “So are we allowed to know the retrieval or is this some secretive cover-up?”
“Both. Cleanup of one of Val’s old testing facilities got found out by some wannabe big-shot organization and we have to go clear the place out. There’s not another Bob, I checked - not that we don’t love you, Bob. Just making sure it’s only guys with guns stopping us from getting some hard drives and a couple boxes. It’s all in here.”
Bucky slides them each a file, instructing them to read, knowing they won’t, and leaves with a “Be ready in an hour.”
Great. John rolls his shoulders and opens the file. It first details the small operation of bad guys that need to be taken out: some HYDRA-copycat-esque group hoarding weapons and experimental shit to grow their strength. Nothing terribly out of the ordinary, they’ve fought a few similar groups before. Val’s been sending them on awfully minor missions, John almost finds it demeaning, but that would require putting aside his desperate need for structure, and he’s not really ready to talk about it, even to himself.
Each team member slides from their spot, placing dishware in the sink, Alexei, and disperses into the tower. John follows suit, continuing to skim the file. No big names, no big guns, as far as they can tell. The mission is genuinely simple. Split into two teams, stealth into the place, Team 1 finds a lab, Team 2 finds the office, grab a box of weird science-y crap and a handful of hard drives respectively, and get out. Punch people as needed, blow the place up as you go.
He tries to commit the floorplans to memory as he tugs his tattered suit on. He could’ve sworn Val promised them new gear, but here he is, slipping into worn material and busted boots. There’s a poorly-patched tear in his left glove and his shield is still halfway to a pierogi. He got a new logo and a new gun, which is nice, but not quite up to par. And there is no way he’s wearing that awful ‘dress for the press’ uniform Val forced on him with the shiny new belt buckle and boots where the soles aren’t threatening to fall off at every step. The material is far too stiff and not combat ready in the slightest. He’d feel like a fool even attempting to jump in that thing. John settles for the grime that never truly washes away on a bloodstained suit. It feels familiar, at least.
Pathing out the facility floor plan one last time, John clips his helmet to his belt and makes it to the jet. It’s nice they have a jet, he supposes. Better than being dropped off like a kid going to JV football practice and then having to walk home when it gets dark because some kid sister had dance practice and nobody told Johnny, so he has to walk home alone in the cold. Maybe he’s projecting a tad.
John adjusts his shoulder straps as he takes his seat on the jet around the small strategy table in the middle of the main fuselage. Yelena and Bucky are already there, revising the plan before takeoff. Alexei is, too, almost cartoonishly sitting with his hands over his stomach, smiling excitedly. Ava sluggishly treads in and to her seat to his left, she looks like she had a painful night. John begins to ask how she is before she glares at him, so he keeps his mouth shut. The lights on her suit glow softly. Regardless, when it comes to missions, he doesn’t like to fight until everyone’s home and safe. Until then, it's camaraderie.
Be nice, John.
Don’t step out of line, soldier.
“Walker, you and I will be Team One,” Yelena startles him from silence, “While Ava will be with Bucky and Alexei.”
“Yes! Red Guardian with the sneaky Ghost and Winter Soldier!”
Ava sighs at Alexei’s outburst, but John sees the corners of her mouth slightly turn up. He gets it, he’s looking forward to working with Yelena. Although she quickly tires of him, they work fairly symbiotically, an oddly good balance of brick wall and acrobat. Immovable object and unstoppable force working together instead of colliding. Or something.
“You ready, Bob?”
He isn’t sure who says it. Bob boards with a shrug and a nervous smile, black tactical gear encasing him. He looks just shy of heroic. And he sits on John’s other side. Taking a deep breath, John prepares to extend the olive branch. It’s not that he’s been mean to Bob, they’re just a little awkward around one another. John can’t help but feel exposed, Bob has seen the worst of him, and flinches when John raises his voice. It might not be on purpose, but it doesn’t dissolve any tensions. In attempts to bridge the gap, John leans forward in his seat to grab a tablet off the table, opening to the comms channels. He nudges Bob lightly with his elbow and tilts the screen towards him.
“We’re color-coded on the board… but they have our initials there, too.”
He points to the different buttons and sliders, explaining what he understands as Bob nods along. He gets lost in helping to the point where he doesn’t notice the jet taking off, swept up in showing Bob what channels to use and which ones he won’t have to worry about. It feels good to help out. Even Ava chimes in with input here and there. What she says is smarter than either of them truly understands, but she’s always been the most tech savvy.
Soon enough, conversation fades. Bob fiddles with the tablet, and Ava does some small joint stretches.
John lets the dull hum of the engines wash over him. Waiting and waiting. It’s warm. He has to prepare. He runs the route over and over in his head. Play by play.
Go in, get the thing, get out.
Go in, get the thing, get out, stop anyone who tries to stop you.
Go in, get the thing, get out, stop anyone who tries to stop you. Make sure Yelena doesn’t get hurt. Any means necessary. No teammate left behind, unless it’s you. Shield them.
Get the box. Get everyone else home safe.
Follow the damn orders, Walker.
Before he knows it, they’ve touched down in a Missouri forest and it’s time to get to work.