#cod david walker

KICK-

Kick freezes so hard it’s like someone unplugged his brain.

He blinks once

twice

three times

…and then laughs because SURELY you’re joking.

“Ha. Haha. Very funny. You almost got me. A baby? With me? A whole baby-baby? With little socks and a squishy face and-”

You stare at him, dead serious.

His whole expression changes like Windows 98 switching screens. His eyebrows drop. His mouth shuts. His posture straightens an inch.

“Oh. Oh you’re serious.”

You nod.

He inhales like he’s leveling up in real time.

Chest expands. Eyes narrow. Brain cells assemble.

Kick. Locks. In.

His voice drops an octave.

“Okay. Let’s talk about timing. Vitamins. Nursery colors. I can build a crib. No, wait, TWO cribs. Just in case.”

He’s so dead-focused it’s actually kind of hot.

Until he suddenly blurts-

“But also- I can make dad jokes during labor, right? I have a few and I wanna see if they land.”

---

LOGAN-

You tell him soft, maybe while you two are curled up on the couch.

He instantly goes tomato red.

Like red-red.

Like full sunburn.

His lips part like he’s trying to speak but forgot English altogether.

“I… a baby? With me?”

His voice cracks.

You nod again.

He looks down, shy smile creeping in, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s grounding himself before he floats away.

“I’d… like that too.”

And it’s so quiet, so earnest, you swear you just discovered his final heart-melting form.

He pulls you close, hides his face in your neck because he’s too overwhelmed but he’s smiling like crazy.

---

HESH

You say the words:

“I want to have a baby with you.”

And without hesitation, zero pause, zero thought-

Hesh stands up so fast the chair FALLS OVER.

“GET NAKED!”

He’s already taking his shirt off.

He is dead serious.

Mission accepted.

Operation: Breeding Commence.

You tell him you didn’t mean right this second.

“Yes we do,” he says, already undoing his belt.

“My dad says strike while the iron is hot.”

“Dont bring your dad into this!!”

He does not care.

---

KEEGAN

You open your mouth.

You take a breath.

“Keeg-”

He’s already naked.

Already hard.

Already breathing like he’s preparing for a military op.

“You want a baby,” he says flatly.

Not a question. A statement.

You blink.

“Yes but I didn’t even-”

“I can tell what you were gonna ask me. My pants fell off automatically.”

He steps forward like this is instinct coded into his DNA.

“We start now.”

No hesitation.

No confusion.

Just hungry polar bear in the arctic

---

MERRICK

You tell him gently.

He takes a long breath. Nods once. Serious face engaged.

“Well, alright. We’ll need to examine finances, redistribution of responsibilities, reassess risk levels, consider maternity leave structures, cost of childcare, future college savings, possibly adjust the insurance plan-”

He’s pacing.

He’s in full dad-planning mode.

He’s got spreadsheets open in his mind.

You walk behind him and kiss his neck.

He falters midsentence.

“…and… um… projected housing stability… in… uh… current-”

Another kiss.

His voice drops.

“-current fiscal… projections…”

Another kiss, slower.

He grips the table like that’s the last lifeline he has.

“…you’re doing that on purpose.”

You kiss his jaw.

He loses.

“Never mind the finances. Bedroom. Now.”

AJAX-

You tell him softly.

“Alex… I want to have a baby with you.”

Ajax goes silent for a full two seconds, which is actually just his brain rebooting because this man was NOT ready to hear the love of his life say something that serious and that beautiful.

Then he lights up.

Like full sunshine.

Like a golden retriever that just got promoted.

“Wait… for real? With ME?”

You nod.

And he explodes.

“OH SHIT! oh shit okay-hold on-”

He’s already pulling out his phone.

“Who are you calling?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I need to tell Keegan.”

You stare at him.

“Yeah, please tell your other wife.”

He snorts, actually SNORTS, laughing as he hits the call button.

The phone rings.

Keegan answers with his usual emotionally constipated grunt of “Yeah?”

Ajax is practically vibrating.

“BRO guess what? I’m having a BABY.”

There’s a pause.

“…with who?” Keegan asks, even though he KNOWS.

Ajax rolls his eyes.

“With Y/N, dumbass.”

Keegan: “Okay. Good. Congratulations.”

Ajax covers the speaker and whispers to you, giddy:

“He’s smiling. He’s pretending he’s not but he totally is.”

You whisper back:

“You two sound like you’re about to pick wedding colors.”

Ajax swats you with a grin and goes back to the phone.

“Bro you’re gonna be the godfather.”

“I already assumed,” Keegan responds.

They’re both laughing now.

You’ve lost them completely.

You may as well leave them alone to plan the baby shower.

Ajax finally hangs up, presses his forehead to yours, still grinning like a man who just won the emotional lottery.

“Baby… we’re gonna be parents.”

For those who don't know

Dmitry Bale

Sobieslaw Kościuszko (or Gromsko)

Sebastian Krueger

David Walker (or Hesh)

Gary Sanderson (or Roach)

"born to be a square!🟩☑️😁🔥"

"forced to be a circle🔴⭕😔💔" thing going on

I love him so much omg

Hesh comforting his s/o during that time of month? Or Keegan. I like the older ones.

Oh lawd. I got PCOS trust me I feel ya. Bust out that heating pad and chill.

I wrote both boys because theyre so cute! With a bonus at the end.

HESH

You curl deeper into the couch, blanket caught under your chin, hot water bottle losing its warmth. Every cramp feels like your organs are trying to stage a coup.

Hesh notices before you even say a word.

He picks up on the way your face pinches. The way you hunch. The way you move like your body’s battery is at 6 percent.

“Hey,” he murmurs, soft in that way he only ever is with you. “Here I come.”

You don’t even have to move, he’s already sitting beside you, pulling your legs over his lap, adjusting the blanket until you’re swaddled just right. His hands are big and warm, rubbing lazy circles on your shins.

“You want meds? Tea? Chocolate? An exorcism?”

You snort. It hurts. You glare.

“Alright, alright, scratch the exorcism,” he grins. “You want the heating pad or my hand?”

He puts his hand on your lower belly anyway, warm and steady. He massages gently, not too deep, not too light. Just enough pressure to make the cramps ease a notch.

When another cramp hits hard, your eyes squeeze shut.

Hesh is there immediately.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, leaning close. “It's ok”

You match his breathing without thinking. He keeps rubbing until the pain loosens its grip.

Then he presses a kiss to your temple.

“You’re doing good,” he murmurs. “You just focus on relaxing and I’ll handle the rest.”

And he does.

He brings you your favorite snacks. He sits through whatever show you put on, even the ones he swears rot his brain. He wraps his arm around you so your back is against his chest and the weight of him grounds you.

“Love you,” he whispers into your shoulder.

“take a nap babe,” he whispers. “I got you.”

And you do wrapped in blankets, wrapped in his arms, wrapped in the quiet, steady love of a man who pretends he’s stoic but glows the second you tell him he’s doing right by you

-----

KEEGAN

Keegan knows something’s wrong the second he hears the way you groan. That low, miserable, defeated sound.

He finds you in the kitchen, hands braced on the counter, forehead lowered. Breathing through a cramp.

He doesn’t say much at first.

Just walks up behind you, places a steady palm on your hip.

“Hurts?”

You nod.

He exhales softly. “Okay. Come on. Let’s get you lying down before you bite someone… like me.”

You snort, barely. It still hurts. He hears it anyway.

He guides you by the small of your back, slow, careful, treating you like you’re breakable even though he’s watched you carry groceries like a war god. Once you’re in bed, he rolls up his sleeves like he’s preparing for surgery.

He warms a heating pad. Brings water. Sets the painkillers down with the precision of bomb disposal.

Then he sits on the edge of the bed and gently pulls your legs into his lap.

His jaw flexes, not at you, but at the cramp twisting your insides.

“Think your uterus has a personal vendetta,” he mutters. “Honestly? Pretty rude.”

You groan. “Not helping.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” he says, deadpan as ever. “Just talking shit to the enemy.”

Another cramp hits and your breath stutters. Keegan instantly slips a hand to your leg.

“Hey. I got ’cha,” he murmurs.

You move closer to him, tucking your head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady, solid.

“You don’t have to tough it out,” he mutters into your hair. “It’s okay to hurt.”

You grumble something into his shirt.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies. “If I could beat up your period, I would. I’ve fought worse. I think.”

He pauses. Then, very quietly:

“…actually no, this one might win.”

You huff a laugh despite the pain.

He tucks you under the blankets, climbs in behind you, and fits his chest to your back like it’s where he’s meant to live.

At some point he presses his face to your shoulder.

“Wish I could take it from you.”

Your fingers squeeze his.

He kisses the back of your neck. “I’ll settle for holding you through it. And insulting your organs until they behave.”

You mumble, “That’s not how biology works.”

He pulls you a little tighter, breath warm against your skin.

“Then I’ll just keep doing what does work.”

And he stays, quiet, solid, warm, rubbing gentle circles into your belly every time your body clenches, making dry little comments just to hear you snort soft laughter between the waves of pain.

Your old man. Your sarcastic, tender painkiller.

Your Keegsy.

------

Bonus:

KICK

I am so sorry! I was putting together a story of Hesh's emotional aftermath.

The roar of the extraction choppers usually sounded like salvation, but to David, it sounded like a funeral dirge. The downdraft from the rotors whipped the sand into a blinding frenzy, stinging his eyes, but he didn't blink. He couldn't. If he closed his eyes, the image of Logan’s fingers trailing through the dirt would be scorched into his eyelids forever.

"Hesh! Talk to me, kid!"

Merrick was the first one to hit the sand, his boots heavy and rhythmic as he sprinted toward the treeline.

He skidded to a stop, his shadow falling over David’s crumpled form. He looked around wildly, his rifle raised, scanning the dense green wall of the jungle for the younger Walker.

"Where’s Logan? Hesh, where is he?"

David didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was a mess of salt and raw grief. He just kept clawing at the dirt, his broken nails digging into the shallow ruts where Logan had fought to stay.

Merrick knelt, grabbing David by the shoulder to roll him over. "David, look at me! Where is your brother?"

The touch snapped something inside him. David didn’t see a comrade; he saw the world that had failed to protect the only person he had left. He swung a weak, clumsy fist, catching Merrick in the side of the head. It lacked power, but it was fueled by a jagged, hysterical fury.

"Get off me!" David shrieked, the sound tearing out of his chest like a physical wound. "Don't touch me! Go get him! He’s right there! He’s right there!"

He tried to lunge toward the trees, his body spasming in a grotesque crawl. He was lashing out at everything, Merrick’s hands, the medics rushing over with a stretcher, the very air itself. He kicked his good leg, spraying sand, snapping his teeth like a cornered animal when a medic tried to pin his shoulders down.

"Easy, Hesh! Easy! You’re into shock!" the medic shouted, reaching for a sedative.

"He’s not dead!" David screamed, his voice cracking into a high, thin wail that made Merrick flinch. "Rorke has him! He took him! You let him take him! Why weren't you here? Where were you?!"

David’s fingers curled into the front of Merrick’s vest, bunching the fabric, pulling the older man down into his orbit of agony. His eyes were bloodshot and wild, darting toward the dark treeline and back to Merrick’s face.

"He broke his arm, Thomas," David whispered, the anger suddenly collapsing into a fragile, terrifying whimpering. "I heard it break. I heard him scream for me and I just... I just watched. I watched him go."

"Medics, now!" Merrick barked, his own voice thick with a rare, trembling edge. He looked at the jungle, then back at the broken boy in the sand. He realized with a sickening hollow in his gut that the ruts in the sand weren't just tracks; they were the last moments of the Walker bloodline being torn apart.

"Let me go!" David started up again, his struggle becoming more frantic as the sedative began to prick his skin. He thrashed against the straps of the stretcher, his eyes fixed on the green abyss where Logan had vanished. "Logan! LOGAN!"

The scream was cut short as the drugs hit his system, his head lolling back against the nylon. But even as his eyes drifted shut, his fingers remained hooked like talons, clutching a handful of the sand where his brother had last been whole.

Merrick stood up, his face as hard as stone, staring into the trees as the choppers began to lift. He knew Rorke. He knew what was coming for the boy in the jungle. And he knew that the man currently unconscious on the stretcher would never truly wake up from this beach.

The door to the medical bay hissed open, a sound that usually signaled the arrival of a nurse with another round of dulling sedatives. But the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots on the linoleum told David exactly who it was. He didn't move. He stayed curled on his side, his gaze fixed on a microscopic scratch on the bedside rail.

Merrick didn’t say anything at first. He pulled over a metal stool, the screech of it against the floor sounding like a serrated blade. He sat down, his large frame hunched, his gloved hands resting on his knees. The silence between them wasn't the comfortable quiet of two soldiers who had survived a war; it was a vast, yawning canyon filled with the things they both knew but couldn't fix.

"The doc says your lungs are clearing up," Merrick said, his voice unusually low, stripped of its usual command-deck authority. "A few more days, and they’ll move you to a recovery ward."

David’s jaw tightened. "Get out."

Merrick didn’t flinch. He didn’t even sigh. He just sat there, a steady, unwanted presence. "Hesh. You need to eat something."

At the sound of his nickname, David snapped. He bolted upright, his ribs firing a warning shot of agony that made his vision swim, but he pushed through it. He shoved the tray of untouched food off the bedside table. The plastic bowl of broth shattered, splashing against Merrick’s boots.

"I said get out!" David’s voice was a jagged glass edge. "What are you even doing here, Merrick? Coming to check on the survivor? Coming to tell me we did a good job?"

Merrick looked down at the mess on his boots, then back up at David. There was no anger in his eyes, only a weary, hollow understanding that infuriated David even more.

"I’m here because I’m not leaving you alone," Merrick said quietly.

"I am alone!" David roared, his good hand fisted in the thin hospital sheets. "My dad is dead. My brother is... he’s in the dark, Merrick! He’s with that monster because you weren't fast enough! Because I wasn't strong enough!" He choked on the last word, his chest heaving. "There’s no 'us' anymore. There’s no Ghost team. It’s just me. And I’ve got nothing left to say to you."

He wanted Merrick to yell back. He wanted a fight, a reason to vent the poisonous grief that was rotting him from the inside out. He wanted Merrick to tell him he was being out of line, to act like a commander.

But Merrick just looked at him. He saw the way David’s hand was shaking. He saw the hollowed-out look in the kid’s eyes, the look of a boy who had watched his entire world get dragged into the trees. Merrick remembered Elias. He remembered a younger, greener Rorke. He knew that some holes were too deep to be filled with platitudes or military honors.

"You're right," Merrick said, his voice thick. "I wasn't fast enough. And there isn't a single thing I can say that's going to make that beach go away."

He stood up slowly, the metal stool scraping again. He didn't offer a hand or a pat on the shoulder; he knew David would probably try to bite it off. He reached into his pocket and placed something on the edge of the bed. It was a small, blackened piece of fabric, a charred Ghost patch from the wreckage.

"I can't fix it, David. I won't even try," Merrick said, turning toward the door. "But when you're ready to go get him back... I'll be waiting by the birds."

The door hissed shut behind him.

If you ask why elias didnt wake up at the sounds.... hes on Zolpidem for the horrors.

The house is quiet in that deep, middle of the night way where every little sound feels louder than it should.

Logan Walker is twelve and awake for the most important reason possible.

Water.

He pads down the hallway barefoot, hair a mess, half asleep and squinting at the faint glow from the kitchen clock.

The floorboards creak.

He doesn’t bother being quiet. Everyone’s asleep.

He grabs a glass from the cabinet, fills it from the sink, and takes a long drink.

That’s when he hears it.

A dull thump.

Followed by the quiet scrape of something against tile.

Logan freezes.

The sound came from the bathroom.

He lowers the glass slowly.

Another noise.

A quiet grunt.

Logan tilts his head.

Then he grins.

Because there is exactly one person stupid enough to make that sound in the middle of the night.

He creeps down the short hall toward the bathroom and pushes the door open.

And there, framed in the tiny window above the toilet, is fourteen year old David Walker.

Half inside the house.

Half outside.

His arms are planted on the tile counter.

His torso is in the room.

But his legs are still dangling out the window into the dark backyard.

They lock eyes.

David freezes like a raccoon caught in a flashlight beam.

Logan leans against the doorframe, smiling slowly.

“Well.”

David exhales.

“Logan.”

“David.”

They stare at each other.

Logan takes another sip of water like he’s watching television.

“You’re stuck.”

“I’m not stuck.”

“You’re very stuck.”

David tries to shift.

His sneaker knocks the outside siding with a hollow thunk.

“…Okay maybe a little stuck.”

Logan sets the glass on the counter.

“Oh man.”

“What.”

“Oh man.”

“What!!”

“You snuck out.”

David groans quietly.

“Logan-”

“You snuck out.”

“Yes.”

Logan crosses his arms, absolutely delighted.

“Oh this is good.”

David struggles forward another inch and finally manages to drag one leg inside.

“Please don’t wake Dad.”

Logan crouches and grabs the back of David’s hoodie.

“Hold still.”

“I’m holding still.”

“You’re wiggling.”

“I’m not wiggling.”

“You’re definitely wiggling.”

Logan gives a solid tug and David tumbles fully into the bathroom, landing with a soft thud against the tile.

They both freeze.

Listening.

Silence.

No footsteps.

No angry dad.

David exhales.

“Okay.”

Logan crouches beside him, inspecting.

“You’re covered in dirt.”

David looks down.

Yeah.

His jeans are dusty. His sneakers have grass stuck to them.

His hands are smudged.

Logan’s grin gets wider.

“Oh you’re in trouble.”

“No I’m not.”

“Oh you absolutely are.”

David points a finger at him. “You’re not saying anything.”

Logan stands slowly.

“I might.”

“You’re not.”

“I might.”

“Logan.”

“David.”

They stare at each other again.

Then Logan’s eyes drift to David’s neck.

He squints.

“…What’s that.”

David goes still.

“What.”

“That.”

Logan steps closer.

Leans in.

And then he bursts into silent laughter.

“Oh my god.”

David clamps a hand over his neck instantly.

“Shut up.”

“That’s a hickey.”

“It is not.”

“It absolutely is.”

“It’s a mosquito bite.”

Logan laughs harder.

“A mosquito with lips?”

“Logan!”

Logan wipes tears from his eyes.

“Oh my god. Dad is going to kill you.”

“PLEASE don’t tell him.”

“Dad’s going to bury you in the yard.”

“Logan!”

David grabs his shoulders.

“Please. Please please please don’t tell him.”

Logan looks very serious suddenly.

“Hmm.”

“Logan.”

“This is serious information.”

David groans.

“You’re the worst.”

“I know.”

Logan gestures to the dirt.

“You’ve got evidence everywhere.”

“I’ll clean it.”

“You climbed through a window.”

“I know.”

“You have a hickey.”

“I KNOW.”

Logan leans against the sink, enjoying this way too much.

“So here’s the deal.”

David narrows his eyes.

“Oh god.”

Logan raises a finger.

“One.”

“No.”

“One.”

“Logan.”

“You take me to the skate park whenever I ask.”

“…Fine.”

“Two.”

“No.”

“Two.”

“What.”

“You do my chores for two weeks.”

David stares at him.

“Two weeks??”

Logan shrugs.

“It’s a serious crime.”

David sighs.

“Fine.”

“And three.”

“There’s a three?”

“Oh yeah.”

Logan points at his neck.

“You tell me everything.”

David goes red.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not discussing that with my twelve year old brother.”

Logan turns toward the hallway.

“Daaaad-”

“WAIT.”

David grabs his arm.

“…Fine.”

Logan grins like a villain.

“What’s her name.”

David sighs like his soul is leaving his body.

“Emily.”

“Oooo.”

“Shut up.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you snuck out?”

“Yes.”

Logan nods thoughtfully.

“…Worth it?”

David hesitates.

Then smirks slightly.

“…Yeah.”

Logan grins.

“Nice.”

They stand there a second.

Then Logan grabs a towel and tosses it at him.

“Clean up, Romeo.”

David wipes the dirt off his hands.

“You’re evil.”

“I’m resourceful.”

David heads toward the stairs.

Halfway up he pauses.

“Logan?”

“Yeah.”

“…Thanks for helping me in the window.”

Logan shrugs.

“Next time use the door.”

David snorts.

Then quietly disappears upstairs.

Logan waits a second.

Then he whispers to himself with a smug grin:

“Two weeks of chores.”