#emily walker

Jonathan “John” Fitzgerald Walker

July 5th, 1988

He was “John” to most, “Jonathan” to his mother, and “Johnny” his Pa and Ma on his mom’s side. Before he hit double digit age, he was a smiling, rambunctious little boy. He wanted to ride broncos before getting a taste for hockey, then he wanted to go pro in skating. He was seen in just boots, hat, and his britches more than he’d care to admit to, screaming “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” and playing a fake guitar, like John Denver. He’s looked up to his older brother, Mike, for as long as he could remember. He was the reason John was who he was, in every way possible. Every available moment John had, he tried to live up to Mike’s legacy; football, perfect grades, the Army, a decent physique, even goddamn Captain America. But it was never enough, not to the one person John wanted to make proud. Ever wonder why John’s first instinct was to absolutely obliterate Bob’s abusive father? Cause John was used to it. He just never had the strength to really overpower his dad when he was younger. But, being the mama’s boy he is, he didn’t shy from getting into full on screaming matches with his father, take a few blows, throw some back, anything to prevent his mother from being abused further. And - if his old man ever thought about putting his hands on John”s baby sister? There would have been hell to pay. For Kate? (or “HBO” as he lovingly called her, after their favorite cereal, Honey Bunches of Oats) John would do anything. The only real peace John ever found in his adolescence was Lemar. He was at the Hoskins house most days, stayed for dinner if he could. Mrs. and Mr. Hoskins treated John like their own son, taught him how to cook, kissed him on the cheek. John introduced Kate to Lemar’s sister, since they both rode horses, and then it slowly became a house of six for dinner time. It didn’t matter to John if they were only a few months apart in age, Lemar was his big brother. Someone he could look up to, who could be proud of him. He wasn’t Mike’s replacement, but Lemar filled that void perfectly, put the warmth back in John’s chest. That’s why, when it came to naming his son, John dedicated it to the only two men he had ever looked up to. Michael Lemar Walker, cooing in his arms. With him? John wasn’t going to repeat the cycle. Even if he got divorced, fucked up in ways he couldn’t talk about, he was determined to break the cycle at him. His baby boy.

Katelyn “Kate” Delano Walker

December 2nd, 1991

Kate was the baby of her family. She did everything she could, even if she was told it was too “boyish”, she’d participate, so help her God. Softball, horseback riding, fixing up their family truck. And in the moments their family home turned dark, soured around the edges, she had her big brother, John. They’d listen to Johnny Cash on the front porch, get holed up in the school library, and unfortunately on occasion, tuck themselves away in John’s closet, Kate’s teary face shoved against his chest. Kate knew, as long as she had John, she’d be okay. All the while he was fighting for their father’s approval, John had already won Kate’s. From childhood, she saw him the way John saw Mike. To Kate? John was truly her superhero. She joined the Army because of him, even if everyone assumed it was because of Mike. She loved Mike, of course she did, but John was who she actually got to grow up with. And, in the moments she needed it most, he was a father to her. Guiding her, giving her something to aspire to. John was the only person who accepted Kate when she came out, the only person she knew would still give her a hug, still love her through all of it. And, in her adult years, during one drunken lecture from Caleb Walker, telling John that he was an utter disappointment for losing his title as Captain America, for putting his marriage on the rocks (you’re one to talk), Kate finally gathered her courage and stood up. She told her father to shut his fucking mouth, to never speak about John like that again. And when he stood, nearly a foot above his daughter, anger burning hot in his eyes, making Kate swallow nervously? John was up. Finally he had the strength to scare his dad, shoving him right back into his recliner without even trying, a flicker of pride moving between both Kate and John’s gaze as they watched their piece of shit father look at them, afraid. Once Kate was able to, she moved as far away from Georgia as the states would allow her, settling in Oregon with her wife, two dogs, a big house with a lavish guest room for the one piece of family she had.

Michael “Mike” Roosevelt Walker

March 1st, 1977 - July 5th, 1999

The Walker family’s golden baby. Once a teenage pregnancy, now the best thing that had ever happened to them. Mike was effortlessly perfect, in almost every way. He looked just like his dad, and the two of them were nearly attached at the hip for the first ten years of his life. And then? John was born. My god, had a little boy never been so excited holding a baby in his arms. John was Mike’s entire world from the start, they did everything together. Mike took John on his first horseback ride, showed him how to play football, taught him how to sing along to the Johnny Cash songs on the radio. He would do anything for John, even if it cost Mike his safety. It was a freak accident, spurred in the middle of the night and caught them all by surprise. They all thought John was right behind them, and at the pure terror on his mother’s face, when she realized her baby boy was still trapped in their burning family home, Mike didn’t hesitate. Even if his mother screamed for him, clutching her two year old girl in her arms, Mike still ran in. Their house was older, fire crawling up the walls and parts of the drywall falling onto the ground. Mike covered his mouth as he ran in, his parents frozen in horror as they watched their roof slowly caving in. Katie cried in her mother’s arms, only sobbing louder as neighbors trucks came running in, shouting and offering help however they could. The minutes that her boys were in that house broke Emily more than she’d like to admit, crying into her husband’s shoulder as he held her, his hand cradling Kate’s back. A fire truck showed up amongst the chaos, an ambulance shortly thereafter, Mr. and Mrs. Walker hysterical as they screamed for their boys to be saved. And just as they broke down their front door, Mike’s voice clawed through the commotion. Five-year-old John in his arms, Mike’s shirt covering John’s airways, a few burn marks littering his sides. Paramedics rushed with a gurney, Mike setting John down as gently as he could, his soot covered face twisted with fear as he stood over his baby brother. “John, come on, wake up,” he begged, panicked, tears sliding down his cheeks as first responders tended to John’s unconscious body. But, after the longest couple minutes of Mike’s life, John finally coughed, his head lulling to one side as he blinked his blue eyes open. The first thing he saw was Mike’s smile. That was the kind of man Mike was. He was much older than Kate when she was born, but he nearly felt like a baby whisperer the way she just melted into his arms. Mike’s perfection melded into everything he did. Star quarterback, valedictorian, college football scholarship, served his country, just like his father. And when he died, at the devastating age of twenty two, when the helicopter he was piloting crashed and killed the brightest light his family had ever known? All that remained was a hole, a stain, a void, a cruel reminder of what could have been. All folded up in a triangle, sitting atop their fireplace, dog tags gently strewn over the peak of blue and white.

Caleb Walker

December 21st, 1959

He was a good man, at one point. For those years he had his boy, his perfect family, the southern life he had dreamed of, he was good. Something just…snapped when Mike was taken away from him. Every time he looked at John, he just saw this veil of imperfections, something not quite meeting the bar. Run faster, push harder, be a man! He’d do what was required him to make sure of it; hit John upside the head, make him cry over his shortcomings, call him a pussy for doing so. If John could just keep going, if he could just be Mike, maybe he’d love John the same. But it didn’t matter what John did, he wasn’t perfect like Mike was. Caleb became something he didn’t recognize. He would get so angry, slurring through insults and degrading names, leaving his family in tears at the kitchen table before stumbling into the living room. He used to smell like leather, sun baked hard work. Now, he just reeked of beer, liquor, cigarettes. And when John finally stood up? Shoved Caleb against the kitchen counter, telling him to leave his mother alone? The anger turned into rage. He never saw himself as someone who’d hurt his family like that, leave bruises on his wife and son like his own father did, but that just seemed to be God’s plan for Caleb. Repeat. The. Cycle.

Emily Walker

June 21st, 1961