The Strongest's Babysitter

Smith nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. The boy's name is Alex. He's staying at a safe house for now, but we need to move him soon. The Order's already tracking him."

Bob clenched his fists, his mind racing. "Where is he now?"

"A few miles outside the city. I'll take you there," Smith said, turning toward the door. He gestured for the soldiers to stand down, and they lowered their weapons, though their eyes remained wary.

Bob hesitated for a moment, then followed. As they stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, but it did little to calm the storm inside. He glanced at Smith. "You really think I'm the best choice for this? After everything?"

Smith stopped and turned to face him, his expression grim. "I don't like it either, Rafael. But Rick trusted you. And right now, you're the only one who can keep Alex alive. So, for his sake—and for Rick's—don't screw this up."

Bob didn't respond. He couldn't. The weight of Rick's trust—and the memory of his friend's laughter, his unwavering optimism—pressed down on him like a physical force. He climbed into the passenger seat of Smith's car, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past.

The drive was silent, the tension between them palpable. Bob's mind wandered back to the letter, to Rick's words.

---

The safe house was a modest cabin tucked deep in the woods, far from prying eyes. As they approached, Bob noticed the subtle signs of security—cameras hidden in the trees, motion sensors, and a faint hum of energy that suggested some kind of barrier.

Smith led the way inside, where a woman in her thirties—clearly an agent—stood guard. She nodded at Smith but eyed Bob with suspicion.

"Where's Alex?" Smith asked.

"Upstairs," the woman replied. "He's been asking questions. A lot of them."

Smith sighed. "Of course he has. Come on, Bob."

They climbed the stairs to a small bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, Bob could see a boy sitting on the bed, his back to the door. He was small for his age, with the same bright blonde hair and blue eyes as in the photo. But there was something else—a faint glow around him, a shimmer in the air that made the room feel… unstable.

"Alex," Smith said gently, pushing the door open. "There's someone I want you to meet."

The boy turned, his eyes widening as he took in Bob's imposing figure. "Who's he?" Alex asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of fear.

Bob stepped forward, crouching slightly to meet the boy's gaze. "My name's Bob. I was… a friend of your dad's."

Alex's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing. "You're lying. My dad didn't have friends. He was always alone."

Bob's chest tightened. "He wasn't always alone, kid. He just… didn't talk about the past much."

"Okay… What's your favorite color? How old are you? And why are you here? Do you have a power? And if yes, what's your power? And why are your eyes so red? And how did you meet Dad?" Alex asked, jumping off the bed and facing Bob. His eyes flashed with determination as he fired off questions rapid-fire.

Bob chuckled, and Smith facepalmed. "I'll leave him to you for now. Come downstairs afterward—we need to have a chat," Smith said.

Bob nodded without looking at him, and Smith left.

"Whoa, kiddo, calm down. My favorite color is red, and I'm 23," Bob answered, chuckling.

"Mhm, mhm… continue," Alex said, nodding with a hand on his chin.

"I'm here to stay with you… as your babysitter," Bob added.

"My babysitter?! I'm eleven; I don't need—" Alex started, clearly annoyed.

"Will you let me finish?" Bob interrupted.

"Sorry, sorry, continue," Alex said, jumping back onto his bed.

"My power is a secret," Bob said with a grin, putting a finger to his lips as if to say, 'Shh, it's a secret.' "And how did I meet your dad…?"

Bob already knew the answer, still remembering it perfectly:

It was seven years ago. Bob—Rafael—was only 15 and had just escaped the science laboratory where he was born. His power was overwhelming, and he couldn't contain it. He'd been out for only two days and had accidentally killed at least a hundred people. Rafael was running around, trying to hide, when Hope arrived in his all-white costume. Hope attacked Rafael without warning, trying to contain him. But Rafael struck first, jumping high into the air as Hope tried to grab him. Rafael grabbed Hope by the cape, pulled him over his shoulder, and smashed him into the ground.

But obviously, Bob wasn't going to tell that to Hope's son.

"We met at a… football game. Haha," Bob said.

Alex narrowed his eyes, clearly skeptical. "A football game? Really? Dad hated football. He said it was 'a waste of perfectly good time that could be spent saving the world.'" The boy crossed his arms, his expression daring Bob to come up with a better lie.

Bob scratched the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. "Okay, okay, you got me. We didn't meet at a football game. But the real story's… complicated. Let's just say your dad and I had a… unique introduction."

Alex tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What does that mean? Did you fight him? Is that why your eyes are red? Are you, like, part demon or something?"

Bob's grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Whoa, slow down, kid. One question at a time. And no, I'm not part demon. My eyes are just… like this. Always have been."

Alex leaned forward, his blue eyes wide with fascination. "So you did fight him, didn't you? That's so cool! Did you win? Wait, no—of course you didn't. Dad never lost."

Bob raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Oh, really? Never lost, huh? Guess your dad didn't tell you everything."

Alex's jaw dropped. "No way. You're lying. Dad was the strongest hero ever. He could do anything."

Bob shrugged, leaning back against the wall. "Sure, he was strong. But even the strongest people have bad days. Let's just say… we had a draw."

Alex stared at him, clearly torn between disbelief and awe. "You're messing with me."

"Maybe," Bob said with a wink. "Or maybe I'm just that good."

Alex flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "This is so weird. Dad never talked about you. And now you're here, and he's… gone." His voice cracked slightly, and he quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

Bob's expression softened. He sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectful distance. "Hey, kid… your dad was a good man. The best. And he loved you more than anything. He just… had a lot on his plate. Stuff he couldn't talk about. But he trusted me to look out for you, and that's what I'm gonna do."

Alex sniffed, still staring at the ceiling. "Do you promise?"

Bob hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, kid. I promise."