A/N: So, there have been multiple prompts for this and a few fics regarding 'what if'. So I've decided to throw my own hat into the ring...
Juvenile Secure Unit
Plymouth, Massachusetts
Fifteen Years Ago
"You've got a visitor."
The angry 17-year-old glared at the man who dared speak to him, much less drag him out of his cell for a visitation. The guard was actually a friendly enough guy, for a high security juvenile detention guard; he was just doing his job, Grant knew that. He just didn't like visitations. Grant Ward had no friends, no one cared enough to visit him. There was only his family...and he'd rather go the rest of his life without seeing THEM again.
The guard want perturbed by Grant's surliness; he's dealt with angry and violent prisoners before. So rather than snap at the boy, he just waited patiently for him to stand up and exit his cell. He knew the kid was one losses off little prick, but he was smart and knew he'd get in trouble if he caused problems. So here he was, willingly following this guard down the hallway to the visitation center.
Once inside, brown eyes scanned the cafeteria-like room, searching for a familiar face. He half expected to see his no good parents or -God forbid!- his brother, come to gloat that he was still alive and Grant failed. Again. But to his surprise, he saw no one he recognized. The few people in the room were already sitting with other maroon-clad prisoners. The only table without such a boy was occupied by a middle aged man wearing a dark grey suit. A younger man in a black suit stood flanking his left side. To Grant's eyes, they looked like very expensive lawyers. 'Someone's mommy and daddy is paying a lot of money for their kid to get out of trouble,' he thought.
Until the older man stood up and called out," Grant Ward?"
Grant froze, his feet skidding to a halt and his juvie-issued sneakers making a slight squeaking sound on the tiles floor. The man in the grey suit smiled reassuringly and gestured to the seat in front of him, across from the round cafeteria table," Please sit down. We just want to talk." He seemed amiable enough, but the other man just gazed at Grant with barely concealed judgement.
Seeing no other course of action, he decided to play along and sit down. He might as well see what they wanted with him. "My name's Phil Coulson," the first suit sat back down and pointed with one thumb to his partner," This is my associate, Clint Barton." Then he held out his other hand in an obvious attempt to shake Grant's hand.
He just glared at it.
"O-kay." Coulson retracted his hand, putting some emphasis on the O. But he didn't sound annoyed, something Grant found odd. A move like that usually earned him a box to his ears.
"What do you want?" Grant inquired, his curiosity finally boiling over. These men were too well dressed and well mannered to have any association with his family, but men like them don't normally visit violent adolescents in juvie, either. So they must want something from him; perhaps to trick him into confessing? It seemed likely.
All of a sudden, Barton sat down next to Coulson," We have some questions and we'd like you to answer them." Grant stiffened in his seat; so he was right.
"Play nice, Clint," Coulson muttered but was ignored.
"Did you know I was visiting your military camp when you went AWOL and stole your superior officer's car?" Barton began. Grant blinked in confusion; he was WHAT? Barton continued," So why did you drive over 1000 likes back home, only to burn it to the ground?" The kid pursed his lips and didn't say a word. If he hadn't been looking for it, Clint might've missed the tiny flinch he gave. 'Impressive,' he pondered.' Kid's got a pretty tight lid on his emotions and reactions.'
Coulson sighed and Clint crossed his arms. When it became clear that Grant would not talk, Coulson leaned his elbows on to the tabletop and interlaced his fingers. "I'm more interested in your off-the-chart hand-eye coordination," he admitted," It's what initially caught Clint's attention anyways. You're a natural with a fun, Grant, even more with a sniper rifle." Coulson's head nodded towards Barton," Clint here had a very important question for you, but then you went and decided your family home made for a very nice bonfire."
"Do you understand our dilemma?"
Grant's eyes flickered to Barton. A question? What business did these mysterious men want with him? Grant knew he was good with guns, his training was the only thing he loves about military camp, but he didn't think anyone noticed. Why would they, when he was only known for picking fights and constant acts of insubordination?
Coulson was still talking, he realizes and he turned his attention back just in time to hear him say,"- called me in; thought I could do a better job than him."
Barton scoffed," That's not what I said. I only said you're more patient than I am, for an old man."
"This 'old man' could still kick your ass."
"I'd love to see you try, Grandpa Coulson."
The way they bickered back and forth was odd and foreign to Grant. They insulted each other, disagrees with each other, yet there was no hint of malice in their words. Did they not realize they were insulting each other, with grounds to start a fight or at the least had each other? Why did their bickering sound...affectionate? Friendly?
Barton has another retort for Coulson, but was ignored. The older man glanced back at Grant; he must've noticed his discomfort and that only raised more questions. "I'm curious..." He asked quietly," Did you know your brother was in the house?"
Finally, a reaction from Grant, but the wrong reaction, in Barton's eyes. The young man stiffened in his seat, all of his muscles tense as he leaned forward. But he dark look in his eyes betrayed his words," No, sir. I did not." It was no more than a recording, and answer rehearsed over and over again until it slipped out automatically.
That's when Barton jumped. Slamming one hand on the table, he leaned forward enough to grab a fistful of Grant Ward's shirt. He didn't pull, he didn't yank, but the grip he had on the cotton fabric was powerful. For a moment Grant wondered if Barton was going to punch him in the face.
"Agent Barton!" Coulson commanded forcefully," Stand down."
A tense miner passed, in which Grant wondered why the guards weren't DOING anything, before Barton released him. He sat back in his seat, a scowl still in his face. Grant scowled right back. "What have I told you?" Coulson was frowning at his associate," Get your facts straight before you make assumptions." Clint's grey eyes flickered over to him yet he said nothing in retaliation.
Coulson sighed, but turned back to Grant," You got a phone call the day before you left." It was a statement, not a question, and Grant tried not to react. How did he know that? NO ONE knew about that call.
"You found out your little brother and sister were in the hospital."
A very pronounced tic appeared in Grant's jaw.
Just one last push. "And you know exactly who our them there, didn't you?"
BAM! Grant's fiat slammed down on to the table, but neither man twitched. In fact, both of them seemed...sympathetic, Barton more so. A beat passed, then Coulson glanced at Clint," That enough fact for you?"
He nodded. "So ask," Coulson told him.
"Ask WHAT?" Grant nearly shouted, his patience was at its limit. They kept mentioning some question, and then this old man knew things he shouldn't know. He kept pushing all the right buttons, bringing up his little siblings. He didn't know how much more he could take before he snapped.
Barton looked at Grant long and hard before speaking lowly," You only have one chance to answer, then that's it. No more chances."
"Your family's on their way here right now, but my partner's stalling them for a short time. Not only are your folks pressing charges for arson and attempted murder, but your brother's petitioning the court to have you tried as an adult."
Grant gulped. This wasn't good...
"But," Clint added," We're willing to give you a second chance, to start over and actually do some good. So here's my question: would you be willing to join SHIELD?"
"Join...what?"
"We're a part of a secret government organization," Coulson explained," for the protection of mankind. And we could use someone like you on our team." Grant was dubious. A secret government organization? That sounded like a load of bullshit, was he supposed to believe they were CIA or something? "Why should I trust you?"
Coulson shook his head. " You have no reason to, yet. But give us a chance and we'll show you what we do."
Still, Grant stared at them with doubt and wariness. "Grant?" Coulson pressed, but before he could continue, Barton blurted out," We'll get your brother and sister out."
Grant's eyes widened and he gasped out," What?" the same time that Coulson gaped at his colleague," What?" Barton bit the inside of his cheek but didn't take back what he said.
"Join SHIELD," he told Grant," Let us train you to be an agent, you could be one of the best someday...and in turn, I'll make sure your brother and sister go somewhere safe. Somewhere far away from your folks, from your older brother."
Both Grant and Coulson stared at Clint. Grant was the first to speak,"...You can do that?"
Barton nodded. "I'll personally go get them myself."
"Then...yes!" For the first time that he could remember, there was a smile on Grant's face. It was also the first time he got to see a smile in Clint Barton's face, the first of thousands. The smiling agent stood up and wakes around the table, where he uncuffed their newest recruit and the handcuffs were thrown on the table.
"What?" he blinked. Just like that? He glanced towards the guard standing by the door, expecting to see him running to them or calling for back up or something. But the dark skinned man was just gazing straight at Grant, at an uncuffed juvenile offender, and was smiling. Catching Grant's eye, he nodded in encouragement.
"But the guards..." He turned back to Coulson only to see him bending over to pick up a backpack that before had gone unnoticed. Coulson plopped it onto the table, followed by a small black box. He smiled at Grant," We were hoping you'd say yes."
"Thanks, Paul," he then waved at the guard, who waved back.
...
Coulson, bless his heart, started planning this the moment Clint called him. While Grant was still a convict, Coulson explained that that didn't necessarily mean he had to serve his time in prison. And that's when he learned that Phil Coulson wasn't just a secret agent, was a very high level secret a her. A level 8, that's what he called himself. Barton was a level 5.
"Does that make me a level 1?" Grant asked, after changing into the new clothes provided to him. They were a bit tight in the chest, but he didn't mind; he knew he was bigger than most 17 year old boys. As soon as he reached up to tug on the collar, Barton slapped a silver bracelet on his wrist.
Grant just...reacted. His other arm came out in a crosscut, aiming for Clint's face. It was just the feeling of cold metal on his skin, so reminiscent of handcuffs, and it took Grant completely by surprise. Luckily, Barton had better reflexes than Grant. "Whoa!" his eyes widened momentarily as he caught -rather effortlessly- his flying fist. But then he grinned," I like your reflexes."
"And no, you're more like level negative 3," he remarked, tapping gently on the bracelet," Think of this like your nanny. It tracks your every movement and whereabouts. Just listen to Warden Coulson, and when your five years are up, you get it off. Then you're level negative 2."
"Then you go to SHIELD academy and your level negative 1," Clint grinned," Then you graduate and THEN you're level 1."
"So," Grant hummed thoughtfully," Five years? That doesn't sound so bad."
"Wait til you reach the Operations Academy," Clint warned him and clapped him on the back, following Coulson down the hall," You'll be missing these years with Warden Coulson."
"I told you to stop calling me that," Coulson called over his shoulder," YOU'RE the one who keeps bringing me recruits to-" He halted and pressed a hand to his ear," What?"
Beside Grant, Barton tensed up. "Sir, what is it?" he began, but Coulson cut him off," They got past Romanoff."
Barton swore in a language Grant did not know, but it sounded vaguely like Russian. And then Grant realized what was going on.
"My family..." he gasped, his face growing pale.
Barton's had tightened on his shoulder. "Your EX- family," he declared," Just keep that in mind; you're one of us now." It helped, a little, but still Grant felt the dread crash into him at the new thought of facing his family. What would they do when they heard Coulson and Barton wanted to take him away from this prison? His brother would be furious, and might even get violent. But it was his parents that worried him the most. As Grant's legal guardians, they still had control over his life. What if they wouldn't let these men recruit him? His eyes widened- what if Barton couldn't get his little brother and sister away?
"-all of them?" He heard Coulson talking to whoever was on the other end of the comm in his ear," That's good. Just in case, I want a security detail at Jordan Hospital." A wave of relief swept over Grant upon hearing the name of the hospital his siblings were at. "No one gets near those kids, do you hear?" Coulson was all business again as he resumed waking, waking a bit quicker than before," We'll finish up here then Barton and Romanoff will go in for extraction." There was not a hint of doubt or hesitation in his voice and for that, Grant was eternally grateful.
...
There was a lot of paperwork and 'red tape' involved with transferring custody of one Grant Ward over to SHIELD. They made it five minutes and what felt like a hundred signatures later before to doors burst open with a bang. Grant nearly jumped out of his new boots, the pen in his hand making a jagged line on the paper. He glanced up and felt his blood run cold.
The one to slam open the doors had been his big brother and he was FURIOUS. At 20, Maynard was significantly bigger and stronger than Grant and his size alone often gave him authority over most people. But right now, he wasn't commanding too much respect and fear at the moment. His left wrist was still bandaged from breaking the window to get out of the burning house and his leg had been mildly burned. And now Maynard seemed to be sporting a new shiny black eye and what looked like the remnants of a recently broken nose.
Grant overheard Coulson whisper," Romanoff broke his nose?" Grant decided he really likes this Romanoff guy.
Trailing behind Maynard, Mr. and Mrs. Ward finally entered. Mr. Ward, Grant's father, was just as furious as his eldest son and his face was nearly red in the face. Where Maynard was a violent type of anger, their father tended to be a vocal type of anger. "What is the meaning of this?" he roared, his dark eyes zeroing in on Grant.
Behind him, the timid Mrs. Ward meekly followed her husband and son. Her baby blue eyes glanced at her middle son, locked briefly with his own, but then she went back to staring at the floor. She shuffled her feet, standing by the doorway while her husband and Maynard stomped towards the trio.
Years of conditioning and self will was the ONLY reason why Grant didn't cower when the two large men neared him, no matter how much his self preservation instincts demanded it. He fully expected to feel a fist collide with his jaw, it was a completely normal occurrence by now.
But Maynard never got that far. Quicker than Grant could blink, Barton's arm reached out and twisted Maynard's right arm in an unnatural way. He yelped in surprise, caught off guard by the interference, then Barton pushed him back and away. "I'd lay off the fighting for a while if I were you," Coulson chirped, a hint of a smile playing on his face," You're still recovering and in no condition to win." Maynard growled but a sharp look from his father silenced any words he might have said.
"He," Mr. Ward gestured to Grant," is a criminal and a felon." He glared at Coulson and Barton," Why isn't he in cuffs in his cell? Are you trying to take him out of here?!" His eyes nearly bulged out when he finally realized that Grant was wearing normal clothes.
The two agents exchanged glances, Barton discreetly whispering for Grant to "keep signing," before confronting the father. "He's now under our custody. We'll be taking him with us."
"The hell you are!" was the response he got and a very nasty glower. Barton didn't flinch under the heavy gaze, even as Mr. Ward continued to bellow," Guards! This convict is trying to escape." He yelled for the nearby guards, one of which had been helping Grant with the paperwork and the other was Paul. They ignored the irate man, even when he pointed at the two SHIELD agents. "Are you just going to let these two men walk out with a dangerous criminal?!"
"Yes, they are," Coulson retorted, then holding up a piece of paper Grant signed not three minutes ago. "This right here," he pointed to a certain line," This says he will be serving the rest of his term under the watchful eye of our organization."
Grant's father scoffed. "He needs to be locked up, not coddled by someone by the likes of you. Do you REALIZE what he's done?"
"Yes," Coulson nodded," We do." He said it with such a tone that it sounded like he couldn't care less what Grant had done against his older brother. He really couldn't.
"We're still taking him with us."
"I won't allow it," Mr. Ward nearly shouted, enraged by the cool dismissal he received from the agent," I'm still the boy's legal guardian and you can't do anything without my permission. And I say you get the hell away from him and leave town!" This was the moment Grant feared, the very reason why he's never been able to get away before. Because Grant was still a minor; his father had complete control of his life.
He glanced fearfully at Coulson, expecting to see a look of defeat on the older man's face. But when he looked, Coulson was...smirking. "No," he said," You're not. And you have your oldest son to thank for that." A look of pure disbelief crossed Mr. Ward's face and he turned his gaze to Maynard.
"You petitioned the court to have Grant tried as an adult," Coulson continued, speaking to the young man," Congratulation, it worked. Grant Ward is hereby seen as an adult in the state court's eyes. And according to this," he held up another paper Grant signed," all decisions regarding him and his prison sentence go through the Massachusetts State Petitionary Board. Not you."
"And THIS," he grabbed the pepper right out from under Grant's pen,"delegates all responsibility over. To. Me." He punctuated the last three words with extreme glee, everyone present thoroughly enjoying the look of disbelief and shock on Mr. Ward's face.
"Now if you'll excuse us, we has a plane to catch," Barton finished smugly and placing a reassuring hand on Grant's shoulder, steered him out of there. Behind them, Coulson was having a few last second words with Grant's father and brother, something along the lines of what would happen to them if they tried to come after Grant ever again. Yet as Grant and Barton passed his mother on the way out, she just watched them go.
She locked eyes with her son, the first time in years she had had the courage to do so. 'Ill probably never see her again," Grant thought and for some reason he could not fathom, he felt not one twinge of sadness. Intellectually, he knew this was his mother, but emotionally...she was nothing more than some stranger, a shadow that always watched but never interfered. Years later, he would finally realize that she was just as scared as him, scared of his father the way he was afraid of his brother. But he never forgave her, and he didn't think he ever could. Because at this moment, she just stared at Grant, not speaking or even trying to say goodbye... Just stared at him with that dead look in her eyes, as she couldn't care less what happened to her son.
'Good riddance,' was Grant's last thought of his family before the doors shut behind him.
...
"Oh, by the way," Coulson turned around for one last glance before he followed his newest protege out the door," We're taking your two other children too."
As he walked out the door, Coulson smiled to himself when he heard Maynard try to attack only to be physically restrained by Paul.
...
Outside, there was a line of cars waiting for them. At the front sat a shines up red convertible. Behind it were two black SUV's, thought one looked like it recently had a fender bender: the front bumper was barely hanging off of it, scraping the ground. Grant had to do a double take when he next saw his father's Buick with a good sized dent in the back and the read bumper was missing
A beautiful woman with red hair stood by the damages SUV. She was inspecting the damages Buick with a satisfied smile. "That was fun," she said upon their approach," A good way to blow off steam."
Barton chuckled and pecked her on the cheek," That's my girl," forcing Grant to do another double take. Did he just- Were they? He turned to Coulson for clarification but he too was addressing the woman. "Did you have to break his nose?"
She scoffed. "He came at me first. He's lucky to be alive if you ask me."
Then it all clicked for Grant. "Wait! YOU broke Maynard's face?" he gaped at the rather unassuming woman, then," YOU'RE Romanoff?!" But she's so...tiny.
A perfectly shaped eyebrow rose," And YOU are Grant Ward." At her icy tone, he bit his tongue and decided that he'd never ever ever admit that he thought Romanoff was a guy... "You two happy now?" She addressed Barton," I flew you all the way out to Massachusetts, crashes a perfectly good car, and had to deal with a bad mouth punk all because you wanted to bring home another stray." She looked him over," He's gonna be bigger than you, Clint. Sure you can handle not being the go to big tough guy anymore?"
"Play nice, Natasha," Coulson gently chided," and say hello to your new baby brother." Grant whipped his head back around so fast he almost got whiplash. He wasn't sure if he was more surprised at being called brother or angry at being called baby.
He settled for confused. "Baby brother?"
Natasha Romanoff smiled wryly at him," Welcome to the family, Baby Bro."
...
