I do not own anything that is recognizable.

Plot is mine, but I have been taught that copying is the highest form of compliment, so anything taken from story will be looked on with pride that someone liked it enough to use it. You don't even have to ask.

Go for a walk they said. It will clear your head they said. It'll be good they said.

Steve's head was not clear, and the walk was not good.

At first, all was clear and quiet- by quiet it's meant no sirens or robberies or screams, so pretty good for New York. He was beginning to think the Avengers were right, and that the walk would be good for him. Then it happened.

He was nearing the edge of the city, calm as he mulled over the fight they'd had the previous week when suddenly he heard, courtesy of enhanced ears, a guttural scream. He was on immediate alert. When it didn't come again, he wandered in the general direction it came from.

It came one more time, and what he heard nearly stopped his heart. It was a child's voice, no older than maybe eight, and it screamed, "H-P! M' Bro- Die- HP!" that's all that came across. After all, he didn't have super-hearing, just enhanced.

He sped down some stairs of a warehouse (it was always warehouses, wasn't it?) to the basement, and sure enough, found two boys. They were crouched in the corner, one was shaking and trembling in a grotesque way and the other was holding him close, whispering something.

"Um, hello there, son-" he froze as there was a sudden whiz and a bird-shaped double-edged knife was implanted two inches from his face.

"Not. A. Step. Closer." Growled a voice. Captain America looked up to see a small formed crouched in the rafters, the shadows obscuring it into a blurry silhouette.

"Who are you?" another voice asked. Steve turned his head a fraction to see well-defined fifteen year old ginger holding a drawn bow prestigiously.

"Sh, its okay…" he tried to soothe. "I'm Captain America, a hero, I just want to help get the little guy over there," he pointed to the convulsing child in the corner, "to a hospital."

"We don't trust you." Echoed a voice. It seem to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

"No- I'm hero, haven't you heard of me?" Steve tried, pulling up his mask.

"No." the shadow in the rafters growled.

"Guys, we need to go… they're coming!" the echoing voice urged. The archer glanced to the side and nodded.

"Take Knightingale. Get him to checkpoint C.3."

And then the shaking child was… to put it plainly, gone. Just gone. "Who's coming?" Steve asked, well, more like growled. Whoever was after these poor kids…

"SHIELD." The archer narrowed his eyes. "Blood Jay, take Silver Bat and get out."

The eight year old in the corner jerked his head to the red-head. Shadows shrouded him too much to be seen, but he nodded. "What about you?" his voice had a Jersey-ish accent, but it was harder and throatier, and had a different touch to it, kind of… British, and another sing-song. It was hard to describe. The British and growling Jersey seemed to be together a single accent, but the sing-song seemed to come from after the two- or one.

"I'll make sure they can't follow." The sound in the archer's voice sounded broken, as if…. No. No one could be that way to a child, well, teenager, but still.

"But… Broken Arrow…"

"GO! Now!"

The child nodded painfully and de-materialized into the shadows. Above him the hunched shadow disappeared as well. Steve was confused, but turned to face the seething glare of… Broken Arrow? "Please, I just want to help. Why is SHIELD after you?"

"Go away, this isn't your battle." Suddenly there was crashing upstairs, and shouts.

"No. I am a hero, part of the Avengers, we can help you, I promise. Keep you safe."

"No, you can't."

"We can find your home."

"NO! You can't, okay? We don't belong here!"

"What?" Steve was slightly getting a handle.

"Look, I don't know who you are, or why you won't leave, but we don't belong here. This isn't our world, and that's why SHIELD is after us. Someone brought us here, and whatever this Strategic-Homeland-Thingy wants to do with us, I don't want my family to be a part of it. So just leave. Just. Leave."

Steve felt slightly hurt. People didn't usually act this way when he tried to help them. He didn't know what to do, not even when thundering footsteps made their way down the stairs. He looked from the stone steps to the broken archer and back. Then he made a split decision.

He grabbed the shield off his back and knocked the bow out of the teen's hands. Then he grabbed the kid, who put up a startlingly strong defense, but the former soldier knocked him out with a blow to the head. He felt horrible, but he couldn't let SHIELD get the poor kid, and he had to find this… Knightingale, was it? The child had looked inches from death and in more pain than Steve wanted to imagine.

He then barreled through the window well and ran, weaving through buildings and around corners towards the Avengers Tower. He was about two blocks from his destination when he felt a sharp stab in his back, and in his surprise, dropped the arrow-wielding teen. The ginger then rushed him, attacking mercilessly, but Steve matched, using his shield expertly to avoid the wicked sharp arrow-points.

People had stopped to stare, as a fight between Captain America and a bowless teenage archer, whom, now that Steve could see him in the light, was covered in bruises and cuts, the most apparent one running from just below the hairline, across his eye and lip, onto his chin and down to right above the throat, was pretty interesting. The arrow's shafts ran up Broken Arrow's arms, his hands twisted just above the metal dagger-like points.

Just when Captain America thought that the kid would escape down the alley, the said Broken Arrow suddenly slumped forward, only to be caught by Black Widow, her eyebrows raised imploringly at the Captain, an empty syringe in her hand.

"Get him to the tower." Was all Steve said.

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~Universe