When you have money, you never really think about what it would be like without it. Without being able to pick up a pizza on a late night, or a coffee Sunday morning, or to have a bed to sleep on. But when you've never really had anything to call your own besides the clothes on your back- and sometimes not even that- lets just say you get used to it. Except for the street smell. That still grates my nerves.
You see, I was raised a street rat in the sketchy parts of St. Louis. My mom was a runner for a cocaine dealer named Carl Thompson, or at least that's what she told me, and my father was no where in sight. Mom earned just enough to keep us fed, and I earned just enough begging to keep us clothed. It wasn't exactly easy, or welcoming, but once you do something long enough you learn to love it.
Until Mom died in a mugging a year ago, I thought I was just another dirty kid born to a dirty mom in a dirty street. But something sparked inside me that night, it was something beyond my rage and grief, beyond my wildest imaginings. It was raw and consuming, and suddenly I wasn't a little girl at the bottom of humanity's food chain. I was a stranger, a powerful, unstoppable, untouchable stranger with no remorse and red bloodlust tinting Her vision.
The mugger didn't even see Her coming. She tore him apart until there was nothing left but bloody bits and pieces scattered on the sidewalk, until my mother was thoroughly and completely avenged, until any rage I once had dissolved into the deep, dark blackness of grief. The stranger went away and took Her strength with Her, making me plain old me again. That was only the first of many, many incidents.
Now every time someone makes me angry She takes over, with Her claws sharper and stronger than diamonds, skin impervious to knives and bullets, legs strong enough to kick through steel, eyes all-seeing, ears all-hearing, and nose all-smelling. She is a wild, ferocious creature that kills anyone in her path. Her only weakness: fire. That crap burns.
Now I'm a legend among the streets of St. Louis; a dark, silent danger that makes everyone think twice about going out alone. I'm the monster parents scare their children with at night. I am a murderer. I am an anomaly. I am The Creature of the Arch. At least to the people who've only heard about me in stories I am. But to everyone I've protected, everyone I've saved, I make sure I'm simply known by my real name. Ryan Stewart.
Over the year I've had this curse, I've managed to reign it in. Somewhat, at least. I can call on Her at will, if I choose, without being angry. I can stop Her when she goes too far. But my one issue...I can't make her look less stupid. Seriously, who wants to look like a human in a leopard's skin? Not me.
"Let go of me! Stop it! I'm serious Josh, get off!" She slunk in the shadows, bidding Her time, waiting for the opportune moment.
"C'mon, Bobby, you know you like it." The boy, Josh, was all over the girl named Bobby. I vaguely remembered her from when I still went to school. She was two years above me.
"No, I don't! Josh you're hurting me! Get off!" He started pulling off her shirt, and I tried to reign Her in a little longer. The moment hadn't yet come. Just let him expose his back, right about...Now!
"Holy Sh*t!" Josh screamed as She raked Her claws across his back, not deep enough to kill, but enough to make it hurt. Alot.
"You make a habit of forcing yourself on girls, Josh?" She snarled, baring Her teeth at him. He shook with fear as She pinned him down. "What's it feel like now? To be completely helpless?"
"Alright, Alright! I get it! I won't touch her again I swear! But please let me go!" He blubbered, tears streaming down his cheeks. Weak little coward.
"Let this be a warning. I see you hurting someone again, and you won't get off so easy. If at all." She moved just enough for him to scamper away, crying in pain, glaring holes in his back. Once Josh was safely out of sight, I returned to being plain old Ryan.
"Hey, Bobby wasn't it?" I asked the girl from before, who was hugging her knees and weeping silently.
"Yeah. Bobby Dupree." I made myself comfortable next to her on the filthy alley ground, kicking aside some trash. We were both living rough, I could tell, except I looked a tad better off than her. At least I had shoes. She didn't even have socks.
"That creep your boyfriend?" She sniffled and wiped her eyes.
"Yes, his name's Josh Reel. He was nice and all before, even bought me an ice cream once. I don't know why..." She clenched her eyes shut tightly. I rubbed her arm in what I hoped was a comforting way. Near a year of doing this kind of thing and I was still horrible at the whole reassuring thing.
"Don't worry about it anymore, Bobby. You won't be seeing the likes of him ever again if I have my say. I'll watch out for you."
"You promise?" She slit her eyes open the tiniest bit.
"Pinky swear." I held out my little finger, and she looked at me like I was crazy. "C'mon, this is ironclad. Cross my heart and hope to die, that kind of thing." She shrugged and locked fingers.
"Tell me the truth. Are you the Creature of the Arch?"
"Yes. Does that scare you?" I looked straight into her big brownish greenish eyes, feeling like they were staring into my soul. And they liked what they saw.
"No. No, it doesn't." I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.
"Good. That's good. My real name's Ryan by the way. I guess we have that in common; two girls with dude names."
"Yeah, I guess so." She choked out a laugh, then slowly stood up. All signs of distress were gone, replaced by the confidence of someone who knew they were protected. "I'll see you around, Ryan."
"See you." She strode away, bare feet slapping silently against dirty concrete, and I let my head fall back against the alley wall in post-Her exhaustion. "You done good, Hasselhoff. You done good."
"Well I'd say so. That was pretty kickass." I was on my feet in a second, fangs bared and claws out, not quite Her but still deadly. Here in this scummy little back alley in the slums of St. Louis, stood Hawkeye. "Woah, chill with the animal thing. I'm not here to hurt you."
"I knew that. Sorry. Leopard instincts, you know." I muttered, reverting back to being a normal girl. I studied him, black costume, bow and arrows, kind face, everything. "I'm Ryan Stewart."
"Clint Barton." He said, taking a step out of the shadows. "You still up for a bit of innocent-saving, Ryan?"
"It's kinda my job, but if you mean under certain circumstances…..Dunno. Depends on your explanation."
"I thought you'd say that. Look, the Avengers need your help, okay? We have to fight...some...some of our own to do what's right. To keep some good people safe and to stop a bad guy. We can't do it without some help."
"And that help would be the petty legend of the scum of St. Louis? I highly doubt that." I scoffed, walking away. I didn't know where I was walking to; I didn't exactly have a home.
"Look, kid, you gotta trust me here. If this bad guy wins, the whole world's gonna be in danger. A lot of good people are going to die. And not just in New York, all over the world." I was catching on, and I didn't like it.
"Including Missouri?"
"Including Missouri." I sighed and whirled around.
"Fine. But I have conditions."
"Whatever you want, Ryan, as long as it doesn't require world domination. Then I'd have to decline." I glared, not finding his sarcasm appropriate in such a serious situation.
"One: You provide me with the funds to build and run a shelter for the people here who don't have the money for a house. I would do it, but I'm too young to get a job and no one wants to help out a stinky penniless girl."
"Fair enough." He shrugged. "We've got plenty of money for a rainy day."
"I wasn't finished. While I'm gone, I want someone to protect my city. The cops are racist and prejudiced, they won't lift a finger for our type of people. No one cares about us. I need insurance that they'll be safe without me."
"Done. I know a guy who's perfect for the job." Clint grinned. "That it?" I blushed and fiddled with my three-sizes-too-large t-shirt.
"Would a shower and some food be okay?" I asked in a small voice, not looking up from my shoes. He chuckled.
"Yeah. I think that can be arranged. A new set of clothes okay too? I hate to say it, but homeless isn't really your look." I giggled nervously.
"Yeah, that's fine." He started walking away, and I jogged to keep up.
"So, just curious, how old are you?" He asked over his shoulder, taking in the ramshackle rust-stained brick buildings and filthy street trash that was my home.
"I dunno, how old are you?"
"I asked first."
"I asked second."
"That doesn't even make sense! Say a number or I'll start guessing." He lightly threatened. I shrugged.
"Go for it. You'll probably be wrong, most people are."
"Lets see...13?"
"Nope."
"12."
"Not even close."
"Jesus, 11? I'm starting to think I should be taking you to foster care instead of a battle." I froze in fear. I'd heard about kids from my side of town who got put in the system. It wasn't pretty.
"No, no, no, no! You were going the wrong way! I'm 14, 15 in three months. Happy?" He smirked.
"Very."
"Whatever. Where are we going anyway?" I looked around, noticing we were going toward the river instead of the nicer part of the city.
"The getaway van. It's big, white, and creepy, but it does the job."
"Probably fits right in here, then." I snorted. "Who all is on our side? I saw you guys in the Battle of Manhattan, so I know a little bit about your fighting styles. I just don't know who I'm fighting."
"Well you're not fighting me, obviously." He said, pausing to lift me up over a fence, then hop it himself. I restrained Her from resurfacing at the sudden contact. She hated being touched without permission. "And you aren't fighting Captain America, Hulk, The Falcon, the Winter Soldier, Ant Man, or The Scarlet Wi-"
"Hold up, hold up." I said stopping under a street light. I held him still with a hand, sniffing the air. "We're not alone. We haven't been for a while now, but the scent's coming closer." I sniffed again. "It's female, young; probably late teens, with no weapons of note, but some kind of power. Telekinesis, maybe? Oh, and she ate a ham and cheese sandwich for dinner. Or was it lunch? I can never tell."
"You got all that from her smell?" Clint asked, astounded. I shrugged.
"Perk of being a weird leopard-thing, I guess." I listened again. "She's getting closer, about 100 feet away. She doesn't smell hostile, but...you never know." I unsheathed my claws and bore my fangs.
"No, no, no! Wait! She's with us! It's the Scarlett Witch, she's on our side!" Clint exclaimed just in time. A girl, about four or five years older than me, appeared, a little on the defensive at my battle stance. I relaxed and got rid of the claws.
"Oh. Sorry 'bout that. It's a-"
"Leopard thing. I get it." He said, scratching his head."Wanda Maximoff, meet the Creature of The Arch."
"So this is the one who fights for the poor and downtrodden?" She asked in a thick accent, looking me up and down before turning to Clint. "She does not look like she could defend much of anything."
"Don't be too hard on her, she just saved a girl from being raped by her boyfriend."
"Yes, that is excellent, but this battle is not against regular humans. It is against superheroes, and she wouldn't stand a chance."
"You don't know that-"
"Hey, don't talk about me like I ain't here! I got a name and that's Ryan Stewart. Don't forget it." I snarled in Wanda's face before backing up a couple hundred feet and starting to yank off my clothes. I hadn't gone into full Her mode since that first time, but my pride wouldn't let that Maximoff girl think I was weak. "You're about to get the surprise of your life."
Once I was down to nothing but my skin(which took a very long and awkward two minutes), I fully released Her from Her bonds and went with it. My teeth and nails elongated and broadened, my nose was suddenly short, stubby, and full of new scents, my ears were more sensitive, my bones and muscles morphed into the perfect length and density for unparalleled strength and speed, my eyes were clearer than ever before, and my skin was warm with fur. I could feel Her elation at being free, then Her fear at Wanda and Clint.
She snarled and pounced at the two Alpha beings, the ones that smelled of power and dominance. She wanted to eliminate them, they were a threat to Her territory, Her pack, Her authority. She shrieked in feral frustration when a diamond-hard red barrier blocked Her prey from the wrath of Her claws and fangs. She began roaring and scratching up the concrete around the shield in frustration, the compact stone nothing more substantial than sand under Her paws. She pounced and yowled and clawed, tearing up the surrounding buildings and road in insane anger, wanting more than anything in the world to get past that impossible barrier. The place looked like Manhattan after the Chitauri attack by the time She wore Herself out, finally retreating back into my head for some rest. Her attitude practically screamed just you wait until next time, puny villains.
I collapsed on the ground, head pounding in an intense migraine, body feeling pummeled like it had been hit by 20 semi's at over 100mph, and stomach snarling from the amount of calories it took to revert to Her. Now I remember why I don't do that any more. I felt like death.
"Holy shit. Wanda, I think that was the most violent 'fuck you' I've ever seen." Clint said, stunned. She said nothing, just staring with wide eyes. He jogged over to where I lay gasping. "Hey! Hey, kid! Look at me! Are you alright?"
"Big Macs," I coughed out, curling up into a little ball of self-pity. Never, ever, doing that again. I felt something warm cocoon around me(probably Clint's hoodie), and arms lift me high above the ground.
"What did you say?" He asked, probably questioning my sanity. I gave him a weak smirk.
"Big Macs. I could eat 15 of those things right now. I forgot how much energy it takes to do that whole leopard thing. Oooowwww! And how much it hurts. You don't happen to have elephant-sized ibuprofen, do you?" I groaned mournfully as Clint laughed.
"No, I don't have any of those. But I do have the money for a hotel room and some food. That work for you?"
"Sure, sure." I said, not caring as long as I got to sleep. I needed to freaking hibernate or something. "Ugggggh! Remind me never to do that again!"
"Sorry, kid, but we're gonna need you to do….whatever that was, in a few days. It is what you signed up for." I groaned again.
"But I get food first, right?"
"Yes, you get some food first. And a bath. No offense, but you stink."
"None taken." I mumbled, curling into a tighter ball. He then turned to Wanda, who was gathering my discarded clothes. "Hey, we're going back to the van. You guys cool now?"
"Yes. She has proven herself." Wanda said, shrugging. "My only reason to dislike her was the possibility of another liability."
"Yeah. I think Scarlett Bitch- I mean Scarlett Witch learned her lesson." I smirked a little, and Clint gave me a hard look. "What? You're telling me no one's ever called her that before?"
"No. I'm saying it was uncalled for."
"Geez, you sound like my mom."
"That would make sense, considering I'm a dad."
"Really?" That was a surprise. He seemed way too laid back, and I never really considered that the Avengers had families.
"Really really." Clint shifted me to knock on the door of a very kidnapper-esque van. It was big, white, rusty, and only missing a Free Candy sign on the Perv checklist.
"Who is it?" A muffled voice called from inside.
"Birdy, Hocus Pocus, and Archie." Clint said, most laughably, with a straight face.
"Is that seriously my code name? Archie?"
"We didn't know your real name. To us, you were nothing more than a legend, a possibility for help." He murmured as the door screeched open. I cringed; my ears were still really sensitive, but slit my eyes open just enough to see who was inside. There were some faces I recognized from news and the internet, like Captain America and the Winter Soldier, and some that were completely new to me, like the brown-haired man in the passenger seat.
"So this is the Creature of the Arch? I expected someone…..older." Another man that I didn't know said, reluctantly taking me from Clint so he could climb in. "And bigger. Seriously, somebody get this kid a cheeseburger."
"Not arguing. A Big Mac would be amazing. And a bed. And some clothes. And a bath." I said, then looked at everyone's confused faces. "Well no one ever said being a homeless kid was easy, Geez."
"Wait, let me get this straight; the almighty, feared protector of St. Louis' street rats and poor… is a homeless twelve-year-old?" Captain America asked.
"Fourteen! I'm fourteen, thank you very much. And I'm much more impressive when I'm not so beaten up." I grumbled, snuggling into the jacket. The man holding me gave Clint an incriminating look. "And my name's Ryan Stewart, not Creature of the Arch."
"What'd you do to her? I thought we talked about talking to her, not hurting her."
"I didn't! After she….transforms she gets all hungry and weak." Clint defended as Wanda started up the van.
"Speaking of," The man with the brown hair said. "What's your power?"
"Wait and see. I'm not in the mood to do it again. Ooooooooh, my heeeaaad!" I whined, curling into an impossibly tight ball.
"But can you hold it long enough to help us in a fight?" Captain America asked, still not quite convinced I could be of use.
"Of course! What kind of protector would I be if I couldn't fight?" I scoffed, but he was still dubious.
"Steve," The Winter Soldier said to him, speaking for the first time. "she's powerful. I can feel it. Believe me, we can trust her." The van went into a weird kind of silence as they stared at each other, and it felt like an eternity. Everyone was visibly relieved when the van stopped.
"Alright, we're here! Everyone grab your stuff and head in!" Wanda called, and I felt the person holding me shift me to one arm so he could carry his bag too.
"So what's your name? Are you new too? I haven't seen you on the news before." I asked him as he walked through the nice little hotel, which was awesome in the fact that it had a complementary buffet and coffee machine open 24/7.
"Sam Wilson. I've been with the Avengers for a while now, but I mostly don't go on the huge missions. I'm not a fan of the press." He said, starting up the stairs. I nodded in understanding: I'd had a hard time dodging those guys. Channel 9 was a beast.
"And what's your super thing?"
"I used to be in a special paratrooper division of the military, and lets just say I was really good at my job."
"That sounds pretty awesome. I wish I could be a marine or something, I like the idea of helping the country." I said wistfully.
"Why don't you?"
"What I….turn into doesn't like to be told what to do, and sometimes comes out under times of stress. I wouldn't make it past training camp without being shipped off to a research facility. And aside from that, someone needs to protect all the little guys here. The police sure as heck aren't."
"You don't have to be a hero, you know. You could live a normal life away from all of that." I saw compassion in his eyes and snorted.
"I was born on the streets, Sam. Literally. My mom couldn't pay for the hospital. I would be on the streets protecting everyone even if I wasn't like this. I just don't have any other options."
"We could help," Sam said, persistent. "we have more money than we know what to do with, I'm pretty sure we could spare enough to send you to a good school and get you a house." I shook my head.
"You don't get it. This is all I've ever wanted, all I've ever known. My only wish is that so many other people didn't have to go through the same thing. That's why I am who I am." He stopped in front of room number 37.
"I get it. I won't bug you anymore. This is your room, so go ahead and get settled. We're meeting in the Cap's room, number 25, for dinner in an hour. I'll see you there." He set me on the bed and gave me my key card, quickly pointing out the fully stocked bathroom and closet full of different-sized clothes, and then he was gone. I yawned, wanting nothing more than to die on this insanely comfortable bed(sleeping on pavement gets to you), but made myself get up and take a shower.
I hadn't had anything more than a baby wipe bath in I didn't know how long, and spent a good 15 minutes just standing there under the blissfully hot water. I'd never felt anything so good. I scrubbed away the layers of dirt and grease on my hair and body, enjoying the stinging redness of my raw skin after I was finished. I felt like a million dollars standing there in front of the mirror, like an actual human again. Brushing my teeth was awesome, I made sure to get toothpaste whenever I could but I never had a toothbrush, only my finger, and brushing my hair was even better. It felt so clean and silky beneath my fingers as I stroked it and stroked it. Instead of dirty, limp strands of dull color, it was now its thick brown self again.
But the clothes were best of all. I found a pair of jeans that actually fit me right and didn't drag on the ground as I walked, a real bra(yay!), and a shirt that wasn't unisex and three sizes too huge. I went barefoot though, preferring hotel carpeting to the too-soft slippers at the bottom of the closet. I was already ten minutes late by the time I left my room, and too hungry to think about doing much else than eating. I knocked the beat of Crazy Train on the fake wood door until someone opened it.
"My, my, don't you clean up nice." Clint said, now in baggy sweats and a t-shirt instead of jeans. I handed him his now filthy sweatshirt and spied everyone else on the floor eating from the many, many boxes of pizza. I salivated, stomach growling ferociously, and shoved past him to the nearest open box of cheesy gooeyness. Mmmmm, taco flavor.
"Steve, did we take in a rabid wolf or a mutant kid?" Sam asked, watching with repulsed fascination as I shoved a whole piece in my mouth at once, nearly choking on it in my hurry to swallow.
"Animal, definitely." He man said as I got to work on my third slice. There were a few more moments of silence until everyone realized I wasn't stopping anytime soon and returned to previous conversations.
I was in heaven. There were foods such as I'd never been allowed to have before, only smelled outside restaurants or seen on billboards. I'd dumpster-dived some pizza before, yeah, but the greasy cheesy awesomeness of the garlic bread, the spicy stickiness of the buffalo wings, and the sweet creaminess of the ice-cream was so monumental that I had to force myself to stop and savor it. I'd probably never have something so good again.
"You know, this is so much better than uncooked ramen noodles," I commented to the Winter Soldier, working on my second carton of Ben and Jerry's, this one cherry cheesecake. If nothing else, I'd ask them for a life supply of this multi-flavored delicious treat.
"Yeah, this kind of stuff tastes really good after eating crap your whole life." He said with surprising softness to his voice. "It never really gets old."
"Yeah, it definitely won't. But you know what I've always wanted to try?" I said excitedly, bouncing on my knees.
"Not a clue."
"So there's this one restaurant not far from where I stay that sells all different kinds of jerky, from beef, to chicken, to deer, to fish. And one of the other street kids had a dad with a job who gave him a few bucks a week, and he always got jerky with it because it was that good. My mom always said that I would love it."
"All the world of food and what you want is jerky? That used to be all we'd get to eat in the military, and you get tired of it pretty quick."
"Don't be so sure of that. The only thing I'm tired of is drinking water from a rusty spigot. That's it. I even still like ramen. Well, I guess I would if I ever get it cooked." He chuckled, a rough sound that seemed to vibrate the whole room, and patted me on the arm.
"Tell ya what, if you survive this I'll get you all the food you want. We could even go to the library and get a couple cookbooks." My heart leaped in great bounds of joy.
"Really?!"
"If that's what you want."
"Yes!" I cried, climbing on top of Steve's bed and jumping wildly. "I get food! I get food! The Winter Soldier's gonna give me food!" Everyone gave me a worried look.
"Should she be doing that?"
"Shouldn't we do something? Before she falls?"
"Should I stop her?"
"Chill guys, this is normal for kids. She's riding off the sugar rush of the ice-cream." Clint said, and I couldn't care less that they were talking about me like I wasn't there, I was having too much fun. Until all of a sudden, about ten minutes later, I got really sleepy. I fell on the now very mussed bed with a dull plop, feeling achy and gross. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is a sugar crash."
"Hey, did anyone think to call her mom? She must be worried." Steve said in a sudden epiphany, watching as Clint hauled a very sleepy me over his shoulder.
"Don't…... got one….. she died….. a while ago." I drawled out between yawns.
"That explains the awful table manners." Wanda muttered, and I stuck my tongue out at her. "And the rudeness."
"Anyone else incredibly hesitant to pit a child against an Avenger?" Asked Mr. Pym, who's name I learned eavesdropping on everyone else's conversations.
"If you had seen her fight, Doctor, you would be more worried about the others than her." Wanda said with a slight shudder. "I do not recommend doubting her."
"I'll believe it when I see it."