A/N: So here's chapter two. I'm honestly shocked at the overwhelming response the first chapter got, so thank all of you for your kind words and for favoriting and following, it means a lot.
Just so you know, if you read this on A03, there may be images and other story related stuff I edit, since I can't post them here.
I still don't own anything.
Just a warning, this is the first chapter that will have referenced child abuse. It's not explicit, but it is definitely implied.
"Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences." ― Emery Allen
As is becoming usual, the social worker keeps a hand on his shoulder as she walks him to the door. Apparently, if you run away from your foster home once, they tend to assume that you will try to bolt if they so much as blink in your presence. It doesn't matter if you only got three blocks before you were caught. You are forever a runaway.
He's been told about a dozen times how lucky he is to be going to this foster. Apparently, the guy's some sort of saint, taking in a lot of the at-risk older kids and 'rehabilitating' them. They said he'd never returned a kid to the system, and had adopted each kid he'd taken on. The kids at the group home had told him how 'lucky' he was to be placed in his home. Honestly, with all the rumors he's heard, he thinks he'll be disappointed if this guy is anything less that Jesus Christ himself.
So far, it seems like everything they've all made it sound like. The neighborhood is bright and happy, and the house itself is the cliché to end all clichés. It's two stories, painted a very pleasant sky blue, with a white painted wrap around porch and a picket fence to boot. The lawn is immaculate, there's not a single variation of the green. It honestly looks like one of those magazines his old foster mom used to read just threw up on the place.
The woman rings the doorbell, and he can not-quite hear someone scuffling just behind the door. It swings open to reveal a tall, lanky kid, about his age, if he had to guess, with messy blonde hair. He grins as he looks them both over, but Clint sees his lips tilt downward the slightest bit for a second as he's regarded.
Whoa, he can't help but think, Territorial much?
"Come on in!" he urges, stepping back to let them through. "Mr. Hammond's upstairs in his office, I'll go get him." He offers, "We were about to have lunch anyway." He waves a hand toward the sitting room before starting up the steps.
He goes where he's directed, and takes a minute to look around. Its decorated nicely, if nothing else, but it somehow doesn't strike him as very homey. Maybe it's the harsh scent of cleaning chemicals he can smell under whatever air freshener is in the room, or just how pessimistic he's become toward new fosters, but something about the whole situation makes his stomach turn.
Two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs, one significantly heavier than the first, demands his attention. It's the blond boy who gets down first, casting him a quick look before vanishing into what he guesses is the dining room.
The man who is to be his guardian looks just as much a cliché as his house does. He wears a white button up that's tucked into faded blue jeans, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and no shoes. Blue eyes shine out of a round, kind face, and his light brown hair is neatly combed. He grins at the sight of Clint, and approaches him, though he doesn't come too close before reaching out a hand to shake.
Clint stands and steps forward, taking the hand. It takes him a second to realize that it was planned. By not coming the full distance, he'd coaxed him into standing and filling the gap himself. He thinks he can understand why they say the guy's good.
"It's good to meet you Clint." He greets, "Miss Angela here's told me a lot about you. I'm Mark." Dropping his head, he nods once at the worker. "Why don't you go over into the dining room with the others while I handle the paperwork." He suggests, "We can get to know each other a bit better over lunch." When he casts a look toward his bags, Mark waves a hand. "I'll take those up myself before we eat."
While a part of him wants to argue, say that he is perfectly capable of taking his own bags upstairs, he doesn't. Mark seems like a decent guy, at least from what he can tell. He won't be a jerk if he doesn't have to be. Plus, if this guy didn't ever send kids back into the system, starting off on a bad foot didn't seem like the best way to go. He nods, and steps into the entryway again, continuing into the dining room.
The blond boy is setting a bowl of macaroni and cheese on the table when he enters, and looks up quickly as he comes in.
"Oh, hey." he greets, wiping his hands off. "Clint, right?" He asks, probably having eavesdropped on the next room.
"Yeah. You?"
"I'm Lincoln." The boy, Lincoln, is taller than him by a few inches, but Clint's actually willing to bet that he's younger. He's not sure why, he just is. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the others." He nods his head toward a door that leads to, if Clint had to guess, the kitchen.
Despite the fact that someone's actively cooking, the room seems just as spotless as the rest of the house, probably because there's a girl, at least a year or two older than him, washing dishes already. He looks to the stove, and is confused when he sees that its a kid who's using it, and not one his age either. An actual child.
"New guy's here." Lincoln announces as he steps up to the side of the sink, taking up a towel almost mechanically and drying the dishes that are already clean. The girl at the stove turns around to look, obviously curious, and Clint is pretty sure he stops breathing. Because it can't be her. He barely hears Lincoln informing him that the dish washing girl's name is Amber. "And that speck of nothing over there making grilled cheese is-"
"Skye."
"Clint?" She's across the kitchen in a second, throwing her arms around him and hugging him harder than he thinks he's ever been hugged in his life. He holds onto her as long as he can before she pulls back and looks up at him. He's surprised to see her eyes full of tears. "What are you doing here?" She asks softly, and he can tell she's scared. He wants to comfort her, ask what's wrong, before he's interrupted.
"You know him Skye?" Lincoln asks, towel gone and arms crossed over his chest. He's protective. In a way, it brings Clint some comfort to know that someone's been looking after her, even if he doesn't know how long she's been here.
"Yeah, from a few foster homes back." She explains, finally letting go of him.
"Oh. He's that Clint." The blonde boy surmises. relaxing a touch, though still not entirely at ease. He looks to Skye. She'd mentioned him? As he examines her, he can see the strip of leather from the necklace over her collarbone. Though the arrow is beneath her shirt, it's easily recognizable to him. She's skinny, a bit more than he remembers her being, but not enough to be concerning.
"Hey pipsqueak, watch the sandwiches." The girl called Amber calls out. His fists ball almost involuntarily, and he almost opens his mouth to defend Skye, before he looks to Lincoln, who doesn't seem concerned, and finally to the girl, who's grinning. It's just a nickname, he realizes. Skye, though, seems panicked by the thought, and rushes back to the stove to flip the sandwich in the pan. Again, he wonders why she's cooking, but she doesn't seem too bothered by it, so he resigns himself not to be as well.
"Anything I can do to help?" he asks, taking a look around the room.
"No, actually." Lincoln replies with a shrug. "That's the last sandwhich and we're good. Oh! You can grab the tea pitcher from the fridge." He places the dried pan into a cabinet as he says it, and Clint complies quickly, opening the fridge. It doesn't surprise him at all that the fridge seems as absolutely spotless as the rest of the place, and locating the pitcher among the groceries is pretty easy.
He sets the full pitcher on the table by the macaroni, and glances over to see Mark signing a paper with a flourish and a grin, saying something to the social worker about wanting to 'give back', whatever that meant.
Lincoln appears from the kitchen area, setting cups at each of the plates that are already set up and ready. It's a touch odd to see teenagers and children behaving so independently, weren't they supposed to be the problem cases? The unruly ones that needed help? It's odd. It occurs to him for the first time that Skye's here, so she must've created a problem somewhere. He wonders if it was Tom and Elizabeth giving her up that set it off, she seemed fine before.
"He'll put your stuff in my room," Lincoln tells him as Mark vanishes up the stairs with Clint's bags, "Since the girls are in the other one." He flashes a smile, "You a heavy sleeper?" He asks, looking a bit sheepish. "I tend to snore. At least that's what people tell me."
"Clint can sleep through anything." Skye informs him as she enters herself, smirking. "As long as it's on the left side."
Blinking in surprise, he stares at her for a second. It's true that his left ear is the worst of the two, and he's considerably more likely to hear if the sound came from his right, but he's never told her that. In fact, he's never told her that he even has hearing issues. He hadn't thought she'd noticed.
Everyone's in a seat by the time Mark returns to the dining room, Lincoln and Clint on one side, and Skye and Amber on the other, the only open chair being at the head of the table.
"It's good to see you guys are already getting acquainted." He says with a smile, taking his place at the table, reaching for a sandwich and scooping some macaroni onto his plate. Once done, he passes the dishes to his right, and they all take the same. It's strange, how ordered it is, Clint thinks, even as he grabs his own sandwich. He opens his mouth to mention that he and Skye know each other, but something, he's not sure what, stops him.
"These are very good Skye," Mark praises after a bit of his grilled cheese.
"Yeah, they're awesome," Lincoln agrees after quickly swallowing.
"Don't sell yourself short Lincoln," Mark chastises lightly, reaching to pat the boy on the back. "Your mac and cheese is fantastic." The blond boy doesn't quite stiffen under the man's hand, but he does seem to still a bit, and it's clear he doesn't like the contact. A feeling of something like dread wells up in Clint's chest as the thought that something is very wrong here increases.
"Thanks.."
"Clint," the man addresses him, pulling him out of his thoughts, "Things are pretty simple here, and we don't have that many rules, but if you break the ones we have, you will be punished." He says it simply, and he doesn't sound overly malicious, so he feels like it's safe to ask:
"Well what are they?"
"Number one, is that chores come first. On weekends, once your chores are done, you're free to play outside, stay in, or go into town, with permission of course. When you're in school, you come home, do your homework, then your chores. If you have any free time after that, you have those same freedoms."
He nods in agreement, that much, he thinks, is reasonable.
"You are to be home before sunset, unless you've asked express permission to be out later than that."
Another nod.
"You will be respectful to all adults, including myself, and other children. If there is a problem, you should come to me with it if you can't handle it civilly. If you do come to me, I do ask that you knock before entering any rooms that aren't yours."
"Yes sir." He replies in what he hopes is a polite manner before taking a sip of the tea.
"That's really it," Mark finally decides after a moment of silence, "I think you'll be a good fit here Clint, just like the others." With a warm smile tossed in for good measure, Clint would probably agree with him, were it not for the tiny red flags he's just barely picking up on.
"Tomorrow morning, I'll have the chores rearranged so Clint can start doing his part," The guardian adds, this time addressing the whole table. After getting muffled noises of assent, he turns his attention to general conversation.
He listens as Amber talks about her science project and as Lincoln explains an essay his English teacher has assigned. Mark offers suggestions to both of them, before instructing Lincoln to show Clint around school and introduce him to friends once he's enrolled, since apparently they're in the same grade.
When it came Skye's turn to explain school goings-on, she just shrugs, something that makes a line appear between Mark's eyebrows and a strange look cross into his eyes. In just a second it's gone, like it was never there to begin with, replaced by the beaming grin he's worn so far. Something about the look has Clint's stomach twisting in an instinct that yells danger! in bright flashing letters.
"Well what's wrong? I thought you said you liked Miss K?"
"I do, it's just..." Skye hesitates. "I'm bored. Everything we've gone over in class I already learned at my old school." It's the most petulant he's ever heard Skye be, which catches him by surprise, but it makes sense. He's dealt with that himself in the past year. Mark doesn't seem quite as sympathetic.
"Well, you are a very bright girl. But you need to focus on your studies. Just think of it like review."
"But-" She tries. Clint sees Lincoln's entire body tense before it even happens, so he almost expects the cut off, voice raised in volume ever so much.
"No buts." Mark's voice is hard and authoritative, as if daring her to continue to argue. Suddenly Skye looks absolutely horrified and ducks her head.
"Yes sir."
"Your schooling is important to me," he continues, voice gentling to the way it was before seamlessly. He looks to Clint as he speaks, as if he were explaining his anger to him and not to Skye.
Nobody speaks for the rest of the meal, and Clint thinks it's the most uncomfortable he's ever been. Though his appetite has vanished, he finishes off his plate at least, if for no other reason than wanting to keep himself in Mark's good graces.
He thinks everybody's about finished when he sees Lincoln look at him before flicking his eyes toward the table a few times and standing. Taking the cue, he rises to his own feet and helps the blond clear the table, grabbing the silverware while the other boy gets the plates. Amber's in the kitchen, waiting for them at the sink by the time they get there, not hesitating in the least as she starts rinsing everything clean. Skye follows them in, her arms laden with the cups she'd collected. She almost drops one, but he catches it quickly, earning a smile that's both affectionate and grateful at the same time.
Their guardian gives him an appraising look as they re-enter the dining room, before finally rising to his feet himself. "Thank you very much," He tells them all, sounding perfectly genuine. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be finishing some work up in my office until dinner." He arches an eyebrow, "I think we may order pizza to celebrate our new addition." And with that, he vanishes up the stairs. When he's been gone for a few seconds, Lincoln finally lets his lips quirk upwards again.
"Come on, I'll show you our room and help you put your stuff away." It's like someone's flipped a switch. The second that Mark's gone, the others drop the stoic obedient act and suddenly become what he expected - actual kids, like him.
He's up two steps before the taller boy turns and calls back, though not too loudly:
"You coming, Pipsqueak?"
"In a second!" Skye calls back from somewhere in the kitchen. "I'm drying!"
The two boys head upstairs, and Lincoln pauses at the door on the end of the hallway. "This is ours," he explains, before pointing out the neighboring door. "That's the girls room, and the one across the hall is Marks." Finally, he gestures to the final door. "Marks office. You heard his rule. Don't go in any of those rooms without knocking and asking first."
"I think I can manage to remember that." Clint decides, committing the doors to memory before following into the room that they'll share.
There's a four poster twin bed on two of the opposite walls of the room and a window with a seat marks the middle of the room between them. The bedding is done in plain black and, as he sits on the one Lincoln gestures to be his, the mattresses themselves leave much to be desired. It's not the worst he's ever had though, so he won't complain.
"No dresser, so we'll have to share closet space, but I doubt either of us have enough that it'll be filled." he explains, retrieving a handful of hangers from the walk-in. He sits on the edge of Clint's bed and helps arrange the clothes onto the hangers, and just as they stand to start actually put them away, a small snort sounds from the doorway.
"You know he's a big boy Lincoln?" Skye asks, smirking at them both good-naturedly.
"I know!" The wild-haired blond replies with a voice full of heavy false excitement, "It'll be nice hanging out with someone I won't have to worry about stepping on." She sticks her tongue out at him, and he chuckles, grabbing another few articles of clothing to put away.
"Why don't you come in and help? Make yourself useful." Clint teases. watching the exchange with a smile. It relieves him a bit to know that Skye can still be herself, or at least relatively close to herself, even after what the Brodys did. He still gets bitter about it sometimes, making him lash out at his current foster parents, hence why he'd been labelled trouble and landed here.
"Sorry," She replies in a far too innocent voice. "Girls aren't allowed in the boys' room, just like you aren't allowed in ours."
Quickly, he files that away under an unmentioned rule he doesn't want to break.
That done, they head back downstairs and outside to talk, not wanting to disturb whatever work Mark is doing by making noise.
He sits on one of the steps, and Skye makes a place next to him, while Lincoln takes a crosslegged spot on the concrete path and Amber joins him.
In the span of that conversation, Clint learns a lot. He learns that Skye's been here six months, Lincoln's been here eight, and Amber's been here for a year. Amber's also the only one still there to have been formally adopted by Mark, even though she'll be eighteen in a month. It takes him awhile to work up the nerve to ask what happens if you break rules, and the second he does, he regrets it. Skye goes tense against his side, Lincoln visibly stiffens, and Amber abruptly stops meeting his gaze.
"Sorry," he rushes.
"Just... Don't break the rules. It's not worth it." Amber tells him, and her voice sounds hollow, devoid of the laughter it'd carried just a moment before.
"He... he uses a belt." Skye starts abruptly beside him. Clint feels his own breath hitch in surprise, and he thinks it's more than just spanking she's talking about, but he doesn't get the chance to ask for more because she continues. "He has this closet, in his office. It's small. Dark." She draws her arms around herself and her voice wavers as she talks. He can tell that there's something she's not saying, but he doesn't push for three reasons. One, is that Lincoln looks like he'd probably throw a punch if he did, two is that they all seem hugely uncomfortable talking about it, and three, he can feel Skye trembling slightly against his side. His hands clench into fists at his side.
A horrible feeling settles in his chest, and regardless of how quickly the topic changes, it doesn't quite go away. In fact, the abrupt new conversational direction only makes it worse, because that switch in their behavior is even more prominent, and he's certain that's extremely unhealthy.
He hadn't actually realized how much time had passed, so when Mark appears in the doorway behind them, asking what kind of pizza they want, it surprises him.
"Pepperoni." He replies, looking the man over. He tries to picture him wielding a belt, but the image won't form clearly in his mind.
"Alright, you all come in and get washed up." All four of them rise wordlessly, almost but not quite in unison and follow the man in.
By the time they're seated at the table, with paper plates instead of glass ones, Clint's stomach is growling. He can't remember the last time he had decent pizza. His last foster home had been health nuts whose idea of 'treats' were chocolate flavored tofu bits, and pizza in a group home was nearly unheard of.
Aside from another round of reassuring comments that now make him a bit sick to his stomach, they eat in silence, which is just as well, they're all ravenous enough that the four pies are almost gone by the time all is said and done.
He showers before bed, at Mark's insistence, and honestly there's no way in the world he's going to argue with the man, especially after having heard what he had.
When he finally changes into sleep clothes and gets in bed, Lincoln's already asleep. He barely notices as he falls asleep, that Lincoln doesn't seem to be snoring at all, despite what he'd said earlier.
So there's chapter 2. This may be the only chapter for awhile, since school starts in this next week and I have a routine to get back into. But since I have the first half or so of the next chapter (there was supposed to be more to this chapter but it was running really long), it shouldn't be too long. I'm thinking StaticSkyeHawk as the ship name (since I went ahead and put it in the tags and it was already up on AO3. It's either that or StaticQuakeHawk. What do you guys think?
Favorites, follows, and reviews are always welcome, and I'll see you next chapter!
~TheFallenArchangel
