Author's Note: Hello everyone! I apologize to anyone who follows me for my lack of activity within the last year or so. It's been a bit of a rough year as I've been dealing with some mental health issues. I'm hoping to get back on track now. I've been promising this story for a while now, so here it finally is! AU's are not usually my thing, but this idea got in my head and was just begging to be written. So here we go, and hope you guys like it!
Chapter One
"Alright, what's this about?"
Maria Hill regarded him wearily before turning her gaze back to the window she had been looking through.
"Meet Clint Barton," she said simply with a nod at the window.
Phil Coulson turned his attention to the one-way window that looked into the interrogation cell. A boy sat at the right side of a metal table, a standard prison jumpsuit hanging off his thin frame, his hands cuffed and resting lightly on the table in front of him. Phil's gaze lingered for a long moment on the kid's bruised and battered knuckles before shifting and taking in the black eye and split lip. The kid was sitting stiffly and stared blankly straight ahead at the blank wall at the left of the interrogation cell. It was a bit unnerving to see such a small boy so still.
"What is he, ten?" Phil asked skeptically.
"Just turned thirteen," Maria said calmly.
"Wow," Phil said, arching his eyebrows in honest surprise. "Small for his age." There was a heavy pause before he turned back to Maria. "Well, it's swell to meet him. So, you want to tell me why it was so important for me to rush over here so early? I don't have to tell you that traffic was a bitch."
"He's in juvie on three counts of assault on police officers and one count of trespassing," Maria reported clinically. "His sentence hearing keeps getting pushed back so he's been here for over a week now. They are in the process of removing him from gen pop and transferring him to isolation because he keeps getting into fights and has sent eight boys – all sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds – to the infirmary so far."
Phil arched an eyebrow… vaguely impressed despite the circumstances. "Well, he seems fun. I'm still not sure what it is you want from me."
Maria finally turned to look at him, fixing him with that look that always made him feel like he was a teenager again and about to get scolded by the principal.
"His hearing is currently set for next week," she told him briskly. "But not only does he have a history of violence before this but he's also had a history of running away from Child Protective Services. In fact, after several failed attempts, he finally disappeared from a group home in Iowa four years ago and hadn't been seen since until now. The system isn't exactly jumping at the opportunity to place a flight risk like that. And, as you well know, without somewhere to put this kid a judge is likely to give him a maximum sentence for assaulting those cops just to keep him off the streets."
Phil sighed. He was afraid that was what she was looking for.
"Maria, I'm full up, you know that," he said tiredly. "I'd like to help but I just can't take in any more kids right now, especially one that's so prone to violence. I've just recently got Bruce to stop breaking things when he gets worked up."
"This kid needs a break," she pressed. She held out a thick file that had been tucked under her arm. "Just look at his file. Parents died when he was six and when CPS took him in there was already evidence of abuse. He and his brother were bounced around to four different homes in three years – at least one of which was put under investigation for suspected child abuse and endangerment when the kids were relocated – before disappearing and assumedly living on the streets for the past four years." She gave him a grim smile. "This case is right in your wheelhouse, Phil."
Phil sighed heavily as he took the file from her but didn't open it. It wasn't the first heartbreaking case he had heard. Nor would it be the last.
"Where's his brother now?" he asked.
Maria shook her head. "No idea. He disappeared at the same time Clint did and hasn't been heard from since. He would have aged out of the system by now anyway so he's not really our concern at the moment."
"How did his parents die?"
"Car accident," Maria informed him. "His father was driving and veered off the road without any obvious provocation, wrapping the car around a tree. Both Harold Barton and his wife were pronounced dead on the scene. Autopsy revealed that Harold was heavily intoxicated at the time of the crash. This was at ten in the morning on a Tuesday, by the way. Really tells you what kind of guy he was." She paused. "Also, both Clint and his brother were in the car at the time of the crash. When paramedics arrived on the scene, both parents were already deceased, and his brother was unconscious. Clint was the only one left conscious, despite broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a heavily bleeding head wound."
Phil sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You know I'd like to help," he repeated reluctantly. "But I literally have nowhere to put this kid right now. I physically cannot fit another bed into either of the boys' rooms."
"This kid isn't going to get off without some kind of sentence," Maria said rationally. "I talked to his public defender, he believes that if I can line up a home for the kid before the hearing then he can get the judge to be lenient and give him sixty to ninety days since this is his first official offense. You've been saying for years now how you've wanted to fix up that attic of yours. That would be plenty of time to do that… might even be a good project to get the boys involved with this summer." She shot him a knowing look along with a small smirk.
Phil snorted a laugh. "Sounds like you've got it all figured out." His eyes wandered back to the boy who sat in the interrogation room. He hadn't moved, not one fidget, since Phil had gotten there. "What's he got to say about all this? Any kind of explanation on why he keeps getting into fights? Or how he disappeared in Iowa and ended up here in New York?"
"He's… not saying anything," Maria said carefully.
Phil turned back to her, suddenly suspicious. Something suddenly seemed off about her tone. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… he's not saying anything. At all. As far as we know, he hasn't spoken one word since he was arrested over a week ago. The only reason they were able to identify him was because his prints were in the system from a minor trespassing incident when he ran away from one of the group homes in Iowa when he was eight."
Phil blinked in surprise. "Well… that's a new one," he admitted.
Maria nodded. "It's a pretty strong indicator of trauma. Maybe even post-traumatic stress disorder."
Phil frowned. Yes, he had heard many terrible stories about kids in his time as a foster parent. But even he had to admit that it was pretty gut wrenching to think that this kid had been through something so terrible that he refused to speak.
Phil busied himself with flipping open the file. Maria had already given him all the pertinent information, but he still wanted to see for himself. There were pictures of a six-year-old Clint Barton, his eyes downcast and strangely blank, a thick bandage wound around his head, bruises on his chest and healed scars on his back. There were accounts from a child psychologist of trying to engage with Clint and how concerning it was that he spoke so quietly and wouldn't make eye contact. There were records of getting in fights with other boys in the group homes and multiple instances of him running away – sometimes with his brother and other times on his own.
But what haunted Phil the most was a photo that was taken just after Clint was removed from his third group home. He was eight years old, sporting a black eye and a cast covering his right arm from his wrist almost up to his shoulder. According to the notes, his arm was broken in three places due to "suspicious circumstances," and then the home he was living in was immediately put under investigation for child abuse. It was the look on the kid's face in that photo that really got to Phil though. He had never seen such anger radiating off someone who was so small. It was a sharp contrast to that first photo only two years before.
Phil sighed heavily as he snapped the file shut and handed it back to Maria.
"Keep me updated with when his sentencing hearing will take place," he said flatly as he turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" Maria called after him.
Phil paused at the door and glanced back at her with a faint smile. "Going to start prepping the boys for manual labor. That attic project isn't going to be easy."
Once upon a time, Phil Coulson had lived a quiet life. He owned a three-bedroom brownstone on the outskirts of New York City, just a short subway ride from Columbia University, where he was the youngest tenured history professor. He was early to campus every single morning and was always working late into the night. He was never one to turn down covering classes for colleagues or even adding extra classes to his own already crammed schedule. After all, it wasn't like there was anything but an empty house waiting for him when he left campus.
Of all things, it was an ad on the subway that originally put the idea into his head. The ad read that the state of New York was in desperate need of foster families to take in kids who had nowhere to go. Phil barely registered the ad the first few days after it was posted, but as the weeks went on he found himself looking at that particular ad more and more.
Initially, when the thought had first crossed his mind, he had immediately scoffed at it. What did he know about raising kids? But, even months later when the ad was finally covered up by an obnoxious ad for Axe body spray, the idea sat and festered in his brain.
That was ten years ago now.
Since then, Phil Coulson had fostered twelve teenage boys, always insisting on taking in hard cases that CPS had trouble placing. Most of them were older since it was common to have trouble placing sixteen and seventeen-year-olds who only needed another year or two before they would be released out into the world.
Phil made a difference in their lives. He could see it. It wasn't always easy, and it wasn't always indicative of a movie on the Hallmark channel… but this was what really gave him a purpose in life.
Down the road, he would look back on this time and find that it was fitting to give Clint Barton the honor of being his lucky thirteenth foster kid.
As Phil climbed the stairs up to the front door, he could already hear the ruckus coming from inside. That was pretty impressive considering the kitchen – where he knew the boys should be – was on the second floor.
He entered the house and immediately made his way upstairs to the comfort of his chaos.
There were loud voices echoing around the second floor of the brownstone. Tony was sitting at a barstool at the counter and was complaining loudly about wanting French toast while Steve was yelling over him from the stove that if he wanted French toast he could make it his damn self. Thor was laughing loudly as he emptied the dishwasher – something he was supposed to have done the night before but had obviously forgotten until they realized they had no clean dishes for breakfast – clanging glasses and dishes so loud that Phil couldn't help but fear they would break. Phil swore that half his paycheck went to replacing dishware every month. Bruce, to his credit, was attempting to stay out of the fray standing quietly off to the side, though Phil couldn't help but wish the kid could find a balance between uncontrollable anger and quiet as a mouse.
Phil smiled as he stepped off the stairs and fully onto the second floor of the brownstone, which had the kitchen at the back end and a living room on the other, separated by a bar countertop that spanned about half the width of the room with stools lined up. Never once had Phil missed the quiet of the big old house from before he started taking in foster kids.
"Alright," Phil called loudly to announce his presence. "Let's keep it to a dull roar, shall we? I don't need any more complaints from the neighbors." He said it lightly with a smile though, so as not to be confused with an actual scolding.
"I would like to lodge a formal complaint with management," Tony announced, with an air that he was about to make a formal presentation on the floor of Congress.
"And you're more than welcome to do so," Phil invited as he approached the kitchen. "State your case, kid."
"This is the third day in a row that we've had pancakes for breakfast!" Tony asserted as if this alone was a personal offense. "I made a polite request for Mr. Golden Boy to switch it up, and he had the audacity to yell at me!"
Phil rolled his eyes, knowing full well that wasn't how the morning had gone.
Steve scoffed. "A polite request? More like a loud, obnoxious demand after I already started making the pancakes!" His eyes never left the skillet where he had just poured three piles of batter.
"We've had pancakes three days in a row!" Tony pressed, as if that fact alone made his argument irrefutable.
"Hey, you're welcome to make your own breakfast," Steve said with a shrug and a smile tugging at his lips. "You'll have to hit the store though, because like I told you three times, we don't even have all the ingredients for French toast."
"Phil, can we have a ruling?" Tony pleaded.
Phil shrugged both shoulders. "Sorry, Tony, you know the rules," he said. "Whoever's turn it is to cook gets to decide what we eat. When it's your turn to make breakfast, you can make all the French toast you want."
Tony sighed and slouched down, bracing his elbows on the counter in front of him. "Not fair," he mumbled.
"Where were you so early this morning?" Thor questioned as he finished putting away the clean dishes and closed the dishwasher a little too hard with his foot.
"I got a call from Maria Hill this morning," Phil said conversationally as he pulled a banana from the fruit basket they kept on the counter. "There was something she wanted to discuss."
The statement got an immediate reaction from every kid in the room. Tony snapped back up into an upright position, Thor spun around to fully look at Phil, Bruce took an involuntary step back away from the kitchen and even Steve gave an uneasy glance over his shoulder before turning his attention back to flipping pancakes.
Phil really couldn't blame them. The mention of their social worker rarely meant good news. Phil knew for a fact that in these boys' former homes – for he was not the first foster parent to any of these boys – unscheduled visits or meetings with social workers generally meant that someone was about to get relocated for one reason or another.
"Stand down, guys," Phil assured them. "It wasn't about any of you."
The relief was almost palpable as everyone seemed to deflate.
"So… what was it about?" Tony asked, glancing at Phil a bit suspiciously.
"We'll talk about it over breakfast," Phil assured him. "Why don't you help Bruce set the table?"
"I think he's very much capable of handling that himself," Tony drawled.
"Yes, but if you do it together think of the glowing teamwork report I can give to your parole officer," Phil pointed out with a smirk.
Tony rolled his eyes but grudgingly slid off the stool to help take out the plates and cups that Thor had just finished putting away. As Phil watched Tony and Bruce set the table, he couldn't help but frown thinking about how they were going to squeeze a sixth setting onto a table that was really only meant for four people. Clint was small, so it might not be too much to double up on another side of the table. He'd have to track down another chair though. Or maybe it was simply time to invest in a bigger kitchen table…
Finally, they had the table set and food distributed. However, as they all sat down to eat, the atmosphere was more tense than it usually was. Everyone was still obviously concerned about the fact that Phil had met with their social worker that morning. He had been planning to wait until they finished eating, but he figured it'd be better to put their minds at ease sooner than that.
"So, as you guys know, I had a meeting with Miss Hill this morning," Phil reiterated. He glanced around the table and was a little surprised to find everyone's eyes already on him. It was a very rare moment where he had everyone's undivided attention. "She wanted to talk to me about one of her new cases."
"Oh no," Tony groaned as he sat back in his chair. "Don't tell me you were at the pound and picked out another new puppy."
Phil glared at him, not caring at all for that analogy. Tony immediately snapped his mouth shut at the look, having the good grace to look at least mildly repentant.
"He's right, though, isn't he?" Bruce said quietly, surprising all of them. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "You're bringing home another kid?"
Phil sighed. Of course, they would beat him to the punch.
"It's a special case and Miss Hill was desperate," Phil explained. "This kid has a hearing next week and if he doesn't have a place to live, the judge is probably going to default to the maximum sentence just to keep him off the streets." He cut a look at Tony. "You might know something about that kind of situation."
Tony crossed his arms over his chest but didn't comment.
"But… aren't we full up?" Steve asked slowly, looking more confused than anything. "Where are you even gonna put another bed?"
"Well, chances are even with the best-case scenario, this kid is going to get time," Phil explained. "We'll probably have sixty to ninety days to get ready for him." He paused, knowing how this next part was going to go over. "You know that attic project I've mentioned a few times…"
"You've got to be kidding me," Tony said with exasperation. "Manual labor? It's almost summer time! Doesn't that mean we get time off? I mean, why don't we wait for the new puppy to get here and he can build his own damn room."
"Tony," Phil said sternly.
"What? I can't be the only one thinking it," Tony asserted. "It's one thing to take in another puppy, it's another to demand that the current puppies build the new puppy an entire room." He glanced around the table for support. "Right? I'm not the only one, am I?"
There was uncomfortable shifting around the table. Phil looked at each of them, seeing that they weren't agreeing, though didn't seem keen on disagreeing either.
"Well, you know my policy about open communication in this house," Phil finally declared. "I want to hear from each of you. Let's go around the table." There was the usual moaning and groaning that went with what the boys affectionately referred to as 'Feelings Time,' but Phil ignored it. "We've already heard Tony's thoughts. Thor? Do you want to chime in?"
"I have no objection to a little manual labor to pass the time this summer," Thor stated immediately. Then he hesitated before carefully going on. "But I will admit that it can be stressful to bring a new person into the house when it already can feel crowded." His eyes darted toward Tony.
Phil nodded. "That's a fair concern," he agreed. He turned his gaze. "Bruce?"
Bruce frowned down at his breakfast, idly pushing around syrup with his fork. "I'm not very good at building things," he mumbled, not looking up at any of them.
"Well then, it could be a good learning experience," Phil pointed out. He waited to see if Bruce would go on. When he didn't, he finally turned his attention to the last person at the table. "Steve?"
Steve fidgeted uneasily in his seat, glancing down at his food before putting down his fork and looking up at the rest of them.
"It's not ideal," he finally said. "Things are already cramped enough as it is here with just the five of us. I can't even imagine what adding a sixth is going to do to the morning bathroom routines when we're trying to get out the door and to school in the fall."
Tony grinned triumphantly, before Steve took a deep breath and continued.
"But, we've all needed a break and Phil was kind enough to give it to us. We all know what it's like to get bounced around and to feel like an unwanted guest in someone else's home. Some of us even know what it's like to be facing a higher juvie sentence just because no one wants to take you in." His eyes darted toward Tony – who had deflated at the direction this had turned – and skimmed over Bruce before focusing back on Phil. "I think if you think we can make this work, then I believe you."
Phil smiled, proud of Steve's perspective.
"Can't we at least hire someone to build out the attic?" Tony groused.
"Think of it as family bonding time," Phil said with a smirk.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Like we don't get enough of that as it is."
"Careful, Tony," Phil said. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't grateful."
Tony sighed at that. "You know that I am, Phil," he mumbled, suddenly interested in studying his food.
Phil nodded in satisfaction. Reminding Tony to be humble had been a chore when he had first taken him in, so Phil could be grateful that it was becoming more of a weekly reminder rather than an hourly reminder these days.
"When do we get started?" Thor asked, and Phil had to genuinely smile when the kid sounded almost eager.
"I'll start planning what we'll need for material over the next week," Phil told them. "Once there's a ruling at Clint's hearing next week we'll be able to put together a timetable for getting this done before he's released."
"So that's his name?" Bruce asked. "Clint?"
Phil nodded. "Clint Barton," he clarified. "He's had a tough go at life so far, as I'm sure you guys can relate to." His eyes wandered to each boy sitting at his table. "I know this is coming out of left field for us, but I hope that you'll remember what it's like to be placed in a new home. This kid is going to need the same support that was given to each of you when you first arrived." There were nods with varying degrees of enthusiasm at that.
Phil was careful to steer the conversation back to normal breakfast conversations after that, not wanting to dwell on this one thing all morning. But as they finished breakfast and Thor and Bruce were cleaning up while Tony disappeared upstairs – likely to sulk and tinker with some of his science experiments – Phil quietly requested Steve to join him downstairs in his office.
"I appreciate you helping to rally the others this morning," Phil said when they were downstairs and out of earshot of the others.
Phil didn't take a seat behind his desk, but rather took the armchair pushed off to one side of the room while Steve perched on the nearby couch. It was a space that Phil had set up that could be used for conversations that didn't feel as formal as having him looming over his kids from behind a desk.
Steve shrugged a shoulder. "No problem," he said with a smile. "I like to think after all this time I've gotten some perspective."
While Thor was the oldest in the house, Steve had been with Phil the longest. Phil had taken in Steve when he was nine years old, the youngest kid that Phil had fostered to that point. But, in Steve's short two-year stint in the foster care system before Phil got to him, the kid had been bounced around to six different homes. He didn't even unpack his bag for the first year he had lived with Phil, convinced that this wasn't going to be permanent.
Six years later and Phil still smiled when he saw Steve's things strewn on the floor of his room.
"I wanted to run something by you without the entire Council listening in," Phil went on.
"Okay," Steve said, though he suddenly looked wary.
"I know that with the way the conversation went, you guys all assumed that we would be building out the attic for the new kid," Phil said. "But I don't think that's going to be the best course of action here. And I imagine there will be a mutiny when this comes out, but I'm thinking about putting one of you guys up there."
Steve nodded. "But… why?" he asked carefully. "I mean, things seem to be going well with how things are right now. Bruce somehow gets along with Tony, I manage to not smother Thor in his sleep. Do you really think it's a good idea to shake the dynamic up again?"
"Those are good points," Phil allowed. "But I just don't think it's going to be the best idea to put a kid like Clint up in the attic by himself. I think that's going to make him feel isolated and that's not what we want with a new member of this family."
"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Steve admitted. "So… who are you planning on giving the new room to?"
"I was thinking of moving Thor up there," Phil said carefully, studying the teenager in front of him to gage his reaction to what he was about to suggest. "And then I could put Clint in your room with you."
Steve fidgeted uncomfortably at that, and Phil felt a pang of guilt. Steve was a good kid, he would never want to outright deny a reasonable request. It didn't mean that he wasn't a typical teenager who wanted to.
"I mean… if that's what you want to do," Steve finally hedged, not quite looking at him.
"I know I told you I wouldn't be shuffling you guys around anymore," Phil admitted apologetically.
With four kids in the four beds that Phil had and the oldest only sixteen, once they had found this balance of roommates Phil had promised not to move anyone around for at least the next two years. Before the current arrangement, Tony had shared a room with Thor, which had almost ended in bloodshed on several occasions. When Steve's previous roommate, Sam, had aged out and gone off to college he had quickly been replaced by Bruce. Initially Bruce had been sharing a room with Steve, but it didn't take long before a trade had been proposed after it was realized how much Tony and Bruce had in common. Thor was only too happy to oblige in the switch.
"And I meant it when I said it," Phil went on. "But with this new development… I don't want to split up Tony and Bruce, they are actually working well together and it's good that they can connect over their interests in science. And Thor means well, but I think he still lacks a certain maturity level and honestly I'm afraid he'd scare the new kid off."
"So, I'm the last resort," Steve supplied, frowning slightly.
"No, not at all," Phil quickly assured him. "I think you're the logical choice. Clint won't be your first rookie and honestly, I'm thinking you're the only one who'll be able to handle him. He's going to need a lot of patience as he adjusts." He paused before he went on quickly. "But I'm giving you veto power. If you say you don't want to, I'll figure out a different arrangement."
Steve sighed, but smiled. "No, it's okay. I'll bunk with the new kid. Can't be any more difficult than bunking with Tony when he first got here."
Phil laughed. "I hope you're right. I don't think any of us would be able to handle another Tony."
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! More details on the kids' individual stories coming in the next chapter!
