Steve heads back towards the subway. He walks slowly, thinking about the day, not really paying attention as he descends the steps and swipes his card.
Low Balance, it reads back at him.
He sighs and pushes through the turnstile. His thoughts are still preoccupied when his bag strap gets caught on the arm and yanks him back. He stumbles and hits the ground hard. He hears a snicker and he turns to his left to see a group of highschool aged kids laughing at him. They disappear around the corner and a large cough has him glancing back. A man stands there, tapping his foot impatiently, waiting to get through.
"S-sorry." Steve says, trying to disentangle the strap.
"Steve?" A voice calls. He looks up and sees Bucky approaching him from two turnstiles over.
"Oh, hey." Steve says, trying not to panic. His aching joints can't get the straps untangled fast enough and a line is forming behind the turnstiles.
"Here, let me help." Bucky pushes his hands away gently and smoothly disentangles the straps, and pulls the bookbag free. He guides Steve away from the crowd that is now pushing through, heading towards the platforms.
"Sorry." Steve says, not looking him in the eyes. "I need to watch where I'm going. She always says I'm hairbrained."
"Who does?"
Steve looks up and Bucky watches as a look of panic flashes across Steve's features and then disappears just as quickly.
"Hmm? Oh no one." Steve scratches at the back of his neck and turns to leave. "Thanks anyways."
"Hey," Bucky calls to him, taking larger steps to catch up. "Which train you taking?"
"Uh." He looks around points. "The orange line."
"Hey, I'm taking the same train!"
"Oh, really?" Bucky pretends not to notice the slight apprehension that is coloring Steve's face.
"Yeah, here, let's get on." They walk quickly, picking seats close to a door and settling in.
"What stop are you?" Bucky asks him, pulling out his phone.
Steve feels himself getting red but he takes a deep breath and says, "62nd Street."
"Hey! Me too!" Steve's eyes widen and they stare at each other momentarily. Something in Steve's chest loosens just a touch. Maybe he wasn't so different from the rest of his group. Bucky begins speaking animatedly, "Yeah, me and my mom and dad live in this apartment next to a deli. It's not my favorite one, but it's still good. I have a little sister, her names Rebecca, and she's not an obnoxious little sister, she's pretty cool—"
Steve listens as Bucky shares more about his life and home. Time passes quickly and soon the New York Subway guy is announcing their stop.
"So, what about you?" Bucky asks him, hopping off his seat and pushing through the crowd onto the platform.
'What about me?"
"Where do you live?"
—-
Bucky watches as Steve's eyes glaze just a bit.
"I live…" he goes quiet for a bit and something about his hesitation has Bucky regretting asking, but then Steve speaks slowly, measuring his words.
"There's some really old apartments over by the docks between Sunset Park and Bay Ridge. I—uh… me and my mom, we…" Steve doesn't seem able to finish his sentence, the crowd droning around them and Bucky jumps in, not wanting the awkward silence to be left.
"That's cool, I'm not over that way much." Bucky decidedly does not mention that 62nd street is the wrong stop for that. Something tells him Steve knows this.
What is the deal with this kid? Bucky asks himself. He watches as Steve's head is tilted to the side, always tilted, his chin always cocked to the left. They reach street level and Steve waves goodbye. Bucky stays for a moment, watching as Steve walks down one block and then cuts into a small alleyway. Bucky shakes his head, his curiosity and sense of unease about Steve growing.
—
Clint dangles his legs over the edge of the fire escape, dropping pennies ever so carefully down two stories and hearing them thunk beautifully in the metal mug he has set down below.
"Clint!" His step mom calls.
"I'm out here!"
"How did the school thing go today?"
"It went well." He drops another penny and it plinks into the others.
"Clint."
"Yeah?"
"Why do I smell cigarettes?"
"I was smoking."
His step mom sighs. She leans further out the window and grasps his shoulder. "I wish you wouldn't."
It's not the response he expects but he just shrugs.
She doesn't press, just squeezes his shoulder and says, "dinner will be ready in 15. Your dad's going to be late again tonight."
"When isn't he." Clint mutters after she's gone. He sees Miss Dawes shuffling with a garbage bag in her hand. "Afternoon, Mrs. Dawes." He calls out from above.
She blinks and stares up at him, squinting against the dying afternoon sunlight.
"Clint?"
"Yeah, Miss Dawes."
"How's your school thing going?"
He huffs, laughing at the question he's been repeatedly answering. "It's going well, Miss Dawes, they're filling my head with all the nice fancy talk so I can succeed in life."
She raises her hand, blocking the sun from her eyes and staring at him with a glare. "No amount of sarcasm will get you a good job, boy. I hope you're taking it seriously."
He doesn't feel the need to explain that it was he who applied, that it was he who filled out all the applications and tests and searched for his own funding because no way his family could or would pay for it. But he doesn't say that. "I won't, Miss Dawes. You know I won't."
"I do know. You're a smart boy. I just have known a lot of smart boys who have made dumb choices."
Clint nods. Her own son had been caught breaking and entering into a house and was in and out of prison for drug charges.
"I won't let you down Miss Dawes."
"Good. Goodnight, Clint."
"'Night, Miss Dawes."
As she enters the apartment's front door, he stares down the alley, watching the cars pass by. His thoughts flit to Natasha. Something about her felt like they already knew each other. She'd clearly been able to read his facial expressions and it was almost like she could read his mind.
He meant to ask her in more detail about what had happened between Steve and Rumlow but she'd disappeared too quickly after school. He thinks about Tony who he'd expected to be a big jerk but had actually turned out to be somewhat cool. Bucky seemed like a fun kid to get to know. But Steve… the kid was still a mystery. Except how could someone who had everything written clearly across their face be such a mystery?
He's going to figure him out. Clint hates not seeing all the angles. So, he just needs to get a better vantage point.
—
Tony slips into the backseat of the car. Jarvis smiles at him and pulls away from the curb. They're halfway home when Jarvis speaks.
"Sir?"
"Yeah, Jarvis?"
"You seem unusually quiet today."
Tony rubs at the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah, sorry…" then his brain spews out the question that's been on his mind. "How much are glasses?"
"Like eyeglasses? Or sunglasses?"
"Eye glasses, like… to help you see?"
"I can't be sure, I believe it depends on the severity of the prescription needed."
"But if you had to guess?"
"Maybe a few hundred dollars, sir. But I'm not perfectly sure."
Tony sighs. A few hundred dollars? That's nothing for him. But he knows that's a lot for most people in the city. He goes quiet again but he can feel Jarvis' eyes on him.
"Why do you ask, sir?"
"Just… wondering."
They're silent the rest of the way.
—
Natasha walks into her apartment complex and starts up the stairs. She hears the yelling before she reaches her door.
She pushes it open, hoping they're not in sight of the front door.
Her foster parents are yelling in the kitchen, and she slips past them towards her and her sister's bedroom door.
She squeezes through the deliberate space left open. Enough to squeeze through, not enough to creak on its hinges. Yelena sits on her small bed, stomach down, a book in front of her.
"Hey." Natasha says quietly, getting the girl's attention. Yelena looks up and gives her a relieved smile, pulling out her headphones.
"You're home."
"Yeah, how was today?"
Yelena just stops and listens, the yelling floating through the walls.
"More of the same then?" Natasha asks dryly.
"Yeah."
Natasha unpacks her backpack. Carefully setting her pointe shoes aside and climbing into her own bed, laying back.
"Sorry I'm gone during the day." She says quietly. They've already had this conversation, but she feels more guilt every time she comes home.
"It's okay Tasha, I'm glad you got into that program. You deserve it." She closes her book and rolls to face Natasha. "When I'm old enough, I'm going to apply."
Natasha furrows her brow. "I think you can apply next summer, there's a kid in my group and he's only 14."
"14?" Yelena says in too loudly in surprise, she claps a hand over her mouth. Then whispers, "Was he a freshman last year? Or is he going to be a freshman this year?"
"I assume he was a freshman last year… Although I don't know for sure. I'll try to find out."
"Yeah, I wanna know because if I can apply next year that would be amazing. You think the grant will still apply to me?"
"Well, it should, neither of us were born here, so I don't see why not."
Yelena nods, tapping her headphones against her lips. "Man, I can't wait to get out of here."
Natasha grimaces, but then smooths her face. "We will."
Yelena looks at her and grins. "Yeah, together."
—
Bruce looks at the paper in front of him. Most of the groups had some overlap. But as he stares at the paper in front of him he has to admit that he feels a deep sense of surprise.
Electives Selection
Steve Rogers - Idea to Completion
Bucky Barnes - Idea to Completion
Tony Stark - Rob Idea to Completion
Clint Barton - Idea to Completion
Natasha Romanoff - Idea to Completion
He knows he made it clear they don't have to be in the same elective. He knows because there isn't a single other group who all chose the same elective.
He quietly adds their name to the list under that elective and he finds himself smiling as he walks towards his car to go home for the day.
—