A/N - Thank you so much for your kind comments on this story! It definitely has morphed into something I did not expect, but it's so fun to write this modern AU! I'm loving exploring the younger versions of these characters.

Thank you for your support!

—

Steve ignores the Card Balance Empty notification as he walks through the turnstile. He tries to think about what he's going to say to Mrs. Schmidt to let him be gone on Sunday afternoon.

—

Natasha slinks in through the front door and drops her shoes. She walks to the kitchen where her foster parents sit at the kitchen table.

"Natasha?" Her foster mom asks.

"Yeah, It's me." She calls, rounding the corner and enters their line of sight. "Good, we need to discuss something with you."

"What is it?"

"Well, we've been going over the finances, and we just don't think we can afford ballet lessons this school year."

Natasha sighs and grits her teeth. She knows that's a lie, but it doesn't matter. It's always something. Her foster mom has been a manipulative narcissist since she had been placed there.

"That's fine." Natasha says without a fight. "I'll find my own job to pay for them."

Her foster mom's mouth gapes open and Natasha has to fight back the urge to smile. She turns and heads down the hallway, smiling only once she's out of their view.

She softly whistles a short tune and hears Yelena's response whistled back. She walks in and flops down on her bed. Tossing her backpack to the ground. "Hey."

"Hey."

"They take something of yours away today?"

"Yep. No Tae Kwon Do this upcoming year."

"I wonder what started this."

"I don't know, they've been fighting so much it's hard to see the cause of anything anymore."

"I guess it's better than—" Natasha stops herself. The bruises on Steve's neck flashing before her eyes, "Hey, Lena?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever hear of a Steve Rogers last year at Brooklyn Middle?"

Her eyes go wide and her head snaps up, blonde hair catching in the afternoon sunlight. "Steve Rogers?" She says, "Like real skinny kid? Blonde hair? Bluest eyes you've ever seen?"

Natasha laughs but shakes her head, "yeah, that's him."

"What happened? Is he okay?"

Natasha is taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Oh man, he was two grades ahead of me but he could never catch a break. How'd you know him?"

"He's at the fancy program I'm at. You knew him in middle school? Why didn't you ever mention him?"

"Well it's not like we were friends exactly, he was always kind of a loner, even though from when we did talk I could tell he seemed really nice. He just usually stuck to himself, or was in fights."

"Fights!?"

"Yeah, always getting pounded by some jerk or another."

"Yelena!" Natasha scolds, "Why didn't you step in?"

Yelena looks offended. "If I ever had been around for any of them, I would have!" She frowns at Natasha, "he always came to school bruised up so I just assumed it happened off school campus."

The next words die in her throat.

"Tasha?"

"How often did he come to school bruised?"

"I don't know. Super often. Everyone always rolled their eyes and said he didn't know when to run away from a fight."

Natasha sits up and rests her head in his hands. "And no one thought to ask whether it was happening at home?"

Yelena gasps and flies from her bed, kneeling down in front of Natasha, "What happened. What happened?"

"He was trying to hide it today, but Isaw. Bruises on his wrists and around his neck."

Yelena clutches at her hand and looks up into her eyes. "Who? A fight?"

"I don't know. We thought maybe his mom but he seems to lov—"

"His mom?" Yelena asks incredulously, standing up, "What do you mean his mom?"

"Well, he hasn't mentioned a dad, so if it's happening at home then—"

"Natasha." Yelena waves a hand to stop her. "It can't be his mom."

"That's what I'm trying to say, Yelena. I know it seems unlikely given how much he seems to love her when he talks about her but we can't completely discount the possibil—"

"What are you talking about!" Yelena says, grasping Natasha's shoulders and shaking them. "It can't be his mom—"

She sighs, "Yele—"

"No, Natasha, it can't, because she's dead."

Natasha reels back as if slapped. "Wh-what?"

"She died, like years and years ago. Before I even met him. Some tragic accident or illness or something. My friends told me about it."

"Dead?"

"Yes, Tasha."

She thinks back, going over every word she can remember Steve saying about his mom and it hits her like a ton of bricks, "Oh my— geez." She exhales.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No." She snaps. She's mad. She's mad at Steve for keeping this from them, and she's mad at herself for not seeing the thinly veiled truth the whole time, and she's mad because it's none of their business but she still wishes Steve had felt comfortable sharing it with them. She groans and lays back, head hitting her 'd known each other for exactly one week, and she was expecting this kid to tell them that his mom had died in some tragic way? She'd literally been telling herself that she didn't have to get close to anyone she didn't want to and here she was being hypocritical. She opens one eye and sees Yelena studying her. "So where does he live? He have any other family?"

"Not that I know of. Kids always spread ridiculous rumors that he slept in dumpsters or in some orphanage somewhere but I never knew the truth."

Natasha groans again. "When I see him tomorrow—"

"You can't tell him you know!"

"Why not?" But even as she asks the question she knows. Hey Steve, how's it going? Found out your mom's dead. Thanks for the heads up. "I won't." She says quickly, seeing the protest rising on Yelena's face. "I won't."

"Good." Yelena joins her on the bed, laying her head next to hers. "How is he?"

"Other than being abused at home, not having enough food, not having glasses that he desperately needs, and looking like a puppy that just got kicked all the time? Great."

"There was once a rumor that he ate out of trash cans. Everytime I heard it I told them to knock it off, but I know he heard it. Kids can be so mean." Yelena whispers. "You'll take care of him now right? Like you take care of me?"

Natasha feels her throat constrict as she drags her sister, in all but blood, closer to her, hugging her tightly. "Damn right."

—-

Tony walks slowly to his dad's lab. Jarvis had said he was in there. He knocks on teh glass door, getting his dad's attention, who looks up in surprise.

"Come in, Anthony."

He scans his hand and enters, running his tongue on the backside of his bottom lip as his dad stares at him.

"What did you need?" His dad asks, looking down at the hologram on the table.

"Can my friends come over Sunday afternoon? We need to work on a project together, and I told them you might be able to help us think of an idea."

He watches as his father's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he looks around briefly. "You need my help?"

Tony huffs and refrains from rolling his eyes. "Yeah, dad. We'd like to pick your brain."

"Well," he watches as his dad looks at him and a genuine smile crosses his face. "Of course, they're welcome to come."

"Thanks." He leaves, feeling his dad's eyes boring into his back. He pulls out his phone and texts Rhodey.

Think I just gave my dad an aneurysm

The response is quick:

By doing what?

Asking for his help…

YOU WHAT

I know. Wild right?

Man, who are you and what did you do with 'daddy-issues Tony'

Hey, watch it jerk

Just calling it like I see it

Tony laughs, he punches out his response. See you tomorrow before you leave for the week?

Yeah, see you at 2

—

Clint's washing dishes in the back of Milo's when his uncle reappears.

"You sure you want to spend your Saturday washing my dirty dishes?"

Clint just huffs a laugh and keeps at it. His uncle stands next to him, a serious look on his face. "Steve ate? You said you brought him food?"

"Yeah, yeah, we got a whole plan."

"Good. You let me know, I'll help anyway I can."

"Thanks Uncle Ricky." He lets the hot water rinse off the suds as his mind flips through his thoughts.

"Uncle Ricky?"

"Yeah, bud?"

"What is Sarah Rogers like?" His mind replays the bruises. They'd seemed kind of big for a woman's hand, but who knows.

"She's a real beautiful lady." His uncle says, "All blonde hair, with a face of sharp angles, just like her kid. But I think her eyes are green, not blue. She talks with a slight Irish lilt, she immigrated here as a kid. She is the nicest, I'll never forget how much she cared for this neighborhood."

"What happened?"

"What I heard is she got married to a guy named Joe and then when he died, she couldn't afford to live here anymore and moved to a cheaper part of town. We were sure sad to see her go. Years ago I remember her visiting once, with a little Steve in tow, but I haven't seen her in a while."

"So.." he doesn't know how to ask this. "She wouldn't… like… hurt Steve would she?"

"Hurt Steve?" He laughs, "She couldn't stop hugging and kissing on him from what I remember." He tilts his head, thinking back, "I was just starting to run the shop full time when she visited, and I remember she would point at things and say their Irish name and he would copy her. And everytime he got it right she would grin so wide I thought her face would split. He sure smiled and giggled a lot as a kid."

Acid rolls through Clint's stomach as he sets the last dish into the drying rack. What has to happen for a kid to go from what his uncle was describing to the kid he knew now?

His uncle's brow furrows, "Why do you ask?"

"We're not sure yet."

"We?"

"Yeah, our group."

"You guys have seemed to gel quickly."

"Yeah," Clint says, a small grin creeping onto his face, "we have."

—-

Bucky's walking home with his parent's from church when he hears a thud and then a groan.

His parents hear it too and they stop.

Another thud sounds and a shout of pain. Something about the shout has Bucky's spine going ramrod straight and he's running down the alley before he can even think why.

"Bucky!" His ma calls, "get back here!" But he can't. He knows that voice.

He almost trips over bony legs as he skids around the dumpster.

"Hey!" He shouts, looking at the two guys in front of him. They look college age and he can see that one of their shirts is torn and right fist bloody. He glances down and his throat catches, there's Steve, laying against the brick wall, looking a bit dazed with a split lip and black eye already forming. "Leave him alone."

"Whatcha gonna do about it, punk? What's he to you?"

"He's my friend, and you better back off."

One of them takes a threatening step forward and Bucky stiffens, his hand clenching into a fist when he hears his dad's voice appear behind him.

"Hello."

The two guys straighten up at the appearance of an adult. Not to mention that Bucky's dad just screams military. "I think it's better for everyone if you two just disappear. Doesn't that sound about right?" The flint-like tone his dad uses, makes him want to shiver in fear but he refuses, just staring at the goons in front of him.

They grunt in response and take off. Bucky lurches forward and kneels at Steve's side.

"Steve? Steve can you hear me?"

"Buc'y?" The name comes out just a little bit garbled but relief flows through him that Steve is lucid enough to recognize him.

"Yeah, Steve, it's me. What happened?"

Steve groans and shifts, pushing himself up and rubbing at his eyes. "I had 'em on the ropes."

Bucky hears his dad chuckle behind him and he watches as Steve follows the sound, his eyes crinkling into a smile at having made someone laugh.

"Steve," Bucky snaps his fingers, getting Steve's attention back on him, "why were they beating you up?"

"Old grudge."

"How do you have a grudge with college aged kids?"

"They never forgave me for ratting them out."

"Rattling them out?" Bucky asks, confused.

"They used to work at Reynold's. Saw 'em stealing from the till when the owner wasn't looking. Told the owner. She pressed charges. They never forgave me. Now when they see me…" he groans again, holding his side and wiping at his lip with his shirt sleeve, "this is their payback."

Bucky looks up at his dad whose face has shifted into a stony expression, all traces of humor gone. "Son, how often does that happen?"

Steve squints one eye up, looking at the air between the buildings. "I dunno'. Just occasionally."

Bucky frowns at Steve's use of the word occasionally, as if they'd asked him how often he goes to the park, or buys an ice cream cone.

"Steve, you need to tell your parents."

Steve smiles good naturedly and nods,

"Come on," Bukcy says, sliding an arm around Steve's shoulders, helping him up. "Let's go."

"Where we going?"

"My house."

"No, Bucky, I can't I—"

"Steve." His father speaks, his tone firm. "You need to be looked at, and I won't let you go home to your parents looking like this, not if we can help. You must come home with us."

Steve shrinks a little but when he looks up at Bucky there's a soft smile on his face. "okay."

They find Bucky's ma and sister standing in the same place.

"Oh, George!" She says in relief, "I was about to call the police!"

"No need, dear." He says lightly. "Would you mind fi we brought Steve home and cleaned him up?"

"Steve?" His ma asks, turning towards Bucky and finally taking in Steve's appearance. "Oh my heavens!" She exclaims, rushing forward and putting her hand under Steve's chin, turning his face to the sun to get a better look at his split lip. "You're coming home with us this instant!"

Steve huffs a laugh and then winces, clutching at his side. His ma's eyes widen in alarm. But as she looks at him, she studies his face, something in her mind turning.

"Let's get home." His dad says, grabbing an unusually silent Rebecca along with him as they walk back towards their home.

—

*A/N - Our bb Steve is going to get some much needed love in the next chapter.. and then.. possibly things might take a turn for the worst. YEESh. Some of you are on the right track with your guesses. I'm loving hearing your theories!