Natasha texts Yelena on the subway.
N: I need as much information that you remember about Steve as possible. Did other people know him? People you can ask?
Y: I'll ask around. Did he show up today?
N: Yeah…
Y: Yeah…. And?
N: Says he was sick
Y: Oh. Well that's probably true. He was sick a lot when I went to school with him.
N: Sick doesn't usually leave dried blood on the back of your skull
Y: WHAT
Y: He has What?
Y: Natasha, answer mee
N: Sorry, getting off the subway. Yeah, he can't see it. He probably thought he had cleaned it all off, but he missed a spot.
Y: You gotta report that.
N: I'm going to talk to an adult.
Y: Good. Pick a good one.
N: I will.
Natasha shoves her phone into her back pocket not needing any reminder about the difference between talking to a good adult and a bad one.
They somehow make it through the subway ride, the walk up to the school and through the front doors without saying anything about it. Natasha can feel both Clint and Bucky silently seething, but they've stayed mostly quiet.
Tony, on the other hand, has begun rambling, something she's surprised about, but soon it makes sense, he's nervous and he doesn't know how to address the traumatic fact that at some point in the last two days Steve was bleeding from his head, so he's rambling to cover up his nerves. Great.
They've entered the hallway and Natasha can feel the TA's eyes on them. She glances up and his eyes are staring at Steve. He looks relieved. Natasha decides she needs to talk to him later, try to get out what he knows. She can be pretty persuasive when she wants to be.
They stand a bit awkwardly, and Natasha realizes that they can't just let him walk around school with blood on the back of his head.
"Hey, Steve?"
"Hmm?"
"I think you have some paint on the back of your head." She says it with a chuckle, pointing at the back of his hair.
Steve's eyes furrow together and he absently reaches back. His fingers must graze whatever injury is back there because he winces slightly, his cheeks coloring slightly at the realization at what it was. "Oh, haha. Whoops. You know. Painting is a serious mess."
"Uh-huh." Tony adds, catching on to Natasha's goal. "Barnes, you wanna help him? He probably can't see it."
"Sure, yeah, come on, Steve." He throws an annoyed glance back at them as they walk away, clearly saying so we're just not going to talk about it?
"Barnes is right." Clint huffs, waving at their departing figures, "we're just not going to ask Steve why he has blood on the back of his head?"
"You think the kid would tell us?"
"I don't know!" Clint starts, his jaw tight, "But we can't just pretend it didn't happen."
"We won't." Natasha agrees, "I'm going to ask the TA. He knows something."
—
"THanks." Steve says quietly, eyeing Bucky.
"No problem," Bucky responds, handing Steve a wet paper towel. "Hard to see spot back there."
"Yeah." Steve says, trying to twist and look at the back of his head in the mirror. His shoulders seem stiff and he can't quite seem to get the spot. Unbidden a chuckle escapes Bucky and he jumps down from his perch on the sink counter.
"Here, hive me that." He snatches the wet paper towel from Steve's hand and plops his hand down on the top of Steve's head to keep it steady. He brushes against the blood, and Steve skin he's. Oh, crap, Bucky thinks, whoops. He brushes gentler, pushing the hair back and seeing a bruise and small abrasion beneath his hair. He swallows and continues wiping the blood off the few strands.
He's just about done, it had taken less than a minute when Rumlow strides into the bathroom. His eyes take in the scene, Steve standing, shoulders hunched forward and head bent as Bucky holds a paper towel to the back of his head.
"What the hell is going on?" He asks, a sneer on his face.
"None of your business, Rumlow." Bucky answers, throwing the bloody paper towel into the trash before either can see it.
Rumlows sneer turns wicked, "ah, private business between you two, huh? That was quick."
Bucky feels Steve stiffen beneath his hand, looking at Rumlow through the mirror and Bucky steps back, turning to face Rumlow, "You know what, Rumlow?"
"What, Barnes?" Rumlow sneers, not giving him a chance to respond as he turns to Steve, "I see you're back, pipsqueak. What happened to you? Get lost digging through the dumpster for new clothes?"
Barnes is about to give Rumlow a piece of his mind when Steve whips around, stepping closer, "what, I'm gone for two days and you go from being ignorant to being a bully?"
Rumlow's eyebrows raise in surprise, but then his eyes narrow and his mouth frowns. "Watch your words, little boy. Sticks and stones, you know."
Steve scoffs. Literally scoffs in Rumlow's face and his voice is flat when he speaks, "that doesn't even make sense. Still ignorant I guess." Steve's eyes are fiery, Bucky can see something in him gearing up for a fight.
Rumlow steps forward, his fist raising, and Steve just stands there, defiant and ready. Bucky jolts forward, shoving his body in between them.
"Stop." He says, both his arms raised towards Rumlow.
"Aww, how sweet. Protecting your little pet rat?" Rumlow mocks, glaring at Steve.
"He's not the rat, Rumlow. You are." Bucky hisses, his shackles up at Rumlows words towards Steve.
Before Bucky knows what's happening, he's being shoved back, his back slamming against the stall doors. It buckles behind him and he sits down hard onto the tile floor.
Before Bucky can process what's just happened, a blonde blur flashes past, launching himself towards Rumlow. Bucky watches in surprise as Rumlow goes reeling back, Steve's shoulders slamming into his stomach. Rumlow's breath leaves him in a whoosh as he hits the wall by the door. Steve's stepping back when Rumlow recovers, grabbing Steve's arm, causing Steve to yelp in pain. Rumlow looks surprised before shoving him back against the sink counter. Steve's back arches backwards as his waist hits against the counter, his head getting close to the mirror.
"You better watch your back, runt." Rumlow threatens, stabbing a finger at Steve and disappearing out the door.
"What the hell." Bucky wheezes, his eyes on the absolutely murderous look on Steve's face. "Steve, why'd you attack him!?"
Those blazing blue eyes snap to his, disbelief across the, "he shoved you!"
"So?"
"So?! He can't get away with that!"
"Steve, you can't… you're not—" He pauses, unsure how to say what he wants to say but Steve's eyes go dark, falling to the floor.
"Oh." He takes a deep breath and starts for the door, leaving Bucky sitting on the ground. "Sorry. Didn't mean to get in the way."
The door is swinging shut as Bucky sits there, mouth gaped open. He scrambles to his feet, pushing through the door and looking up and down the hallway for Steve.
The group has dispersed, the first bell already ringing and Bucky grits his teeth. He pulls out his phone, creating a text group chat while walking to his class.
B: We've got a problem.
C: What?
Tony: wym
Natasha doesn't answer but he's pretty sure she's in ballet, so she wont' see this til later.
B: Rumlow walked into the bathroom and picked a fight with us. Rumlow shoved me for defending Steve and Steve launched himself at Rumlow, getting thrown against the counter in the process. Then Rumlow threatened him. Like he did back with Natasha.
C: You're joking
B: I'm not.
T: How is this kid a literal magnet for trouble
B: I tried to tell him that he shouldn't be defending me, and he took it the wrong way.
T: Of course he did. I've never met a kid that small with that much fight in him
C: I'm going to find Rumlow later
T: DON'T.
C: Why not?
T: His dad's in the gov. You mess with him, and daddy's claws come out. I'm telling you, they're dirty. My dad hates his dad. Seriously, they'll dig through any closet and pin the skeleton on you.
C: So what do we do?
B: I gotta find Steve after class. But about Rumlow?
C: I dunno, keep him away from Steve.
T: Why am I more worried about keeping Steve away from Rumlow?
B: Same.
—
Natasha is reading the messages as she walks to her second class. She's angrily thinking of ways to punch Rumlow without it causing an issue when she slips into her classroom.
—
Bucky is unsurprised to find the others waiting outside of Steve's art class.
He looks at them as Tony rolls his eyes. "So what, we're this kid's protection detail?" He grumbles, "what the hell happened to my life."
The door pushes open and they all freeze as a teacher walks out. She glances at them in confusion, "Can I help you guys?"
"Uh…" Clint starts. "We're just looking for Steve?"
Her smile softens and she nods back, "he's still painting. You can join him if you like."
She waves and disappears into her office. They look hesitantly at each other, before pushing inside. The smell of paint and art supplies fills their nostrils as they notice Steve balanced precariously on a stool, his feet barely touching the floor. He doesn't notice their quiet approach and they all glance at each other, his bad ear is facing them.
Bucky clears his throat, trying to get Steve's attention but startling him instead.
The watch as his hands freeze in mid-air, paint brush hovering over a canvas. His eyes search until they find them. His eyes darken and he turns back to the canvas.
"I'll meet you guys at study hall." Steve says crisply.
"Come on, Steve." Bucky pleads. "You didn't let me finish, don't be mad. Come eat with us, and let me explain."
"I'm not mad, I'm just not hungry."
Natasha steps closer, "I didn't take you for a liar."
He narrows his eyes at the threat to his character, "I'm not a liar."
"Sure sound like one right now." She presses, stepping even closer. Her eyes trailing the smudges of paint on his jeans and hands. "Barnes? Explain."
Bucky takes a breath, holding his hands out to show his remorse. "What I was trying to say in the bathroom is that you shouldn't let guys like that get under your skin—"
"I don't like bullies." Steve responds, his voice fiery, "If I let them get away with saying stuff like that then they'll never stop!" He's glaring at them, waiting for them to contradict him, but they don't. His shoulders sag and he lets the hand holding the paintbrush drop to his side. "There's… things I can't control. I know that. Trust me I know—" his voice cracks and he grimaces, "—but I've been listening to jerks like Rumlow talk my whole life. And I can't protect everyone, but I can try."
Steve's eyes are staring out the big glass windows, the natural light hitting his face and making his blue eyes almost glow, his blonde hair like sunshine.
"Well, that's noble as hell." Tony interjects into the somber mood. "But I'm hungry. So pack up your paints, Steve. You're coming with us."
"Wait, wait, wait." Clint huffs, "I think we gotta see the painting." They're at an angle where Steve's canvas is angled away from them. "Can we?"
Uncertainty crosses Steve's features but Bucky is bounding forward and stopping behind Steve's shoulder. The group joins them and they stare at it.
The color choices are strange, like Steve got the tones right, but couldn't decide on a full color scheme. But the actual painting itself is gorgeous.
It's a street in Brooklyn, one Bucky swears he's been too but can't quite remember. The buildings are all shadows and impressions of brick or stone, cars are blurs and signs or people are all faded like they've been partially scrubbed, but walking down the sidewalk, clearly painted, is two figures, a petite woman with a soft smile, looking down at a small boy, who's staring wide-eyed at the sky. The paint strokes make it look like he's bounding forward and pulling her along, creating the illusion of movement.
When none of them speak, Steve turns to face them, anxiety across his face, "Is it not good? I've only had about a week so far, I missed the last two class periods so I'm behind on the assignment—" He notices Bucky's face, "What's wrong?" Clint glances at Bucky whose face is stricken.
Bucky clears his throat, "It's nothing. Sorry. I think I got some dust particles in my throat." He turns around and coughs, trying to play off the emotion clear across his face.
Tony steps forward, leaning over Steve's shoulders. "Interesting color choices."
Steve's head tilts towards Tony, "What do you mean?"
"I mean the unusual use of—-" Tony cuts himself off, straightening up. "You know what, I'm no art critic. I think it looks great."
"Wait, No. Tony, what were you going to say?"
"Nothing! I've just never seen anyone use these colors this way, it's really unique."
Steve seems to accept this and turns back to the painting.
"Is that you and your mom?" Clint wonders, trying to sound lighthearted.
Steve nods, staring at the woman in the picture, "this was… I dunno I was like 7 maybe? I just remember her taking me to the park because it was the first truly warm day of the year and I could go out without worrying about catching a cold."
"She's beautiful." Natasha muses, "You look like her."
Steve smiles, "thanks." He sets the brush down and wipes off his hands, "just give me a minute and I'll get cleaned up and head out with you guys." Steve walks off, carrying his pallette and brushes towards the large industrial sinks at the back. When he's out of hearing range Tony sighs, staring at the picture.
"What is it?"
"You guys notice anything strange about the painting?"
"Just what you said about the colors, but I assume that's an artistic choice?"
Tony looks at them, his face going from calm to annoyed, "it's literally—-" he huffs, he pinches the bridge of his nose, "it should be illegal for someone to have this many problems—"
"What are you getting at Tony?" Clint's voice drops, as his eyes follow Steve washing his brushes in the sink.
"He's colorblind." Tony says flatly, gesturing to the picture, "he's colorblind and I'm not actually sure he knows it."
—-
Somehow Steve is the most chipper out of all of them as they walk back through the hallways and into the cafeteria. They make a noticeable entrance as it's significantly late into the lunch period. They make their way to their table and sit, pulling out their lunches slowly.
"Steve?" Natasha asks, eyeing his book bag.
"Yeah?"
"I know you said you're not hungry, but my mom packed me these stupid strawberry granola bars but I don't like strawberry. Want them?" She doesn't wait for his answer, just slides it over to him. "I hate wasting food, but if you don't want it, just throw it away." She turns back to her food, taking a bite out of a sandwich and starting a conversation with Clint about what cheese at Milo's is the best to get on a turkey sandwich.
Bucky keeps Steve in his peripheral as he eyes the granola bars, his fingers inspecting the packages. Finally he rips one open and takes a small bite, chewing slowly before finishing the whole thing and opening the second. He's about to take another bite when his eyes catch on something. Bucky looks up to see the TA walking past the stage at the far wall of the cafeteria.
"I'll be right back." Steve says hurriedly, sliding his way out of his chair and squeezing his way through the tables. The four of them stare as they watch Steve stop the TA and talk to him. The TA's features go from surprise, to confusion, to concern and then to utter disbelief as Steve thanks him and turns away coming back to the table. The TA, Banner, Natasha reminds herself, is staring at Steve's receding figure with dark eyes. His jaw is tight and she watches as he about faces and disappears through the doors out of the cafe.
When Steve slides back into his seat, Clint can't help himself, "what was that about?"
"Oh, I just uh, needed to clarify something with him about my acceptance in the program."
"Oh… okay."
—
Bruce feels his fists clenching and unclenching as he storms out of the cafeteria doors and down towards Erskine's office.
He doesn't even knock, just barging in and slamming himself into the seat in front of the desk.
The bespectacled man looks up, unphased and smiles, "something on your mind, Bruce?"
"They told them."
"You're going to have to—"
"THEY TOLD THEM." Bruce shouts standing back up and pacing the floor of the small office. "I can't BELIEVE that he—" He stops, his face red and expression furious. He tries to take a deep breath, he hasn't let his anger get the best of him in a long time. Probably not a good idea to do it in front of his employer. "The agency I reported Steve's abuse to. They must have told whoever Steve lives with that I was the one who reported it."
"How do you know that?'
Bruce's words are clipped and angry. "Because Steve just came up to me and thanked me for my concern but wanted to clarify that he was perfectly happy and safe at home and that I didn't need to worry or make any more calls on his behalf. In fact." Bruce tries to still his shaking hands, "he told me he would prefer if I didn't call anyone. That he's all good."
Erskine's eyes are saucers and his fingers are splayed against the desk.
Bruce stares at the professor. His voice brittle and breaking and furious, "this tiny, skinny, scuffed up kid looked me straight in the eyes and told me he was fine. With his bruises and his starving frame and his bad eyesight and he had the gall to say he was fine!" Bruce presses his palms against his forehead, "And I'm even more sick about it because that kid looked like believed his own words."
"Oh my…" is all Erskine can think to say, his mind processing.
"What do I do?"
Erskine looks a bit helpless, "I'm not sure, is there another agency we can call?"
"I called the one that has jurisdiction over his address…"
"We should call and report their misconduct in telling your name."
"What if—" Bruce looks at Erskine, "I don't think Steve was sick the last two days."
"What do you think….?"
"I think he was being punished. I don't know why, but how much of a coincidence is it that his house gets inspected and he's gone the next two days? And not to mention, he shows up in a long sleeve shirt on one of the hottest days of the summer so far? What if calling again makes it worse for him!"
Erskine considers this, his lips pursing and fingers steepling under his chin. "I suggest a more thorough inspection then. We need to figure out more about him and his home life. A much closer eye needs to be kept. He's one of the students on free scholarships, there must be something we can get from his application. I will contact the admissions board and speak to the front office." Erskine gets this look in his eye, staring at Bruce, and Bruce is reminded of the fiery German scientist he had first met, the one who'd believed in him and given him, the angry kid on the run, a chance. "Try to learn if his group knows anything else, and we will figure this out. I will not let this kid slip through the system and be abused."
"Neither will I."
—-
The Next Day
"I think…" Tony says slowly, "I think I've got an idea."
The other four look up. They're laying on the floor of the library, much to the ire of the librarian but Steve had said something sweet and she'd pursed her lips and walked away. Papers and books are all around them, a small trash ca
'We really need to settle on an idea, right?" They nod. The other group had selected their project on Tuesday, so they were already days behind. "I'm thinking…" He pulls up a blueprint of a small glowing box. "An energy source. A portable energy source, that can charge phones, laptops, maybe even cars, and it would have a computer that can tell you battery percentage or maybe a diagnostic about what's wrong if it's a mechanical issue?"
Clint rolls onto his back, staring at a paper in his hand for a multi form bag. "Tony, in case you haven't noticed, we're not all Tony Stark. This is supposed to be a project we can all contribute to."
"We can!" Tony insists, "Listen, I get it, maybe the lab at my house will be the main workplace, but Barnes here is going to help a lot with the mechanical engineering side, and Steve can do designs and mock ups of how it would look. It needs to look user friendly and also stylish, it's gotta be cool. Natasha, you, me, and Clint can work on coding, Clint has a real observant eye. And also Natasha, I would want you and Steve working on designing the user interface, a lot of times, electrical/technological things are designed to be male centric and ignore what females need or look for in technology, I refuse to fall into that trap. Steve can tie it all together to make it look sleek and balanced."
He stares at them, their faces showing surprise.
"I'm in." Steve says first, a smile on his face and his eyes a million miles away as he starts thinking up designs.
"Same." Bucky seconds.
"Count—" Clint starts
"Us in." Natasha finishes.
Tony smiles, a real excited smile with a gleam in his eye. "Oh, we are so going to win."
—