Clint leans back, his hand cradling his head on the rooftop, his other reaching out to tap rhythmically on Steve's shoe.
"A few years ago…" Clint says, staring into the dark sky, stars barely visible because of the city lights, "my mom died. Cancer. I didn't do too well with that. I started hanging out with the wrong crowd, doing stupid things to feel something other than the over-whelming grief that filled my everyday." Steve still has his head in his hands, but Clint can tell he's listening. "I hung out with these guys. Tyler and Ryan. Twin brothers." Steve's head flips up, the lights reflecting off his eyes, making them look huge. "Yep. That's right. The Fleming brothers. When they went to jail for those few months, because you did the right thing by turning them in, I realized I didn't want to end up the same way. They'd been talking about robbing a bigger store when they got caught at Reynolds. I was gunna be a part of the bigger robbery." Clint winces, "not smart. I know. But I was real lost then. I don't know how the universe ever makes sense of all these things. But it's no coincidence we met, Steve. What you did by turning them in? It saved me from ruining my life. So… thanks."
The rest of the group is staring in shock. Steve gapes at him. Suddenly Clint sees his eyes water and he's shoving his face back into his hands. Clint taps on his shoe again.
Steve's voice is the tiniest bit watery when he speaks between his fingers. "You guys didn't have to do all this. But thank you." He wipes at his eyes and raises his head, looking out over the roof.
They sit quietly for a while, eating pie and listening to the radio play old music.
"Steve." Bucky says firmly, breaking the silence, "I've already asked my parents and they agreed. We want you to come live with us. My mom knew your mom and we'd be—"
"What?" Steve's voice cuts through. "No." He says sharply, wiping roughly at his eyes. "No, I can't."
"Why?" Bucky asks, the rest of the group watching wide-eyed, "you'd have enough food, and my parents would never—" Bucky's throat closes up and he stops, unwilling to admit what he was about to say.
Steve's voice is raw as he shoves himself to his feet. "No, you don't understand. I can't leave. If I left she'd—" His eyes catch on the roof across the street. Bucky's eyeline follows, "I just can't." Steve says, not finishing his previous thought, "Thank you. But I'm fine where I am."
"The hell you are!" Tony responds, joining the conversation. "You came to school with bruises around your neck, Steve. Don't think we didn't see the way you limped for days!"
The air of the group shifts, Bucky watches as Steve starts folding in on himself, disappearing right in front of their eyes.
"That was nothing." Steve says flatly, "it's not what you think. I'm fine. I gotta go. I don't want to be out too late."
"Steve," Natasha tries, "We want to make sure you're okay."
"I am." He insists, backing away from them. "Thanks for this."
"Steve, wait, you don't have to go—"
But his foot is already over the edge of the fire escape, "see you guys on Monday." His head disappears.
Bucky sits there, his eyes wide and the rest of the group is silent before Tony speaks up, rubbing at his eyes. "Well, that went to hell quick."
"Tony, what the hell, man." Clint says looking at him, "you're just gunna drop the fact that we know he's being abused on him? And Barnes, did you mean that? You'd take him in?"
Bucky's shoulders square, "of course I meant it. My parents didn't even hesitate." Natasha makes her way to the edge of the roof facing the street. "You see him?" Bucky asks.
"Yeah, he just slipped into a back door—" she freezes. "Oh no."
The other three jump up, "what? What is it!"
They all lean on the ledge, looking over as a figure in the window is illuminated. A large woman, tall and broad stands in front of the window, her back towards the group.
"I saw the light flash on. It looked like a bathroom, but Steve was there and suddenly this woman appeared. Now she's blocking my view."
That's when they hear it. Muffled yelling. They watch in horror as they see the woman reach forward, grabbing something and shaking it. They're frozen, eyes locked on the window.
Steve appears, being hauled by the collar, by the woman, out of the bathroom door. The light flicks on in other windows but they can't see, blinds or curtains in their way.
Something slams and the house falls quiet. The lights turn off and the house goes dark.
Bucky looks up to find Natasha and Clint having some sort of silent conversation. Tony looks ready to tear the roof down with how hard he's gripping the ledge. Bucky looks over at the dark quiet house and he feels a level of fury he's never felt before. He straightens up, getting the other's attention. His voice is low and steely when he speaks, it carries across the roof. "So. What are we going to do?"
—
They split ways and decide to meet up tomorrow at Milo's to discuss their plan.
—
Sunday morning dawns hot and muggy. Clint rolls out of bed, rubbing at his eyes and eyeing the sun streaming through his window grumpily.
He can't decide if he is mad at Tony for bringing up Steve's home life, or relieved that it is at least out in the open. He strips off his shirt, throwing it into the laundry basket before climbing out his window and onto his fire escape. The sun has already warmed the metal and he sits down on it, stretching his legs through the railing and watching the streets begin to move. Sundays were always his mom's favorite days and he comes out here every Sunday morning to just feel closer to her.
"Clint?" A voice from below calls.
"Yeah, Ms. Dawes, morning."
"Morning, how has school been going?"
"I've been doing well. Grades are good even though it's not really super grades focused." He pauses, "hey, Ms. Dawes?"
"Yes?"
He looks down at her as she stands out on a small balcony she has, a rarity in their part of town. She's wrapped in a robe even though it's already warm and a mug of something is in her hands.
"How do you help someone who doesn't want help?"
The question has her squinting up at him, hand over her eyes, shading them from the sun. "Now what makes you ask that?"
"There's this kid… he's the most stubborn kid I've ever met. He needs help. Like a lot of help. But he won't accept it if we don't trick him into it, basically."
"Sounds like someone else I know." Ms. Dawes quips. Clint glares down at her and she smiles at him. "The best advice I can give, which isn't much, is to just be there. Being by their side, consistently, is the best way to ensure they'll start to trust you enough to ask for help. I've found that people who refuse to ask for help, have usually tried before and got rejected, or got hurt. Does that sound like a possibility with this kid?"
Clint is silent. His mind processes through the bruises and the deafness from neglect. The lack of glasses and everything else Steve needs help with and that has been ignored.
"Yeah." His voice rasps out. "A definite possibility."
"Okay then." She says, nodding her head. "Then make sure you stick by that kid's side. Make sure they know you're not going to do that."
"I will."
"You're a good kid, Clint. Don't let anyone tell you any differently."
Clint reaches into his window and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He grabs his lighter and lights one, breathing in slowly and blowing out.
"You gotta quit that, though. It will kill you."
He huffs a laugh, watching as street vendors set up their outside tables and stands. "I'll try. For you, Ms. Dawes."
"I'll hold you to that."
He takes another pull and breathes it out slowly, hearing his stepmom knocking on his door. "I'll be out in a minute." He calls back, still thinking about what he can do to get Steve to trust him.
—
Tony blinks awake, raising his head off his desk and rubbing the imprint of his watch off of his cheek. He'd been working on something until late into the morning and must have dozed off.
He glances up at his screen, seeing the green check mark that tells him the lab has his item ready. He stretches, tilting his neck side to side and yawning. His phone beeps and he's surprised to see a text from his dad.
H: You fabricated something last night?
T: yeah, the machines weren't busy so I took the opportunity
H: For Steve?
T: Yeah
H: What about the measurements. Everyone is different.
Tony rolls his eyes, his dad is always challenging him
T: I took a scan of him when he first came over. I mostly did that to see if I could figure out what glasses he needed, but it worked for this too.
H: Oh, good. That's good thinking,
T: Wow, a compliment, I'm shocked
H: I'll take it back
T: No, no it's too late now. I've screenshotted it.
H: Come get it, it's hot off the press.
T: Coming.
Tony makes his way to the kitchen first, filling up a mug of coffee and grabbing a pastry off the dish on the counter. He's chewing thoughtfully as he takes the elevator down to the lab. His dad has never shown too much interest in his friends, but something about this group is different. He thinks back to how his dad had actually asked about the group members by name after he had asked how the group project was going.
Tony had to pick his jaw up off the floor after that one.
He walks in to the sounds of Tommy Dorsey playing over the speakers and watches as his dad hums along, dark eye protective goggles on as he sodders something.
"Hey, pal." His dad says, lifting up the goggles. "I put it on the table over there." He gestures behind him and Tony nods.
He walks over, gingerly picking up the little device in his hands and looking at it as it rests in his palm.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"If I record someone, and they say something incriminating… Can I submit it as evidence?"
Tony appreciates that his dad doesn't waste time asking questions like 'why would you record someone', or 'what are you getting up to?'. He just looks at Tony seriously and asks, "does the person know they're being recorded?"
"Neither do."
His dad's face is thoughtful, "well, each state is different, but in New York, it's a one party consent state. Meaning at least one of the people in the conversation has to know it's being recorded for it to be admissible in court."
Tony utters a curse and his dad raises an eyebrow. "What if…" Tony studies his dad, deciding whether to trust him. "What if we think someone's being abused. What if we don't have tangible proof yet, and the person in question refuses to ask for help? What if the person is a minor?"
"Is this about Steve?"
Tony's brow furrows. "Yes. You said it yourself he was neglected."
"I said it's possible."
"Well he is! The kid is skin and bones. Do you know that we think he's living in a house with 17 other kids? And he's the oldest? Or… we think he is? We don't know enough. And we need to do something. He needs help."
"Tony, he's welcome to stay here if he needs a place, we have plenty of room."
The offer shocks Tony into silence. He stares at his dad, mouth slightly parted in surprise. "You… really? You'd be okay basically adopting a kid?"
His dad's face scrunches, "I guess I didn't think of it like that, but it doesn't matter. Your mom would be thrilled to have another mouth to feed and he seems like a good kid. He's been a good influence on you."
Tony finds his eyes rolling again but he looks at his dad in a new light. "Well, that's a no-go anyways." He huffs, "Barnes— the kid with the dark hair? He asked Steve last night to move in with him and Steve flipped out on us telling us he couldn't leave."
"Why not?"
"I don't know exactly, he wouldn't say, just that 'if he left, she'd—" he waves his hands in the air, "that's it, that's all he said. She'd what? We don't know. She is the lady who runs the house or something and she's the one abusing him. So I don't know why he wouldn't want to leave."
His dad studies him, his eyes get far away and his voice gets lower. "Tony."
"What?"
"You said he lives with 17 other kids."
"Yeah?"
"So… that's why he can't leave."
"You lost me."
His dad tilts his head at him, an eyebrow raised, but a sad expression on his face. "He can't leave, because if he's the oldest, then he's probably taking the brunt of it. Leaving means…" His dad looks at him meaningfully and Tony slaps a palm to his forehead.
"Shit."
"Not the word I would use, but yeah."
"He's protecting them."
"Most likely."
"SHIT."
"Anthony."
"No, dad, you don't get it. This kid is more stubborn than me, he wouldn't even tell us his mom was dead! We had to tell him that we knew! He tried protecting Natasha and Bucky from Rumlow on two separate occasions, and he gets beat up regularly, apparently, by these two college kids because he told the store manager they were stealing from her! And he said it 'only happens occasionally, it's no big deal'!" Tony's voice is angry as he rushes out the last of his words. "He's never going to leave kids who he feels responsible for and I don't even know what to do because we think CPS has already been called and it just made it worse for him!"
His dad looks at him with wide eyes, "well, shit."
Tony huffs, looking at the tiny hearing aid in his palm, "yeah. Exactly."
—-
Natasha rummages through her drawer, finding the shirt she was looking for and sliding it over her head. Yelena sits on the floor, going through an old textbook of Natasha's.
"So, what's the deal with Wanda and Pietro?" Natasha asks. She hadn't had a chance to talk to her last night.
"What do you mean what's their deal?"
"They know Steve, anything you think I should know about them?"
Yelena studies her, "Wanda's never mentione—" She cuts herself off, her eyes widening, "She's never mentioned him by name. Just always called him her older brother. It makes sense now. She always talks about her older brother. Her and Pietro both." She taps her knuckles against her forehead, "so they live together?"
"I think so, we don't know yet."
"So they don't have parents either?"
Natasha's grimace is visible in the mirror. "That would be a good guess."
"And the little kid? Peter?" Natasha nods and Yelena sighs, "all of them in a house like that? With what's happening to Steve?" She lays back onto the carpet. "I thought we had it bad."
"Thought you had what bad?"
Both Natasha and Yelena's eyes snap to the door, where their adopted mother stands, eyeing them with a vicious facial expression.
Natasha smiles, trying to exude calm, "oh, no, we we're just sayi—"
"I didn't ask you." Their mother snaps. "I was asking Yelena. What do you have that's so bad? Hmm?"
Natasha catches the desperate look on her sister's face. But her mouth is frozen open and Natasha wills her to say something, anything, but she doesn't, she can't, the tension rises until the expression on their mom's face is volatile.
"I did not raise you to be ungrateful." She states, her voice frigid, "I'll have you remember that when we don't allow you to apply for that unnecessary and frivolous program your sister is in."
The color drains from Yelena's face, Natasha steps forward, "No, wait, she didn't mean anything about here, please—"
"Shut up."
Natasha clamps her mouth shut and their mother stares at the both of them. "I expect you to remember that we saved both of you from unfortunate lives, parents who didn't want or love you, you'd be out in some European gutter without us. Don't you forget it." She turns around and disappears. Yelena pulls her knees up and lays her head on them, covering her face with her arms. Natasha kneels down, hugging her sister and comforting her.
"Don't you listen to her." Steve's words ring in her ear, and she finds herself repeating them, "Don't you listen to a word she says about us. She's wrong. Adults are wrong sometimes, okay? Don't ever let her make us feel like we're less than because of where we came from. We didn't have control over those circumstances." Yelena is crying in her arms and she tightens her grip, her voice filled with emotion. "I don't know why we were placed in this house with her. But I do know we were meant to live together. Sisters forever. Okay? And we'll figure out a way to get you into te program. I promise."
Yelena nods, face red and eyes wet. "Thanks Tasha."
"Come on, get dressed, you're coming with me to Milo's." Yelena brightens and they rush to get out of there as soon as they can.
—
Bucky sits on the roof, watching the windows of the house across the street. He doesn't know what he's hoping for. To see Steve or find out more about his situation. But he doesn't. The windows stay closed with blinds drawn.
He finally climbs down, and grabs random packages of food, a chip bag, a small bag of mandarin oranges, and a box of cookies that he's supposed to use for his lunches. He stuffs it into a grocery bag and walks out his front door.
He walks around to the front door and hesitates. We can't do anything that will make it worse for him. Natasha had said last night as they parted ways. This probably falls under that category, but he can't help himself.
Knocking softly, he waits, grocery bag behind his back. The door creeps open and Bucky has to look down. Peter stands at the door, his eyes peeping out of the barely cracked door.
"Hey Peter, it's Bucky, we met at the party yesterday?"
The kid's eyes widen, but he nods in recognition.
"Is Steve here?"
"He's not available." A whisper of a voice says.
"Where is he?" The kid hesitates, glancing behind him. "What is it? Is your caretaker home?"
"She'll be back soon." The small voice says again, "I'm not supposed to be answering the door."
"Oh." Bucky says, "can I come in? I promise I won't get you in trouble.
"No, I'm not supposed to let people inside without permission."
"I really need to find Steve."
"He's—"
"Peter?" A voice from in the house calls, "Peter! What are you doing? Shut that door!" Bucky recognizes it as Wanda's.
"Sorry," Peter says, his head twisted behind him.
"Wanda?" Bucky calls, "it's me, Bucky? From the party?"
Bucky steps back in surprise as Pietro appears behind Peter, "What are you doing here?"
"I need to see Steve."
Wanda's head pops up next to Pietro's, "you can't."
Bucky feels frustration rising, "why not? Where is he?"
Pietro and Wanda look at each other, "he's—" she starts.
"If you say 'not available' I swear."
"He's locked in the—." Peter's small voice starts to say.
"PETER!" Both Wanda and Pietro shout, scolding him.
"WHAT!" Bucky shouts, "he's where?"
"You need to leave." Wanda says quickly, "she'll be home any minute, and if she sees us with the door open…" she doesn't finish her thought. But Bucky refuses to leave.
"Let me in. Let me in right now." He starts to push forward and they mildly protest but he makes it into the entryway anyways. "Where is he!?"
Pietro opens his mouth to answer when a door slams. All three kids in front of him act like they've been electrocuted.
"Please leave!" Wanda urges, her voice a scared whisper, her eyes pleading. "Please, if she finds out you were here asking for him, it will be so much worse! Please leave!" He's being shoved back out the door by Pietro and next thing he knows, he's out on the stoop, the door closed in his face and the bag of food dangling from his hand.
—-