Author's Note: Wow, thank you all SO MUCH for wonderful reviews on that first chapter! It really means so much to me! nogoodidealist, redacrylics, BrieCheese16, PilotArcher, Lesfont25, AndreaDTX, and wolfimus prime, all your kind words seriously made my week! I'm so happy to be back!
Chapter Two
Phil was working down in his office when the doorbell rang. He took a deep breath. No matter how many times he did this, he would still find it just a bit unsettling to welcome a new kid into his home, especially when he already had a good balance of kids that he was looking after. Adding another person to the mix always tended to put everyone off balance, especially considering the unstable nature of most of the kids that Phil took in. This time also held the extra worry about having to handle five teenage boys for the first time in his life.
He desperately hoped that he wasn't about to make a big mistake.
Taking another deep, steadying breath, he headed for the door. All he could do at this point was move forward and hope for the best.
"Hello, welcome," Phil said with an easy smile as he opened the door. He had learned long ago that too much enthusiasm didn't tend to go over well with these types of kids.
"Hi, Phil," Maria greeted briskly, though there was tension in her features. "Listen, I hate to drop and run, but I actually need to. I just got an emergency call on my way here that I need to see to."
"No problem, I know the drill," Phil assured her.
Maria nodded before she turned to the small figure standing a strategic step behind her. Phil hadn't seen Clint since his sentencing two months ago, and even then he hadn't gotten a chance for a formal introduction. The boy's eyes were pinned on Phil with an almost intimidating amount of intensity for a thirteen year old kid. Phil noticed that he was sporting a fresh looking bruise resting on his cheekbone as well as a split lip. They must have tried to introduce him back into the general population of the juvenile detention facility.
"Here are your things," Maria told Clint, who's eyes darted to her quickly as she held out the worn, faded purple backpack. "Just let Phil know what else you need, he's very accommodating to reasonable requests." She paused, but Clint just stared at her. She sighed lightly to herself as she reached into her pocket and handed something to him. "This is my card, which has my cell phone number on it. If you need anything at all, you call me anytime, day or night." Clint silently reached out and took the card, shoving it into the back pocket of his worn jeans. "I'll be back to check in in about a week. You take care, alright?"
Clint made no attempt to respond as he simply shifted his stoic gaze from Maria to Phil. Maria looked at Phil and gave him a helpless shrug, but Phil waved the gesture off. He had no illusions about this being easy.
As Maria retreated back down the front steps and back to her car parked on the curb, Phil took a step back and gestured into the house.
"Come on in," he invited warmly.
Clint slung the backpack over one shoulder, ducking his head slightly as he quickly slipped past Phil. He stopped and turned in the entryway, looking at Phil expectantly.
"Well, we haven't gotten a chance yet for a proper introduction," Phil said briskly as he closed the door and turned to his new charge. "My name is Phil Coulson. You're welcome to just call me Phil though."
He paused more out of habit than anything, as it was generally accepted that a person would then offer up their own name. Of course, Clint did not.
"So, your name is Clinton Barton," Phil went on. "Do you go by Clint?" He didn't like to assume what a kid preferred to go by, knowing that some preferred their full and proper names.
Clint seemed to consider that for a moment before he nodded once. Well, that was a small improvement at least.
"Okay, Clint," Phil said. "Well, I'm very happy to have you here. I'm not sure what Miss Hill has already told you, but I have been fostering kids just like yourself for about ten years now. I know you've been bounced around a lot, but this is a place that most kids come and finally find a home. I have four other boys living here right now and we all work together to keep the house running. We'll get more into that later though." He paused. "Do you have any questions?"
Clint simply blinked at him.
"Let me know if you have any questions or concerns at any point," Phil said. "I have an open communication policy in this house." He paused. "Shall we take the tour?"
Clint shrugged one shoulder, looking unimpressed by this whole process. But Phil counted it as a good sign that the kid was making the effort to communicate at all, even if he wouldn't actually speak.
"Okay," Phil said briskly as he led the way into the house. "This is my office down here," he said, gesturing. "There's also an area over here where I'll meet one on one with any of my kids if they need to talk. Back there is my bedroom. If you ever need something in the night you can always come down here and knock. You'll also be sharing a room with Steve who will also be happy to help."
He looked to Clint to gauge some sort of reaction to the space. Clint hardly glanced at the area in front of them though, but rather was looking up at him from the corner of his eye through bangs that could probably use a good trim.
"Okay then, let's head upstairs," Phil said, motioning toward the stairs.
Phil led the way up to the second level. About halfway up the stairs, he had to glance over his shoulder to make sure Clint was following and was a little surprised to find that he was. The stairs were wooden and he wasn't sure he had ever heard anyone ascend them without making a sound.
"Up here on the second floor, we have the kitchen," Phil narrated as they reached the floor. He gestured to the side of the room that housed the kitchen. "You're welcome to help yourself, but we do all sit down together for breakfast and dinner every day. Lunch tends to be more of a free-for-all when school's out." He pointed to where Steve was sitting on one of the stools by the bar, working on some of his summer school homework. "That's Steve, you'll be sharing a room with him."
Steve half turned at the sound of his name and gave a smile and a wave before turning back to his homework. All the boys knew not to crowd newcomers, knowing from experience how overwhelming that could be.
Phil turned to indicate the living room, where Tony and Thor were engrossed in an intense video game.
"This is a general hang out area where the guys like to spend downtime. It's got your basics: television, books over in that bookcase, some board games in the closet over there. As Tony and Thor are so aptly demonstrating, we recently got some kind of video game system. You'll have to ask the guys about that though, because I know nothing about it."
He sent Clint a sheepish smile to which Clint only stared blankly back at him. It was eerie. Phil thought it was probably the first time that he got absolutely no read off a kid. He had kids come to him with anger, fear, sadness, relief… he'd seen it all. But, for all intents and purposes, it appeared as if there were simply no one home when it came to Clint Barton.
"We'll do more formal introductions with the other boys later after you've had a chance to settle in a bit," Phil assured him. All he could really do was fill the awkward silence with his usual spiel for newcomers. "Come on, I'll show you your room."
He led Clint back to the stairs and up to the third floor.
"I know it's a lot of stairs, but it usually doesn't take long to get used to," Phil assured him as they climbed, mostly just to be saying something. "Now, one thing that you have to understand is that there are no doors on the bedrooms up here. I get a lot of troubled kids through here and I've found that having this no door policy keeps everyone better in line and more accountable. That being said, I don't come up here much. As much as I can, I leave these upper floors as your domain. I let you guys police each other and figure out how to coexist. I only get involved when it's completely necessary."
This piece of information usually got some kind of reaction, usually anger or at least surprise. But as he glanced back at Clint, he might as well have been speaking to a brick wall.
And in that moment, he felt sure that this was going to be one of his toughest cases yet.
"This is Tony and Bruce's room over here," he directed, just glimpsing Bruce sitting on the bottom bunk with a book. Bruce gave them a glance but then quickly lifted his book to better block his face. Clint's eyes lingered on him for a moment before Phil redirected him. "Thor's room is just up the stairs on the fourth floor. And there's a bathroom at the end of the hall. And, of course, this is your room." He led Clint into the room.
The room wasn't overly large. There was a bunk bed pushed off against the wall on the left, one desk in the far corner facing the wall next to the window and another directly opposite facing the wall next to the door. Between the two desks were two identical dressers pushed up against the right wall.
"I know that Steve currently has the bottom bunk as well as this desk," his hand skimmed the desk closest to the door, "and the dresser next to it. But if you want to switch him for any of those I'm sure you can work that out with him. He's not usually too picky." He paused even though he didn't expect a response. "I'll leave you to get unpacked and get settled. We'll be having dinner down in the kitchen in about an hour, but feel free to come down and join us before that if you'd like."
Clint gave a slight nod, as he turned his head and took in the room. He eyed the empty hinges on the door a little skeptically, and Phil wondered vaguely if he hadn't believed him when he said there were no doors on the bedrooms. After a moment, Phil turned and headed back down the hallway. At the top of the stairs, Phil paused and couldn't help but glance back at the kid, looking for some kind of reaction. But Clint just stood there, stoically taking in his new surroundings.
Phil headed back downstairs to find that everyone was right where he had left them.
"How'd it go?" Steve asked, looking up from his homework as Phil walked into the kitchen.
"Hard to say," Phil admitted. "He didn't have much of a reaction to anything." He paused. "It's strange. With his aversion to speaking, I expected him to be more… timid. But I didn't sense much fear from him. Mostly just… indifference."
"Sounds like he's going to be a barrel of laughs," Tony called sarcastically across the room, his eyes still glued to the television screen.
"Sounds like you're going to remember that being the new guy isn't easy," Phil reminded him lightly. "And you weren't the most chatty kid when you first got here either."
"Yeah, well, withdrawal will do that to a kid," Tony mumbled distractedly.
An hour later with dinner on the table, Bruce came wandering down to the kitchen. They waited for the Clint to come down, but several minutes and several grumblings from both Tony and Thor about rumbling stomachs, Phil sent Steve up to fetch the kid. Steve returned a few minutes later with Clint in tow.
Clint carefully slid into the last seat at the table, glancing around at the others almost as if he were calculating something.
"Dig in," Phil invited.
Both Thor and Tony suddenly lunged from either end of the table for the plate of chicken placed in the middle. Thor snagged it first, giving a triumphant laugh as he speared the largest piece of chicken onto his plate.
"Really?" Steve sighed with exasperation as he looked back and forth between the two.
"You'd think I never feed you guys," Phil said sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he reached for the vegetables. He spooned out a generous amount onto his plate, hoping to set a good example, before passing the bowl on.
They passed around all the plates with light jabs at each other, as well as Phil encouraging each kid to take more vegetables. Phil kept a subtle eye on Clint, who was watching all the interactions with the other boys with an intense blue-gray gaze. Clint silently took plates only when they were offered to him and only portioned out small helpings, despite the fact that there was enough on the table for ten people with normal sized appetites, which should be just enough for five growing teenage boys.
But tonight, Phil didn't comment on that. It was the kid's first night in a new home, he knew from experience that trying to push him too much outside of his comfort zone this soon could cause him to shut down. For tonight, Phil would just let Clint exist however he felt most comfortable.
"Well, as we all know, we've got a new addition," Phil said as everyone finished dishing out their dinners.
"I thought it seemed a little more crowded at the table tonight," Tony murmured, smirking lightly as he playfully elbowed Bruce next to him.
"You'll learn to ignore him," Steve spoke up, sending an annoyed glance at Tony.
"Okay, okay," Phil said, bringing the attention back to him. "Now, this is a unique situation which is new to all of us." He focused on Clint, who was watching him carefully. "Up to this point, I have fostered up to four boys at a time. This is the first time that I've had five kids in the house. So, this will be a learning process for all of us."
Clint blinked at him, apparently unimpressed.
Phil usually gave the new kid a chance to speak first, but he guessed that wouldn't go over well given these unique circumstances. Maybe if he got the other boys talking, Clint might be more inclined to speak up.
"Well, while we eat we'll start off with some introductions," Phil said. "Just the basics and anything else you'd like to share with the group. Steve, you want to start us off?"
"Sure," Steve agreed. "My name is Steve Rogers. I'm fifteen and I've been in the foster care system since I was seven and my mom passed away of a heart condition. I was in six different homes in two years before I ended up here. Phil's been my guardian for the past six years."
"Don't forget you're the precious Golden Boy," Tony muttered.
"Tony," Phil said, a note of warning. "What have we talked about?"
"That my obsessive need to be the center of attention isn't my most attractive quality?" Tony offered innocently.
Phil sighed heavily. "More or less. You'll get your turn." He turned to the next kid. "Thor. You're next."
Thor had to take a minute to chew the massive bite of chicken he had just taken before he could speak.
"I'm Thor Sonodin," Thor said with a grin. "My tarents're really into—"
"Thor," Phil cut in patiently. "Slow down, kid. Think about your words."
"Oh, sorry," Thor said sheepishly. He paused, thinking over what he wanted to say before he tried again. He spoke at a more consciously measured pace, a look of mild concentration on his face. "I am Thor Odinson. My parents were really into Norse mythology when they named my brother and I." He smiled, looking more confident. "You will have to forgive me, I was born with an affliction called speech apraxia, so I sometimes mix up my words and sounds."
Clint leaned forward slightly, as if to get a better look at Thor. His intense gaze was pinned on Thor, looking a bit curious or concerned, Phil couldn't quite decide which. But it was more than a reaction than he had given to anything else so far.
"I am sixteen years old and I have been in and out of foster care since I was ten," Thor went on. "I have spent most of the last two years with Phil, although I did go back with my parents for a few months a little over a year ago when my father convinced social services that he had quit drinking… again." His face fell slightly before he caught himself. "But Phil's home has always been welcoming to me."
Phil smiled at that. "And it always will be," he assured him. He shifted his attention. "Bruce?"
"I, um," Bruce mumbled, shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention. This was Bruce's first time on this side of the introductions. His eyes remained on his plate as he pushed peas around with his spoon. "My name is Bruce Banner. I'm fourteen. I've been here for about six months and been in foster care for almost two years." He shot Phil an anxious look.
"That's okay if that's all you want to share, Bruce," Phil told him gently. Bruce nodded immediately. "Okay, that's fine." He shifted his gaze to Tony, who was practically vibrating in his seat as he waited his turn to speak. Phil made him wait another beat before he put him out of his misery. "Okay Tony. Go ahead."
"Tony Stark, heir to the Stark Pharmacological empire, perhaps you've heard of me, read about my entire scandal in the papers," Tony said, speaking so quickly his words practically tripped over each other. Clint actually sat back in his chair, as if the words had been a force that pushed him backward. "Some would call me a prodigy, others would say misguided youth hell bent on getting attention—"
"Tony," Phil cut in warily. "Let's not overwhelm the new kid. Just give us the Cliff Notes version."
Tony visibly deflated at that. "Fine," he relented. "Here's the breakdown. I started dealing drugs that I swiped from my dad's company when I was eleven, took my first hit when I was thirteen, and managed to hospitalize myself that year with an overdose. When my parents were driving to the hospital that night… well they never made it. Car wreck." Tony's voice tightened before he pushed on. "I bounced around to a couple boarding schools after that until I was fourteen and got arrested for still dealing. After that, all the prestigious boarding schools got together and decided that I apparently was not prestigious boarding school material and I was bounced here. Phil's been putting up with me for a little over a year now. I've also been clean for about a year now." He shrugged as he focused back on his dinner. "Funny how that works."
"Thank you, Tony," Phil said. Tony Stark was nothing if not an open book. He focused back on Clint. "Is there anything about yourself that you'd like to share, Clint?"
All attention shifted to the new kid at the table, with even Bruce peeking up through his eyelashes.
The silence following the question was heavy. What was strange was that Clint didn't appear to have any kind of reaction to the question. He didn't seem uncomfortable, angry, embarrassed, or any of the emotions Phil had come to associate with kids who didn't want to participate in the first day introductions. Clint appeared very passive about the entire situation, absently pushing food around his plate with his fork while his gaze flicked around to each person around the table.
"You can share however much or little you're comfortable with," Phil encouraged. "This is not meant to be a big group therapy session or anything like that." He paused as Clint's gaze settled on him. But after a few long moments, it was clear that he still had no interest in speaking. "That's okay. Maybe after you settle in you'll feel more up to sharing a little bit about yourself. There's no rush."
Clint pinned him with a neutral look. He blinked. Then he dropped his gaze down, spearing a chunk of potato and popping it in his mouth.
"Scintillating," Tony muttered as he snorted a laugh into his plate.
"Tony," Phil snapped sharply, causing not only Tony but also Bruce to flinch. It was very rare when Phil raised his voice. "This is your last warning. You should know better by now, kid."
Tony gave a very dramatic sigh as he rolled his eyes but refrained from making any more comments.
Phil directed the conversation in a more typical direction, taking the attention off Clint. But as the conversation migrated to more usual subjects, Phil couldn't help but keep glancing over at Clint periodically. The kid seemed to have two default functions. He was either staring down at his plate, seemingly oblivious to anything going on around him, or he had a hard, calculating gaze on someone at the table.
It was perhaps the first time in his life that Phil had no idea what to make of a person. Clint Barton was an enigma. And Phil honestly wasn't sure how he was going to handle this new situation.
Steve walked into his bedroom that night to find the new kid standing by the window. Clint was fiddling with the lock in the middle of the frame experimentally, and Steve could almost see the thought process. This wasn't the first time he had shared a room with a flight risk.
"That opens," Steve informed the back of Clint's head conversationally. "Phil figures if someone can figure out how to get down the three stories, they've earned it."
Clint had no reaction, didn't even glance back at him. That wasn't terribly surprising. He hadn't said a word all through dinner and then had immediately retreated back upstairs once they were excused from the table.
At the moment, Clint seemed absorbed in working his fingers under the lip of the window, and Steve knew that it tended to stick and could be a challenge to muscle open sometimes. On a whim, Steve walked forward. He wasn't terribly surprised as Clint flinched away from him and then took a step away for good measure as Steve came up beside him. But instead of acknowledging the reaction, Steve simply worked his fingers under the lip of the window and with a few good yanks finally got it to drag open about halfway, letting in the warm August air.
Steve shifted so that he was facing Clint, who was watching him warily.
"It's a long way down," Steve said with a pointed glance toward the window. "Might want to at least give this place a shot before risking broken limbs."
Clint raised his eyebrows at that, obviously surprised by the invitation. His gaze drifted between Steve and the window and then he carefully leaned back against the desk behind him, settling in.
Huh. Maybe he just wanted some fresh air.
Steve glanced behind him. "Are you okay with the top bunk?" he asked, thumbing back toward the bunk bed. "I can switch you if you prefer the bottom."
Clint blink at him for a moment before his gaze slid by him to look at the bed. Then he looked back at Steve and carefully shook his head.
"You want the top?" Steve said, to be sure he was making the right assumption.
Clint nodded.
Steve smiled, encouraged that he was at least getting some kind of communication from this kid. "I've got summer school on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I'm gonna head to bed soon. But I'm a pretty heavy sleeper, so don't feel like you have to go to bed when I do. The others are usually up playing video games downstairs well into the night if you want to join them." Clint shifted uncomfortably. "Don't let them intimidate you. They can be a lot sometimes – especially Tony – but they're all essentially good guys."
Clint didn't appear to have much of a reaction to that, so Steve decided to leave him to his own devices. Steve headed back out of the room and down the hallway toward the bathroom to brush his teeth before bed.
Steve was halfway through brushing when Tony appeared startlingly quickly in the doorway, charging in as if the bathroom was empty and almost causing Steve to drop his toothbrush. Tony skidded to a halt, looking just as surprised to see Steve.
Biting the toothbrush in his mouth, Steve raised his eyebrows and held out his hands in a clear what the hell are you doing gesture.
"Oh, sorry!" Tony said with a light laugh. "Thor beat me to the downstairs bathroom and I really gotta go!"
"Gi'e me a minu'," Steve mumbled around his toothbrush as he continued to brush.
Tony remained in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably as if to make sure Steve didn't forget about him. Steve was tempted to take his time just to spite him but decided that would be too mean. With five people in the house and only three bathrooms, they had all been in Tony's position before.
"Has he said anything yet?" Tony asked suddenly as he glanced over his shoulder toward Steve and Clint's room.
Steve didn't need to ask for clarification. He paused to lean over and spit into the sink. "No, not yet."
"Huh," Tony said thoughtfully.
"Tony, don't give him a hard time about it," Steve warned as he rinsed his toothbrush and dropped it back in the holder before turning to address Tony properly.
"I just think it's fascinating," Tony said defensively.
"Not everyone feels the need to fill every moment of silence like you do," Steve pointed out dryly.
"Yeah, but we all know why that is," Tony said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Pathological need for attention due to neglect, blah, blah, blah, that's old news." He leaned one shoulder up against the frame of the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "You can't tell me you're not curious. I mean, you're sharing a room with the guy."
Steve sighed, reluctant to admit the truth in that. Steve had been in the system for eight years now and this was a first for him. He had seen plenty of kids who were quiet, but never completely silent like this.
"It's not likely that he's a monk who's taken a vow of silence, right?" Tony went on distractedly.
"Just give him some space," Steve said as he started out of the bathroom, having to turn sideways to get past Tony when he didn't move. "He'll settle in eventually and then maybe he'll start opening up."
"Are we sure he can talk?" Tony mused as if he hadn't heard Steve.
Steve paused in the hallway when Tony remained where he was, a pensive look on his face.
"Tony."
"Yeah?" Tony said, turning to look at him hopefully.
"Didn't you have to pee?"
For a beat, Tony's face was completely blank, as if he had no idea what Steve was talking about. Then a truly comedic level of realization crashed over his features as he murmured sonofabitch under his breath and spun back around to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him in his haste.
Steve snorted a laugh as he rolled his eyes and headed back down the hallway to his room.
Steve reentered the bedroom and at a glance it looked like it was empty. He eyed the still open window, but figured it was a good sign that the screen was still firmly in place. Maybe Clint had decided to go downstairs and play video games with the others after all.
But as he moved farther into the room, he glanced up and saw Clint sitting up on the top bunk. He had settled himself into the corner, the worn purple backpack he had shown up with wedged between him and the wall. Steve recognized the habit of protecting the only belongings you had in the world.
"No one's going to steal your stuff here," Steve said.
Clint regarded him neutrally but didn't move.
"There's extra toothbrushes behind the mirror in the bathroom if you need one," Steve said. "You can borrow something to sleep in too if you don't have anything." He paused, but Clint made no effort to answer. Then, Steve had a thought. "Do you need something to sleep in?"
For a moment, Clint remained completely still. Then he gave a small but reluctant nod.
Okay. So 'yes or no' questions had the best chance of getting some kind of response. Steve decided that was progress.
Steve went into one of the drawers in his dresser and pulled out a clean pair of athletic shorts – careful to pick a pair with a functioning drawstring, since Clint was obviously going to need to tie them on his small frame – and a t-shirt. He placed the clothes on the edge of the top bunk and then turned and busied himself with changing into his own pajamas.
After he changed, he glanced back up at Clint and saw he hadn't made any move toward the clothes Steve had given him. The kid seemed tense, wound tighter than a rubber band. Steve took a deep breath and decided to take a chance.
"I know what it's like to be passed around in the system," Steve said. "I didn't fit in to the system either. When I was seven, I was diagnosed with leukemia. About four months later, my mom passed away. I was shuffled around to six different homes over the course of two years because no one could handle all my medical problems long term. I got to the point where I figured that's all my life would be, being a burden that was just passed from one family to another until the cancer finally won."
He took a deep breath. It was a long time ago, but it was a wound that still stung from time to time. He looked up to Clint to see if he was even paying attention. Clint's eyes were fixed on him, but his expression was unreadable.
"I was nine when I was placed in Phil's care. I thought it was just going to be another temporary place for me until I became too much to handle. It wasn't long after I came here when my condition took a turn for the worst. I was hospitalized for an entire month. And even though Phil had two other boys staying with him at the time, he still made a point to sit with me in the hospital every single day I was there. Over the next couple years Phil proved time and time again that he wasn't just another temporary place to crash. I lived here two years before my leukemia finally went into remission, and that entire time, Phil never once wavered, never once seemed to reconsider taking me in.
"After my mom died, I didn't think I would ever feel at home anywhere ever again. But, I promise you, Phil is one of the good guys. He will help you if you let him. And he won't give up on you. If you want it to be, this can be your home. You just have to give it a chance."
Of course, there was no response, or even an indication that Clint was really listening to him.
Steve resigned himself for the night as he headed for his bed. Clint might be more shut down than most of the kids who showed up at Phil's, but everyone adjusted eventually. Phil just had this way about him, a patient and steady support that seemed so rare to kids like them who didn't quite fit into the system. Phil would know what to do, Steve had no doubt as he drifted off to sleep.