I was listening to "The Walker" by Fitz and The Tantrums for this chapter, because it just fits. :)

Chapter title is from the same song title by Nina Simone

Unbeta-ed. Enjoy!

Natasha

She spotted Stark peering down the recreational room that she only saw on the tower's blueprints once. The moment she stepped foot on the tower, Jarvis was instantly connected to her phone, telling her and Clint that they were expected at the observation deck. It was followed by Stark's own voice saying: "Tell Fury there's no need for you to pose as a child psychologist."

Natasha's lips quirked. It was close to what the Director had in mind, with an added difficulty of Stark's info on her and Clint's that were likely shared to the children, a notice on two people to be on high alert for; plus, Pepper knew her too. Their faces might be obscured from public videos and official news reports of the invasion but not anymore in close circles.

Pepper would be the easiest to take away from the tower for a few hours. She had taken a week's leave from SI, and Natasha could simply create a complication that Pepper would have to personally deal with.

The Director would personally distract Stark—assuming Stark would comply with a summon. She wouldn't doubt the efficiency of an uncomplicated ploy, knowing the Director was determined to get back on Stark for swiping the seven subjects from under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s nose.

Jarvis recognized her as friendly since the official change of Stark Tower to Avenger Tower, and while the rest of his security would be tricky to bypass and wouldn't last for more than two hours, it was enough for Natasha.

She would only need two hours at most to enter the tower as child protection service personnel, gather Stark's current intel on the subjects, interrogate them herself, and report back to the Director.

Then there came Stark's request to come over at their earliest available schedule. Whether Stark was making it purposefully smooth, Natasha and Clint took it with professional courtesy and indifference they were trained to have.

"Was kind of hoping you'll come in as a psychologist anyway. Bruce would have liked the whole sexy librarian look," Stark said, not even looking at their entrance.

Natasha noticed Bruce on a corner, glasses perched low on his nose as he read from his tablet and the hanging monitor. He looked utterly apologetic when he heard Tony.

"Doctor Banner," she said with a smile that she hoped appeared genuine. She intended it to be.

"Hey, Nat." Bruce returned the gesture but not without his usual wariness around her, or around any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for that matter. He nodded curtly at Clint.

Natasha went to Stark's right, peering below. "Is that them?"

He shrugged. "They'd like to be trained by us, The Avengers. Must be a field day for Fury."

"He thinks you're making fun of him," Clint shared. "They a handful?"

"Surprisingly, no," Stark replied. "They're well-mannered and sweet."

"Now you're just pulling our legs," Clint muttered. Natasha remembered his eldest kid, Cooper. Certainly a handful nine-year-old but Clint loved him to death. "Or they're trying to manipulate you with their good behavior."

Stark's raised eyebrow was seemingly asking whether Clint was speaking from experience. "Who says they're normal kids anyway?"

"Fair enough."

Natasha wasn't on the site when S.H.I.E.L.D. detained the subjects, waiting for further instructions back at the facility where they would be relocated. There was a sudden reroute, and knowing Stark was there, it shouldn't come as a shock that he got his own way in the end. She was told that the seven subjects possessed distinct abilities in which three were known.

They were pertained as 'childlike in appearance', not actual children like how they could be indisputably distinguished with the way they fooled around below. A laugh and a groan of exasperation floated through the intercom, accompanied by a different irritated voice and another giggling.

"I think we're good here, Mister Tony," said a male voice that was practically bubbling with excitement.

Stark clapped his hands. "Showtime."

Luther

"Do I carry you or—"

"Now where's the fun in that?" Klaus scoffed. He was jumping on his bare feet in a boxing stance. "Come here, big boy."

"I don't think that's—"

"How about you throw me those weights over there? I'll dodge them."

"The deal—"

"Is no thrashing. You won't be thrashing me, Luther. You're just gonna throw stuff at me."

Luther glanced helplessly at where his other siblings were behind a tempered glass pane. "Ben is glaring at us."

"He should have been more specific then."

Luther was going to regret this, wasn't he? He hefted a hundred kilograms of steel. He suspected that if he settled for a lighter weight, Klaus was going to bash his own head with a much heavier one.

"Here it goes," he announced, backing to the other side of the padded room.

Absently, he was impressed by Klaus's reflex. He did remember him getting into Dad's dodgeball version for them as part of their training. Klaus was springy as he capered with his gangly limbs, and he used to frustrate Luther and Diego to no end when they couldn't hit him.

One by one, Luther hurtled weights of increasing heaviness. He hardly felt the progressing amount, but it was on the thousandth kilos did the strain on his hands begin. He suspected it was his developing pre-teen muscles and bones. Still an improvement from his limit as an actual thirteen-year-old before.

The last metal ball nearly hit Klaus. He ducked, and then cheered at how close Luther came. "That's a ten!"

Klaus always frustrated him, but that didn't mean Luther wasn't allowed to laugh sometimes at his brother's antics.

Diego

"Get o-out of the way, Klaus," he called warningly. He mentally cursed at another stutter. He would have to outgrow this again.

"Nope! I'll run zigzag towards you then you split the apple I have on top of my head as I run, yeah?"

"No, you're going out of the way, t-then I'll hit the t-targets behind you."

Klaus stomped his foot. "That's so boring, Diego. We have an audience. Where's your showmanship?"

Oh, god, why did they agree with Klaus's suggestion? In retaliation, Diego suddenly threw three knives that flew past Klaus, perfectly hitting at the dead center their marks behind him.

"Hey, I wasn't even prepared!" Klaus then hopped —could he really reach that high before?

The sudden movement that came barreling towards Diego spurned him to throw another blade, curving directly to the apple Klaus perched on top of his head with a garter—showmanship, my ass—and perfectly sliced it into two.

He sent him a double thumbs up. "Nailed it!"

Klaus would be the death of Diego.

Above, Clint Barton whistled at that peculiar display of accuracy.

Allison

"So, sis, how are we going to—"

"I heard a rumor that you fell asleep for thirty minutes."

Klaus hit the floor limply.

Five

He took Klaus by the collar of his shirt before jumping and suddenly appearing at the couch behind Stark, depositing a snoring Klaus there.

"Keep an eye on him," he told Stark and a flabbergasted Banner at his abrupt presence. The man probably hadn't seen an actual teleportation before.

There were two new people there, a woman and another man both armed: the man with his bow and arrows, the woman with a semi-automatic pistol in her thigh holster. Five could count at least three more weapons likely to be concealed around the waist, in the chest pockets, and in the boots. They wore form-fitting uniforms unlike what the Temps have, therefore their weapons were undoubtedly thinner and finer, efficient for quick kills. Assassins would be a more fitting term for them. These were the two additional Avengers then. To Five's understanding, they were employed as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, and their membership to The Avengers could only be second to espionage and keeping an eye on Anthony Stark, and now them.

Both appeared unassuming, expressions carefully blank upon his arrival, but their stances were rigid, surreptitiously observant. He was being profiled if they haven't done that yet to him and his siblings.

Never mind. They didn't have to know that they weren't the only assassins in the room.

Ben

For his turn, the rest of his brothers and sisters stayed with Tony and the others above.

Ben needed the space he could be afforded. It had been a while since he got the rush of his ability. He wasn't counting the time Klaus called him forth because that was all Klaus. Ben was a spirit in form then, no tingling under his skin when he summoned the creatures. He was a projection shaped by Klaus's power.

At the risk of sounding like Reginald, Ben was sometimes disappointed with how Klaus was wasting away his potential. But thinking back on what led Klaus to his destructive lifestyle, Ben would forever blame Reginald.

The creatures were uneasy as Ben beckoned them, angry to be disturbed from their long sleep but were unable to refuse the familiar call.

Slimy tentacles shot out from all directions, ripping against the padding of the walls and ground. The sensation was akin to releasing an unpinned grenade a millisecond before it set off. It was disgusting yet addicting to feel this alive again, to experience the same fear of being unable to contain them once it was over. They had torn him to shreds before when they lashed out, and how was a young boy to control that amount of destructiveness?

To Ben, it was the greatest luck of his life (and death) to have time traveled and regressed as a kid with all his memories intact. The bonus was that he was far away from Reginald who found him incredibly useful and just as revolting with what he was capable of.

There was no Reginald now, they were in a place where he and Vanya could get proper help, and he had all his siblings who could see him.

All was good.

Vanya

"Holler if it becomes too much," Stark's voice came through.

Vanya privately appreciated the concern behind the dismissive tone. In the short span of time she met him, she got the impression that Stark was having difficulty trying to be the responsible adult that he thought he should be, and then failing. Pepper must be the counterbalance for that with how they looked so well together.

The first sound that Vanya heard was a bell. It made her remember Mrs. Kowalski's missing cat that used to prance around with his bell chiming to announce his presence. It was a pleasant sound, and Mr. Puddles always liked to be petted by her.

The chimes turned consecutive with minimal pauses in between. It reminded Vanya of a bicycle. Once, she was distractedly walking down the street after getting rejected for the second seat. A bike almost hit her, and she was even reprimanded for not paying attention to the road. It only reinforced the thought that she must be an airhead for not even succeeding in her only passion.

There were vibrations coming from the ground, and for a moment she was confused whether she caused it or the rumbling sound that came from the speakers. It made her recall the quake she started that brought the whole mansion down and those left inside it.

The tear marks left by Ben enlarged, the rips widening as the foams and insulation were pushed out. Vanya didn't like the combination of the sound of the tearing fabric, the rumbling that gradually morphed into the individual sounds of concrete crushing, falling debris, the creak of bending steel, the whirr of electricity that surrounded her. It was so, so noisy.

"Stop," she managed to say amidst the cacophony. "Stop, please."

Louder, Dad would say, louder so she could be heard. Her voice has always been weak, he said, that was why she wasn't worth the time to be heard.

But Dad never failed to hear. He just never listened.

"I said stop!"

Huge cracks tore beneath her and ran across the walls, accompanied by the breaking glass that rained down around Vanya in an instant explosion. Everything around her went muted except her heartbeat and her ragged breathing. It was as if she was the only one left standing after that immense impact. Had she—oh, dear, no, please...

As swift was her horror upon realizing what she did was the relief that filled her at seeing her siblings and the others as they peered down on her. They were clearly shaken but alright as far as she could see. Distantly, she was aware of the mellow piano tune that was playing on the background: Nocturne, Chopin.

They were alright, and Vanya remembered to slowly breathe and relax.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

"Calling me would have been fine, but that works too," Stark said, and there was something morbidly humorous at how he shook away the small glass shards from his hair.

They were okay, and so was Vanya. It was all that mattered.

Ben

Afterward, there was a film showing in the living room (or at least what he thought was the living room), and a bowl of popcorn passed around.

What an odd way to end the day, Ben thought, watching on a huge screen rather than holed up in their rooms. He wasn't complaining; he liked movies and cinemas. Klaus was more often than not falling asleep in the first half-hour, and Ben was left to watch alone and tell him later what happened.

The Sixth Sense started with a simple plot of a child being haunted by his ability to see the dead, too afraid to tell anybody about it except the child psychologist who was dedicated to helping him. Ben would have likened the boy's experience to Klaus, sans the good therapist, but their similarities only ran up to their powers. Klaus had a harder childhood under Reginald, spent his life being the biggest disappointment among Reginald's adopted children by not rising up to the peak of his potential—lots of bull, that last one.

So the movie might not be as realistic as Klaus's boyhood, but it was well-made, especially that incredible plot twist. This M. Night Shyamalan was definitely a favorite, and Ben wanted to watch his other films too.

Legs raised and bowls of food on their laps, what passed as dinner was spent in front of the TV. Improper, he knew, not to mention there were copious amounts of talking that Reginald never allowed during mealtimes. Pepper reprimanded Stark for that, saying she wouldn't spend her leave tolerating his childishness, but only has smiles for them. They seemed to be unable to do wrong in her eyes.

Later that night, the elevator dropped them two floors lower where seven rooms were and the doors labeled by their names. His bedroom was the last on the left next to Klaus's and in front of Five's. It was very utilitarian when he entered, and Ben supposed Stark was leaving the decorating to them. Some books would be nice.

The carpet felt nice as he rubbed his feet down, and he ended up passing the time sitting there on the bed for ten minutes that turned thirty, thirty minutes that turned an hour, then two, and three.

Ben couldn't sleep.

He thought it was the creatures again, but they've been quiet. Could it be him getting used to being alive again? He didn't need sleep as a ghost, but the night before he never had problems sleeping along with his siblings.

Ben blinked. That must be it. He needed company.

Klaus's.

It must have been the years he was with him standing like Klaus's shadow that made Ben grow dependent on his brother's presence. Klaus often said that while he was Ben's only link to the living, it was Ben who was keeping Klaus from floating away from the real world. Ben stood by his side day and night, sat on the windowsill while Klaus was sleeping. Ghosts didn't have the concept of resting and Ben's presence was reliant on whether Klaus would dismiss him or not, but he would relish the lull of Klaus's snoring, mostly when he wasn't hungover the following day and it wasn't a drug-induced sleep.

When Ben decided to go check on Klaus, he was already there outside, fist about to knock.

Ben frowned, the first thing coming to mind was: "Since when did you knock?"

Klaus grinned. "Not sure if you're awake."

"Doesn't stop you before." His brother waltzed in, pushing past him.

"Yeah, but it's different now." Klaus jumped on the bed; a habit of his. "I can't sleep."

"Me too," Ben admitted, sitting down on the carpet with his back on the side of his bed. "You wanna talk about it?"

"The usual." His brother landed next to him, folding his legs to his chest. "I meant what I said earlier. I was a bit peckish. Did you know that I was this—" he made a gesture using his thumb and forefinger "—close to stealing a bottle from Tony. And the fact that he's raiding his cabinet like a champ isn't helping either. A rich man's goal right there."

Ben snorted. "It's a good test on resistance."

"It is," Klaus said, nodding sagely. "Once you think that you're technically clean and the addiction is all in your head now, it's a bit easier to forget the craving for a while."

Ben mentally tallied that as another point to their situation.

"How about you?" Klaus asked. "Are they… you know. Reacting?"

"No. Not yet." Hopefully never but that was asking too much. Ben thought he saw the nonverbal inquiry of are you going to rip yourself in pieces and die again? "I'm not planning to repeat it," he told him.

Not when Ben had another shot in life.

"That's reassuring," said Klaus. "Hey, can I crash here tonight?"

"Never stopped you before."

"Yes, well, you were a ghost, then you're physically here again with the whole personal space and privacy thing."

Ben couldn't help the grin. "I repeat: never stopped you before."

"You know what? You're right, as always. I call dibs on the left side."

"Scoot over—don't hog the blanket!"

So far it was going steadily well.

TBC