Chapter title is from the same song title by Royal Deluxe

Sorry that this came a bit late. :( Enjoy the read!

Steve

Steve observed the boy who came to the gym earlier than him. He had seen the rest a while ago, and Steve would have thought Luther was the oldest of them, seeing as he was the tallest, if he was reminded by Stark that they were of the same age, peculiarly sharing the same date of birth.

Then there was also the boy Five who Steve met first, who seemed older than his age let on.

There was a palpable line of frustration on Luther's young shoulders—the distinctive kind that Steve believed he had first felt a long time ago when he was around Luther's age and the latest when he woke up from the ice and found that he had slept through seventy years.

The punching bag hissed on its hook, and after Luther landed a few more punches, there was a hole where his fist connected with the leather. It was only then that Steve made his presence known.

"Done warming up?" Steve asked, replacing the punching bag with another. Stark was being generous with the equipment here; most things, really, if not all.

"Yes, sir," Luther said, standing straighter at Steve's presence. He reminded Steve of a soldier, and he shouldn't be at his young age.

"It's Steve," Steve corrected. "There's no need for 'sir' if we're going to be training together."

Luther frowned at that as if he wanted to disagree, though he nodded, saying, "Alright… Steve."

"That's better," Steve said with a smile. "Anything you want to tell me about your ability? Anything I should know first?"

Luther gave him a rundown of his strength limit, which was impressive for a boy of thirteen, although it had a part of Steve mulling over the kind of training Luther had been given to reach that milestone. Steve's strength never gave him physical strain due to the serum adjusting his body to handle it, not to mention he was already an adult when he had the serum. Luther was born with super strength, and at his present age, he was on par with Steve in terms of physical prowess. But how was it affecting Luther's teenage body?

"And how did your father train you to surpass your limitation?" Steve inquired after Luther also told him of his basic everyday workout which was close to what Steve did himself.

"By pulling a different kind of vehicle per week," Luther answered. "I have to reach the distance he had set before I move on to another heavier vehicle. The increase of the weight I train on is directly proportional to the increase in distance that I have to cover with it, si—Steve."

Steve wondered why he didn't catch it the moment he saw Luther. The boy was not only acting like a soldier; he was brought up like one. Was this how their adoptive father raised them all? Five did mention that the thirty-six children like them were lucky not to be bought by Reginald. They were the only known superheroes in their world, and at such a young age they had to undergo a strict discipline befitting of their status.

"I'm afraid we can't do that yet," Steve said. "We can start with the simple kind. I watched your demonstration. You have good control of your strength, so I assume you have no problem with holding delicate things without breaking them. We can start with what you did with the video, and I'll be on the other end this time. A catch and throw instead of a dodgeball."

A flash of irritation briefly crossed Luther's face. "With all due respect, sir, you don't have to go easy on me."

"Please don't misunderstand, Luther. What I only have ahead of you is my years of experience. Someday, you'll be stronger than me, but you have to take into consideration first how your own body is holding up with the amount of force you exude. You're young, and it can put a strain on your physical development if you're not careful."

"I'm no longer you—" Luther twitched, his fists clenching on his sides, evening his breath before nodding. "I apologize. Whatever you say, sir."

Well, Steve wasn't exactly expecting to correct that habit in one meeting. No matter—Steve decided while his attention found his vibranium shield sitting on a corner—he was nothing but determined.

"What do you say to a little Frisbee, son?"

Clint

"Why the bow and arrow?" was the first thing that came out of Diego half an hour he was with Clint so far.

"Gives me a Robin Hood-ish look," Clint humored him. It wasn't a new question. Even Cooper tended to ask him why not knives, or darts, even. Hard to tell to a kid that darts wouldn't make a compelling weapon of choice.

"Who's Robin Hood?"

Never mind. Apparently, Diego's Earth didn't have Robin Hood. "Steals from the rich to give to the poor. Look him up. Not exactly the role model you need these days, but he has a certain inspiring appeal."

"Basically a vigilante," Diego said flatly.

"Why I said he's not exactly a role model," Clint said, lips pursing. "And you? I assume your trajectory manipulation is not limited with knives, but why stick to it?"

"It was what I was trained on," Diego said. "And I like knives. Guns are for… sissies."

Clint snorted. "Not wrong there, buddy, but they have their uses." He nocked an arrow, aiming at the thin pole atop an opposing empty rooftop. If he was right, Stark owned the building as well. "Though they don't have trick arrows and grappling hooks."

"Knives are handier. You can hide them on you, and they don't give your position away."

"Good point, kid. I'm not saying I don't use them." The wind changed, and Clint shifted his aim at an angle to the right before releasing. He didn't have to know he hit his mark precisely. "It's all a matter of finding what suits you, I guess, without looking like another generic soldier with sharpshooting skill. Especially when you're in a group of people where one throws a shield and the other a hammer."

"So you want to stand out?"

"Nah. Me and Black Widow are not made for that. We do better blending in on the back. And against the garish red metal suit and blue spandex with an American flag, there's no choice either." He and Nat were the 'normal' of the team; Stark too, but that man was never ordinary. Must be an inherent trait. "How about you? Distinctive among the rest?"

Diego scoffed, and for a moment, Clint thought he would say something regarding that. He shook his head, unable to meet Clint's eyes.

He didn't push, settling down his bow. "Nothing wrong that feeling when you have someone who can shoot tentacles out of his chest and someone who can use music as an arsenal." Hey, even communicating with ghosts sounded more interesting. "But that's what the heavy-hitters are for: to be noticed first. Gives an advanced edge, and then they fail to notice the others with them who are just as capable. Keep in mind that being overlooked and underestimated will always work for you."

Diego regarded the mechanical bow on Clint's hand. Clint got the impression that Diego was the kind of kid who appreciated certain feats brought by years of practice and honing skills. Diego seemed to be a boy with a longer attention span than most kids his age, probably because of his upbringing. Patience for a slow-paced training was what Clint was banking on from Diego; there would be recklessness that was a part of childish traits, but nothing unsurprising. Clint could make him master the bow and arrow in time if Diego would be interested. If not, they could at least practice on any available projectile at hand.

Clint reached for his hidden ballistic knife and handed it to the boy. The weight was ideal for Diego's smaller hand.

"Show me how far and how long on-air you can control that."

He observed as Diego played with it like a boomerang and with no small amount of mastery. When it was back at Diego's palm, there was an expectant look directed at Clint that he might not have made consciously.

Clint allowed a small grin. "Good job, kid."

Tony

With the way Klaus was watching him warily, Tony knew the boy was waiting for that proverbial another shoe to drop.

It wasn't that Tony was thinking on how to bring up the matter with equal amounts of interest and skepticism—okay, so maybe he was, but it was a damn good game of Jenga that they were having and Tony has that competitive spirit going on at the present. Klaus has a keen eye on balance that he seemed to be nonchalantly pulling and stacking them up while observing Tony when he thought he wasn't looking.

Not fair, Tony internally groused.

There was a sigh from the boy when he finished his turn. It wasn't from relief that he didn't topple the tower of blocks over. "What is it?"

"What is what?" Tony muttered absently, feigning cluelessness.

Klaus rolled his eyes. "There's something you want to say, right?" His brows furrowed. "Is it the skirt? Though I gotta say ahead that I don't give a damn what you think about what I wear. Reggie was disgusted by it, so it's nothing new."

"Actually, I do have something to say to it, kid—that color is terrible. You should have known that maroon clashes badly against aquamarine." Tony pointed at his left eyelid. "Also, the wing on that is shorter than the other. Geez, did I forget to put a mirror in your room?"

Tony had the grace to ignore how taken aback Klaus was on the sudden criticism, constructive it might be. The boy shifted on his seat, almost indignant when he said, "Well, there's no vanity mirror so I have to struggle with the one at the bath. It's usually foggy."

"Vanity mirror? Fine. Done."

Klaus didn't answer, but he seemed to be occupied with something. He looked perplexed, not unlike when Tony's mind was running fast-paced to come up with a solution on a difficult problem that he encountered; at least, according to Edwin, he looked like that, seemingly not in the present while his hands were busy with another. Multitasking.

"I thought you'll be asking about something else," Klaus confessed.

"Like: what are you doing at night on that unused floor and talking to the air? That kind of thing?"

"Yeah. That kind of thing."

"I was alerted and showed a recorded video of you the day after."

"Creepy, huh?"

"I don't know, kid. I'm not the one who can see whatever it is that you see," Tony said, leaning back on his seat. It was Klaus's turn now, and he wasn't making any move to continue. "You were talking, and you mentioned Jarvis's name a lot. And it wasn't the AI you were referring to."

Klaus was contemplating, his eyes darting sharply and briefly past Tony. "I was talking to Edwin. He looks very… butlery. And English."

Tony snorted. "That's him, alright."

"He said that you tried cooking when you were my age and charred a hardboiled egg. Since then you never touched the stove to make food to fend for yourself."

A wry smile crept on Tony's face. Edwin didn't let that go easy, did he?

"When you were twelve, he had sewn a sword made of cloth and attached it to a bear. You kept it on your headboard to keep the monsters you thought lived underneath your bed," Klaus said. "Until your father caught you with it and told you that it was stupid. He rarely visited you, and it wasn't even to bid you good night."

What made its way up in Tony's throat was bitter and solid, lodging itself there and making Tony feel like that kid again. The boy that Howard didn't need, and the boy that wished he was born to Edwin instead.

"Do you believe me now?" Klaus asked, the question a perfect distraction from Tony's rather poignant rumination.

"I never said I don't believe you. You did say you can communicate with ghosts. I don't see the point of you lying about having powers," Tony replied reasonably, his voice surprisingly even.

"That's new," Klaus muttered, eyes glancing down as he fiddled with his fingers. "Shouldn't have said those then."

"I don't—" Tony fell back, closing his eyes. "Is he here?"

Klaus nodded mutely.

"Right." Tony wiped his face. "Right, of course."

Klaus chewed his bottom lip. "Am I grounded in my room?"

Tony wasn't fooled at the light tone. "Too harsh, don't you think? Unless you want to, that is."

"All good here. I'm yet to meet the others, but I'm sure they're just as nice as Edwin. Been meaning to acquaint myself with less hostile ghosts."

So there were more. Tony didn't know what to do with that information.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that two of those ghosts could be his parents. Was Howard critically judging him at this very moment? Now that was a thought.

"Never had good ghosts around?"

"Well, there was one or two. Most just scream to your ear and want to be helped. Ed is one of those rare ones who happen to be polite."

"Is that all? Your ability, I mean. Is it limited to communicating with them?"

Klaus's gaze narrowed. "Are you asking if I can make them corporeal?"

Oddly specific. "Sure."

"I've tried it once." Klaus drummed his fingers. "I haven't tried again." He caught Tony's stare. "If you're going to ask what I think you will, don't bother. I don't think it'll be good. For you... Sir."

"I'm not," Tony wanted to laugh. "Jesus, I'm not going to ask. I don't want that." God, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"People will give any for a chance to see again a dear person they lost." There was no humor behind Klaus's smile. He stood, excused himself, and went for the door. "Later, maybe I can try it. I think Ed will like it if, you know, you can see him too, sir," the boy said past his shoulder before leaving.

It was 'sir' now, he supposed.

Sitting alone, Tony allowed his head to hang, the game of Jenga unfinished.

Natasha

"Any suggestions on the approach you'd like to have?" Natasha kept her tone forthcoming, her gesture welcoming and completely open. Children tended to be at ease around adults who were willing to listen to them with a smile.

Assuming, of course, that Allison and Five were the same as any other kids out there.

What Natasha got, however, was an unimpressed eyebrow from Five and a veneer of complacency from Allison.

Five was every bit of a difficult child according to Natasha's first impression of him, and he didn't disappoint. Allison, on the other hand, struck Natasha as the generic well-behaved girl with a more or less penchant for haughtiness due to self-confidence on her overall looks and bearing. She seemed to honestly care for her siblings, Natasha would give her that.

Idly, Natasha wondered if she was being a tad severe in gauging the girl. She would later write it off as her perturbation on Allison's capability that Natasha likened to hypnosis. True, Vanya and Ben's abilities, if to run unchecked, would be quite disastrous. And yet here was their sister who appeared to be the most put-together, next to Five, in terms of wielding their abilities. It wouldn't be farfetched to assume that Allison used hers in every chance she could as long as it suited her. Such power could be intoxicating to a little girl.

"Alright," Natasha said, plastering determination and eagerness. "I've seen what you two are capable of, but I have to ask." She addressed Allison. "Does yours work if there's anybody nearby?" Natasha mustered a notion of rambling coupled with vague hand gestures. "Like, you must have heard of this before—if a tree falls in an empty area, is there a sound created if there's nobody to hear it, or none at all?"

Allison looked minutely uncertain. "I've never thought of it that way, miss. I only know how to persuade, not alter reality."

Interesting choice of words. Natasha waved her hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Just a silly thought of mine." It could be that Allison's ability was a mere persuasion or powerful enough to bend reality with words alone, which was alarming—

Natasha narrowly dodged a chop aimed at her nape.

She composed herself and faced Five with a bland smile and chiding, "Now that was rude, mister."

"Not so much as you trying to figure out the limitation of Allison's ability," Five said bluntly. "Is that what your director assigned you to do? I'm offended that you haven't gone for me first."

"Your limit is ten consecutive jumps at most, but that is still tentative and has to take into account your present state. Endurance is possibly linked with how many spatial jumps you can make within an hour," Natasha told him with the detachment of someone reading somebody's report. "You've displayed your expertise upon landing that we've gathered enough information regarding you." Her smile this time was cutting, completely dropping any kind of pretense.

Five's own lips slanted into a smirk. "I see. That's a shame. I expected more, but if you can gather that much then S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't so bad." He stood straighter. "Shall we resume with the practical approach? I'd like to see what a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is made of." He shared a nod with his sister who wordlessly acquiesced with a rather amused face. "First one face down?"

"First one face down," Natasha agreed. "Applies to any of you."

"From any of us."

Allison wasn't amateurish with close-range combat, but Natasha could detect the disuse of skill, which was questionable with how Five portrayed them as children on the run before coming here on this Earth. At the same time, Natasha could chalk it up as Allison not being one of the main combatants among her siblings. She wasn't entirely unuseful, powers aside. Natasha figured Allison could defend herself alone against two to three mediocre fighters at best.

Five wasn't holding back on his competence by displaying knowledge in mixed martial arts. His disciple was unorthodox and relied mostly on improvisation and his powers. Natasha counted the times he used his spatial jump: three times, and only to dodge blows from her. On his fourth use, Natasha managed to trick him into using his jump, and when he appeared on the spot Natasha expected him to show up—a blind spot on her flank—Allison was there to collide against him.

Highly competent but wasn't used to working fluidly with another. A lone wolf? Surprising that their adoptive father who trained them to his utmost allowed that behavior.

No weapons were drawn, though Five often moved with the intent to kill that Natasha's instincts would kick in to reach for a knife in the boot or that nylon garrote secured along her belt. Natasha was morbidly fascinated that a boy of thirteen could make her do so.

At the knowing smirk that she would occasionally catch on Five, Natasha recognized that they were completely intentional.

Reckless little kids.

Natasha hooked her foot and gave none too gentle a kick on Five's calf. She used her height to her gain, wrapping her arms around the boy in a nonlethal chokehold and wrestled Five's smaller frame to the floor. The boy struggled against her tight hold until a warped space appeared in front of them.

She hadn't seen it this close before, and she was reminded of the wormhole in New York that she helped to close, only this one was miniature and much closer. The millisecond of hesitation was enough for Allison to catch Natasha's legs and tackle her to the ground where she brought Five with her.

Natasha landed on her side, and from another view, they must have made an ungraceful tangle of legs that could make one think they were fooling around. She huffed out a breath and kept her breathing even.

Five and Allison didn't bother hiding their panting as they both sat up, not in a hurry to stand after Natasha. She regarded them with hands on her hips, recovering first and brushing a lock of hair back.

"Who went down first?"

"We all did at once," Allison said, composing herself and wiping her forehead. "Didn't know we'll be wrestling each other."

"I thought that was a given," Five deadpanned. "Straight for the legs. Good thinking," he commended.

"I thought that was a given," Allison said flatly in return before her mouth curled into a grin. "I think we need to work on our silent communication."

Judging from the relaxed expression from Five, Natasha could say that they have a firm mastery of silent communication.

"Another round?" Natasha suggested, making her unabated challenge known through a quirk of lips.

TBC