New Chapter! Enjoy!
I do not own The Avengers, Marvel, or the Left4Dead franchise.
Sunday, Day One
"This is vandalism," Tony states as he looks at the can of spray paint in his hand.
"No it's not. This room is technically mine, so I can do whatever the hell I want with it. Besides, white walls are boring," I respond as I shake my own can. After convincing Stark that a good way of bonding was doing what I want to do we covered all the furniture in my room with that clear tarp like stuff they use when they paint.
Art has always been one of my favorite things; sure, I don't know any famous painters besides the basics like Picasso, Van Gough, and Frida Kahlo, but I love making something out of nothing. I've never been able to afford art supplies besides paper, pencils, and the occasional couple of spray paint cans. I used to tag all the time in my neighborhood, not gang signs, but murals, like Banksy.
I used to buy three can when I had some extra cash, then that night I'd sneak out and try to find a blank wall, which is much harder than it sounds in my neighborhood. A lot of times the picture is washed off by business owners who obviously can't appreciate art, but I still do it when I can, however, lately I haven't been getting out much. And when I did I ended up with Tony Stark.
I'm pretty sure my mom knows about it. Every time we pass one of my works she looks at me with this knowing, all-seeing look. She doesn't say anything. I think she knows it's the only way I can express myself. Once, when I was twelve this business owner let me paint a mural on the side of his restaurant, the one my mom waitresses in. I don't know for sure, but I think she may have talked him into it. Never the less, I'm still grateful.
Anyway, I know I can probably do my own thing without Tony watching, but if he wants to bond, then we can bond. Doesn't bother me. It's not like I want to it's just whatever…Ok, maybe I do kinda want to, but mostly just to show off. Mostly.
"Aren't spray paint fumes strong? Pregnant woman in the tower cannot smell strong fumes." Tony points out as he paces back and forth.
I roll my eyes, "I had JARVIS find me these. It's the same kind you use to paint the suit. Dries quickly and no fumes."
"…How do you know that? JARVIS! Are you giving away trade secrets?" Tony stops his painting to yell up at the ceiling.
"My apologies, sir. I will try to be more secretive." JARVIS drones as sarcastically as a robot can be.
"So," I begin, "I'll do this wall, and you do that wall." I say nodding to the wall opposite of mine.
"What do you want me to do? Kid, I've never even painted a day in my life."
I shrug, "Go with it. Do whatever you want." I shake my can once more before popping the lid off and getting to work. I know exactly what I'm going to be doing. After a few minutes, I hear another can spraying, and I know Tony had also begun. The silence is comfortable, surprisingly; I didn't really expect it to be.
However, no silence can last forever, "So," Tony begins casually, "How's your mom doing?"
"You finally remember who she is, man-whore?"
"Hey! I'm reformed! A one woman kind of guy now… But no I still can't."
I snort, "She's…" I trail off; I don't really know how she is. Not good, probably. She lives in a dingy ass apartment with an abusive ape of a husband who has a drinking problem and yells more than he works. She works from 11:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m. at La Comida Mejor and then she works from 7:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. at Café de Rosa. When she's home she's sleeping, cleaning, getting yelled at or cooking. The only times I see her smile is when she's with me or the twins.
But none of this I can say, because I haven't told Stark about my shitty home life, and I never plan too. I don't need his pity. I don't need anyone's pity. I settle on, "She's happy. A good life she has." What. The. Fuck. A good life she has? Am I freakin Yoda?! I resist the urge to slam my head against the wet paint. I can only hope the force is with me and that I actually sounded convincing.
Tony laughs, "What are you? Yoda?" I grit my teeth. "What about the step-dad?"
I stop spraying for a minute. I put the cap on my can and grab the green one. "He's as good as a step-dad gets, I guess." That's the biggest lie I could've ever said in my life, I think to myself as I busy myself with spraying again.
His spraying stops for a moment, "What about you? Are you happy?"
"I don't know," I say honestly, "I guess I'll tell you at the end of these two weeks."
He doesn't reply, just keeps spraying. This time it stays silent.
After what seems like an hour later I hear the clatter of a can hitting in the floor and a loud clap. "Done!" Tony announces. I turn to look at his wall and freeze as soon as I lay eyes on it.
Then I burst into laughter. He's painted the arc reactor thing in his chest. But all it looks like is a big, uneven, blue circle, with other shades of blue inside. It doesn't even take up the whole wall.
Tony looks indignant, "Hey, this is my first try all right? If you expected a masterpiece you should've asked, Cap sickle."
"Who?" I ask in between laughs. I clutch at my stomach as I try to regain control of my body, still chuckling.
"Steve? Captain America." He turns to look at me as if I'm an idiot, before he also freezes. "That's not fair!" He exclaims, "How was I supposed to know you were the fucking Picasso of tagging?" He exclaims, gesturing at my wall. I grin at him and then at the work in front of me.
It's big, and colorful, and loud as all hell, but it's also really good. One of my best I think. Iron Man stands in the middle, suit alight and ready to attack. Next to him his is Captain America, running into whatever battle lies ahead. On the other side of Iron Man is Bruce Banner hulked out letting out a monster yell. It's not done yet, it still needs the rest of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. (Here's the link if you want to know what I believe this looks like: )
I shrug, "Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm just an amateur. Although, I am mad that I have to stare at that shitty ass circle every day."
"I warned you," He points an accusing finger at me as he continues to look at the wall. His expression softens slightly as he drops his hand, "But it's good, Luis. Nice job." A feeling wells up inside me, one I've never felt with Manny, only with my mom. That feeling when a parent compliments you on something. Only it's not at full capacity, maybe its cause right now Tony is just like a sperm donor and someone who keeps a roof over my head.
"Thanks," I reply with a small nod. I drop the can to the ground and it falls and rolls away with a clink. "I think that's enough art for today. I have to call my mom." I haven't called her at all, except a quick text last night.
"Right, I'm going to go down to my workshop if you need anything find me or ask JARVIS."
"Okay." He leaves with another nod in my direction. I stand there for a moment, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. Then, I reach for my phone in my pocket and pull it out before falling, and collapsing to the floor, staring up at the white ceiling. I dial my mother's number and after two rings she picks up.
"Hey," I greet casually. She must be in the alley smoking, like she usually does on her break.
"Hi! ¿Cómo estás?" She sounds happy to hear from me, and for a second I wonder I she thought they made me sleep outside, even though I told her I was fine.
"Soy bueno. I'm good. Everyone's been pretty nice here."
"Good. What have you been doing? Enjoying that big tower?
"Nah, they got me on house arrest while they figure out how to handle the press."
"House arrest? What does that mean?" She sounds confused. Sometimes, very rarely, her English is not up to par. When that happens she gets so embarrassed and angry about it I feel bad for her.
"Like, I can't leave the tower for a day or two," I explain.
"Ah," She replies, and I can practically hear her nod.
"How's home…? Manny?" I don't need to say anymore. Is Manny still going to kill me if I come back?
For a moment the line is dead, and all I hear is car horns and loud music. "Manny hasn't come home yet."
"Oh," I say, quietly, "Why not?"
"… I don't know, Luis. I just hope he isn't passed out dead drunk somewhere."
This is what pisses me off about my mom. Manny can beat the living shit out of me and she's still concerned about him. I hope he's dead. I've never wished he was dead more in my life. I can't come home or he'll kill me and she's worried about him. Talk about sorting out your priorities.
I scoff in disgust, "Yea, well, he could be dead in a gutter for all I care."
"Luis," I hear the warning tone in her voice.
"No, know what? I gotta go. Love you." I hang up, without hearing her reply. I drop my phone carelessly, shaking my head as I stand. This is bullshit, I think to myself. Who gives a damn if that waste of space is dead or not? He's probably just at one of his buddies' house, freeloading off of them for a while. My mom should be grateful if anything.
I walk out, ready to go wander the tower like I've been meaning to do since this morning. I walk into the elevator and head back to the lounge area where I found Tony and the Crew earlier. I lean against the railing of the private elevator sulking like the true teenager I am. As the door dings open I'm surprised when I hear the synthesized rapid fire noise that can only come from video games. I walk out of the elevator to see Clint Barton on the giant couch hunched over a controller. Across from him lays Natasha, a book in her hand that's title is in Russian or, what I think must be Russian.
She seems mostly unaffected by the noise as I approach I see Clint take down a hoard of zombies with a machine gun. He's playing Left4Dead 2, I only know because my friend Jon has the same game, and when I went over we used to play for hours.
He barely glances at me over his shoulder, "Hey kid." Natasha looks up from her book, giving me a nod before returning to her reading.
"Hey," I say, falling down at the other end of the couch Clint is sitting at. I watch him play, wondering how the hell I ever got lucky enough to sit in a room with the worlds deadliest spies, and act so casual about it.
"Smoker," I point out, as I watch the mutated zombie run along the roof.
"What?" Clint asks, looking wildly around the screen, "Where?" His health is already at 42%, so I can see his worry.
"Right corner- Oh! Sucks for you man," I grin as the smokers tongue shoots out and wraps around Clint's character. He begins to furiously pound buttons, muttering curses as his health continues to drain. The rest of his companions are currently battling a hoard of zombies, and after another second Clint dies.
"Son of a Bitch! Goddamn Nick can't shoot a zombie if they stood still!" He exclaims, dropping the controller onto the couch.
"Don't be a sore loser, Clint." Natasha says vaguely as she flips the page in her book.
"Yea, and don't diss Nick. He's my guy," I chime in.
"Oh yea?" Clint tosses me the second controller, "Then you play as him, maybe you can cover me better than the computer can."
I grin, catching the controller easily, "Well, if you insist." I say shrugging and starting up the controller.
"You just blew me up!" I yell, outraged. "You can't blow me up. I'm your teammate." Five games later and we were turning on each other. Maybe it had something to do with me accidently shooting him, but that did not warrant blowing me up.
"Hey, you say friendly fire. I say friendly explosives." Clint replies as he easily takes out several more zombies with a machete.
I slump against the couch, waiting for my character to be revived. This is actually really fun. Just hanging out, playing videogames with Hawkeye. Joking and laughing and occasionally yelling. Ok, well, around game two Natasha left because we were too loud, but still.
"I hope you get eaten," I announce, gesturing at the screen.
"Just because you said that I think next time a you get attacked I'm going to let you get eaten." Clint says as he mashes the buttons. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, eyeing the scabbed cut on my face. I accidently ripped the bandage off in my sleep because it was too itchy. Oops.
"What happened to you?" He asks as one of the other computer automated characters gets smashed by a giant zombie called a Charger.
I shrug, "Gangbangers beat me up." I use the lie I've used on many occasions.
"Sure," He says casually. I can't tell if he believes me or not. His face is as neutral as ever, much different from the guy I just seen raging at the television five minutes ago. My stomach twists and I run a nervous hand through my hair. Does he know? No, he can't know.
"My dad was a mean drunk, too."
He knows.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I reply, indignant, sitting straighter.
He pauses the game and looks at me, "When I used to get hit I used to tell people I fell, or that my brother and I's play fighting got to rough to explain bruises. When I got beat, I used to say some thugs did it."
He sees everything, so he would have been able to tell if I was lying. Trained assassin, hello. I don't see everything, so I would have never guessed anyone would have guessed. If that makes any sense.
I slump my shoulders and hang my head, looking at the ground, "How'd you know?"
"By the way you covered it up so quickly. Plus, it's happened to me, so I can tell when it's happening to someone else…usually. Step-dad?"
"Yea," I nod once, clasping my hands together and looking over at him.
"Does Tony know?" He asks, face is softer, but not pitying. Thank God it's not pitying.
"No, and I would like it if you didn't tell anyone, okay?" I can't walk around being the poor abused kid from the ghetto. I won't be that kid.
"Okay," Clint responds, picking up the controller and going back to playing. Relief fills me. Many people may say that it's inconsiderate to just blow it off like that, but I'm grateful. I don't want someone to baby me because I'm so damaged. I want someone to show concern, and then go back to treating me like a person and not a vase.
"Thanks," I reply as my character finally joins the game once again. I pick up my controller and join Clint's as they run off into a helicopter, completing the level.
"Don't worry about it. But if you need to talk, then you know where to find me." Clint replies, setting down his controller and turning to face me.
"I actually don't. Where's your room?"
"It's more like an apartment, and it's just one above yours, first hallway to the right." He informs me, gesturing with his hand slightly.
"Okay," I reply, thankful. At least I know I have someone I could talk to whenever I want about home, not that I'd probably want to anyway.
Clint turns off the console and stands, and I stand too. "We're not playing another round?" I ask, confused. We were on a roll.
"Nah, today's Sunday, and that means Steve's cooking Sunday dinner. He's gonna kill me if I'm late again." He stretches and walks to the elevator. I long behind, looking for something else to do to bind my time while everyone's gone. Maybe more videogames.
"Come on, Luis. I don't have all day." He says holding the elevator door open and gesturing for me to come with.
"Wha- Oh! Yea, pfft, yea, I'm coming." I say, jogging to join him, playing it off. We go to the floor above Tony's. A modern hallway is the first thing that greets me as I step off the elevator. It looks like one of those fancy hotel hallways I always see in movies and shit.
"My door," Clint knocks on the one closest to us on the right. We walk down the hall and the smell of pasta sauce and garlic bread fills the hallway, making my mouth water slightly. That's when I notice I haven't eaten anything all day. I wasn't really hungry. Must be the meds, because now I feel like I can eat the whole door.
Clint knocks once before opening the door walking in like it's his own home. I follow him, lingering behind him in the doorway. I watch what must be the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life. An apartment is before me, full of good, sturdy furniture and a kitchen area, separated from the dining room and living room by a counter.
In the kitchen Steve is standing over a pot, stirring while Tony tries to drink from a bottle of wine on the other side. It must be cooking wine because Steve keeps batting at him to get away and telling him to get out of his kitchen. Pepper seems to be in the middle of conversation with Natasha at the table. Bruce is speaking with a short woman with shoulder length brown hair, who seems to be talking enthusiastically about something about stars.
Clint enters the kitchen, successfully swiping the bottle from Steve and taking a drink out of it before making a gagging noise. "That is not wine, that is poison." He declares, practically shoving the wine back into Steve's hand.
"Well, that I don't want that anymore." Tony makes a disgusted face and shudders before exiting the kitchen, and seeing me.
"Hey, kid, glad you could join us. Shut the door would you? We're about to eat." He jerks his head over to the large table. Steve comes out of the kitchen with a big bowl of spaghetti noodles and an even bigger bowl of sauce. A salad and garlic bread already graces the table and as I approach everyone takes their seats, Tony at the head, and Steve at the other end. Pepper sits on Tony's right, and I take my seat at the only other place which is on his right.
Clint sits on my other side, and soon everyone begins to serve themselves, scooping heaps of pasta onto their plates and talking, some loudly, like Tony, and some quietly like Natasha. "So," Tony begins, "As it turns out I suck at art."
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth, "It's true, he's really bad. Now I have to sleep with his monstrosity staring at me every night."
Laughs and chuckles echo through the room, and I'm struck by the domesticity of it all. I've never had this before, never had sit down meals. My sisters would love this. Hell, so would my mom. Guilt eats at me. I shouldn't have hung up on her like that. I'll call her tomorrow and apologize, right now; I'm kinda concerned with how much I'm enjoying not only the food, but the company.
Clint tells a story about a mission in Hong Kong that is supposed to be classified, but what Fury doesn't' know doesn't hurt him apparently. Natasha smiles, and sometimes adds things, like how she had to crawl through sewers in an evening gown and heels while Clint laughed into her ear through her earpiece.
Everything is so… Normal. And I find myself enjoying it maybe a little too much.
Done! Sorry, this was kinda a longer wait, but also a longer chapter. Yay! Also, go team getting to know everyone! Next chapter might have some action. Oh, and could you spot Jane Foster in there? She will be a frequent character, and Darcy Lewis might also make an appearance. Anyway, next chapter up soon! Review Please!