Picking up starfire25's suggestion and putting it together with mine I came up this rather long chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it.

Lance walked home from school alone. God, he hated detention. And to make things worse, Mom was home, so he was sure she was going to reprimand him as soon as he entered the front door. May completely lost her patience every time Lance was forced to stay at school after class because of his misbehavior. He was a troublemaker and he didn't seem to learn from multiple detention sentences. Even though May tried to reprimand him, her speeches were hypocritical. At the Academy, she had been far worse than Lance, but she somehow turned into an exceptional and disciplined agent despite her past. May wondered if it was best that she and Coulson stopped worrying about Lance's detentions; after all, he sometimes acted like a baby: the more they warned him not to do something, the more he felt he had to do it.

While he walked home, Lance felt something strange was going on. He couldn't remember much. He simply remembered a shadow suddenly appearing behind him and following him on the sidewalk. He sped up his pace; the shadow followed suit. Then he began running, his breathing quickening to match his extra effort. His running steps echoed in the narrow alleyway like in the bounces of a ping-pong ball. In his backpack, his books bounced around uncomfortably. Of course, whoever was following Lance was a grown man who could run much faster than him. So, aware that he was going to be caught any second, Lance didn't hesitate to enter the building that appeared right in front of his eyes.

"And lead us not into temptation,"

He had just entered the town's church and they were right in the middle of a Mass. Everyone looked back at Lance as he threw the door open abruptly. Despite the boy's sudden entrance, the parish focused on the Pastor and continued to pray.

"But deliver us from evil. Amen."

Pastor Tom continued the Mass as if it had never been interrupted and Lance flopped down at a bench by the back of the church. He swallowed hard and worked on recovering his breath but his heart was still thumping too wildly. He didn't know who was following him, and to be honest, he wasn't exactly eager to find out. Lance put his schoolbag on the bench next to him and patiently waited for the Mass to be over, but for him, it seemed to last forever. Perhaps it was the fear of knowing that someone was chasing him for some reason he didn't know and that that someone might still be outside.

Finally, Lance thought silently, the Mass was over. The churchgoers left quietly through the door. Lance thought of leaving with them, but he feared the mysterious person could still be waiting outside. So he slid across the bench, hid in a shadowed corner, and waited. He watched the acolytes putting out the candles and helping the Pastor tidy up the altar. Once they were done, they moved to the sacristy to remove their vestments. Then the lights gradually went out and Lance's heart tightened once he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Did he just get himself locked inside the church?

"Oh, you're bloody brilliant, Lance. Bloody. Brilliant," he muttered to himself, getting up and wandering around the church.

The absence of light made the images of the Saints look terrifying. He walked around, thinking of banging on the doors, hoping for someone to rescue him . The sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the room again. Lance breathed in sharply. He felt a mixture of hope with terror. Was that Pastor Tom coming back or was it the man who chased him?

"Pastor Tom?" he whispered, walking slowly towards the sacristy.

A man dressed fully in black walked towards him with slow steps. He had a mask covering his face and a white cloth in his right hand.

"You're not Pastor Tom," Lance puffed, taking fast steps backwards. He was startled once he hit a bench and fell on his butt, but he quickly scrambled to his feet and continued to walk backwards down the hall, "What do you want?"

"You," the man's voice came out low and deep.

"Why? What did I do to you?"

"You? Nothing," he carried on, getting closer to Lance, "but your aunt did. Or better yet, she's not doing what she should."

Lance opened his mouth, ready to shout out a cry for help when the man ran the last couple steps to him and grabbed him, covering his face with the cloth. The boy kicked and scratched the man but it was to no use. The man was burly and Lance felt his consciousness slipping away quickly. Everything fell quiet and faded to black.

Adelle impatiently checked the time. Sure it was the young man's birthday, but there was no excuse for his delay. She sighed and had another look at the menu – for the fourth time. She was beginning to lose it and things were bad when Adelle DeWitt lost her temper. The woman straightened her white blouse and readjusted her sitting position. Another glance at her watch and still no sign of the young man.

She didn't have to look back to know that it was her eight-year-old nephew who had just walked in the restaurant. She was certain it was him - one of the employees commented on the newest arrival's poor-looking state.

"I'm sorry kid, you're not allowed -"

"- He's with me," Adelle said, looking back.

Lance smiled cheekily and strode to his aunt. His hair was a mess, chronically out of place, and his plaid shirt had some small smudges of blood - even his jeans had two holes in the knees. He sat at the chair across from hers. "Sorry I'm late."

"Where in the bloody hell have you been?" The boy ran his hand across his forehead, brushing some hair off his face, and showing her the cut right over his eyebrow. "Marcus again I presume?" she added nonchalantly.

"Bingo," Lance replied, also in a very unflappable tone.

The waitress approached their table, ready to take their order.

"I want a fry-up," Lance looked up at the waitress, "Get me all the good stuff."

"I'll just get a Caesar salad," Adelle said, forcing a smile while handing the menu back to the waitress.

The woman nodded her head and walked over to the counter to submit their orders.

"But tell me, how are you doing?" she resumed the conversation.

Lance had always loved his birthday, but only when he lived at the orphanage – very strange, yes, but he had his motives. Now that he was going to the States with his new family, the only member he knew of his biological family would no longer visit him. His aunt, his nameless aunt, told him he'd have a family that would look after him, so they'd no longer need to meet to celebrate his birthday. Back in London, she always bought him a warm meal and chatted with him for a while. It was the best part of his birthday. Adelle never revealed her name to her nephew because she knew that would put him in harm's way. She never even wanted to know her nephew's name; for her, whenever they met, he was "the young man".

Soon the waitress returned with their orders. Lance's eyes lit up as he saw a plate filled with fried goodies, from back bacon, to eggs, to tomatoes and mushrooms. He also had a couple pieces of toast with butter, sausages and baked beans, and a generously large mug of tea. The boy stuffed his mouth with everything he could, working hard to chew the huge mouthful of food.

"Where are your manners, young man?"

"I live in an orphanage," he mumbled between mouthfuls, "there's no room for manners. I fight to get a hot meal."

"I am well aware of that, but now you have a meal that is solely for yourself. Do you have to chew with your mouth open and eat like a pig?"

"I'm starving!"

"Well, you might choke eating like that."

Lance giggled and Adelle couldn't resist smiling. He was defiant, a slacker and cheeky but she liked him. How could she not? Adelle really hoped someone would adopt him and get him out of her life for his protection, away from any problems her relation to him may put him through.

From an early age, Lance learned that he couldn't have his biological family: his mother had died during birth, he had an unknown father, and his aunt, well, she worked for Rossum. He knew about her job, but didn't know exactly what she did for them. He also knew that working for such a multi-billion dollar corporation wasn't easy. Adelle couldn't look after her nephew and work for Rossum; it was too risky, and she was always too busy. And she couldn't exactly willingly resign from her job to take care of him. The cost of resigning from Rossum always came in the form of a hitman.

Lance woke up, feeling light kicks against his foot, "Wake up, kid."

He opened his eyes and squinted, trying to get his bearings. He was sitting on a bathroom floor, his back leaning against the wall, and once he tried to move his right hand, the handcuffs let out a harsh clanking sound, tugging on his wrist. He was cuffed to the washbasin's pipes.

As the boy looked up at his captor, the man tossed the New York Times onto his lap, "Who are you?"

"I'm not gonna hurt you, kid. Just pick up the newspaper and look at me."

Lance grabbed the newspaper, his attention immediately drawn to the date. It stated that it was the 22nd. He didn't know what time it was but he had been knocked out for some long hours he was sure; long enough that he had been unconscious all night. Holding the newspaper against his chest, the man snapped a photo of Lance and then took the newspaper from him.

"I'll get you something to eat. I'll be right back," the man said, closing the door.

Lance exhaled and rested back against the wall. Screaming would not be effective or useful, so he remained quiet, waiting for something to happen. The man returned after a while with a pizza box and a soda can.

"Hope you like these," he said, placing both things down on the floor, relatively close to Lance.

Then he left again, the bathroom sinking into sharp blackness. Lance pondered whether or not he should eat, but his stomach growling kind of forced him to eat. And so he ate, not even pausing his actions to wonder why the soda can was already open. After a few slices of pizza and a couple big gulps of the lemon flavored soda, Lance's world began spinning around. Only then he realized maybe it was a mistake to drink from the already open can. They had slipped a sedative substance into the can, and so Lance fell asleep again.

He woke up hours later, a blend of voices talking entering his ears. As he sat up and tried to regain his bearing again, he heard a woman talking. Her voice sounded familiar.

"Let me talk to him," a woman's voice spoke from outside the door.

Lance stopped breathing for a moment there and turned his eyes towards the door, even if he couldn't see anything. The woman's British accent was undeniable, her mellow but stern voice… it was his aunt. Her heels let out a click-clack sound as she strode along the tiled hall. Light crept into the bathroom and slowly Adelle's figure was perceptible. She was still the same, even though Lance hadn't seen her in three years, she still wore the same businesswoman clothes: a blouse tucked inside her pencil skirt, high heels. Her brown hair still smoothly fell down around her shoulders in impeccable waves.

"Young man -" she said softly.

"Do not call me that!" Lance spat out, "It's because of you that I'm here. You're as guilty as they are."

Adelle let out a sigh and walked in, leaving the door just open enough to shed some light into the room.

"You came to check on how I'm doing? Let me tell you, I'm not doing well, Auntie dear," he snorted, and moved his right hand until the metal handcuff clanked harshly against the pipes.

"I know this is my fault. I'll talk to them, comply with their orders and ask for your release. I do not know if they will let you go, though."

"Ah, and what do you care if I get out of here or not? It'd be way better for you if I didn't get out of here at all, wouldn't it?"

"Everything I did, everything I hid from you, was to protect you." The woman stooped down before her nephew and cupped his face with one hand, stroking his cheek with her thumb, "I am deeply sorry for all of this, love."

Lance turned his face away, shaking off her hand, "I'm better off alone."

"That does seem to be something that runs in this family's blood. We are all lone wolves."

The boy was quiet for a little, mulling on those words until he asked, "If I try to leave, will you stop me?"

"No," Adelle stood up and walked to the door, grasping the doorknob in her hand. She told him without looking back, "But they will."

That was the last time Lance ever saw his aunt. The door closed, darkness prevailing in the bathroom again, and the sound of her heels clicking fell quieter until it dissipated. Lance was left to his own fate, and he had to break out of there alone. The Rossum men wouldn't let him walk away, and it was not like Mom and Dad's SHIELD could locate him. This was one big corporation against one big agency; they were playing the same kind of game, so he was sure that Rossum had done its best to keep him in a remote location where a secret law enforcement agency couldn't find him.

Lance got to his feet and began kicking the plumbing, hoping that he could break the pipes and free his hand. However, he was sure that the sound and the water gushing out the door would alert the Rossum men. If he could defend himself, maybe he could attract their attention to the bathroom while he'd seek for a place to hide. Sneaking out of the building would be easier by then. Hours of playing first-person shooter games would help too.

After a few kicks, water shot out of the now broken pipe and drenched his pants, but much to the boy's luck, the pipe broke in two. One bigger metal tube piece went out flying all the way to the door. He rushed to pick it up, wielding it in his left hand. The handcuffs were still hanging from his wrist, and that proved to be another advantage for Lance. He fit his right hand around the loosened metal ring, turning the restraining device into an improvised set of brass knuckles. When the first man appeared to check on the boy, seeing a pool of water flowing from under the door, he was assaulted by a punch to the ribs with the metal ring and then was smacked in the head with the pipe. He fell unconscious and Lance ran, sprinting through the white halls, his sneakers rubber soles squeaking against the tiled floor.

He hid inside the storage room, hearing two sets of heavy steps marching right outside the door. Lance swallowed hard and waited until there was no noise to ease open the door and poke his head out, checking for movement. He stepped out of the room and walked in quick steps towards the white door by the end of the hall. His hand was already grasping the door's handle when he noticed that there was another door to his right, a door that led to the staircase. He went through that door instead, climbing down flights and flights of stairs.

There wasn't any sound, no surveillance he could see, and not even a living soul seemed to be around. Lance wasn't too worried about that. He ran down the staircase until he reached the bottom level and met another door. Taking in a few breaths, Lance opened the door, entering a big, but empty, garage. The entrance and exit door for the cars was open and he could see the sun shining out there in a cloudless sky. Without hesitation he ran across the garage and up the ramp; the sun warmed his skin, a soft breeze gently blew his hair and clothes. He was out. Wandering around the streets for a while, he finally made it downtown into the busy part of the city.

He was standing in the middle of Times Square, trying to hail a taxi, but none were stopping. So, Lance threw himself in front of a cab. The driver hit the brakes at the right moment, but the boy's hands still clapped against the car's hood.

The cabbie honked and put his head out the window, shouting angrily, "You're nuts, kid!"

Lance climbed into the backseat of the cab, and ordered the cab driver, "Take me to the police. I'm a long way from home."

The sun was setting quickly. At the Coulson's house there was a frenzy of activity. Coulson and May were on the phone every five minutes, following every lead to solve Lance's kidnapping and to get him back. The kids were worried; they all wanted to help, but they didn't know how.

The phone rang, and Coulson rushed to pick up the call, "Hello?"

"Is this the Coulson's house?"

"Yes, it is. Do y -"

"I'm Detective Walsh of the 17th precinct. I've got your son here with me. He's alright, do not worry."

"Thank goodness," Coulson sighed, relieved, "My wife and I are on the way there. Thank you, Detective."

"Just doing my job."

Right after Coulson hung up he turned to wife, "Lance is at the 17th precinct, he's ok. I'll call Mimi to stay with the kids -"

May continued, already knowing what she'd be doing, "I'll call SHIELD and tell them to take over the case."

Coulson and May had been looking for Lance for two days already, and they had considered all options. Maybe he could have been kidnapped by some lunatic, but maybe he could have also have been kidnapped by someone who held a grudge against either of them regarding their line of work. Whatever the motive for Lance's abduction, Coulson and May were considering covering their bases even more than they had been doing so far; they were supposed to keep their kids safe.

In the precinct, Coulson and May were guided to the break room where Lance waited, accompanied by Detective Walsh. Lance looked at them and smiled. May froze by the door, her heart thumping hard against her ribcage. Coulson walked to the boy and lifted him off his feet. Lance wrapped his arms around his father's neck and looped his legs around his waist.

"You're doing alright, kiddo?"

"I'm ok," Lance admitted.

"Ma'am?" Detective Walsh asked May, "you're feeling alright?"

When May joined SHIELD, she didn't expect have to care for and worry about six people – seven if she counted Phil. She didn't sign up for that. She sighed and looked at the Detective, "I am now."

Coulson put Lance down on his feet and watched him walk to May. He wrapped his arms around her middle and hugged her tightly, hiding his face in her stomach. May rested her hand on his shoulder and stroked his hair. As soon as he released her and took a few steps back, May noticed a bruise in his wrist.

"What happened? Were you hurt?" she asked, concerned.

"I was handcuffed to a washbasin. It's alright," he stared down at his feet, then asked, "Can you get me something to eat?"

"Sure."

"There's a vending machine just around the corner," Walsh pointed.

May looked at Coulson and he gave her a short nod, assuring her he'd talk with the Detective. Coulson ended up having to tell the Detective that he and May were law-enforcement agents and that they hadn't reported Lance's disappearance to the police because they were taking care of the issue. While sitting on the chairs in one of the station's halls, May chose not to ask him anything about the kidnapping, preferring to simply watch Lance devour chips and candy bars. Those weren't the best things for Lance to eat but he did seem to be starving.

Soon enough Lance was cleared to return home. His siblings all seemed pleased to see him, each one manifesting it on his or her own way. Mimi was also glad to see the boy safe and sound back at home. Coulson led all the kids upstairs, tucking them all to their beds, hoping to finally get some rest. Lance stepped in his bedroom slowly, as if he didn't know the place anymore. He sat at the edge of his bed and Coulson walked in after him.

"I think you should get some sleep. It's been a few rough days."

Lance nodded, starting to strip off his shirt when he commented, "These clothes stink."

Coulson gave him a small smile and walked to the chest of drawers. He got out a T-shirt, a pair of sweatpants and a pair of underwear for Lance. He gave them to him and asked, "Why don't you go and change clothes and when you're ready to come to bed you tell me and your mother? We'll be downstairs, alright?"

"Alright," he nodded again and took the clothes, marching to the bathroom.

Coulson made his way to the living room where May was, staring at her phone, waiting for her husband to join her. He served himself a bit of whiskey and flopped down on the couch.

"Just got a call from SHIELD," she told him.

"And? What did they say?"

"A woman called HQ, said her name was Adelle DeWitt. She also said Lance had been kidnapped by people from the Rossum Corporation."

"The Rossum Corporation? The ones that are the world's largest manufacturer of MRI machines?"

May nodded her head, "And the ones with the worldwide diagnostic medical laboratories."

"What does all of this have to do with Lance?"

"DeWitt is a lab researcher for them at London. And she also happens to be Lance's aunt."

"What?" Coulson almost choked on his drink, "There was nothing on the files -"

"I know. And that's why she called SHIELD. She wants that information to be added to Lance's profile so that he doesn't get put in harm's way again because of her job."

Coulson sighed, acknowledging that rationale, "That's why he's not saying a word about the kidnapping and that's why he seems unaffected by it. He knows about his aunt and he doesn't want to get her in trouble."

"Well, whether he knows about her or not, he still has to undergo a few sessions with a psychologist, even if he says he's fine. There's no way someone goes through something traumatic like that and doesn't come out of it changed."

"I'm not traumatized. I'm fine, actually," Lance admitted, standing at the top of the stairs. He fell quiet for a while before saying, "I'm just tired of people thinking that they are keeping secrets from me for my safety. I don't need protection. I've always been better off alone."

"We don't keep secrets from you, Lance," Coulson said.

"Oh, you don't?" the boy interjected, walking down the stairs, "You don't keep secrets from me, Agent Coulson? What about you, Agent May," he looked at his mother, "no secrets either?"

"For how long -"

Lance cut his father's question short, "For a long time. Saw your badges on the drawer; saw the guns, the Tasers -"

"Why the hell do you pick locks around the house, Lance?" May was furious now, her blood boiling, "You don't trust us?"

He looked down, choosing not to answer that question, replying instead with something else, "I've always depended on myself, but it's funny how I've always had people lying to me, claiming that they wanted to keep me safe when I was better off not even having met those people. I don't need protection. In fact, I don't even think I needed to be adopted. After all, I was the worst kid in that orphanage, wasn't that how they labeled me?" Lance was ready to head upstairs again when he turned to ask something else – a question that he wished was rhetorical, "Why did you adopt me really? Was it pity or did the Agency tell you to adopt me?"

May stood up and walked to him, "We adopted you because we saw great potential in you. Do you know what you'd have become if you were still living in London, stealing wallets for some man to forge documents? You'd be a mercenary. Do you know what you can be if you trust us? A good mercenary. All you have to do is shut your mouth every once in a while, listen and follow orders. If you want to be trusted, you have to prove you can be trusted."

"At least I don't keep secrets from anyone."

"You don't? Are you sure?" Coulson got up from the couch and stood next to his wife, "What about your aunt? You knew about her. We would have never known, but it never crossed your mind to tell us about her, did it?"

"She has a risky job," Lance argued, "Just like you two have. It's not like I'd go around and announce to everyone -"

"See? Now you're the one who's in favor of keeping secrets to protect others," May retorted, "You can't be so quick to judge others. You had better start listening, Lance, because life out there isn't a playground, and it certainly isn't a Nintendo game. And that's the thing you haven't grasped yet. No one is better off alone. No one."

Lance stared the two down for a few seconds and then mumbled, "Good night."

"Good night," Coulson and May said in unison and watched him climb up the stairs and walk to the bedroom.

Coulson and May were lying awake in bed, both staring absently at the ceiling. He asked, "Still think it isn't necessary to put some sort of tracker device on the kids?"

"Yes. That kind of tracker has to be under their skin and we're not going to cut a hole in their necks to put a piece of metal inside them."

"It could save us -"

The door opened slightly. Both Coulson and May raised their heads to see Lance standing there.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course," His father kicked back the bed sheets and sat on the edge of the bed, "Something's wrong?"

Lance didn't answer. He climbed onto the bed and crawled to the space between his parents, lying down there, facing up too, "Did you look for me while I was gone?"

"We did," May told him, "We don't sleep for two days. We chased down every lead, and we'd have continued to do so until we'd found you."

"I'm sorry. For being an idiot earlier."

Coulson lightly tapped the boy's chest, "You should get some sleep, Lance."

He nodded but whispered before closing his eyes, "Thank you."

Even more than being sorry for the things he'd done, Lance was grateful that they still cared for him.

Coulson and May were already drifting off to sleep when Lance's voice woke them, "Since I was kidnapped and all, do I still have to go to school tomorrow?"

The man chuckled silently, "We'll see, Lance."

"Now zip your mouth and sleep," May added.

Ok, so there was another universes mash up. Obviously the Dollhouse and the MCU 'verses can't mash up totally because of characters/actors conflict (Reed Diamond, Amy Acker, Dichen Lachman, Enver Gjokaj), but it's still totally possible that I assume as canon that Olivia Williams' character in Dollhouse, Adelle DeWitt, can be Lance Hunter's aunt and work for Rossum Corporation.

Next chapter: Papa Cal shows up to visit Skye. It'll be the Daddys' dispute all over again and like how it happened on the show, it's Grant who'll get Skye and Cal in the same room.