Chapter Three:
Tyron had began to feel the effects of hunger on his second day of being homeless again. He was forced to leave Brooklyn, he knew Baron had too many connections there. So, he went to the City instead, spending the night on benches and in front of subway entrances. He had stolen a pack of bandages from a CVS, and wrapped up his fingers and wrist to the best of his ability. It still hurt, of course, but now it didn't hurt too much when he moved it so he didn't complain.
With his lack of money and empathy from people as they walked down the street, ignoring him, he decided that it would be better for him if he just stayed in the park. Not to mention that he had the misfortune of having to leave the same week that had decided to rain the entire week.
A little bit of water was fine for him, but when it was raining buckets like it was now, it could be potentially dangerous. If he got too 'rusty' then he could get pretty sick, and he didn't have the resources to treat himself if this happened. Along with headaches, his 'rust'-sickness usually came with, stomach bugs, lightheadedness, coughing, and on occasion, delusions and fainting.
He remembered getting 'rusty' the first time, back in his early days of homelessness. He couldn't have seen a doctor, and was forced to just lay down, fading in and out delusions, and sleeping. With nobody behind the to keep him accountable, the only thing that was keeping him alive was himself. Luckily, the rain had stopped just before it had gotten too serious, and Tyron was able to get dry again.
Now, he didn't have that, and was forced to spend his day sleeping on park benches and on street corners. He tried his best to stay dry, stepping into stores to warm up, but whenever he tried, they would always have this policy that if he wasn't buying something, then he wasn't allowed to stay. Since Tyron had no money, he was usually always forced out into the heavy rain.
In the morning of his fourth day, he was beginning to feel the effects of getting 'rusty' and starvation. He finally decided to go to a small cafe on 6th and 22nd, with the hopes of being able to find something to eat.
Like most cafés, this one was filled with people sitting in booths waiting to be served, or loitering underneath the shop's small hood.
Tyron slowly stepped inside. The scent of coffee beans and sweet pasties filling his nose, and he gagged a bit, trying to hide his look of disgust. "Welcome to Coffee Rush Cafe!" Piped a young black woman behind the counter. Her hair was in braids and tied up behind her, and her face caked lightly with makeup that complimented her features.
The cafe itself wasn't that spacious, but most of the people there were opting to stand opposed to sitting in the café's booths. Then again, it was still very early and nobody wanted to get up with the rain like this.
Tyron stepped forward, glancing at the tables and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw their metal utensils. "I... Uhm..." He stammered, having to physically draw his eyes away from the utensils to look at the girl. "I... Can I 'ave the, uh..." He bit his lip looking up at the sign above the girl that showed all the things they sold in the shop. Opting for the cheapest thing, he finally said, "The... Small 'ot chocolate, please...?"
The woman nodded, tapping into the screen in front of her, "Will that be all?"
"Ye–Yeah."
"Okay... That'll be $4.24," Tyron grimaced at his total and began to check his pockets. Maybe, they had left something that he could use for money. It might be soggy and wet but—
The door opened, and Tyron regretted looking towards it instantly. Steve Rogers stood at the door, his coat that he wore was soaked to the bone, so he took it off and wrung it out outside. Tyron's heart sped as he turned back around, and he quickly focused his gaze on the ground. He had to get out of here. He didn't trust this Steve guy, and if he recognized him from when he stole from him... He would be in a lot of trouble.
He tried to remember all the entrances and exits to the room. There had been a door leading to behind the counter. But that most likely didn't lead to a back door. The only other one that he knew of was the main entrance, and if he just ran for it, Rogers would see. Besides, he knew that if he spent more than ten more minutes out in the rain, especially if he was still wet like he was now, he'd collapse and be vulnerable to anyone. If Baron had connections in the City too, which he probably did, he could have him back at the 'Yard in no time.
A hand set on Tyron's shoulder and he physically jumped, his eyes widening, "Sorry," Rogers said from behind him. "She was trying to get your attention and you didn't complete your order."
"I–I... Yeah, sorry, I, uhm," Tyron said, stumbling over his words.
"You know what? Don't worry about it, kid, I got it." Steve reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to the lady. "I'll just have my usual, Talia."
The woman, Talia, beamed, "Of course, Mr. Rogers."
"I told you," Steve chucked. "Just Steve."
"And I told you, Mr. Rogers," Talia began, putting emphasis on his title. "'Mama didn't raise no fool'." Steve laughed at the woman's words. Even Tyron let out a nervous chuckle in all his inner hysteria. "Now go on, I got you," she said, shooing him away to take the next customer.
Tyron quickly hurried to sit down at one of the booths, picking up a preset fork and slowly gnawing on it, his long sleeves concealing his hand. He had to be careful. Since his fingers on his other hand were most likely broken, he had to use his broken wrist to eat. However, every time he made the smallest movements with his wrist, it would burn in pain, probably making his injury worse. Tyron's stomach rumbled at his extremely slow eating, but he knew that he would draw attention if he tried to shove it in his mouth.
Steve, who had been exchanging a few words with the cashier as she put down another order, finally left and looked for a place to sit as well. His eyes fell were Tyron sat and he quickly strode over. Tyron's eyes were fixed on the table, his hoodie pulled down enough to cover his nose.
Steve slid into the booth beside him, "I'm Steve, Steve Rogers," he introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake, but Tyron didn't over his own.
Instead, he just said, "Tyron." Steve frowned slightly, trying to peek underneath his hoodie, but Tyron simply ducked his head.
"Sorry," Steve apologized, realizing that he made the boy uncomfortable. "Your voice... It reminded me of someone." Tyron didn't have an answer to that, so Steve continued. "If you don't mind me asking, shouldn't you be in school?"
"... No," Tyron grunted as a blonde lady with her hair tied in a bun set their food down in the table. The hot chocolate was steaming, but Tyron didn't make any movements to touch it. Steve had a black coffee and began gingerly sipping it. When he noticed that Tyron wasn't drinking his beverage, he set his cup down.
"Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat too if you want," Steve offered, but Tyron shook his head, no. "You sure? You look pretty hungry..."
"M'fine," Tyron said firmly, with slight hostility towards he man.
Steve took notice of his discomfort, and tried something else. "Do your parents know where you are? I'm sure they're worried, and it's not the best weather to be walking the streets alone."
Tyron's grip on the fork tightened at the mention of his parents, but he had to release it just as quickly because of his wrist. Steve took notice of this, and continued talking. "Do you need a phone to call them? Or, do you have any siblings who can pick you up? You can use my phone if you need to—"
"No!" He snapped, and Steve went silent, allowing the teenager to talk. "Why th' fuck do ya care anyway? It's none of ya business, just leave me alone!"
Steve blinked, his eyes narrowed at the boy, a look of shock and recognition on his face. "You're... That kid from the alley, aren't you?" Tyron froze, his eyes widening, and his head lifting just enough so Steve could see his eyes and face.
There were bruises still littering his skin, but most of the swelling had gone down, and there was a cut on the side of his face. The cut was from that morning when he and a older man got into a argument over a bench that he was obviously using. The man had whipped out a glass-knife on him, giving him the cut on his face, so Tyron decided to swallow his pride and let the man have the bench, opting for concrete a few blocks away instead.
Tyron stood, his legs hitting the table as he struggled to get out of the booth. Steve noticed his panic and grabbed his wrist, that was broken, in a attempt to stop him. Tyron hissed, yanking his hand away, his sleeves falling to reveal the ace bandage covering his wrist and his finger. "Wait—"
"Leave m'alone!" Tyron snapped, backing away from the man. Steve jumped up too, holding his hands out to reassure him.
"You need to go to a hospital. Your wrist is probably in really bad shape. I can take you there to help you and—" Tyron rapidly shook his head, glancing around the room. All the employees were staring at him and Steve, along with a few of the customers as well. One had even began recording it, his eyes full of curiosity.
Tyron began to feel corners as he slowly backed towards the door. His hand felt the handle, and he opened it and stumbled outside. Tyron turned, noticing the pouring rain around him. It was too dangerous to get any more rusty than he already was, but if he stayed in the café with that Avenger, his fate could be much worse.
"Wait, please!" Steve called after him, but it was far too late and Tyron had dashed away, disappearing down the rain-slicked streets.
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Steve knew that chasing after the boy would be in vain. In seconds, he had was veiled by the heavy rain, and disappeared around the corner. Steve sighed, stepping back inside the café, the had slowly began to return to its normal volume, but stopped when he felt something underneath his shoe.
Bending down, he found the fork Tyron had been gnawing on. Well, at least, he believed it to be a fork because it was missing the points and had been reduced to half its originally size, and now useless. Steve picked it up and stared at it. Tyron couldn't possibly have been able to do this... Could he?
Quickly, Steve went back to grab his coat, chasing after the boy. Something told him that he needed help, and Steve was the one to give it.