Chapter Seven:
"No!" Tyron snapped at the man, glaring.
"All you have to do is—" Bruce began, but Tyron was not hearing it. He was perched on the couch, his arms crossed tight over his chest. The four men stood before him and Natasha beside him. Tyron didn't like his odds, but didn't want another repeat of breakfast, so he tried to keep himself calm. Well, at least his definition of calm.
"No!" Tyron snapped, "I feel fine, so there's no reason for ya to give me a check-up!"
"You were coughing up blood, Tyron," Bruce reasoned. "You could have internal bleeding and you wouldn't even know. I just need to check your ribs, it won't take more than five minutes."
Tyron glared at him, "I'm not takin' off anythin'."
"Deal," Bruce agreed.
"Ya stop when I want ya to stop."
"Okay."
Tyron sucked his teeth, "And, I want Natasha in there too."
Natasha rose an eyebrow at the strange request but nodded. "Then... Fine." Bruce smiled and Tyron stood, as well as Natasha, and he led them to the infirmary.
"So what school do you go to, Tyron?" Natasha asked as they navigated through the Tower.
"I don't go to school," Tyron replied. "Haven't since seventh grade."
"Really?" Bruce spoke, turning to him.
"Yep."
"Why?" Natasha asked, also surprised.
"Shit hit the fan," Tyron shrugged. "Don't need it anyway."
"Yes you do," Bruce argued as they entered the infirmary. "How do you expect to go anywhere?"
"M'a mutant," Tyron deadpanned, "M'not allowed in most countries and barely considered a human here. I don't plan on goin' anywhere 'cept back to the street." Tyron sat on the medical bed and Natasha spoke.
"How do you expect to get any money or pay for anything?" Natasha asked.
"There's other ways to do that," Tyron replied. "It ain't legal, but it pays for a place to sleep, usually."
"How long have you been on the street?" Bruce asked, concerned, "Where are you parents?"
"I thought ya were gonna give me a check-up," Tyron grumbled. "Not interrogate me."
"We're not," Natasha assured. "We're just worried."
"Then don't be," Tyron replied. Bruce finally turned with a medical glove on and stethoscope around his neck.
"Could you at least take off your sweater?" Tyron nodded, that was reasonable, and pulled his sweater off over his head, dumping it behind him on the bed. Bruce touched his torso, over his shirt. It happens to be just below his bindings so Tyron tried to relax.
"How would you go about getting money?" Natasha asked curiously.
Tyron rose an eyebrow and pressed his lips. "I don't wanna say," he admitted, glancing down occasionally as Bruce moved his hand. "Rather not git 'rested if ya know what I mean."
"We won't say anything," Bruce promised.
Tyron give him a wary look, "Don't tell the others either."
"Promise."
He sighed, "Pick-pocketin', usually. Sometimes drugs though. I got people." He had people, actually. Since they were all with Baron, there'd be no way for him to get to Weed, or any of his Crackhead buddies.
"You really shouldn't—"
"Do drugs?" Tyron finished Bruce's sentence. "I don't, not usually. Sometimes, I'll smoke here or there, but usually, I sell. It keeps me livin' and I ain't addicted to nuthin' anyway."
"Have you ever tried to get a job?" Natasha asked. "Plenty of people hire kids your age."
"If I tried, I'll have to go through mutant testing," Tyron grimaced. He had tried to get a job a few times, and they all said he had to test if he were a mutant or not. "Nobody wants to hire a freak."
"You're not a freak," Bruce scolded, but Tyron shrugged.
"Don't care. I've been called worse. 'Sides, no one cares where their drugs come from. As long as they get it, they fine. Are ya done yet?"
"Almost," Bruce said, moving to his stethoscope. He almost touched his chest, but Tyron moved his arm with his casted hand.
"No," Tyron said firmly, moving away from the man. "M'done." He grabbed his sweater off the bed and slipped it over his head. "What's next? Can I leave?"
Bruce, a bit startled by him suddenly wanting to leave, rose an eyebrow, "Uh, you should probably stay here until your hand is healed."
Tyron sucked his teeth, "It'll be fine in a few more days," he lied. "As long as m'eatin', it should heal."
"Do you have a place to go?" Natasha asked, "Someone you can call?"
Tyron thought for a second, before nodding, "Yeah," he replied, scratching the back of his head. "Gotta phone I can use?"
Natasha nodded and pulled a cell phone, then tossed it to him, "Who are you going to call?"
"A friend'a mines," Tyron said, dialing the number and putting the phone to his ear.
He could hear Weed wheeze in the background, "Who da fuck is dis?" He grumbled, probably hungover and high.
"Don't make me beat ya scrawny ass, Weed," Tyron snapped. "It's Ty, you dipshit."
"Ty? What the fuck, you alive?!"
"Yeah, boss roughed me up, but m'fine," he replied, straightening. He tried to ignore the stares the two adults were giving him. "Look, I'll be back later dis week, don't tell boss. I gotta grab some shit. Ya think ya can cover for me?"
"Course, man," Weed replied.
"Great. I'll be around the SC. I'll call you when m'comin'."
"Cool man," Weed replied, and Tyron hung up the phone. He didn't give it back to Natasha because he absorbed it.
"Sorry," he apologized when Natasha looked alarmed as the phone disappeared. "Didn't want it traced."
"A little warning would've been nice," Natasha muttered. "Now I need a new phone."
Tyron gave a guilty shrug, "Now what? Do I just twist m'thumbs an' wait?"
"Preferably," Bruce replied. "If it'll only take you a few days to heal, like you said, then I suggest taking it easy. Get something to eat, watch TV, whatever you want."
Tyron nodded, "Anywhere I can take a shower?"
"You can do that on my floor," Natasha replied, "C'mon," she waved, leading him away from the infirmary.
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"What do ya do?" Tyron asked as they stepped into the elevator.
"Pardon?" Natasha replied, not quite understanding his question.
"For... Like, a job," Tyron elaborated.
"Clint and I work together," Natasha explained. "We're usually overseas, but whenever we get the chance, we crash here." Tyron hummed. "You want anything to eat?"
"Nah, I'll be fine," Tyron replied. "Can I...?" He pointed towards the shower.
"Sure, go ahead," Natasha said. "There should be towels and stuff in there, and if you need anything else, ask JARVIS."
"Got it," Tyron smiled, heading down the hall.
Natasha waited until he closed the door to speak into her arm band, "He's gone now, I'm heading down."
"Thanks Nat," Steve's voice replied. "Sorry about this, I didn't think you two would be back so soon." Natasha pulled a notepad out of a kitchen drawer along with a pen, and began scribbling down a note.
"I don't mind, he's not bad," Natasha replied.
"He hates me," Steve grumbled, and he laughed, clicking off the pen and leaving the note for the teenager.
"You two just got off on the wrong foot," Natasha said, punching the button on the elevator. "Give him some time."
"Fine," he cleared his throat. "Come on, Loki's staff won't find itself."
"It is magic," Natasha replied. "Who knows what it could do."
Steve chuckled on the other end, "You're right, I guess."
"It'll be any day now," Natasha spoke, almost wishfully. The doors opened and she stepped out, greeted by Steve. "Any news from Big, Blonde and Beautiful?" A look of confusion passed his face, "Thor," Natasha clarified.
"Oh! No, I don't think so. I think we're on our own for this one," Steve shrugged.
"His loss," Natasha smirked, and Steve chuckled.
"Come on, we got a magic staff to catch."
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Tyron felt really good after the shower. Usually, he stayed far away from the stuff, only using it whenever he direly needed to, but he changed his mind as he let the steaming water run over his scarred dark skin. For once, he allowed himself to forget his problems and feel like a teenager.
Well, that is, until he decided that he would rather not run up the water bill and get kicked out. Not that he didn't want to leave, but he decided that if he was going to get put back on the streets, it would need to be for something more dignified than the Avengers getting angry over a marginally higher than usual water bill.
Tyron slipped his clothes back on, almost annoyed at the putrid scent they gave off — especially since it was so different from his how body smelt. "Hey, JARVIS?"
"Yes, Mister Tyron? How can I be of assistance?" The automated voice replied.
"D'ya have any clothes I can wear? That's, uh, clean?" Tyron asked, feeling slightly embarrassed by the question.
"Scanning size, one moment..." A minute later, the voice spoke, "It seems that the clothes that would best fit your body type is a size 8 women's shirt, size 6 women's trousers—"
"Never mind!" Tyron exclaimed, his cheeks enflamed, "I–I, uhm, can ya... Delete that request?"
"All requests to me get sent to Master Tony to review."
"Oh, fuck me..." Tyron muttered, covering his face in his hands. "Please, JARVIS? Just this one time?" JARVIS went silent for a moment.
"Request deleted," the AI spoke again, "Just this one time." Tyron sagged in relief, thanking the AI profusely, and decided to just scrub his clothes in the sink, and wear them damp as they dried.
Tyron went into the wide room and spotted a note on the counter, and picked it up.
'Steve, Clint, and I had to go out again. Feel free to eat whatever's edible for you, that's not important. We'll be back next Friday.
Nat.'
Tyron sat on the floor in front of the couch in the living room area. He didn't want to get the couch wet accidentally. Tyron grabbed the remote and turned on the television. The Daily Bugle was on. The headlines on the bottom read, 'LOCAL GUARD PUTS A PERMANENT STOP TO A DANGEROUS MUTANT'.
"—Freaks like these need to be contained!" J. Jonah Jameson screamed into the camera, point a finger at the prone body of an black, teenage mutant with beautiful bloodied wings protruding out of his back. They had black and silky feathers, but you could see the blood glistening off of it, and the bullet hole that went went through his head. His arms were splayed and were his legs.
Tyron only stared at the body, allowing the man's words to flow over him. "It's a good thing our police got to it first, it could've killed any one of us! It was found about to fly away from a murder scene. An security guard at Stark tower spotted it and shot it down before it could get too far. I have him with me now," he turned to the side, waving towards him, and a man walked forward. It took Tyron a moment before he recognized him. This was the same man who beat him to near death!
"Tell me, Mr. Graves, tell me, how do you feel to suddenly become a public hero?" Jameson asked
"It feel good, Jameson," He spoke. Tyron shook as the words chilled his spine. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore it, but the man continued to talk. "I wanted to be an officer when I was young, you know, just wasn't able to get the chance. Today, I had the honour to feel like one by putting one of those disgusting mutants in their place."
Tyron choked, his mind relaying the images of the body. That boy couldn't have been any older than himself. If... If that guard saw him absorb something, would he have killed him too...? Thinking about it made him sick to his stomach.
"Good man, good man," Jameson continued. "On behalf of the Daily Bugle, and the Police force, I would like to gift you with this," Jamesone held out a shiny tie pin with a small NYPD badge on it. "Thank you for making our community a safer—"
"Enough of that," Stark grumbled behind Tyron. Tyron jumped, scrambling to his feet, shaking. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Tony apologized. "That guy's a dick though. Just trying to save your time."
Tyron leaned against the couch, and sighed. "You okay?" Tony asked, suddenly concerned, "I understand if you're upset, I am too."
"He was a kid," Tyron said, almost a whisper.
"I know."
"He was a fuckin' kid!" He snapped, his fists clenching and unclenching. "And his murderer gets a shiny fuckin' medal!? What the hell!?" Tyron covered his hands with his face and sighed, striding towards the elevator.
"Where are you going?" Tony demanded.
"I'm going to kill him," Tyron growled, jabbing a finger on the button.
"JARVIS, code 15," Tony spoke, and the light in the button died out. Tyron felt the elevator stop running and glared at Tony.
"What the fuck—!?"
"You need to calm down," Tony said, moving to sit at the kitchen counter. "What do you think killing him is going to accomplish?"
"He killed a kid because he was a mutant!" Tyron snarled, "That's fucked up!"
"It is," Tony replied, "But killing him won't make the mutant community seem any better. In their eyes, you — a mutant — killed a hero. In their eyes, you're the monster. You'll just make matters worse, Tyron."
Tyron looked away, knowing Tony had been right. He sighed, rubbing his face, "If–If that had been me..."
"Lucky for you, it wasn't," Tony replied. "I'm going to fire him too, for what he did to the kid and to you."
Tyron froze, "I don't know what you're talkin' about."
"You don't have to play dumb," Tony said, leaning back in his seat. "I know what happened, JARVIS showed me the videos." Tyron glared at the ground, not meeting his eyes. "I was going to lay him off anyway, I've been getting reports from other officers that he's been racist and sexist to his peers. He's really got that 'old school' thinking, and he grew up in a primarily white extremist community. Just needed some solid evidence to get him out for good, and to make sure he didn't hurt anyone else."
Tyron leaned against the counter, sighing, "Ya didn't have to let 'im go," he muttered, rubbing his face.
Tony looked surprised, "Why say that? He attacked you! You were just ready to up and kill the man."
"Yeah but..." Tyron sucked his teeth, "I was upset because he killed a kid, that's fucked up, but I ain't mad because he roughed m'up."
"Why wouldn't you be?"
Tyron scratched the back of his head, "I guess... M'used to it." He shrugged, "Got beat up on all the time, so I don't care much about it. Besides, he has kids, ain't he?"
"Yeah, probably," Tony shrugged.
Tyron made an annoyed noise, "God, I hate that."
"Hate what?"
"When they have kids," he muttered. "Makes m'feel real shitty. 'Cause ya can't really do anythin' about what ya parents do, ya jus' gotta live with it. That's what turns people into fuckin' monsters — when he makes me kill 'em." Tyron froze, realizing what he had said. "No, shit, I–I mean—"
"You said it wasn't dangerous," Tony spoke, staring at him. "You've killed people?!"
"Fuck, no, I–I mean... Yeah, but... Goddamn, that's not what I..."
"What did you mean then?" Tony asked. Tyron flinched, knowing that he hadn't meant to come off as intimidating, but couldn't help but feel a little jumpy. Tony noticed the notion and backed down a little. "If you need someone to talk to kid, then—"
"Yeah, I know," Tyron cut him off. He dragged his hand down his face. "Can... Can we drop it, for now? I... I'll talk 'bout it, but... Not now." Tyron squirmed, uncomfortably, and Tony sighed.
"Sure, kid. Wanna play cards?" He moved to one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a old fashioned deck.
Tyron rose an eyebrow, "Ya know how to play Spades?"
"I will once you teach me." Tyron laughed.
"Used to play this with m'brother all the time!" Tyron said animatedly as he shuffled the deck.
"Brother?" Tony mused.
Tyron gave a nostalgic smile, "Yeah. You'd love 'im."
"How about this: If I win, you tell me about this brother of yours."
"Ya don't even know a lick'a how to play," he laughed.
"I'll learn."
"And what'chu gonna do when ya lose?" Tyron taunted.
"I'll let you have one of my old suits," he said, and Tyron stared at him.
"Really...?"
"Sure, why not?" He shrugged carelessly.
"Ya know I'll tear that thin' apart like a chicken dinner, right?" Tyron said, a bit of a laugh to his tone.
"Well, we'll see about that, won't we?" Tony smirked. "Show me how to play."
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"That's fuckin' bullshit!" Tyron hissed, glaring at his cards and Tony's bet. He was spot on with each and everyone one, to the point that it was uncanny, and he kept betting high too. Tyron thought he was being reckless, but when Tony's point began to add up, he knew he was going to lose.
Tony had over five times as many points that he had. Tony smirked, shuffling the deck, "I guess I win then?"
"You said you didn't know how to play," Tyron muttered, nearly tossing his cards at him angrily. Tony collected them with a laugh.
"I didn't, but I can count cards, and I'm pretty good with betting. Half of my job is working with numbers. It has to be useful for something." Tyron glared at him.
"Cheater," he grumbled bitterly.
"Don't play cards with a genius," Tony shrugged, "Just shooting yourself in the foot."
"Noted," he replied dryly, but leaned back in his seat. "But, I'll tell ya about m'bro though, since I promised."
Tony sat up, "Oh wow, I totally forgot about that," he blatantly lied. "Do carry on speaking about your fellow spawning."
Tyron rolled his eyes, "'Is name was Chris. 'E was smart, athletic, everyone fell in love with 'im, but most of all was that he was normal, somethin' I could never be. 'E would sometimes take m'out to the court, when I wasn't holed up in m'room. Made m'play some BB...— Basketball with 'im. He was... 'E was also a total nerd," Tyron chuckled. "Wanted to be a... Neurologist," he said the word slowly, having a bit of trouble with it. "Mom and Pops didn't care what he wanted, as long as it was good. They excepted me to be jus' as good as 'im. Then..." Tyron sighed, but straightened.
"He was walkin' 'ome one day and got mugged. They left 'im in an alley for nearly a whole day. I found 'im. I took 'im 'ome. I tried to 'elp 'im, but 'e pushed m'away. Pushed us all away. 'E didn't come out of 'is room for nearly two weeks. When 'e finally did, it was in a body bag." Tyron looked at the ground, his fists clenching, "Sometimes, I 'ate 'im. I 'ate 'im so fuckin' much. For leavin' me with them. I... We were close, ya know. I wanted to 'elp my big bro, but 'e up and offed 'imself."
"He sounds like a great guy," Tony spoke solemnly.
Tyron nodded slightly, "Yeah... 'E was..." Tyron really missed him. Talking about it brought up raw nerves that he didn't know he even had! But, at the same time, it was... Relieving. He never had the chance to actually talk to someone about his death, and felt good now that he had.
"JARVIS, send up suit 1.2-8," Tony spoke out. Tyron stared at him, confused. "Oh, don't give me that look, I know you haven't eaten all day. Besides, you deserve it."
"I tried to run away," Tyron deadpanned.
"But you didn't," Tony smirked.
"Yeah, 'cause a racist white guy stopped me."
"And you could've beaten him to a pulp, but you didn't."
"I couldn't find any metal."
"You get my point," Ton said dismissively. "C'mon, we can play Mario-Kart, if you're up to it?" Tyron starred at the man, but could help the smug smirk growing on his face.!
"Deal," he chuckled, heading over to the couch with Tony. The two played video games and watched movies all night long. Tony's old suit was nothing short of delicious to Tyron. Tyron couldn't remember the last time he was able to chill like this with someone. It wasn't recently, he knew for sure. He like it.
Tyron curled up on the couch in the middle of the Iron Giant, catching himself slowly nodding off. He checked the time, 2:39 AM. He didn't even notice so much time passing. He started to nod off again, trying to keep his eyes open, but failed and sank into his dreams.
Tony glanced over at Tyron at the end of the movie, "So, what did you—?" He stopped himself when he noticed Tyron had been sleeping and snoring lightly. Tony chuckled, getting a blanket out of a basket near the side and draped it over the boy. Tyron stirred, snuggling into its contained warmth, but stayed sleeping.
Tony took this chance to clean up the cards, the Wii games, and their food. He gave one last glance at Tyron before before cutting the lights.