Chapter Nine:
Steve, Tony, and Clint all arrived at the scrapyard in disguise. It was peacefully sunny outside, and the warm rays hardly baking. In the front was a man who's eyes were half closed. He blocked off the entrance to the scrapyard, slumbering softly.
Steve lightly rapped on the glass and the man jumped, looking around angrily. Finally, his dark eyes fixed on Steve and they narrowed. "What'chu want?" He demanded, his tone gruff.
"We wanted to know if a Tyron was here," Steve said, trying not to sound too awkward while he said it.
For some reason the man smirked, as if there had been some kind of inside joke going on. "Gimme a second," He said, and turned away in his seat to pick up a phone. He dialed and waited, then began talking in a low enough tone that none of them could hear. He glanced back at the trio from time to time before finally setting the phone back down.
"Boss says no," he finally announced and moved to recline in his chair.
"Whose your boss?" Tony demanded.
"That ain't none of your goddamn business, so I suggest you start moving along before I make you!" The man snapped.
Steve glared at him, but Clint patted his shoulder, making him turn away. "He's not worth it. We'll find Tyron some other way." Steve sighed, but followed Clint and Tony as they walked away.
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A few night later, Steve got a call. He was sitting on the couch in his apartment, reading a book and his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He jumped, surprised. He didn't like this new technology as all the vibrating and buzzing and dinging, it was annoying.
After a second, he found the phone and answered it. "Hello?" He spoke, not getting the chance to look at the caller ID.
"Hello, Mr. Rogers? It's Talia," Talia spoke into the phone. Steve was surprised, he remembered giving her his cell phone number, but he hadn't expected her to call him.
"Oh, hey Talia, how are you?" He replied, trying not to sound too awkward. Steve hadn't told the others this, but he hated talking on the phone. It was strange to be able to talk someone, but not physically looking at them. It was always a hard concept to wrap his head around.
"Uh, good. So, there's this kid here, he said his name was... Tyron? I'm pretty sure this is the same kid that was sitting with you a couple weeks ago. He said he knows you, but I wanted to be sure..."
"Tyron? Yes! Is he there now? Tell him not to move, I'm coming down," Steve ordered, standing up.
"Yes, of course, Mr—No! Wait!" Talia shouted, her voice falling away from the phone. Steve froze, listening carefully to the cell phone. "Stop! Calm down, he's coming to get you, don't—"
"Don't touch me!" Tyron's voice shouted in the back. "Don't take me back, please! M–M'sorry. Bad pet bad—" the phone cut off.
Steve ran, hurrying to grab a coat and the keys to his bike. He daringly dashed down the halls of the apartment. By the time he got on his bike, he hardly had time to put on his helmet before he was riding into the city.
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Steve noticed that the usual illuminated 'OPEN' sign in the front was turned off, but there were still employees milling around, cleaning. Steve knocked on the door and the closest one, who had been sweeping the lobby, ran to open it. "Hello Mr. Rogers!" She was a younger employee, probably no older than fourteen or fifteen. She was Hispanic with her silky thick hair pulled into a bun that was over the visors they wore. She gave him a wide smile, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet with excitement.
"Hey there," he smiled politely. "Do you know where I can find Talia?"
The girl nodded, "Yeah, she should be in the back with that boy earlier. He was freaking out, like, having a panic attack. Talia calmed him down, but he won't let anyone near him, and whenever Talia tries to go, he starts freaking out again." The girl looked concerned, her brow drawn.
Steve smiled, "Thank you..." He looked at her name tag, "Ainsley. That's a pretty name."
A ferocious blush spread on Ainsley's face, and she turned, "Ye–Yeah, you're welcome, Mr. Rogers," she replied, her voice strained.
Steve chuckled, walking through the door. He other employees lead him to the back, where there were two teenagers washing dishes, and a closed door. Steve knocked on the door as one of the others instructed. A second later, the door creaked open, revealing a rather worn down Talia. As soon as she saw him relief spread on her face.
"Oh, thank god," she breathed, dragging him in the room. Tyron was sitting in a swivel chair, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms covering his head, and he was muttering. He wore a baggy shirt, which looked beaten and worn, and long jeans that were cut to the thigh, and had holes in the knees.
"Bad pet bad pet bad pet bad pet bad..." He repeated like a mantra.
"What's wrong with him?" Steve asked, his tone hushed.
"I–I don't know," Talia truthfully admitted. "He won't let me touch him, and I can't get him to do anything else. I tried to talk to him, and he didn't respond. Did–Did something happen?"
"We don't know," Steve sighed. "Can I?"
"Yes, of course, Mr. Rogers," Talia nodded, stepping out of the room. As soon as the door opened, Tyron shot his head up, looking at Talia. His eyes wide with fear and swollen from tears. He looked like a scared child, he was terrified.
"No! Please, don't leave! They're gonna—oh god, no, please!" Talia immediately came back inside, closing the door.
"Hey, hey, shh, it's okay," she whispered. "I'm still here, I'm still here. Don't worry." She moved to hold his hand and he took it, holding tight. He stared at Steve, his eyes wide, as if he had never seen the man in his life.
"Tyron?" Steve said carefully, "It's me, Steve, remember? Can you talk to me? Tell me what happened, we can help." Tyron didn't reply, but he did physically shift away from him, his eyes darting all around, not focusing on the man. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Tony said he dropped you back at the scrapyard. Did someone hurt you? Talk to me."
Tyron looked at him, then turned to Talia with an awfully pained expression, "Please, don't make me—I do–don't want to—"
"You don't have to do anything, honey," Talia assured. "But, could you answer Mr. Rogers' questions?"
Tyron stared at her, "Th–That's all?" She nodded, "Really?"
"Yes, now can you answer his questions?" Tyron gave a slight nod. Talia turned to Steve, and gave him a nod of affirmation.
"Okay, Tyron, what happened in the past three weeks?" Tyron looked uncomfortable, looking down.
"Baron..." He muttered, "He–He made me... I... I didn't want to, but..." He closed his eyes, trying to breathe. "I couldn't leave, I barely did... He's gonna kill me, oh god, he's—!"
"Next question, next question," Steve interrupted his panic, and began talking again. "When was the last time you ate?"
Tyron didn't answer for a minute, trying to calm down his breathing, "Thr–Three weeks... He wouldn't — He wouldn't let me..."
"I understand. Do you remember me? Who I am? Do you recognize me?"
"I..." Tyron looked at Steve face for a moment, then nodded. "Ye–Yeah, I..." He looks down, and somehow managed a dry chuckle, "I... Thought you were a dream... He made me think... I..."
"You're not dreaming," Steve said, chuckling.
"M'sorry, I shouldn't 'ave left, I–I needed... 'Is picture, I needed it..."
"Who's picture?" Tyron reached into his shirt, somehow being able to pull out a small, folded up photograph. After unfolding it for a moment, he showed to Steve and Talia.
It was a old, 2010 Kodak picture of a tall teenager boy, young boy and a younger girl. Each one of them were holding basketballs and wearing matching sets of a basketball jersey. Tyron laughed, his tears staining the picture. "I–I couldn't leave 'em."
"I understand, it's okay," Steve assured. "Do you want to go back to the Tower? I–I have my bike and we can enter though the back?" Tyron shook his head, and Steve felt his heart plummet. He was making progress! "Why not?"
"I–I wanna stay 'ere," He said, his hands shaking as he tried to fold back up the paper. "Th–They're is too many, I don't—" Tyron didn't have a choice. Before he could even finish his thought, Steve brought his hands to the base of his neck, squeezed, and Tyron slumped against his arm.
"Oh my!" Talia jumped, surprised.
"It's okay," Steve assured. "Old army trick when they were in shock. He'll be fine." He pulled Tyron up, wrapping his arm around his neck, creating a false sense of balance. He pulled out his phone, calling Tony. He told Stark he found Tyron and that he — and his bike — needed to be picked up. Then, he hung up on the man before he had the chance to make a terrible pun.
"Thank you so much, Talia," Steve told the woman as they walked out of the small office. The employees had all finished cleaning for the day, leaving only two who were still waiting on their rides home.
"My pleasure, Mr. Rogers," Talia said, smiling softly at him.
"No, really," Steve insisted. "We — I wouldn't have had a chance to find him. I don't even know why he came here, of all places."
"Me neither. He came in running, didn't even order anything. He just sat in the corner of the booth, shaking like a leaf. Thought he was cold, but when it was closing, he still hadn't left." Talia gave Tyron a look of pity, "Poor kid. I hope you guys work out whatever happened to him. He seemed like a nice kid too."
Steve thought about Tyron's coarse language, uncontrolled anger, bad attitude and pessimism. "Yeah," he laughed, "He's a great kid."