Chapter Twelve:

"Are you liking it so far?" Steve asked Tyron. He was sitting on his bed, writing something down. Steve stood near the doorway, leaning against the wall. Under him was a wall-mounted basketball hoop.

"Yeah," Tyron replied as he finished another math question. He turned the page to start another, frowning a bit.

"Made any friends yet?"

"Uh-huh."

"Like who?" Tyron look up a him, his brow raised.

"Is somethin' wrong?" He asked skeptically.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"'Cause," He frowned, "Ya always interrogate m'when somethin's up."

"This isn't an interrogation," Steve assured.

"Uh-huh..." Tyron turned back to his homework. There was a short pause before Tyron spoke again. "I ain't doin' any drugs anymore if that's what ya worried 'bout."

"I'm not worried about that," Steve said, a bit surprised that that was what he concluded.

"An' I haven't been in contact wit' anyone from the 'Yard either. Baron's been silent, from wha' I've seen. Maybe he's lookin' for me, I dunno. So, ya can cut ya worryin' short. It makes ya look ol' anyway."

Steve let out a scoff, "I think I'm allowed to worry about you, at least a little."

"Yeah, I s'pose, but I wish ya wouldn't though."

"Why?" Steve asked, and Tyron sighed, scratching his hair, which had grown a lot longer lately, creating a bit of a small Afro. He reminded himself to cut it soon.

"'Cause," Tyron grumbled. "Worryin' means ya care, an' if ya care then it's that much harder when it hurts."

"When what hurts?"

"Anythin'." Tyron glared at his homework, "This problem is fuckin' stupid."

"Don't swear," Steve scolded and the teenager rolled his eyes. "What is it?"

"Algebra," Tyron glared at his paper for another moment. Then, his gaze softened, "Oh, wait, nah. M'stupid." He erased something, then scribbled something else down. "'Ere we go." He closed his book and set his school stuff on the desk across from his bed. "Are ya doin' anythin' later?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Are ya?"

Steve frowned, thinking about his schedule, which had been pretty vacant today. The only thing he had was a meeting regarding Loki's staff, which they held while Tyron had been at school. Other than that, he was clear. "No."

"Cool. Go grab some tennis shoes."

"Why? Where are we going?"

"Out," Tyron gave him a boyish grin, tying his own shoes on. "Hurry up! I haven't got all day."

- 0 - 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Where are we?" Steve asked, following Tyron. Tyron had him drive down to Queens on his motorcycle, and now they were walking around. It was about three o'clock, so nearly all of the schools had been out. Meaning, all of the teenagers and young people were roaming the streets.

Tyron led Steve down a few blocks before turning a corner and heading towards a fenced off area. "Hey guys," Tyron greeted, and a few heads turned their way at the familiar voice.

"Yo Ty, what's up?" A young male replied, stepping forward. He was very light skinned, almost a crisp-brown colour, and his face littered with dark freckles. He had long hair, which was dark and wildly curly. He tied it back with a low ponytail though, only leaving a few lone strands in his face. He had on shorts and a white tee-shirt, and wore a cheeky grin.

The two boys did a handshake that Steve recognized — Sam had done it all the time with his colleagues and even showed Steve how to do it once or twice. "Who's that?" The boy said, motioning to Steve.

Before he could answer, another kid had already exclaimed, "Holy shit!" They were holding a basketball and we're looking in their direction. "Captain America!" In seconds, Steve was swarmed with several teenagers, both boy and a few girls, eager to meet him.

Steve gave the adolescents a awkward wave, still confused at his position in this. It was Tyron who spoke up, "Guys!" His voice was drowned out in the voices, "Hey!" Finally, heads began to turn his way, some slightly annoyed that he had interrupted their interaction with the Super Soldier. "I think 'e wants to play." Tyron gave a pointed look at Steve, who blinked slightly.

"I... Don't know how," Steve admitted, which was true. He wasn't the best athlete when he was young, and even though he ran on a regular basis now, he didn't really take it upon himself to learn the rules to some sports.

At his confession the kids all began to shout again, offering to teach him. Steve turned to Tyron, who smirked, making a small 'go on' movement with his hands. "Let's go!" A kid shouted, and the group split. The team captains were quickly decided by the two oldest, and between them, they had to flip a coin to see who got Steve. Soon, he was sorted away, as were the rest of the kids.

Steve noticed that Tyron had been one of the last to be picked, probably because he was new, but soon all the kids were chosen for their teams. The team that didn't have Steve on their team got ball first, which was fair. Steve also notice that Tyron was on that team as well.

The game started, and they broke. The kids who weren't playing cheered Steve's team on, biased due to him being an avenger. However, there were a few rooting for Tyron's team as well.

Steve was divided between watching how to play and actually playing the game. He watched as the kids dribbled the basketball, moving around. Sometimes, they would pass it to one another in order to get out of a bad spot when their opponents would surround them. Several times, Steve himself was passed the ball and he tried to copy their movements, dribbling the ball and shooting it to whomever was closest to their basket and seemed open.

Steve noticed that Tyron was very easily turning the game in his team's favour. He was surprisingly nimble on his feet, able to steal the ball from the dribblers, and shoot a basket from nearly halfway across the court. The kids soon realized how well Tyron was playing and began to try to stop him, but by the time they realized, it had been far too late for the game, and Tyron team had won by nearly thirty points higher than Steve's.

They played three more games, and with each one Tyron was getting slowly more popular. Although Steve was still chosen over most of the kids — due to his stamina, height, and strength — Tyron was usually followed. It wasn't uncommon to have the two playing against the ball, as if they were on a real court with a crowd of fans cheering for their respective teams around them. In a way, it was thrilling.

However, it soon got late, and the street lights turned on — which was usually the universal sign that everyone had to go home, unless they wanted to get whipped by their awaiting mothers.

A few congratulated Tyron as he left, and some even asked for Steve's picture. By the time Steve and Tyron were ready to go, he was waving goodbye to his friend, "See ya around, Lars." Tyron said, heading back for Steve's bike.

"You too, Ty," Lars — short for Laurence, apparently — grinned cheekily, his cheeks dimpling. "An' bring Captain America next time too! That was fun!" Tyron laughed at his friend's remark, sending one last wave, before jumping on the back of Steve's bike.

Steve gave him and himself a helmet before speeding off, getting back to the Tower in no time. "That was fun," Steve commented as they parked into the Tower's garage. Tyron nodded, a faint smile on his lips. "You do that often?"

"Used to," Tyron replied. "A long time ago."

"You're really good at it. Basketball, I mean."

"Thanks," Tyron smirked, "And ya weren't as bad as I thought ya be."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tyron laughed, turning to head towards the elevator.

"Well, for a big, clumsy guy like ya self, I was a bit worried ya'd trip over a kid or somethin'," Tyron confessed. "But, hey, ya did good."

"I'm not clumsy," Steve frowned, but his eyes were playful. He stepped into the elevator, allowing it to rise soundlessly.

"Ya so are," Tyron denied. "Dude, ya tripped outta the elevator the other day."

"Accident," Steve replied briskly. "Won't happen again."

"Sure," Tyron chuckled, leaning against the elevator wall.

Steve was silent for a moment before speaking again, "Why did you bring me with you?" Steve asked carefully.

"Hm?"

"You let me come, hang out with you today. I was under the conception that you didn't like me."

"I don't." Steve visibly deflated, and Tyron couldn't help a laugh. "Kiddin'. I thought ya'd want to... Ya did, didn't ya?" Tyron voice was hesitant.

"Yeah, I had fun," Steve assured.

"Good," Tyron smirked. "Ya aren't that bad of a guy, ya know."

Steve rose an eyebrow, not quite sure how to take that, "Thanks...?"

Tyron laughed again, "Really, ya aren't. Besides, I had to make up for it, anyway."

"For what? You don't owe me anything."

"I do," Tyron replied. "I owe ya a lot. I mean, god," Tyron's gaze turned to the ground. "I would've been stuck there, ya know. If it 'adn't been for ya, I would... I would still be wit' Baron. I don' think I would've lived too long wit' 'im."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked concerned. He didn't get an answer because the elevator doors opened, revealing the open kitchen and living room. Tony was on the couch, watching CNN, his brow furrowed. There was a half empty box of pizza on the metal coffee table before him. Tony paused it, however, when he noticed the duo coming in.

"Where've you two been?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow, probably noticing the matching sweat-drenched shirts the two males wore.

"Queens. On the court," Tyron replied, glancing at the television, reading the headline. 'SHOOTING IN QUEENS, NY. SUSPECT THOUGHT TO BE A MUTANT.'

Tyron let out a groan, "Turn it off. I don't wanna 'ear that..."

Unlike Tyron, Steve seemed a little interested, "What happened?"

"Apparently, some kid was picked up a bag after some guy dropped it," Tony explained. "He was trying to return it, but the man ran away. Police show up guns pointed at him, demanding that he'd drop the bag. The kid put his hands up, trying to explain that he was trying to return it, and he didn't steal anything. He even walked towards the police — hands raised, mind you — and they got scared, and shot him." Tyron's eyes went wide, "Eight times. Straight through the chest. The kid doesn't react — the bullets go straight through him. After they notice he isn't dead, they continue to shoot, claim he's 'resisting arrest' at this point, but still, he hasn't done anything. Finally, one comes over and starts beating him, which causes the others to come and do the same. Now, he's on the ground, and is begging for them to stop, but they don't. The kid is unconscious and they toss him in a police car. He's at the station, they've given him basic first aid, apparently, but they haven't taken him to a hospital yet."

Tyron stared at Tony, shocked and angrily quiet. It was Steve who spoke next. "That's it?"

"Yep," Tony sighed, running a hand down is face.

"Do they even know his name?" Steve asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, uh," Tony cleared his throat. "Witnesses claim that he was a Laurence Dean." Tyron shoots out of his chair, making a beeline for the door.

"Tyron! Wait!" Steve called behind him racing after the adolescent.

"Don't you dare try to stop me, Steve," Tyron growled the words, yanking his hand back. "Don't you fuckin' dare."

"What's going on?" Tony asked, standing too.

"Tyron, there's nothing you can do—"

"Oh, there's a hell of a lot of things I can do. Watch me."

"Are you going to help him or yourself?" Steve hissed, "You're acting out of anger, Tyron. Think, if you go in there, you'll be shot full of bullets."

"Hate to break it to ya, but bullets don't kill me," Tyron hissed back. "Ya can't stop me, m'going."

"JARVIS, code—" Tony hadn't been able to finish because Tyron yanked his leg out from under him. He had been absorbing a part of the metal coffee table during his entire explanation. His hand was part metal and a thin line has hooked around his pants.

Tony fell, landing awkwardly on the couch, and Tyron hurried to leave. Steve grabbed his shirt, hauling him back. "You can't!"

"Like hell I can't!" Tyron hissed, "This needs to stop, now."

"You'll end up a criminal and I don't want to fight you, Tyron."

"I am a criminal, Steve," Tyron glared. "'Ere's nothin' ya can do to change that."

"I can stop you from making a bad decision."

"Saving m'friend is a bad decision?!" Tyron snarled. "Let me go!"

"Tyron—" Steve hadn't had the chance to finish. Tony had snuck up behind Steve and shoved a still-warm slice of pepperoni-sausage pizza in his mouth.

At the taste of it, Tyron gagged, falling to his knees, he choked, but it had been so far down that he could only swallow it. Tyron dry heaved, some of it coming back up, but most had already began making it's way down. Tyron could already feel himself getting lightheaded and feeling sick. He heaved again, tears pricking his eyes.

Above him, Steve was yelling at Tony, "You know he can't eat that!" Steve snapped. "You're going to kill him!"

"What was I supposed to do!?" Tony retorted, sparing glances towards the suffering boy, "He was planning on slaughtering an entire police station!" Steve said something else, but it had became fuzzy, and unrecognizable by Tyron's ears.

Tyron was panting, blood rushing to his face as he tried to calm his breathing. He began to recall all those nights, starving in an abandoned warehouse because he couldn't eat normal food. He felt like he was dying.

Tyron began to shake, but still managed to keep breathing, which had been the main problem with him back then. It's okay, he coached himself, just breathe. Breathe. It will pass, it will pass, the worse has yet to come, anyway. He just needed to breathe. If he didn't breathe, he'd forget to breathe, he'd forget to think, he'd act irrationally, and lash out. He couldn't have that, he couldn't kill anyone. Baron would be upset if he lashed out, he'd punish him.

Tyron shivered, recalling his punishments with the crime lord. Being whipped, shot, broken fingers, ribs, arms.

Raped.

At the thought, Tyron heaved, something finally coming up, landing on the floor. A mess of grey and a few spots of red from the pizza came out. Tyron was shaking, he couldn't do this, he couldn't kill them. Baron would make him kill the kids again, and–and—

"Tyron, listen to..." Someone was trying to get his attention, crouched beside him, rubbing his back. Tyron flinched, the bandages! He'd feel th–the bandages! Tyron crawled away weakly, stopping himself from vomiting again. Bathroom, a voice said, but he couldn't tell whether it was his own, or someone else's. Either way, he was hauled up and rushed to the nearest toilet.

Tyron sat beside the porcelain toilet and vomited, the clear water mixing with his unnatural grey, sluggish vomit. Tony and Steve argued in the hall as he held unto the toilet as if his life depended on it. He could feel Baron behind him, trying to drag him away, down the hall to his next renter. Tyron cried out, trying to hit him, demanding that he'd let him go, begging he would, but the sinister grin hadn't left the man's face.

Tears ran down his face, as he thrashed, trying desperately to get away, but failing. He was going to die, he was a bad pet, a bad—

"Tyron?" The voice was soft, but he jumped, crawling away desperately.

"No!" He cried, "No, please, I—"

"Tyron, it's okay, it's okay," the voice insisted. "It's me, Steve. It's going to be okay."

A hand barely brushed against his own and he screamed, "No, please!" He begged, "Don't bring m'back, please, I–I—"

"Tyron—"

"I'll be good! I–I swear, don't let 'em touch me, please! I–I'll kill 'er! Please, don't—" he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't—

"Tyron, I'm not going to hurt you, please," He begged, but Tyron wasn't buying it. It was Baron, having one of his goons mess with his head. He was going to make him happy just to take it away, he was waiting to kill him.

Tyron moved to the toilet, heaving again. Some of it dribbling down his chin. "... Tyron, listen, I know you're scared, but we need to know how to fix this. What do you need? Metal? Do you need—"

"Kill me! Please, kill me!" Tyron screamed, he didn't want to be touched again. He'd rather die than be touched again. "Just kill me! I–I don't—I ca–can't—"

"Tyron, please—"

"Don't–Don't—"

"Tyron, you need to calm down."

"Dad, please m'sorry, don't—" he could see his father standing in front of him, a knife gleaming in his large hand. Tyron was cornered in the small living room, staring at his father with wide, terrified eyes. "Please, I—"

"I don't have anything that'll sedate him, he'll just absorb the needle!" Tony was yelling.

Tyron heaved again, this throat burning. "Tyron, eat this," the man beside him coaxed. Tyron gagged, trying to move away, but the man held his shoulders forcing the strip of metal into his mouth. Slowly, Tyron chewed, digesting it. He tried to squirm away, but Steve was already forcing another one down his throat. Before he could do a third, Tyron moved to the toilet to vomit again.

As Steve force-fed him metal, his mind began to slowly clear, the haze lifting slightly.

Tyron leaned against the wall, breathing in pants. Twenty minutes of him catching his breath had passed before Tyron spoke, "Tony?"

"Yes?" The man spoke from the hallway.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill ya," Tyron snarled weakly.

"Reasonable," Tony replied.