Chapter Eleven:
Steve knocked lightly on the bathroom door once Tony had left He heard a small noise of alarm from inside, and tried not to smile. "B? It's Steve. Are you done yet?"
"Yes," Blue responded and Steve opened the door. He immediately closed it, his face burning.
"Go to the, uh, cabinet and grab a big towel." Steve instructed, rubbing his forehead. "Cover yourself up. Tell me when you're done." Steve heard scuffling from inside the bathroom, and a minute later, Blue spoke again.
"Done." Steve opened the door ― slowly, this time ― and set the plastic bag in the sink. He gave Blue the once over. He had a big towel draped over him like a blanket, which made Steve smile a bit. His hair was wet, which loosened his curls that reached to about the ends of his ears. His skin was scrubbed clean, and the floor around him soaked. He didn't look like he stepped a single foot in the shower but still managed to get clean. Steve made a note to clean the bathroom before they went to go eat.
Blue's face was clean and his bandages were unravelled and on the floor. The cut above his eye looked more like a paper cut now. The bite marks on his shoulder cleaned up well too, the wounds shrinking and looking a lot more manageable than yesterday morning. Steve couldn't see the condition of his thigh, but he could see his forearms. The long, deep cuts were a lot shallower now, and were covered with dark brown scabs.
Now that his face was cleaner, Blue's dark eyes stood out a lot more and looked nice with his darker complexion, but they weren't mesmerizing like they got when he was upset. Steve had to admit, however, that they quite breathtaking. He also had high cheekbones, and long eyelashes. Steve knew the boy would not find any difficulty with finding a significant other with those kinds of features.
Steve motioned to the bag he set down in the sink. "These have clothes for you to wear. You can dump your old ones. When you finish, come out and we can go eat breakfast, alright?" Blue nodded and Steve closed the door, leaving it slightly cracked.
Five minutes later, Blue stepped out of the bathroom, rubbing and itching at the new clothes. They were the standard spandex-like uniform, usually made for training, or something extra to wear if their clothes got damaged and they still needed to fight. It stretched over his arms, exposing well-toned muscles, the outcome of several years of fighting, but the boy was still skinny. Steve could see the faint outline of his rib cage, and knew it would probably be more defined if he wasn't wearing an undershirt.
The pants were small on him, which was understandable, Blue was a pretty tall for a sixteen-year-old, and he was still growing. But, he always seemed to be looking at the floor, or hunched over. When he stood to his full height, he was very tall, and probably more intimidating.
"Give me a minute to clean up, then we'll go, alright?" Steve said, and Blue nodded still scratching at his shirt and trying to pull his insufferably short pants legs down. Steve frowned and went to the dresser beside his bed. He found a pair of blue jeans and handed it to Blue. "Here, change into theses while I go clean the bathroom," Blue nodded and Steve moved past him.
He tossed the old bandages and used the towels Blue used earlier to mop up the wet floor. Just as Steve suspected, there had been water everywhere. Maybe next time, Steve would introduce Blue to baths instead of showers.
When he finished, Blue was sitting on the blanket he slept on the night before. In his hands, was the pants he had swapped out for. He was concentrated on the material, trying to fold it, but only managing to ball up the fabric and twisting it this way and that.
Steve chuckled, and Blue looked up, dropping the pants. Steve smiled for the boy, and he relaxed, "Let's go," He said, waving the boy along. Blue walked behind him, and Steve noticed that his limp had gotten much better. The wound on his leg must have healed just as well as his shoulder did.
As they neared the kitchen, Steve could smell the breakfast Clint was brewing ― eggs, bacon, and pancakes, he assumed. He glanced at Blue, who's mouth was sealed tight, but his arms crossed over his chest. He could see the buldge of his lips when his fangs fell out, and smiled. He must've only had those sandwiches Steve made him yesterday and nothing else. They boy was practically starved now.
Clint looked up from the stove and smirked, "Finally up?" He said, and motioned to the counter, Steve knew the man must have been cooking all morning. There had been french toast, pancakes, waffles, eggs ― both scrambled and boiled ― a pitcher of orange juice and a pot of coffee beside it. There was bacon, fruit in a bowl, oatmeal, berries, toast with butter on standby, and ― strangely enough ― brownies.
Steve saw everyone else sitting on or around the couch, eating and talking, but the conversation had died down when Blue and Steve entered.
Steve turned to look at Blue, who seemed stuck in time, simply gaping at the wide array of food presented to him. Just as Steve thought, his fangs were out and his mouth salivating. He heard the boy's stomach growl and silently thanked Clint. "B, this is Clint Barton. He's another one of my friends."
"Hey," Clint waved a spatula, grinning. "Come eat."
The two words seemed to snap Blue out of whatever daze he was in. He turned to Steve, his indigo eyes wide, but expression wary. Even now, when hungry and presented with a feast, he didn't want to go against the orders of his 'Master'.
Steve gave a small pat on his arm, "Don't wait on my account," Steve said, and waved a hand to the food.
Blue ran. He fumbled with the plate, and Clint helped him, pointing out what each and every thing was, describing how it tasted. Blue listened closely, and Clint stacked layer upon layer of food on his plate. Blue was practically bouncing in excitement, his eyes lit up and he nodded vigoruously, ready to try these new things that smelt so good.
Steve walked over to where Natasha, Tony, and Bruce sat. They were talking again. Natasha moved her legs so Steve could sit down. "You gonna eat?" She asked.
"I'll wait 'til Blue's done," Steve replied. "How long has Clint been up making this?" Steve asked.
"He actually started last night," Bruce said. "The boiled eggs and the brownies. He made it in the kitchen downstairs, then he made all the hot stuff this morning."
"Yeah," Tony said, chuckling after taking a sip of lukewarm coffee. "He said that ― and this is a direct quote ― 'it would be a sin to not cook a complete breakfast for a kid who's never even had a sandwich, and has been eating dog shit for the past ten years'."
Steve smiled, looking back over at the kitchen where Clint handed Blue a piece of bacon, suggesting him to try it. Blue did, and practically melted on the spot. "I think Clint just won the role of favourite, guys," Natasha chuckled.
"He hasn't met me yet," Bruce frowned, and Natasha smiled at him.
"Right," Tony scoffed, "Because he'll be fascinated by your artistic showing of medical science and work in biology."
"Stop it," Natasha scolded, nudging him with her foot. Blue began to walk over to the table, balancing a plate filled to the max. Behind him, was Clint, holding another plate, and a few fruits. As soon as Clint set it down, Blue looked at Steve, as if asking 'are you sure this is for me?'
Steve smiled, "Eat up, kid." As soon as the words left his mouth, Blue was shoving his mouth full of food, completely disregarding the utensils that Clint brought him. His fangs glinted, and Steve saw Tony tense beside him. By the time Clint finished peeling the orange for Blue, he had finished both plates and the apple.
Clint handed him the freshly peeled orange, and that was quickly consumed as well. It was as if the boy had a vaccuum in his stomach and couldn't seem to get enough food.
Steve inherently knew that it probably wasn't good for Blue's health in the long-term to feed him so much, but he also didn't want to take the food away. Blue had tears coming down his face as he ate, experiencing new things and loving every second. It wouldn't be right to do so, so he decided he would simply have to deal with the consequences and let him enjoy this.
Blue was beaming and his hands were sticky from food, "Ah, uh, don't touch anything," Tony said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out hand sanitizer. He tossed it to Clint, who helped the boy clean up.
"He practically inhaled that," Natasha said under her breath with a little laugh. Steve could only shake his head, not knowing what to say about it.
Blue was smiling ― the first time he had smiled since he came to the tower ― and was bouncing on his knees. He was talking to Clint ― all broken words and half sentences ― and Clint seemed to understand, responding in kind.
"So B," Steve said, catching Blue's attention. "This is Bruce Banner, he's the one that fixed you up." Blue nodded slowly, but didn't look like he understood where Steve was going with it. "He's a doctor, and he wants to make sure you're feeling better later today, is that alright?" Blue stiffened, and looked at Bruce, who gave him a shy wave.
Blue looked back at Steve, "Bruce hurt me?" He asked, frowning.
"No, he won't," Steve assured.
"Check-up?" Blue asked. "Pills ― shots?"
The atmosphere lulled a bit, Bruce's theory of his medical abuse becoming a reality. "No, dude," Clint said from beside him. "None of that. Just making sure you're feeling okay. How about for lunch, we do grilled cheese and tomato soup, huh?" Blue looked like he didn't know what that meant, but still smiled and nodded excitedly. He was properly convinced that whatever Clint could make would be great.
Natasha spoke, and pointed to his plate, "Why didn't you eat the brownie?" Steve looked down, and realized that Natasha was right. In the middle of the plate ― covered by a few napkins and orange peels ― was a perfectly good brownie, that Blue had taken exactly one bite of.
Steve remembered Blue's question on brownies yesterday, he asked if he liked them. Was that why Clint made it today? Blue looked at it, realized her question, and shrugged. "Justine ― brownies."
Steve frowned, "Who's Justine?"
"Woman. Clean ― me. Brownies, good," Blue looked at the brownie, but his mind seemed to be far away. "Read ― nice. Money ― Ma tired. Clean. . . clean outside." Blue frowned, "Outside. . . screaming ― dark. Hurt. Master ― cage ― small. Dark ― cage ― hurt. Ma ― hurt." Blue's stare became more terrified, and he swallowed. He looked like he was going to be sick. His forehead was building up sweat and his hands were shaking. He was breathing irregularly, and kept swallowing hard.
"Hey, B," Steve rose from the couch, and Blue looked at him, "Come with me for a minute," Steve said, helping the boy up. He rushed him to the bathroom, having merely seconds to spare before the boy vomited.
His shoulders shook over the toilet, as his half-eaten food came back up. Steve sighed, knowing this would leave him just as hungry as he had been before. "You good?" He asked the boy, moving to touch his back. Blue moved immediately, his eyes red and sore from heaving.
"Po–Poison!" He cried, terrified, "Sick ― Steve ― Clint ― me, bad ― people things―"
"We didn't poison you," Steve assured, "You just ate too quickly. Remember what I told you? You just got sick from eating too much. That was my fault ― I knew I should've stopped you."
Blue stared at him, and seemed to remember Steve's words. He relaxed ― a little ― and leaned back against the wall, breathing. "We'll let you eat something a little lighter. You have to adjust to eating big meals like that." Blue just nodded, rubbing at his forehead.
Steve pulled out his phone, and typed a small message in the group chat that Tony showed him how to work.
To All from Steve: Blue is okay. About to ask a few questions.
He put in his earpiece, turning it on. Natasha spoke immediately. "Isn't it a little soon? Is he okay for questions?" Steve answered on his phone.
To All from Steve: A few.
Steve looked at Blue who seemed to be easing up. "Are you alright?" Blue let out a shaky moan. "Do you want some water?" Steve asked, opening up the cabinet under the bathroom sink, pulling out a water bottle from a pack. Steve had found out that Tony kept them their for. . . 'over-the-toilet' nights, especially after heavy drinking.
Steve opened it and held it out to Blue, who took it, "Drink it — slowly," Steve warned, and Blue did as he was told, probably not wanting to experience any more dry-heaving. "B. . . what were you talking about earlier, with the brownies and the cages?"
Blue breathed, drinking another gulp. He swallowed and wiped his mouth, "Master ― old?"
"Yeah," Steve said, "What did you mean by that?"
"Master ― doctor. Help. Me good, Master happy. No discipline." Blue looked down, "No discipline."
"What happened?" Steve asked. "Is he your master now?"
"New Master ― tall, dark ― messy face."
"These are two different people," Steve realized. "The second one, what does it look like where he lives?"
Blue frowned, "Big buildings. Tall. Brown ― people?"
"How many floors, B?" Blue thought about it again.
"Five? Deep ― ground. Fight ― dogs."
"What kind of dogs did you fight, B?"
"Big," Blue stretched out his arms to full length. "Strong ― muscle." He frowned, the face he made when he was remembering something. "Master shot ― dog big."
Steve took a second to unpack this, "Steroids?" He asked, but Blue gave a clueless look.
"That narrows the search down ― you wouldn't believe how many dog rings are in Hell's Kitchen," Natasha grumbled. "And, New York as a whole. . ." she scoffed.
"Is there anything else you can tell me about your Master? What do people call him? Where does he live?" Blue shook his head, but Steve wasn't disappointed. "What about your old Master? What was he like?"
Blue froze, getting that faraway look again. "McClain," he said. "Doctor ― nice. Me ― pet. Doctor―" Blue heaved again and turned back to the toilet.
"Nice?" Bruce was saying. "The man who made him this way was nice?!"
"Maybe compared to the other man, yeah," Tony said.
"I've got a match for his Master," Natasha announced. "Meet Mister David McAllister. I'm sending address and profile brief now," Natasha said, and Steve's phone buzzed.
Steve pulled out his phone, and chose a picture, "B," Blue looked up, he looked exhausted. "Do you recognize this man?" Steve showed the boy the picture and watched as his eyes slowly grew wide with terror. His hands shook, and lip quivered.
"No ― please ― me kill―!" Blue said, his anxiety going from one to one hundred in a matter of seconds. He tried backing up, but there was nowhere for him to go.
"Hey, B, it's okay, it's okay," he put the phone away. Natasha was right, he supposed. "He can't hurt you. It's a picture. He can't hurt you."
"Me kill ― me fight ― me kill him ― please, no―!"
"Hey, calm down," Steve warned. "No more questions. Let's get you cleaned up, alright?"
Steve bent down, and helped him out of the sweatshirt, leaving him with just the tee-shirt he had on underneath. "Nat, can you get me another shirt, please."
"Well, since you asked so nicely," she teased, and Steve rolled his eyes.
Steve gave Blue more water. "So you think you'll be okay?" Blue shrugged, but his hands were shaking. Steve could still smell the vomit on his breath and cringed. "You need to brush your teeth. Nat?"
"Yeah, I'll pick one up too," she said. "Be there in a minute."
Blue was looking at the ground, His eyebrows furrowed. Steve looked at him, "Hey, B? Everything alright?"
"Kill Steve," Blue murmured, and Steve's blood ran cold. "Master ― kill me. Kill Steve."
"Blue," Steve spoke seriously. "Remember our promise? You said you wouldn't try to kill me. Remember?"
"Master ― kill me!" Blue screamed, his pupils shrinking and looking desperate. "Kill Steve ― Master–Master―"
"Blue. We made a promise. You said you don't want to kill me. Your Master can't make you do anything, not here."
Blue shook his head, holding a hand to his temple, his shoulders shaking. "Blue, are you listening to me?"
"No choice," he whispered. "Kill Steve ― kill―"
"Blue―!" Blue jumped, knocking Steve against the door. He had a firm arm on his throat, the other one had claws for finger nails. Blue's fangs were showing, but Blue was hesitating.
"I know you don't want go do this," Steve said, despite feeling as though Blue was going to crush his windpipe. "You're better than this ― you don't have to kill me."
"Master kill me," Blue whimpered. "No choice."
"We're going to go to your Master, alright? We're going to talk to him. He's not going to hurt you anymore." Blue didn't look like he believed him. "If you tell us where your Master lives, we can talk to him now."
"Master kill me," Blue worried.
"We'll protect you. We won't let him lay a hand on you."
Blue stared, then finally let Steve go. He stepped back and swallowed. "Steve help?" Blue asked slowly.
Steve smiled. "Yes, Blue. We're gonna help you."