Rock Bottom
“Where did you find him?” Phil Coulson asked as he peered through the two-way mirror, getting a better look at the young boy in the detainment cell at the local station.
“Pretty far up in Queens. We assume he was on the run after the incident reported two weeks ago with CPS.”
Phil nodded, having heard about it. Apparently, it involved a blown-up gas station and some pretty serious charges that revealed a couple of local kids possibly being trafficked through the area. He acknowledged the answer with a thoughtful hum. “But he’s been off the radar for nearly 4 years. Why would he allow us to get sight of him now? And catch him...”
“Sir, I don’t think he allowed us to catch him. He put up quite a hassle when we brought him in.”
“Right, where’s the rest of your team, Maria?”
She grimaced slightly before giving a hint of a smile. “As I said, he put up a hassle. The rest of my team is resting and getting treated for injuries.”
Phil blinked in a bit of surprise. It wasn’t unusual for kids to fight back and retaliate. It was unusual that Maria Hill’s qualified team would struggle to haul in a scrawny 13-year-old little boy.
He leaned into the window, trying to examine the kid closer.
From the distance, Phil could see his knuckles were bruised and scraped. There were several more all across his body along with the average scrapes, cuts, and scars that came with living on the streets in New York. But even through the glass, Phil could see circular scar marks that dotted across Clint’s forearm, elbow, and upper arm. Perfectly sequenced.
Eerily, the boy turned and looked Phil directly in the eyes, as if he could see through the mirror and to the other side. His eyes were a stormy color of determination and tenacity. A grey, blue, and green spectrum.
“And what did you say his name is?” Phil asked, pulling away and turning back to Maria.
“Clinton Barton, born in Iowa. The home was likely unsafe. Orphaned at age 6, tossed into 9 different foster homes in 3 years. He then disappeared with his older brother and ended up in New York. He presumably lived on the run until now,” she reported diligently.
“Has the system placed him yet?”
“Sir.. well that’s why I called you in. He’s a major flight risk, has aggressive tendencies, and doesn’t play nice with others. We can’t place a kid like that,” she admitted, closing the file. “He has an extensive record for petty thievery, assaults on officers, and pedestrians.”
“You think we should take him in?”
“I think we’re the only ones who could handle this until we place him. It will only be temporary. The Juvie is crammed full and they’re not going to want to sentence him if he needs to share space. It’ll cause more trouble than it’s worth.”
The boy in question had gone back to staring at the table in front of him, his shaggy hair in his eyes and the loose ripped and stained clothes he wore hung off his frame. His lip was split and he had a deepening black eye that looked painful when he blinked.
“Alright, Maria. I’ll tell the boys.” Phil sighed, nodding as he tucked his lower lip under his teeth. “But only temporary. We’re still working with our newest addition. And Clint’s…” he didn’t want to say criminal per se but he also didn’t trust the boy with his kids. “Gonna be temporary.”
“Of course, Phil. How is Bruce doing?” Maria asked, successfully redirecting the conversation.
Phil smiled at the mention of his foster son. “He’s doing good. Still getting adjusted, we’re working on his outbursts.”
The table was a mess as everybody reached for food and chatted amongst themselves.
Bruce, the newest member who had arrived not even 3 months ago, was sitting closest to Phil, still a little shy as he picked at his food quickly eating it as if someone might take it away. His curly black hair was unruly as ever and he was probably around Clint’s age.
“Phil! Phil!” Tony yelled from across the table. “Am I back in school tomorrow or what?”
He turned his attention to the other member of the house, Tony Stark. The teenager was 13, an 8th grader but academically past college, and quite flamboyant. He also could be insensitive at times.
“Yes, Tony. Scott cleared you for school. Don’t get in trouble with the teachers this time. School’s almost done, we want to end strong,” Phil reminded him.
“Did Scott clear me?” Bucky asked, looking up from his food.
“Sorry, Buck. You have at least a week more of suspension. Maria’s working out the details for when you can return.” The older boy nodded, going back to his plate and looking at Thor before discussing some football stuff.
“Alright, I have some news,” Phil said abruptly, deciding not to beat around the bush. “I went to the facility today to meet with Maria and Director Fury.”
All the boys were still and paled at that, but at least Phil had their attention.
“Nobody’s being removed or in trouble. Maria asked me to bring in another boy. Only until they find him a place. Thoughts?”
Tony sighed dramatically. “Another one? No offense but we just got Bruce and that transition was quite rough. Now we get another puppy?”
Phil nodded as he considered this. “I know we just welcomed Bruce here, but this boy needs somewhere to stay temporarily. JD’s a full house and placement will take too long. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Otherwise, they’ll just cram him until he ages out of the system.”
“Well that’s only like. 2 years or something then, that can’t be too bad?” Tony scoffed.
“5 years,” Phil corrected, still watching the other boys. “He’s 13.”
Thor shifted in his seat, nodding as the rest fell silent. Most of the kids that came in because of JD circumstances were nearly aged out. The point of putting them in detention is because it would only be a short time. But 5 years wasn’t that short.
“It’s gonna be rough again, but things will work out. Besides, If it’s not us, then this kid has nobody else.”
Thor shrugged. “I’m all for a newbie then. But I dibs the TV on Sunday.”
“Do we.. know what the puppy’s like?” Bucky asked, eyeing Phil carefully.
“He is not a puppy guys. But I do know he doesn’t play all that nice with others so we’re gonna have to behave.”
“Ooh he’s got a bite,” Bucky murmured and Phil sighed.
“Bucky, last warning.”
“Yes sir,” Bucky said, begrudgingly closing his mouth.
A few days later Phil found himself going to the station to meet the kid. He’d been held there temporarily. Although it was technically just a transfer room, it was really a cell. Concrete walls, handcuffs, viewing glass, and not much privacy. The kid didn’t look very happy to be there.
“Hello, Clint. I’m Phil Coulson,” he introduced when he entered the room.
The boy scoffed but didn’t respond, his eyes laser-focused on the man, reading every signal that was being broadcasted, and even ones that weren’t.
“We’re gonna set you up at my home for the time being until they decide where you’ll be staying.” he continued. “Your probation officer, Mrs. Potts, has a few rules for the house though,” he explained sternly.
When Clint still didn’t respond Phil got the point that this would be a one-way conversation. “Including a curfew of 8 for bedtime and staying on the property grounds unless it’s for school or with my permission. If you’re caught stealing or fighting we’ll have to have another discussion. For now, that’s what the guidelines are. On top of my rules, but I’ll discuss them when we get to the place.”
“Yes sir,” Clint said sarcastically, the first words he’d spoken in a while.
Phil noted how hoarse and dry the boy’s voice was. And the bitterness. It was far too bitter for an 13-year-old.
Throughout the first meeting, Phil started to get a read on the boy. He had two modes, either intensely focused as if he was crawling through your soul, or intently disinterested. He had moments of brief confusion where he’d seem to have stopped registering everything that was happening, but then would come back after a bit. Phil suspected it was most likely dissociation. Very common in cases like Clint’s.
When they got to the home Phil opened the car door and let Clint into the house. Since Bucky was still suspended he was home and lounging on the couch reading a book his tutor had assigned him.
“Alright, Clint. This is my son, Bucky,” Phil introduced as the older kid looked up.
Their eyes met in a steeled stare down until Bucky broke it with a quipped smile. “Sup short stuff,” he greeted.
Clint looked to his left as if thinking seriously before he eyed Bucky. “Greetings to you too Terminator,” he responded, having caught a small glimpse of the prosthetic fingers that peaked out of Bucky's flannel.
The boy’s brows scrunched in confusion and surprise and he was about to say something but Phil interrupted them.
“I have to talk with Maria and May, Bucky. Will you get Clint settled please?”
“It would be my goddamn honor,” he muttered as Phil headed up the stairs.
Bucky got up, setting his book down as he looked Clint over. The kid looked rough. He had stitches on his jaw and a rough black eye with a split lip. His knuckles were beaten up and he was covered in scars and wounds.
“What’s the matter, lost a fight with a cat?” Bucky teased when Clint glared at him for staring too long.
When Clint didn’t respond he shrugged. “Musta got your tongue too,” he decided, shouldering past him and heading to the big room.
“Dining room,” he announced, swinging his arms in a gesture and he noticed the microscopic flinch the boy responded with. “You eat here. Kitchens there. Every week we rotate for breakfast duty. Gotta wake up early to make it for everyone. You can choose whatever though so there's that,” he explained, moving back the way they were before and to the front door.
“That’s the closet. This is the living room. TV stuff, it’s cool. Gotta ask permission for watching TV or shows or whatever. Over there,” Bucky said, pointing to the far side of the long rectangular room. “That’s the office. If you need a computer for school, or just for fun. Desks are shared and whatnot, chalkboards for tutors, yeah the like.”
Then Bucky moved out of the living room, showing Clint the door by the stairs. “That’s the bathroom. We got two showers and two toilets in there with curtains,” he informed the boy who had followed him.
Clint didn’t respond much to the tour so Bucky headed upstairs next, his arm guiding over the railing. “Alright. Loft area. TV and games and fun. Washing and dryer machines there. But that’s part of chores, don’t worry you’ll get your fair share,” he smirked. “Than there’s rooms. This is Tony and my room. That’s Thors. And yours right there,” he pointed. “Gotta share it with Bruce but you can throw your stuff in there if you get any later. Then that’s Phil’s room. And his office. You go in there when you’re in trouble,” he grinned, leaning against the wall. “Those spiral stairs lead to the last floor where Maria and May stay. If you want to keep your fingers, you don’t go up there.”
The boy looked at Bucky, his eyes suspicious but he nodded.
“Not much of a talker, huh?”
Clint rolled his eyes and then went to the room that was supposedly his.
“Whatever,” Bucky murmured, heading back down the stairs to finish his homework. He really wanted to get back to school, being home was driving him slowly insane.
Bruce and Tony arrived around 3 since the middle school was released earlier. Both rode the bus home so they dropped their stuff around the same time and then clamored up the stairs.
“Done puking your brains out?” Bucky asked as he glanced at his foster brothers.
“Yeah, well, fortunately for us we actually have brains,” Tony quipped, shooting a grin at Bucky.
The teenager rolled his eyes.
“Keep rolling them, maybe you’ll find it back there. Who knows, there's been bigger secrets revealed,” Tony laughed as Bucky took a teasing jab at him.
The two kept messing around while Bruce headed to his room, nearly startled when he remembered Clint would be moving in with him.
The boy in question was sitting on the spare bed, eyes locked and lasered on Bruce, analyzing his every movement. He looked vaguely confused like he was trying to figure out where he was and who was with him.
He shifted on the bed and Bruce glanced up, not making eye contact but it was up there.
“I’m Bruce.” he introduced, eyes falling back to the floor as he stood in front of Clint. “We’re gonna be sharing this room. So you can have that bed and nightstand and I’ll take half the desk.”
“Mmph,” Clint hummed in acknowledgement, sniffling and then wiping his nose with the back of his wrist. “Why don’t you look at people?” he asked bluntly.
Bruce actually found himself smiling a bit by the straightforwardness of the question. “I don’t know. It makes me uncomfortable so I don’t.”
“And you didn’t get beat for it?” Clint asked with no emotion.
The black haired kid shook his head. “No, I did. But looking at peoples eyes makes me uncomfortable so I don’t,” He repeated with a calm voice. “And here I’m allowed to look at the floor.”
“I like you,” Clint determined before going back to face the wall, doing his own stuff.
Bruce found himself agreeing with Clint. He liked the boy's simplicity. Straightforward questions with straightforward answers. Absolute bluntness and honesty. It only made sense, why beat around bushes and waste time when there were better things to be doing.
Bruce was laying on his bed finishing up some homework when Tony stuck his head in, curiosity getting the best of him as he looked for the new kid.
“He’s even smaller than Bucky said he was!” Tony’s eyebrows raised like that was an impressive feat. “What are you, kid, 8?” he guessed.
Clint’s eyes narrowed as he looked over Tony, analyzing the boy’s leisurely posture, careless expressions and loose clothes. He looked thrown together but good, but not like he was trying to look amazing, he just was amazing. Popular.
“I’m 13.”
He grinned in response. “Damn you’re really small for 13. Bruce isn’t even 10 and you’re smaller than him!”
Clint set his jaw but didn't fight, remembering about his probation officer.
“Well my name's Tony Stark, 13. Buck said you bite though so I’m on my way out. Also... Phil said we’d be having dinner soon so Bruce you gotta set the table!” he called on his way out of the room.