Chapter 9
Fury remembers the first time he ever saw the Barton brothers. As a social worker, he’s used to files just being left on his desk with all intents and purposes that he would be their social worker. So when he walked into his New York office on a cool November morning with two files paperclipped together he automatically knew he’d gotten some new wards. He hung up his coat, placed down his briefcase, poured himself some coffee, and then made way to start reading through the two new files.
First thing he gathered was that they were brothers as well as they were not new to the system by any means. Next thing he noticed, though, was the fact that all their previous foster homes and group homes had been in Iowa, so to have been given their files up here in New York was definitely an odd one. And then finally he realized these two kids weren’t his new wards that needed placement, but rather they were current runaways of which when and if they were found would then become Nick’s wards.
Needing more answers than he knows he’ll be able to find in the files, Nick makes his way to his supervisor where he learns the boys had been spotted by some Amtrak security trying to hop a train. Unfortunately, they were not able to detain them or keep track of where they went, so now all that DCFS knows is that these two runaway boys from Iowa are now runaway boys in New York.
“What measures do we have in place to find them?” Nick asks his supervisor.
“Precincts have missing photos of them, maybe they’ll send a couple squad cars out to check the homeless tent cities to see if they find them there,” the man replies.
“Sir, we should be broadcasting these kids’ faces on the news at least this week. They’re probably not set up anywhere yet, if we have any chances of finding them it’s right now while they’re probably prone to moving more frequently and still unfamiliar with the city.”
“Fury, you know how many missing kid reports we get in New York alone in a year?! Twenty thousand! And most of those are runaways just like these two kids. I’d love to be able to put mass amounts of funding in broadcasting all these kids so that they’re found, but it’s just not logistical. We barely have enough funds to give the kids who don’t run away from their group homes a decent upbringing, so forgive me if I’m not jumping to do everything possible to find these two.”
With that Nick was made to leave the man’s office.
Overall, he understood where his supervisor was coming from. They take care of a lot of kids. It’s hard to prioritize whose needs come first when in reality all the kids should be given fair, caring upbringings. Unfortunately that doesn’t always happen.
With a sigh, Nick made his way back to his desk to start reading through the rest of the file. Although the kids aren’t fully his wards yet, he can’t help but write their names down to the list that sits perched next to his computer screen. His little daily reminder of all the people he’s responsible for each and everyday even if he doesn’t see them each and every day.
Bernard Barton.
Clinton Barton.
Sixteen.
Ten.
It’s that ten that really makes Nick’s heart pull a bit. He doesn’t have kids himself, but he cannot imagine if he did having his 10 year old roaming the streets of New York alone. Let alone running away and then making his way from Iowa all the way to the City. Shaking his head from the thought Nick continues to read their files and slowly he’s able to piece these two boys together.
The files don’t have much, but when you read between the lines you essentially have a novel. Their initial home life doesn’t seem like a traditional, white-picket fence family if the medical evaluation done after the car crash that killed their parents is anything to go by. Alongside some scrapes from the crash Bernard required surgery to his arm and Clinton suffered from a serious head collision causing him to lose nearly all his hearing. However, the evaluation also noted bruises across each of the boys including what looked like handprints across Bernard’s arms, a fading black eye, and handprint bruises gripping Clinton’s neck.
The mother was in even worse shape.
Then he started reading the foster home dismissal files. Seven foster homes in four years. That alone was a red flag. Nick knows children can be difficult but never to this extent. At first he tried to spin the angle that the homes just weren’t equipped to deal with a deaf child, however, the comments at the end of the files of tried to instill dominance on the house or didn’t know how to play nice even if they weren’t other kids in the house really gave Nick the full image.
So instead of dismissing these files, Nick took their photos out and pinned them to the board behind his desk with today’s date labeled. He knew in that moment he was going to do whatever he could to find these boys.
If you had told him then he’d find these boys two years later, he would have said your crazy, yet here he is. Sitting in the visitor’s section of the state penitentiary. Waiting to finally speak– let alone meet– Bernard, or what he’s been come to be referred to as, Barney Barton.
Nick knows which man is Barney the second he walks through the door. Not to say he hasn’t changed a bit since he looked like that 16 year old in the photo still in Nick’s office. No it’s simply because he’s a walking Clint. He’s Clint with an added foot and a half of height, some well defined muscles, and a bit shaggier of hair. But the face is all the same, all the way down to that initial smirk Nick vividly remembers Clint throwing at him the first night they met as well.
“Barton,” Nick waves him over when the man– if you can call an 18 year old a man– when he noticed he wasn’t sure who to be looking for.
He walks over with his hands in his pockets but the smirk stays set– reminding Nick even more of Clint.
“So you’re Fury,” Barney says as he settles into the seat in front of Nick.
“Nick Fury, yes. It’s nice to finally meet you, Barney,” Nick says while holding out a hand which in turn is given a firm– almost too firm– handshake.
“I see you’ve met my brother then,” Barney chuckles. “Kid’s only one left calling me that, most stick to Barton.”
“I’m his social worker, or, well, technically I’m both of your social workers but–”
“But I aged out, yeah I figured as much. How is he? He good? He safe?”
Nick is taken aback by the question. Not that he had labeled Barney a bad brother, but he just wasn’t sure what the kid’s intentions were with his brother. Or if he did in fact try and take care of Clint while out on the streets or if he just made sure he stayed alive enough.
“He’s safe, definitely safe. Don’t know if I’d say good, but he’s adjusting and he’s getting better. He’s got a bed, gets all three meals a day, had a physical done, and got some new updated hearing aids.”
“He in a foster home?”
“Group home. Two years as a runaway, especially one from another state, it’s hard to convince the state to put him with a single family. Flight risk and all. But it is a good group home, and I think he’s happy there.”
“Clint happy? Sheesh, maybe I should have gotten arrested sooner. Could have saved myself the trouble of dealing with a temper tantrum or two.”
“Could have brought yourself into DCFS instead, also. Could have gotten both of you settled somewhere.”
“Not likely. Probably would have tried to keep me and Clint together which would lead to him being put into a boys’ home that’s closer to my age than his own. And then he’d get picked on for being younger, so I’d have to step in and make sure people don’t mess with him which would cause the current alpha of that house to start something with me which gets me kicked out and then Clint would make sure to do something that gets him kicked out too.”
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“I didn’t just drag a 10 year old out of a foster home for shits and giggles. I did it because I had to and it was the only viable option at the time. Since we’ve been out, if I thought there would have been a better solution for us– for him– I would have taken it in a heartbeat. But there wasn’t anything. Nothing concrete at least.”
“So you care about him. Everything you did...it was to keep him safe?”
“What’s your problem, man?! Of course it was to keep him safe! I was tired of seeing my ten year old, little brother getting the shit beat out of him! And it was clear no one else gave a fuck, so I decided to! Being on the streets with a little kid may not be the most conventional, but we made it work. I made sure to keep him as warm as possible when it was cold. He always ate before I did. I tried to keep those hearing aids workable. I would do it all over again if it meant people finally kept their hands off of him.”
Nick stairs at the man in front of him with admiration. Clint’s words earlier of he protected me rang through his head, and he couldn’t help but smile. But then he remembered what caused Clint to shout that out, and he couldn’t help but allow the grimace to reappear on his face.
“What? What’s that face? What happened to Clint?” Barney all but shouts as the once angry look turns to concern, if not fear.
“I promised Clint I would bring him here to visit you, but after a recent discovery we thought it’d be best if I saw you first to clarify some things,” Nick starts while looking the man in the eyes.
“He’s hurt? I thought you said he was safe? He was happy?” the anger slowly reappearing in his voice.
“We picked him up two weeks after you got brought in, and the day after he had a physical done. There were some concerning marks, but he refused to answer questions or allow a more thorough exam. Until yesterday. He had a follow up appointment and this time there was a plastic surgeon there to see if there was anything that could be done about some of the lacerations on his back. I don’t know what changed his mind, but Clint finally agreed to a more thorough exam which led to the exposure of a recent emblem being branded and inked onto his pelvis. He was adamant you had nothing to do with it, in fact that you couldn’t have even known, but I just had to make sure myself.”
Nick can see the anger clear as day spread across Barney’s face, however, for some reason he can tell it isn’t directed at him.
“What was branded onto him?” Barney says in an eerily quiet voice.
“It was a bullseye with the word–” Nick starts only to be cut off.
“Trickshot.”
“Yes. Trickshot was tattooed above the bullseye. Is- is that someone you know?”
“That sick mother fucker! I knew he was no good, I told Clint no matter what to never be around that guy when he wasn’t with me. God dammit!” Barney shouts as he slams his hands down on the table. Nick is quick to wave off the officer as he reaches a hand out to grab Barney’s hand.
“He’s safe now, though. The doctor’s are gonna do everything they can to get rid of the marks, and he’s safe in the home now. Neither of you have to worry about something like this happening again,” Nick promises. “How did you guys get in kahoots with this Trickshot guy anyways?”
“He- he, uh- we’d-” Barney stuttered over an answer.
“I promise whatever you tell me, stays with me.”
Barney gives him a questioning look before slowly nodding his head.
“We first met him and some of his goons in Ohio. He runs some odd jobs and he let me pitch in here and there, so I could get some money for me and Clint. He was a good guy at first, he got Clint his hearing aids for christ sake! And then he helped us get to New York. He told us it would be a better place for some runaway kids to post up, plus there were more opportunities for money. I noticed him getting a bit too touchy with Clint, so I started distancing ourselves from him because I couldn’t let something like that happen to Clint again.” As if something clicks in his head Barney’s head immediately snaps up to meet Nick’s eyes. “W-Was he– did h-h-he, um you know, is–”
“Barney it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault and it’s not Clint’s fault. This man took advantage of a situation,” Nick says, understanding what the boy was asking but not being able to put it into words.
“Are you gonna let Clint see me still?” Barney asks, head down and if you blink you would have missed the single, small sniffle to leave the boy.
“I was thinking of bringing him Wednesday. Or, well, it might be Phil, the owner of the group home, but I’d be here too. He’d probably kill me if I redacted my offer.”
“Kid’s got a set of lungs on him and he knows how to use ‘em, too. He might grant you with your first official Barton Breakdown if you take away your offer,” Barney laughs as he vaguely runs a hand over his eyes.
“Thanks for the heads up,” Nick says as he begins to stand, seeing as the officer was beginning to round everyone up. “You know, I’ve got some friends down at the DA. If you were willing to talk about some of these opportunities Trickshot set up, we might be able to work out a plea deal. If you’re interested.”
And then, the now infamous smirk reappeared on Barney’s face.
“And I thought I’d aged out of having a social worker.”