fakeasain56 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fakeasain56) wrote2012-06-14 09:03 pm
fakeasain56) wrote2012-06-14 09:03 pm
Entry tags:
Everyone/Everyone (polyramory) "Running together" Chapter 1/?
Summary: Teenage AU where the Avengers are a bunchy of mouthy runaway/orphaned kids who band together and commit petty theft (later more grand-scale theft like banks etc.) in order to survive on the streets. They get so good at this that SHEILD snatches them up and offers to train them as a response team instead. Since the alternative is being split up and doomed to the foster care system, they agree. By this point, they have become terribly co-dependent, but this just makes them a better team.
Nick Fury sat comfortably in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared down at the live feed cam.
Seven teens (more like kids) slept in the room. The first male, a young looking teen with bright blond hair, and a sweet baby face that looked guileless was obviously the leader. He slept, propped up and leaning on the wall, where he could see everyone. According to intelligence, his name was Steve, and his past unknown even to the boy.
Off to his right, decked out like a log, and snoring without a care in the world was yet another male. A slowly cultivated goatee offset his dark hair. His clothes were twice expensive as the others, and a computer that looked like it had been slapped together from spare parts was tucked beneath one arm. Everyone knew him- the famous Tony Stark, rich runaway kid. He had assembled the computer while on the run, and now had the worlds most advanced AI stored on it. Nobody knew exactly how he had managed it, but Fury was getting a hint from the boy curled up next to Tony.
Curled up, trying to vanish and disappear was yet another teen. His curly dark hair peeked out around Tony’s arm, like Tony would protect him. He breathed silently, but his body was tense, ready to run at the slightest noise. Bruce Banner- a kid with mental issues, runaway. He’d been on the run for at least five years before he met Tony, and managed to run away with him, and from what he could tell, the two got along quite well.
Up on the single bed, a young man, bigger then the rest and probably a little older then the rest, slept soundly. His side was covered in a white bandage, the very beginnings of blood beginning to seep through. His blond hair was pulled back by pale white hands, as an equally pale young man wrapped around the man, his dark hair mixing with blond. Thor and Loki- sons of a foreign diplomat. Loki ran away first, and Thor had followed.
Guarding the doorway were the last two- a young man and a young woman. The male was balanced on the table, a circus bow in his lap. The string was unstrung, to keep it from snapping, but agents had found out the hard way that Clint Barton could restring his bow and have an arrow knocked and shot under a second.
The woman slept with her back to the door- if someone wanted through, they would have to wake her first. And just because her back was to the door didn’t mean that she was unarmed- there was a pistol in her hands, pointed at the door, and safety off.
The two of them had met before they had met the other five, Clint as a runaway from the circus, and Natasha as some sort of mafia or crime organization daughter.
A ragtag bunch of misfits that should’ve never come together- but somehow they did.
He sorted through the intelligence left on his desk, trying to piece it together.
-----
Bruce Banner curled up miserably in his bedroom, listening to his parents rage below. “This is all your fault!”
“My fault?! You’re the one who constantly hits him! No, it was all your fault in the first place! You were the one who knocked me up!”
“I never should’ve married you is what. To have such a hellspawn- I wonder if he’s even my child.”
His eyes closed as he leaned against the wall. The dark night called and beckoned to him, promising better things if he would only leave. Take that chance and run. His lips thinned as he stared out, and back down at his hands. He could leave. He had twenty dollars- it was enough to catch a bus to the city, and from there it would be easy to keep wandering. He knew that.
His eyes rose to the window, and before he could stop himself, he hauled himself up, over the edge, and ran.
At the tender age of seven, he was on the street and free.
--------
Clint Barton checked his bow for the fifteenth time, nerves eerily calm. His brother was gone. His brother had abandoned him- left. Fine then, he’d take care of himself. He didn’t need anybody.
And he wasn’t going to stay at the circus any longer.
He hefted the small duffel bag of valuables onto one shoulder- it was enough to get him to a major city, and from there he could do whatever he wanted. Nobody would know him in the city, no one would be able to find him.
He ducked beneath the heavy cloth, tiptoeing across broken grass.
“Clint?” A female voice, one that belonged to the scariest, but the most fun person he had ever known spoke up, soft and quiet. “Where are you-“
“Shh, I’m running away.” He peered at her in the darkness. She was wearing all black, and held a gun. “Where are you going?”
“I’m… It’s nothing. What do you mean running away?”
“I’m leaving the circus and I’m not coming back.” Clint stated with the blunt efficiency of a ten year old. “Do you want to come with me?”
Natasha was cool- she knew how to kill people, and she was the smartest person he had ever known. She was safe to bring along.
“But- what will you do?”
“I’m going to live the way I want too.”
Natasha hesitated for a few moments before nodding.
Together, hand in hand, the two rushed out of the circus, never to be seen again.
-------
Natasha had killed people before- it had never bothered her before. She’d done awful things before, and knew everyone respected her, even if she was only ten years old.
But everyone didn’t include Clint, and that was why she had to stop to stare as she spotted the one ten year old in the world who didn’t fear her creep across the circus grounds. She was supposed to kill the ringmaster- he had gotten caught up in matters far too big for him to handle.
But that didn’t explain why, why she put her hands in Clint's hands, and let him convince her to run away.
She was always a sucker for a good smile.
------
Loki stormed across the ground, fists clenching and unclenching. His fool of a brother trailed after him, calling for him to stop, to explain.
Like he was going to explain to a stupid idiot of a brother. Like he was going to tell him that they weren’t related by blood, that the word his brother even now called him was a lie.
Mother and Father wouldn’t understand either. They would scold him, lock him up until he promised to behave, promised to be good. He wasn’t. He wasn’t, he refused, and his brother couldn’t stop him.
Strong arms caught him, held him close. “Brother, please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Brother? You are my brother.” The twelve year old refused to let himself be sidetracked, his famous one-track mind coming into play. Loki sneered, and Thor ignored. Thor often got those looks.
“No, I am not. It’s a lie.”
A crinkle formed inbetween Thor’s brows, indicating he didn’t understand. “A lie brother? Surely not. We have grown together and played together. Does that not make us brothers?”
“No, it doesn’t. Now put me down you stupid oaf. I’m leaving.”
“Where too?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Just away from here.”
Thor nodded as he put Loki down. Loki swallowed an unexpected lump, ruthlessly shoving the feeling away. “Then I shall travel with you until you wish to return.” Solemn, dark, and a promise.
Thor never broke his promises.
Loki never said thank you, but the squeeze of a pale hand in a large tan one was answer enough.
-------
Tony Stark prodded a bruise beginning to form on one limb gingerly, scowling unhappily. Yeah, pay attention Stark. You’re too wild Stark. Don’t think we can’t hurt you.
He hated his parents, stupid, useless fools they were. He especially hated his teachers, even more useless that they feared the children that they were supposed to control. Honestly, was it that hard?
“I hate idiots.”
“I think everyone does.”
The voice startled him, and he turned. A twelve year old, just one year old then him, sat on the bench. The entire neighborhood knew him as the homeless child that had drifted in- he hadn’t drifted out, though the nights were slowly growing colder and more bitter.
Tony knew there were bets going on- bets that quickly stopped after the kid had flipped and beat the snot out of everyone. The rumors started up after that, and everyone gave him a wide berth.
Except for him, because the kid didn’t scare him. Nobody scared him. He sat down next to the kid. “Yes, I suppose everyone does hate idiots. Where you headed off to next?”
The kid shrugged. “Somewhere warmer. South. Maybe I’ll cross the border.”
“Take me with you.” A desperate gleam of an idea, but he could see it now- the fireworks, the screams, the search; And Tony would be going south with his new friend.
One eyebrow rose. “That isn’t a good idea.”
“I know, I know. You’ve got problems where you get big and mean when you’re angry. Whatever. Take me with you.”
Unconsciously he rubbed a hand against a bruise, and the kid hesitated, eyes lingering where Tony rubbed. “Fine. The bus south is leaving in another hour. Its driver never cleans it, so it smells awful, but we can sleep in it.”
Somehow the prospect sounded much better then his own feather bed, and by the tender age of eleven, Tony Stark had run away.
------------
Who am I? Who am I? WhoamI?
The thought refused to shut up, circling in his mind as he sat and stared at the opposite wall.
He couldn’t remember. It was empty, blank, gone.
He sat in this small orphanage, in the middle of nowhere, and felt the need to… command. To tell people what to do. To help.
He couldn’t. No one listened to a fourteen year old. No one would ever listen. So why was he still here?
I’m waiting.
Waiting for who?
The people I am to lead.
Who are they?
I will know them when I see them.
What if they never come?
They will. I just have to wait.
--------
Phil Coulson was a man with the opinion that so long as he did his paperwork correctly and on time, nobody would assign him to anything nasty. It had worked so far, in the past thirteen years of working here, but today it seemed doomed to fail.
“And this is your assignment.”
He stared down at the pictures of the kids, grinning wildly and free, laughing and joking as they sat at the same table. Each one was labeled neatly and correctly. “One of our agents died getting that picture.” Fury’s voice was so dry; Coulson couldn’t tell whether Fury was joking.
He decided Fury wasn’t as he peered closer at the picture and saw that the two people labeled Natasha and Clint had sharp pointy objects aimed at the cameras owner. Someone probably had died.
It wasn’t a happy thought. It was rather horrifying, really. “Sir?” He dared to question, flipping to the profiles. Each one of them was scant (except on Tony Stark, everyone knew who Stark was) and he could feel it on the horizon- the quiet gathering of someone about to hand down the worlds worst mission.
“We want them as part of Shield. A special response team.”
“No. Look at them! They're eighteen!”
“Some are nineteen.”
“Nineteen! They aren’t even old enough to legally drink!”
“That’s why its your job to get them to agree that you’ll be their legal guardian."
Phil Coulson was thirty-five, no kids, and married to his job. He was not guardian material. “Me?”
“You. Even if we were to return them to their parents, they would just run away again, so I figured its best to bring them in.”
“Why? They’re nineteen years old, and they can’t possibly-“
“They pulled off the Ross mission.”
Phil stopped dead in his tracks. The ‘Ross’ mission was a high level scam that had just managed to clean out one General Ross of nearly all of his life savings, as well as all of the donations to one of his top-secret projects. Nobody knew who had pulled it off- they knew he had been throwing his own energy into tracking a specific guy, but that was about it. “These were the ones?”
“That’s right. So go get them before a criminal organization does.”
Phil couldn’t. There were a thousand, million reasons why he was the wrong man for this mission. All those reasons withered to ash when Fury shot him a single glare. “Yes sir.”
He saluted sharply, turned on his heel, left the room, proceeded to the bathroom, where he proceeded to have a minor freak out. A freak out that included, quite memorably, of actually smiling at the mirror.
The mirror cracked in disbelief.
Next Chapter
Nick Fury sat comfortably in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as he stared down at the live feed cam.
Seven teens (more like kids) slept in the room. The first male, a young looking teen with bright blond hair, and a sweet baby face that looked guileless was obviously the leader. He slept, propped up and leaning on the wall, where he could see everyone. According to intelligence, his name was Steve, and his past unknown even to the boy.
Off to his right, decked out like a log, and snoring without a care in the world was yet another male. A slowly cultivated goatee offset his dark hair. His clothes were twice expensive as the others, and a computer that looked like it had been slapped together from spare parts was tucked beneath one arm. Everyone knew him- the famous Tony Stark, rich runaway kid. He had assembled the computer while on the run, and now had the worlds most advanced AI stored on it. Nobody knew exactly how he had managed it, but Fury was getting a hint from the boy curled up next to Tony.
Curled up, trying to vanish and disappear was yet another teen. His curly dark hair peeked out around Tony’s arm, like Tony would protect him. He breathed silently, but his body was tense, ready to run at the slightest noise. Bruce Banner- a kid with mental issues, runaway. He’d been on the run for at least five years before he met Tony, and managed to run away with him, and from what he could tell, the two got along quite well.
Up on the single bed, a young man, bigger then the rest and probably a little older then the rest, slept soundly. His side was covered in a white bandage, the very beginnings of blood beginning to seep through. His blond hair was pulled back by pale white hands, as an equally pale young man wrapped around the man, his dark hair mixing with blond. Thor and Loki- sons of a foreign diplomat. Loki ran away first, and Thor had followed.
Guarding the doorway were the last two- a young man and a young woman. The male was balanced on the table, a circus bow in his lap. The string was unstrung, to keep it from snapping, but agents had found out the hard way that Clint Barton could restring his bow and have an arrow knocked and shot under a second.
The woman slept with her back to the door- if someone wanted through, they would have to wake her first. And just because her back was to the door didn’t mean that she was unarmed- there was a pistol in her hands, pointed at the door, and safety off.
The two of them had met before they had met the other five, Clint as a runaway from the circus, and Natasha as some sort of mafia or crime organization daughter.
A ragtag bunch of misfits that should’ve never come together- but somehow they did.
He sorted through the intelligence left on his desk, trying to piece it together.
-----
Bruce Banner curled up miserably in his bedroom, listening to his parents rage below. “This is all your fault!”
“My fault?! You’re the one who constantly hits him! No, it was all your fault in the first place! You were the one who knocked me up!”
“I never should’ve married you is what. To have such a hellspawn- I wonder if he’s even my child.”
His eyes closed as he leaned against the wall. The dark night called and beckoned to him, promising better things if he would only leave. Take that chance and run. His lips thinned as he stared out, and back down at his hands. He could leave. He had twenty dollars- it was enough to catch a bus to the city, and from there it would be easy to keep wandering. He knew that.
His eyes rose to the window, and before he could stop himself, he hauled himself up, over the edge, and ran.
At the tender age of seven, he was on the street and free.
--------
Clint Barton checked his bow for the fifteenth time, nerves eerily calm. His brother was gone. His brother had abandoned him- left. Fine then, he’d take care of himself. He didn’t need anybody.
And he wasn’t going to stay at the circus any longer.
He hefted the small duffel bag of valuables onto one shoulder- it was enough to get him to a major city, and from there he could do whatever he wanted. Nobody would know him in the city, no one would be able to find him.
He ducked beneath the heavy cloth, tiptoeing across broken grass.
“Clint?” A female voice, one that belonged to the scariest, but the most fun person he had ever known spoke up, soft and quiet. “Where are you-“
“Shh, I’m running away.” He peered at her in the darkness. She was wearing all black, and held a gun. “Where are you going?”
“I’m… It’s nothing. What do you mean running away?”
“I’m leaving the circus and I’m not coming back.” Clint stated with the blunt efficiency of a ten year old. “Do you want to come with me?”
Natasha was cool- she knew how to kill people, and she was the smartest person he had ever known. She was safe to bring along.
“But- what will you do?”
“I’m going to live the way I want too.”
Natasha hesitated for a few moments before nodding.
Together, hand in hand, the two rushed out of the circus, never to be seen again.
-------
Natasha had killed people before- it had never bothered her before. She’d done awful things before, and knew everyone respected her, even if she was only ten years old.
But everyone didn’t include Clint, and that was why she had to stop to stare as she spotted the one ten year old in the world who didn’t fear her creep across the circus grounds. She was supposed to kill the ringmaster- he had gotten caught up in matters far too big for him to handle.
But that didn’t explain why, why she put her hands in Clint's hands, and let him convince her to run away.
She was always a sucker for a good smile.
------
Loki stormed across the ground, fists clenching and unclenching. His fool of a brother trailed after him, calling for him to stop, to explain.
Like he was going to explain to a stupid idiot of a brother. Like he was going to tell him that they weren’t related by blood, that the word his brother even now called him was a lie.
Mother and Father wouldn’t understand either. They would scold him, lock him up until he promised to behave, promised to be good. He wasn’t. He wasn’t, he refused, and his brother couldn’t stop him.
Strong arms caught him, held him close. “Brother, please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Brother? You are my brother.” The twelve year old refused to let himself be sidetracked, his famous one-track mind coming into play. Loki sneered, and Thor ignored. Thor often got those looks.
“No, I am not. It’s a lie.”
A crinkle formed inbetween Thor’s brows, indicating he didn’t understand. “A lie brother? Surely not. We have grown together and played together. Does that not make us brothers?”
“No, it doesn’t. Now put me down you stupid oaf. I’m leaving.”
“Where too?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Just away from here.”
Thor nodded as he put Loki down. Loki swallowed an unexpected lump, ruthlessly shoving the feeling away. “Then I shall travel with you until you wish to return.” Solemn, dark, and a promise.
Thor never broke his promises.
Loki never said thank you, but the squeeze of a pale hand in a large tan one was answer enough.
-------
Tony Stark prodded a bruise beginning to form on one limb gingerly, scowling unhappily. Yeah, pay attention Stark. You’re too wild Stark. Don’t think we can’t hurt you.
He hated his parents, stupid, useless fools they were. He especially hated his teachers, even more useless that they feared the children that they were supposed to control. Honestly, was it that hard?
“I hate idiots.”
“I think everyone does.”
The voice startled him, and he turned. A twelve year old, just one year old then him, sat on the bench. The entire neighborhood knew him as the homeless child that had drifted in- he hadn’t drifted out, though the nights were slowly growing colder and more bitter.
Tony knew there were bets going on- bets that quickly stopped after the kid had flipped and beat the snot out of everyone. The rumors started up after that, and everyone gave him a wide berth.
Except for him, because the kid didn’t scare him. Nobody scared him. He sat down next to the kid. “Yes, I suppose everyone does hate idiots. Where you headed off to next?”
The kid shrugged. “Somewhere warmer. South. Maybe I’ll cross the border.”
“Take me with you.” A desperate gleam of an idea, but he could see it now- the fireworks, the screams, the search; And Tony would be going south with his new friend.
One eyebrow rose. “That isn’t a good idea.”
“I know, I know. You’ve got problems where you get big and mean when you’re angry. Whatever. Take me with you.”
Unconsciously he rubbed a hand against a bruise, and the kid hesitated, eyes lingering where Tony rubbed. “Fine. The bus south is leaving in another hour. Its driver never cleans it, so it smells awful, but we can sleep in it.”
Somehow the prospect sounded much better then his own feather bed, and by the tender age of eleven, Tony Stark had run away.
------------
Who am I? Who am I? WhoamI?
The thought refused to shut up, circling in his mind as he sat and stared at the opposite wall.
He couldn’t remember. It was empty, blank, gone.
He sat in this small orphanage, in the middle of nowhere, and felt the need to… command. To tell people what to do. To help.
He couldn’t. No one listened to a fourteen year old. No one would ever listen. So why was he still here?
I’m waiting.
Waiting for who?
The people I am to lead.
Who are they?
I will know them when I see them.
What if they never come?
They will. I just have to wait.
--------
Phil Coulson was a man with the opinion that so long as he did his paperwork correctly and on time, nobody would assign him to anything nasty. It had worked so far, in the past thirteen years of working here, but today it seemed doomed to fail.
“And this is your assignment.”
He stared down at the pictures of the kids, grinning wildly and free, laughing and joking as they sat at the same table. Each one was labeled neatly and correctly. “One of our agents died getting that picture.” Fury’s voice was so dry; Coulson couldn’t tell whether Fury was joking.
He decided Fury wasn’t as he peered closer at the picture and saw that the two people labeled Natasha and Clint had sharp pointy objects aimed at the cameras owner. Someone probably had died.
It wasn’t a happy thought. It was rather horrifying, really. “Sir?” He dared to question, flipping to the profiles. Each one of them was scant (except on Tony Stark, everyone knew who Stark was) and he could feel it on the horizon- the quiet gathering of someone about to hand down the worlds worst mission.
“We want them as part of Shield. A special response team.”
“No. Look at them! They're eighteen!”
“Some are nineteen.”
“Nineteen! They aren’t even old enough to legally drink!”
“That’s why its your job to get them to agree that you’ll be their legal guardian."
Phil Coulson was thirty-five, no kids, and married to his job. He was not guardian material. “Me?”
“You. Even if we were to return them to their parents, they would just run away again, so I figured its best to bring them in.”
“Why? They’re nineteen years old, and they can’t possibly-“
“They pulled off the Ross mission.”
Phil stopped dead in his tracks. The ‘Ross’ mission was a high level scam that had just managed to clean out one General Ross of nearly all of his life savings, as well as all of the donations to one of his top-secret projects. Nobody knew who had pulled it off- they knew he had been throwing his own energy into tracking a specific guy, but that was about it. “These were the ones?”
“That’s right. So go get them before a criminal organization does.”
Phil couldn’t. There were a thousand, million reasons why he was the wrong man for this mission. All those reasons withered to ash when Fury shot him a single glare. “Yes sir.”
He saluted sharply, turned on his heel, left the room, proceeded to the bathroom, where he proceeded to have a minor freak out. A freak out that included, quite memorably, of actually smiling at the mirror.
The mirror cracked in disbelief.
Next Chapter