Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Coulson rated the situation about a nine out of ten. The pounding headache was a bit of a nuisance, but when you’ve been hit in the head and drugged, some discomfort was expected. True, he didn’t have his phone or wallet or any of his other disguised weapons, but the cell block was well-lit, clean, and a comfortable temperature.

As far as quasi-terrorist organizations masquerading as regional governments went, this ranked among the nicest accommodations he’d been imprisoned in. They’d left him some of his clothes too, even after a quick search revealed they’d found his pocket knife collection, the recording devices sewn into the lining of his sleeves, belt and buttons, and his pen-sized flamethrower. Might have been laziness or overconfidence on their abilities, but really it was just considerate.

Holding cells got drafty without clothes on.

There was an armed guard standing at attention by the door, although Coulson wasn’t sure if he was armed with anything besides the dual swords on his back. Some of these ninja cults liked to play old-school, which suited him just fine. It’d been a while since he’d gotten to exercise those fencing muscles outside of a SHIELD training facility.

Coulson sat up slowly, letting himself adjust to the sudden blood rush and world-spinning headache. It settled after a few seconds, and he went through a series of stretches that loosened the muscle cramping from lying unconscious on a slab of concrete for between two and twelve hours.

When he was done, Coulson smiled congenially at the guard.

“How are you doing?” he asked cheerfully. The ninja guard didn’t answer.

“Any chance you could tell me how long I’ve been out?” he tried again.

This time the guard shrugged.

“They bring you seven hours ago,” he said in a heavily accented voice, the cadence suggesting he was a native of the region.

“Thank you,” Coulson said, mentally running calculations. That fit neatly into his estimate. He had two days and nine hours before SHIELD would mobilize… and by mobilize he meant sending in either Romanoff or Barton or whoever was on this half of the planet to stick their head inside DEMON headquarters, see why Coulson hadn’t responded, and either pull him out or leave him to finish the mission his way.

Personally, he preferred when Barton came to back him up, since his favored way of checking in always included a smuggled box of Krispy Kremes.

But he still had a few days to kill before that happened, and that meant sticking around a while instead of baiting the guard into opening the cell door, stealing his clothes and waltzing out the front door. DEMON had been so polite, leaving him a guard the same build and height as him, it seemed a shame not to take advantage of the gift. But he still hadn’t completed his objective.

Coulson settled back onto his cot and interlaced his fingers.

“Any chance I could get a magazine?”

“No.”

“Just checking.”

The problem with planning to get yourself captured was that it involved a lot of variables. You could never be totally sure how your hosts would deal with you, after all. The cells weren’t usually this clean. In fact, Coulson could claim to being held in no less than thirteen proper dungeons, with dripping water and mold growing on the walls and even the occasional haunted spirit (which everyone but Fury believed, the all-knowing bastard).

And the questioning varied from intense mind-games designed to drive anyone who’d never sat through an Asgardian Prince’s thirteen hours brief on the origin of the term Midgard and the cultural and physiological barriers between interactions to insanity (and it was only once he’d gotten to know Thor better that he knew exactly what he was doing and swore revenge) all the way to legitimate torture. Coulson always hoped to avoid that if possible, but if it wasn’t, no organization would risk killing the highest-ranking field agent SHIELD had to offer, and when he made it back, the reward/apology was usually along the lines of six weeks in Cancun followed by his choice of missions and trainees for the next three months.

The other problem was the waiting. You might be in the cell only long enough to look around before they pulled you out for interrogation or you might be sitting pretty for a week.

It wasn’t the worst problem for someone like Coulson, who could use the time to get caught up on the horrific backlog of reports, but it was a little inconvenient.

At this point he still needed intel, so he began mentally drafting the written report for the cleanup of Romanoff’s partially botched extraction. He’d almost settled on the most diplomatic way of saying, “even though the French ambassador to Latveria will never see the color green again, the mission was overall more-or-less successful” when the door opened and a trio of ninja guards entered.

Judging by their all-black uniforms and the matching swords on all their backs, they were more likely to be members of DEMON than the colorful assortment of assassins known as the League of Shadows. Coulson, assuming they were there for him, started to stand, but stopped when two more guards dragged a man in behind them. He watched silently as the original guard unlocked the cell three down from Coulson’s, and the other guards threw the man inside.

There didn’t appear to be any blood, but that was about all Coulson’s fellow prisoner had going for him. His face was a patchwork of bruises and judging by the swelling and incorrect angles, at least eight of his fingers and his left wrist were broken.

Coulson winced and looked down at his own hands. Broken fingers weren’t fun by any means, but he could think of worse.

Once the door had slammed shut behind the man, the guards turned to Coulson.

“You can walk or you can be dragged,” the tallest guard said in perfect English. Coulson smiled politely and stood up, raising his hands in a show of good faith.

He was half expecting them to hog-tie and drag him anyways and was pleasantly surprised that they didn’t. Coulson’s entourage of ninja guards led him out of the cell block and through the twisty maze of hallways that made up the League of Shadows’ headquarters. He even recognized several of the hallways as ones he’d been through the day before, although the brightly dressed assassins with semiautomatic machine guns were a new addition.

On the bright side, they were a convenient marker for the nearest exit.

“I apologize for the late hour,” Ra’s al Ghul apologized as Coulson was shown into the third most opulent office he’d ever seen in his life. A mix of black and marble stone carvings protruded from every wall, with intricate golden ornaments interspersed with massive, hand-woven tapestries depicting epic battles throughout history. The high-backed chair sitting against the wall wasn’t exactly a throne, but it wouldn’t have been too much of a stretch to call it one. If it wasn’t for the more pressing matters at hand, Coulson would have loved to inspect the glimmering black stone it was carved from; he’d bet his right hand that an energy scan from the faintly-glowing green veins running through the rock would keep the entire SHIELD science division busy for a week.

Ra’s al Ghul gestured to the opulent green couch (for lack of a better word) across from the one he himself was seated in.

“Not a problem,” Coulson responded amiably, choosing to sit in the offered spot as al Ghul’s bodyguard sharply dismissed the ninjas that had escorted him in, “I actually just woke up from a very refreshing nap.”

The Demon’s Head nodded, a satisfied gleam in his eyes that someone was willing to play his games. Coulson didn’t mind; juggling the ‘Aren’t we civilized?’ act had always been one of his specialties.

“Tea?” Ra’s offered, “I have a wonderful Sencha imported directly from Shizuoka.”

“Please.”

Ra’s stood and made his way slowly to a table against the wall. Coulson watched in fascination as he prepared the tea with all the grandeur of a high priest conducting a blood ritual to bring back an elder god of destruction.

“That’s quite a process,” Coulson remarked as Ra’s handed him a steaming bowl that looked like it was at least three centuries old.

“Indeed,” Ra’s inclined his head, “I am graced with a fortunate lifespan, and as I approach my fortieth decade, I find myself drawn to things which cannot be rushed.”

“I’m more of an instant coffee man myself,” Coulson smiled.

“Out of respect for the hours your job must demand, I will not hold such a travesty against you.”

“Very generous of you,” Coulson answered. Ra’s raised his own bowl and he toasted back, enjoying the banter that came with a fun and dangerous battle of wits. Coulson raised the bowl to his nose, inhaling the earthy aroma of the rare tea and attempting to discern whether any of the ingredients would poison him or infect him with mind-controlling spores. He hadn’t been truth-serumed in a while, that might be a fun conversation to navigate.

Ra’s was watching him with amusement and he looked very pleased with himself when Coulson decided that the immortal was unlikely to try and poison him in such an obvious way. Besides, if there was poison, it was just as likely to be coated on the outside of bowl Coulson was currently holding in his bare hands.

Coulson took a sip of the tea and sure enough, it was delicious. Ra’s took a sip of his own before settling in the plush green armchair across from him.

“Pleasantries aside, I am curious about your presence here. I am a simple man, Agent Coulson, one who is graced with the ability to recognize patterns in history. If I might ask, what could interest an organization such as SHIELD enough that they would send a man such as yourself to my home?”

Ra’s knew very well why he was here, but if he wanted to play it this way, Coulson had no qualms about playing along.

“A simple man such as yourself probably wouldn’t be aware of this, but we’ve noticed an alarming increase in the importation of certain commodities into the region.”

“Your agency would send you so far out of your way over a matter of produce?” Ra’s sounded appalled and Coulson disguised his snort as another sip of his ancient tea. Ra’s continued as if Coulson hadn’t made a sound. “It is true that my men have been sent out to supervise and fortify the trade routes, but I can assure you there is nothing untoward. It has been a harsh growing season and the last year’s crops will not be sufficient to sustain the valley through the winter. Importing food is expensive, but I find the alternative to be unthinkable.”

“You’re deeply concerned for the wellbeing of your subjects,” Coulson commented with his eyebrows raised. The man met his gaze sternly and if Coulson didn’t know exactly what was really being imported, he would have felt thoroughly chastised.

“I am, indeed,” Ra’s answered.

“Then I’m sure you’d be appalled to know that your trade routes are being used for more than food and supplies.”

The gleam in the immortal’s eyes was as predatory as it was amused and Coulson could admit that he was enjoying the challenge as well. The conversation went on like that for a while, each side prying for information and dancing in and out of truths, searching for holes in the other’s narrative that could be used to gain a bit of ground. Ra’s al Ghul was a cunning opponent; willing to divulge whatever information Coulson could maneuver him into and terrifyingly skilled at picking apart the lies and omissions in the agent’s answers. Coulson was very impressed and more than a little wary of him.

And it was clear that Ra’s thought the same of him.

“Agent Coulson, I have a tremendous amount of respect for men like you. Loyalty is prized, but a man who can not only follow but lead when he is called to it? That is a very rare combination. One I would be a fool to pass up.”

Coulson smiled apologetically.

“It’s certainly been a while since I’ve gotten a job offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. My boss would probably revoke my dental coverage, and in this economy that’s too risky, even for me.”

“I see,” Ra’s looked as amused as ever, “Perhaps your opinion may change in a few days.”

“Anything’s possible,” Coulson agreed pleasantly. He set down his empty bowl and nodded, “Thank you for the tea, it was delicious.”

Very little changed on the walk back to the cell block, except that all the heavily armed, brightly-colored assassins they passed seemed to be in the middle of a heated gossip session. Unfortunately, the whispers cut off as soon as Coulson’s little entourage passed them. Shame.

The door to the cell block hadn’t changed either.

The biggest difference was that the cell across from Coulson’s had a new occupant.

It was a kid, curled up tightly on the metal bunk. Every visible inch of skin was covered in dark bruises, welts or angry scorch marks, and he was lying so still Coulson was afraid he was dead.

The worst part was that as Coulson’s guard walked him past the cell, he got a good view of the kid’s face. And recognized him.

“That’s not good,” he muttered to himself. The most unnerving thing that happened in this entire encounter was that the guard heard him… and nodded once in unspoken agreement.

Coulson waited until most of the guards had left and there was only a lone ninja standing by the door to lean against the bars of his cell and try to get the kid’s attention.

“Kid. Hey, kid.”

No response. Shit.

Coulson pulled back and sat down on his cot, taking a deep breath as he tried to figure out what to do. His mission was to figure out what DEMON was planning with the alien energy sources it was importing en-masse directly into Nanda Parbat, and although he’d learned that Ra’s al Ghul was directly responsible for it, he still didn’t know what they wanted with them. He couldn’t leave until he knew. If Coulson left too soon, SHIELD wouldn’t get another chance to find out.

But on the other hand… the mission paled in comparison to the safety of the boy in front of him.

Dick Grayson, the fourteen-year-old son of billionaire Bruce Wayne and eldest of his five adopted child, had gone missing nearly a year ago. What seemed like a simple ransom had become a complicated mess and jurisdiction had jumped from agency to agency so fast that even Fury hadn’t been able to follow it. And then the Batman had practically assaulted the boy’s father on national tv with accusations of deliberate negligence and Cat Grant leaked to the entire world that Grayson had been taken by Deathstroke the Terminator.

The CIA locking Grayson’s kidnapping under top-level clearance made a lot more sense after SHIELD put two and two together. After all, Renegade’s first appearance was nearly six months prior to his disappearance, and you didn’t become a mercenary’s prized apprentice overnight.

So the question was… what the hell was Grayson doing here, lying half-dead and unresponsive on a slab of metal in a cell deep in the heart of League of Shadows territory. How had he been captured? And why was the guard—an assassin loyal only to Ra’s al Ghul—sneaking constant, worried glances over at him?

There were no answers that night. No matter how concerned the guard was, it was immediately obvious that he wasn’t going to share those concerns with Coulson. Even when the night shift came in and whispered words were passed between the ninjas, none of them made any move to help the boy. For a moment, when the guard came close to pass a bowl of rice through the bars of Coulson’s cell, the man made eye contact and opened his mouth. Coulson waited with baited breath, but the ninja changed his mind and withdrew without another word.

Coulson made a few more attempts to get the boy’s attention, but Grayson didn’t move. Not even when the guard brought him rations for the night. Coulson slept very lightly that night, hyper aware that if the boy disappeared, the chances of finding him again were slim to nonexistent. His paranoia paid off when the door to the cell block opened in the earliest hours of the morning and a new set of footsteps appeared.

Coulson was wide awake to see Deathstroke the Terminator stride through the doorway, and suddenly, Coulson had his answer.

Grayson was a prisoner, alright. But he wasn’t Ra’s al Ghul’s prisoner.

“Get up,” Wilson ordered in a harsh and cold voice. Grayson shivered violently but did as he was told, pushing himself off the metal cot with trembling arms. Wilson snapped his fingers and the guard came over to unlock the cell and Grayson took a frantic step backwards as Deathstroke slammed the door open.

For a second, nobody moved. Deathstroke towered over his apprentice, arms crossed against his chest as he examined the terrified boy in front of him. Then the mercenary nodded sharply at the door.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, sir,” Grayson answered quietly in the first words Coulson heard the boy say.

Then they were gone.

Nobody came for Coulson or the other prisoner that day and whatever goodwill the guards held for Grayson didn’t apply to the two of them. It was a very quiet day in his cell and Coulson did his best to follow his carefully constructed prison routine, but it was impossibly difficult to focus when the new arrival had thrown his entire plan to the wind.

He’d barely been there two days and already Coulson had twice as many questions without any way to find out the answers. The day passed torturously slowly and that night, Coulson was about five seconds from calling the mission and breaking down the door of his cell when Grayson returned.

The guard didn’t even have a chance to get out of the way as Deathstroke shoved his way inside, fury radiating off the mercenary in waves. He had a deathgrip on the back of Grayson’s neck, dragging the boy behind him towards the cell he’d vacated that morning. Grayson didn’t struggle and his movements were sluggish as he tried to keep up with the monster’s pace.

Coulson watched in horror as Deathstroke shoved the kid into the cell and sent him tumbling to the cold concrete floor. He didn’t move. The shallow rise and fall of his chest told Coulson he was still breathing, but something was wrong. Deathstroke reached for the cell door but paused and left it hanging open.

“I don’t even need to lock the door, do I, apprentice?”

Quietly, so quietly Coulson could barely hear it, Grayson croaked, “No sir.”

The sound made Coulson’s skin crawl. Watching the boy push himself onto his knees while his arms shook from the effort was worse.

“We’ll try again tomorrow, but if today’s pathetic performance was any indication, it doesn’t look promising.”

“I’m s—” Grayson began to say, but cut himself off with a choked sound of panic.

“What was that?”

No response.

“It sounded like you said something you’re not allowed to.”

The kid’s eyes never left the ground.

“What are the two things you’re allowed to say?”

“Yes sir. No sir,” Grayson repeated in a lifeless voice.

“Is ‘I’m sorry’ one of those?”

“No sir.”

For a horrible moment, Coulson thought Deathstroke was going to shoot the kid on the spot. He’d need at least three seconds to get his cell door open, plus the mercenary was fully armed. On the other hand, both the normal guard and the one that had followed Deathstroke to the cell block had both stiffened, their hands going to their weapons; a flicker of relief rose in Coulson’s chest that they wouldn’t just allow Wilson to murder the boy under their watch.

But before it came to that, Deathstroke turned and left without another word. Grayson collapsed, crumpling into a pile on the ground in the middle of the cell.

He didn’t move.

That was concerning, and became steadily more concerning as the hours passed. The rise and fall of his chest was the only thing keeping Coulson from charging across the room, but even that was dwindling.

Then he noticed that the kid’s bare feet were turning blue.

“Hey!” Coulson snapped, trying to get the guards’ attention. He was expecting them to ignore him but by some miracle they both looked over on the first try.

“He needs medical attention!” Coulson barked in the tone that made any SHIELD operative shut their mouth and follow instructions. The guard hesitated, but the one closest to the door stiffened.

“Alert the Demon’s Head!” the second guard snapped in Arabic. When the other one hesitated, he practically shoved him out the door, “Now!”

Coulson had never been as glad to see a delusional psychopath in his entire life as he was when Ra’s al Ghul himself strode through the doors of the cell block. He headed straight into Grayson’s cell, crouching down to cup the unresponsive boy’s chin in his palm.

“Have him brought to my chambers, bring my best healers at once,” his voice was like a tightly coiled snake, brimming with barely-restrained fury. Even from inside his cell, Coulson could see his eyes shine with an eerie green light that could only be a side effect from the infamous Lazarus Pits the man used to prolong his lifespan.

“Ra’s.”

The scowl on his face deepened at the fact that Slade Wilson had the sheer audacity to seem unconcerned by the summons, let alone to act calm and poised in the face of Ra’s’ fury. Ra’s took a breath, reminding himself that they were allies and far too much was at stake for him to declare war over this matter.

“You had better have a very good explanation,” Ra’s bit out, impressing himself with his own restraint.

“Must I?”

“The boy nearly died, Wilson.”

“You don’t need to be concerned about him.”

“Oh I don’t?” Ra’s voice was dripping with fury, “You dare give me orders when you are a guest in my domain?”

“Apologies, Demon’s Head. You misunderstood me. Richard is in no true danger.”

“He went into shock.”

“A deeply unpleasant experience, but not deadly,” Wilson conceded.

“For a child his age?”

“For anyone with the physical enhancements he possesses.”

Ra’s looked at him sharply.

“You gave him the serum.”

“I did.”

“And you are not concerned with the possibility of SHIELD acquiring that particular secret?”

“If the rumors about Captain America’s recovery are true, they’ll possess a sample of it regardless. In any case, once they obtain a blood sample, they’ll have additional incentive to keep him around.”

Ra’s regarded the man in stony silence. Wilson stared back calmly.

“This has not been an easy process, but Richard is absolutely determined to complete this mission. The best chance I have to ensure his success is make sure that everything up to the point of infiltration is watertight. If that means I have to be cruel, so be it.”

“Cruel seems to be an understatement.”

“I am sacrificing my apprentice for this mission. Nearly five years’ worth of work, gone. I am willing to pay the price for the scope of the undertaking we’re attempting, but make no mistake, I am furious that it has come to this.”

“The boy is not a sacrifice.”

“Not to you. But if he is caught, he will be killed and there is nothing I will be able to do to save him.”

Ra’s didn’t say anything and sure enough, Deathstroke continued.

“Everything I have done since he demanded I let him accept this mission has been to keep him alive. HYDRA will eliminate him if anyone begins to suspect he is an infiltrator, or worse, attempt to brainwash him for their own purposes.”

Every word was true. It was one of the reasons that the other members of the Light had been willing to allow Deathstroke to take the lead over a threat of the sheer magnitude that HYDRA posed; any operative capable of successfully infiltrating an agency like SHIELD was far too valuable to lose. And more than that, Ra’s had no doubt in the boy’s convictions. He was the sole member of the Light to know the boy’s true nature, and although Wilson had somehow managed to shape the deep-rooted heroics into something useful, Ra’s knew full well that Robin was the one willing to put everything on the line for this mission.

None of that made it any easier to see the boy at death’s door for the sake of a cover story.

“Assuming that is all true, he has not made contact yet. Our newest guest has made it quite clear he intends to help him, but Richard has staunchly ignored him.”

Wilson hummed.

 “And now Coulson has saved his life, something which can’t go unaddressed. The difference is that he is a child in a vulnerable position whose life the agent now feels responsible for. Worse, he cares about the outcome. Richard has all the power in their subsequent interactions.”

When Ra’s didn’t answer, Deathstroke continued.

“I trust him,” Wilson repeated, his one eye meeting Ra’s’ gaze with all the confidence he possessed, “And given that you were willing to stake this entire operation on him, I suggest that you do as well.”

“Bad news and good news.” Barton said, dropping from the ceiling to lean on the bars of Coulson’s cell. The guard in the corner slumped over, fast asleep and dead to the world. “Bad news is they don’t have Krispy Kreme in Nepal. Good news is I brought you Halva instead.”

“I’ll pass,” Coulson shook his head. Barton shrugged, popping the sesame paste candy into his mouth.

“Suit yourself, boss-man,” he wiped his hands on his tac-gear, “So, uh, you planning on wrapping this thing up anytime soon?”

“Change of plans.”

“You getting attached to that holding cell or what?” Barton asked curiously.

“Something else came up,” Coulson said in an even tone, knowing Barton hated when he pulled the ‘don’t worry about it it’s really not important and you’re not missing much’ card.

“Sheesh, I get it. You don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” Barton ate another candy. Through a mouthful of food, he asked, “Got any idea when you’ll need to be picked up?”

“A few more days. As few as two, a week and a half at the most. Evac for two.”

“Aw, boss, you’re still collecting strays?” Barton teased, “You’re going to hurt my feelings. I thought I was special.”

“It’s a rescue op, not a recruiting mission,” Coulson corrected.

“You always say that. I’ll tell the quartermaster to start putting together a welcome package.”

“Goodbye, Barton.”

Barton winked at him.

“See ya in a few days. Can’t wait to meet your friend.”

Chapter Text

Meditation was an integral part of any extended prison stay, especially now that Coulson had taken the initiative of altering his mission parameters. He would need to be rested and prepared for the physical, mental and emotional exhaustion that came with a rescue from within enemy territory.

Patience was one of the hardest lessons any field operative had to learn, but Coulson’s decades of experience—along with the cues he’d picked up from days of watching the guards interact and the chatter he overheard —told him that his opportunity was coming if he just stayed put a little longer. So instead of breaking himself out of the lovely cell he’d called home for the past week like he’d thought about on the first day, he set himself to his prison routine.

Coulson wasn’t usually one to brag, but he was especially proud of the schedule he’d perfected through years of trial and error. It was designed to maximize the rest his body could achieve from even the most uninhabitable of conditions, cleanse his mind of things like all the ways the mission could go wrong or all the paperwork waiting for him when he got back, keep his muscles loose, prevent injuries, all while carving out room to make plans single A through double Z.

It was true that having seven hundred and two plans for any possible outcome was overkill, but in Coulson’s experience, it was always worth having a plan EK for if the villain’s base split open to reveal a rocket ship about to blast into orbit and shower the entire globe with man-eating space piranhas or something similar, or a plan PS for the mission target turning out to be his clone from a parallel dimension trying to sacrifice him and use blood magic to rip open a portal between the worlds as the first attack in an attempted invasion.

Coulson was halfway through his midday mediation about forty-eight hours after Barton’s visit when the door to the cell block opened again.

The kid’s shredded and bloodstained clothing was gone, replaced with a set of clean linen robes that looked a little like pajamas. Coulson was surprised to see that the guards flanking him weren’t dragging him; Grayson was walking on his own, exhaustion clear in every step but considering how close he’d been to death’s door two nights before, the fact that he was even on his feet was shocking.

Grayson kept his eyes on the ground with his wrists clasped in front of him, but even though the guards were each holding one of his arms, he wasn’t bound. In fact, everything from the guards’ stances to the concern leaking through their stoicism all the way to the gentleness in their grip screamed that the they were trying to protect the kid. Despite the fact that the kid had spent his nights locked up behind bars, the soldiers of Nanda Parbat saw him as one of their own.

The kid waited silently as one guard unlocked the cell—and Coulson didn’t miss the fact that they were putting him in the cleanest cell, or the even more obvious fact that the new cell was immediately next to his—and entered without protest when the other guard released him from the gentle grip.

“You will be brought water every hour,” the first guard said in the local dialect. Grayson’s head shot up, his eyes widening in terror as he began to shake his head, but the second one held up a hand.

“The Great One’s orders,” the second one assured him, “Your master agreed.”

Grayson let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. He looked up at the guards, and for a second Coulson thought he was going to say something. But instead, he slowly walked over to the back wall and sank to the ground, legs crossed with his head resting against the wall.

The guards closed the door and locked it with a thud that echoed through the room. Then they left without another word.

The cell block was silent. In the cell on the other side of the dungeon, the prisoner with the broken fingers grunted in pain and rolled over in his sleep. Grayson took a deep, shuddering breath and released it slowly.

Coulson kept his eyes shut and didn’t move from his meditation position.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Grayson muttered in a hoarse and tired voice. He didn’t bother opening his eyes or looking over to see if Coulson was listening. “I failed him, and now he’s just going to be angrier.”

“He’s going to kill you,” Coulson stated; probably not immediately, but based on the last forty-eight hours, the kid’s prospects for long-term survival were grim.

“Not if I show him I can do better.”

“Do you really believe that?” Coulson asked simply, and the kid shuddered. He finally looked over and met Coulson’s eyes.

“I have to believe something,” he whispered, pain and terror and exhaustion carved into the lines on his face.

“What if I could get you out of here?” Coulson asked. Grayson’s eyes widened, emotions flashing across his face as hope and fear battled each other inside his head.

“Getting away isn’t the hard part,” the kid finally answered, a little too firmly for Coulson’s comfort. That tone came from experience.

“My organization is uniquely capable of neutralizing threats like Wilson,” Coulson replied confidently, “We can get you out of here and we can bring you home safely.”

“No!” the kid shouted, the word escaping him in a terrified burst. He winced but there was no taking the sound back after it was already out. He shook his head, staring at Coulson with frantic eyes. “I can’t go back, I can’t. I can’t, not ever.”

“You’d rather stay with Wilson?” Coulson asked, trying to keep his voice level as a new layer of alarm bells went off in his head.

“You don’t understand,” the kid hissed, his face flushed red with emotion and his eyes quickly turning bloodshot, “I had to keep them safe, if I… he’ll kill them if I go back, I can’t… and even if I could… after everything I’ve done, I can’t. I can’t.”

The kid drew in a deep breath and his hands shook.

“I don’t care if he kills me,” Grayson whispered, staring down at his trembling hands, “As long as I know they’re safe. As long as they never know…”

Coulson frowned. He had to get the kid out of here. Whatever it took to convince him.

“And if I promised that you wouldn’t have to go home unless you want to? That we could keep you safe and away from him for good?”

“He’ll come looking for me,” Grayson met his eyes firmly. “He will. He’ll go after them, do whatever he can to try and get me back. Can you protect them from whatever he tries?”

“We won’t give him the chance,” Coulson promised. Grayson swallowed.

“But we have to move now. We can’t waste any time. And we can’t give your boss a chance to catch on.”

“How do we get out of here?”

Grayson clearly wasn’t talking about the cells or the actual complex of buildings. As Coulson and Barton had both demonstrated, getting inside wasn’t the hard part. Provided that you could navigate through the treacherous terrain in the first place.

“I have that handled. We just have to get outside the walls of the compound,” Coulson warned, “We’ll only get one shot, so we’ll need to move fast.”

The kid looked down at his bare feet and shuddered, no doubt thinking of the rocky, icy terrain of the mountains and dense forests surrounding the League of Shadows’ stronghold.

“Here,” Coulson stripped off his shoes and socks and passed the fabric through the bars for the kid to take, “My shoes won’t fit you, but some protection will be better than nothing.”

The kid accepted the socks but instead of putting them on, he looked up at Coulson.

“Why are you helping me?”

“That’s my job,” Coulson answered honestly.

“Are you sure?” Grayson asked. “If he finds us, he’ll kill you.”

The last part wasn’t a question. Coulson met his eyes and said, “I’m going to get you out of here, kid. I promise.”

Grayson closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly through his nose. Then he nodded.

Escaping from the fortress wasn’t an easy task by any means. Coulson had expected it to be challenging, especially with an injured rescuee to escort out safely. But all Coulson’s careful planning based around the expectation that he’d have to practically carry the kid the whole way turned out to be for nothing. Grayson’s knees trembled a bit when he first climbed to his feet but his legs only got steadier as he waited for Coulson’s cue.

The guards hadn’t notice the lockpicks (or any of the other toys) Barton smuggled him, so it was effortless to open the door of his cell and the one Grayson was in. Sneaking out of the cell block and taking out the single guard was a little trickier but mostly because the lack of sightlines meant Coulson wouldn’t be able to see anyone approaching until it was too late.

Luck was on their side and they made it all the way through the maze of the lower levels of the complex, sneaking carefully and waiting for patrolling guards and assassins to pass before continuing up. Or maybe it wasn’t just luck. Grayson was the easiest rescuee he’d ever rescued. When Coulson raised his hand to tell the kid to stay low so he could see if the hallway was clear, Grayson was already down. When they heard voices around the corner, Grayson was already holding up fingers with the correct number before Coulson even had a chance to count. The entire escape was going flawlessly.

Flawlessly enough that the seeds of doubt were starting to gnaw at Coulson’s chest. Nothing was this easy. But even if it was a trap, there was nothing fake about the cuts and burns covering every visible inch of the kid’s skin, or the limp in his right leg that left him fighting not to favor his left, or the unsteady rattle that accompanied Grayson’s every breath. Wilson had broken at least two of his ribs, maybe more.

Despite the fact that Grayson might have been leading him—or more accurately, letting him run headfirst—into a trap, Coulson didn’t hesitate. He had to get Grayson out of here and away from Wilson.

The first hints of natural light, along with the mental map he’d built, confirmed that they’d reached the ground floor. Grayson looked a bit steadier on his feet now but that was almost more disconcerting than it had been to watch him fall deeper and deeper into shock.

His sweat-soaked black hair was plastered to his forehead and his blue eyes were narrowed with intense concentration as he tried to push through the glassy haze that settled over his features whenever he started to lose focus. Grayson had been perfectly lucid—if tired and worn—during their conversation in the cell but it was clear that the exertion was exhausting him.

But even though every step shook and every breath rattled and he swayed unsteadily whenever they stopped, Grayson never missed a beat. He kept up a steady pace.

Grayson froze suddenly, his borrowed socks muffling the sound of feet slapping against cold stone, and Coulson’s hand snapped out to catch him.

“They know,” the kid’s voice was shaky, the first hints of fear breaking through.

“Then we need to move faster.”

Coulson started to crouch down to pull the kid onto his back but Grayson held his ground.

“I can run,” he said and Coulson didn’t argue. They didn’t have time. Besides, trying to coddle the kid would only end badly. He may have been Deathstroke’s victim but he was a long, long way from fragile.

The exit was heavily guarded, nine guards armed with long blades and another six of the colorfully dressed assassins on high alert at their sides. Grayson tensed, reaching for something at his waist that wasn’t there. His eyes were fixed on the enemies in front of them and it took Coulson a second to realize that the look on his face was recognition. And under that, the fear was much easier to place.

The assassin he was staring at was a tall woman with a belt of knives hanging around her waist, bright paint decorating her shaved head and dark skin all the way down the back of her neck. She was speaking in sharp tones to the assassin dressed in purple, spiderwebs decorating his costume.

Onyx and Black Spider. Two of the most notorious assassins the League of Shadows had ever produced. It was hard to see the Spider’s face, but the woman was scowling furiously and a pair of knives flashed between the fingers of each hand.

“We can’t take them,” Grayson hissed, his voice trembling.

“Close your eyes and be ready to follow me,” Coulson whispered back. His hand was already wrapping around the trigger of the gadget Barton had so thoughtfully delivered. This wasn’t the only exit, but if al Ghul had put this much firepower on a hidden door then their best bet was to get out as fast as they could rather than continue sneaking around in the hopes that they found a better one.

Coulson waited until Grayson had his hands pressed firmly over his eyes before aiming the pulse gun and firing. The blast of light that burst out of the end was blinding on its own, but the accompanying whine of the frequency they’d tuned using the Foster-Selving wave-transform from an adapted Roth-Einstein bridge was what stunned anyone in its path. The paralysis wouldn’t last long (not more than a minute) but that was plenty of time to grab Grayson by the wrist and make a break for it.

He pushed Grayson through the door and towards the forest, turning around to drop a smoke pellet behind them. Coulson ran into the trees, glancing over his shoulder when he realized Grayson wasn’t behind him. Because he was much, much farther ahead. Coulson put on a burst of speed to catch up, his hand pressing the comm link into his ear.

Coulson had activated his beacon the second Grayson had agreed to escape, which meant the jet should be waiting as soon as they got to the clearing.

The unfortunate consequence of the stun blast was that once their sixty seconds were up, there were ten furious assassins on their heels and the margin for error was closing with every passing second. Burst of gunfire cracked through the air, too far away to do anything more than shake the leaves, but even that was closer than Coulson wanted. Especially with the way Grayson was gasping for air with every stride and there was an unnatural bend to his gait that was growing more and more pronounced.

“Get to the clearing!” Coulson shouted. Grayson was still ahead of him and if he fell, Coulson was ready to drag him the rest of the way. But they were so close and Coulson’s feet pounded against the rocky grass, staunchly ignoring the chill seeping its way into his bones as they ran.

The hum of the twin engines as he barged through the tree line into the small clearing was the most beautiful sound Coulson had ever heard. The plane was a far cry from the usual quinjet but it was fast and big enough to fit them all.

He was so focused on the objective—get to the plane—that he almost didn’t notice as Grayson stopped short.

“Grayson!” Coulson grabbed his shoulder in alarm. Grayson’s eyes were glazed over, terror leaching the color out of his skin as sweat dripped down his face.

“He’s coming,” the kid whispered, shivering so badly that it was a miracle he was still on his feet, “He’s going to catch me, he’s coming.”

“Keep it together!” Coulson squeezed Grayson’s arm, trying to coax the kid further. But his feet wouldn’t move. The gunfire in the distance got louder and Coulson bit back a swear as the guards got close enough to hear their shouts and footsteps cracking through the forest.

“Need a ride?” Barton’s voice was cheerful but the look on his face was anything but. He notched another arrow and pulled back, firing at someone deeper in the forest. In the pilot’s seat, Agent Romanoff flicked a trigger on the controls and the hover propulsors fired to keep the plane about thirty feet off the ground where it was ready for a quick escape. Coulson reached for the harness Barton threw him, ready to clip the kid in but he flinched away.

“Let go!” Grayson snapped but his voice was so frantic he was practically shouting, “I can’t leave, he’s coming—"

“Keep it together, we need to go.”

Panicking would only freak the kid out more, but the guards were suddenly storming into the clearing and they were outnumbered and Grayson was a hair’s breath from wrenching himself out of Coulson’s grip and running straight back to the enemy.

Before Coulson could move, a volley of arrows knocked the entire row of guards backwards, thick foam blooming into a heavy curtain between them. Barton landed easily in the snow on Grayson’s other side.

“Nat’s got your line, I’ve got him,” Barton said calmly as he wrapped a harness around the kid’s waist and clipped him in. Then he wrapped his arm around the thick metal cable and slapped his earpiece, “Packages secure, take us up!”

Coulson didn’t step away from the window until the jet had reached cruising altitude and Romanoff felt confident enough to drop the cloaking device. The former Red Room assassin was the most paranoid person he’d ever met, aside from Fury himself, so if she was sure they hadn’t been followed, Coulson believed her.

The kid on the other hand…

Grayson was staring out the window numbly, one hand clenched around the shock blanket Barton had put over his shoulders. His chest was rising and falling in panicked breaths, and every time he breathed in, a wince shook his frame.

“I can’t do this,” the kid whispered so quietly he probably hadn’t meant to say it at all. At first glance, Coulson assumed the tremor in his voice was from his injuries, but then he saw Grayson’s face.

He was crying. His face was red and his eyes were puffy underneath the purple bruises around his eye and discoloring his cheek. Coulson reached out slowly to put a hand on the kid’s arm—as gently as he could so that he didn’t aggravate the dislocated shoulder—and terrified blue eyes met his.

“Take me back,” Grayson’s voice was hoarse and it shook so badly Coulson could barely make the words out. And that was saying something.

“We’re not going to do that,” Coulson answered slowly. The kid flinched and yanked himself out of Coulson’s hand and Coulson took an extra step back, raising his hands to show that he wasn’t any threat. “We’re not going to let Deathstroke hurt you anymore. You’re safe now, Richard.”

A choked sound escaped the kid’s throat.

“You know who I am?”

“Yes we do,” Coulson answered calmly, “I told you before, I work for a highly specialized branch of the US government—”

“SHIELD,” the kid said before Coulson could get any farther.

“Right,” Coulson nodded.

“He told me. He told me everything but I can’t… I can’t do this… Take me back. I can’t do this again, please, take me back—”

“Kid, take it easy,” Barton cut in before Coulson could say anything. He handed the kid a bottle of hydration supplement, SHIELD’s own formula that was essentially Gatorade on steroids. “You need to hydrate and by the looks of it you could use some serious first aid.”

Grayson grasped the bottle with shaking hands. He took a deep, pained breath before steeling himself and opening the cap. He took a small sip, which turned into a much bigger one, until he’d drained half the bottle.

“Better, right?” Barton asked softly. Slowly, he held up a roll of medical tape. “Will you let me patch you up?”

Grayson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before slowly looking away from Barton to stare at Coulson.

“Where are you taking me?”

“For now, back to SHIELD. We’ll get you medical attention and go from there.”

“Speaking of,” Barton held up the roll of tape again and Grayson nodded, wincing in pain when the movement put pressure on his chest. Romanoff cleared her throat quietly and Coulson looked up at the rear-view mirror, locking eyes with the agent. She raised a single eyebrow and nodded at the seat next to her. Coulson sighed.

“I’ve got it,” Barton nodded from where he was wrapping the kid’s leg and Coulson headed to the passenger seat to go headfirst into the lion's den.

Romanoff spared him a single dry smile in solidarity as she pushed the headset at him. Coulson took a breath and smiled placidly, pressing the button on the console to answer the direct video call from one Director Nicholas J. Fury.

“Agent Coulson, why do I have the feeling that you’re about to drop a shitstorm on me?” Fury didn’t sound happy (which could have just been sound distortion through the headphones and the plane’s video screen), and Coulson offered him his most professional shrug in response.

"Director Fury, you’ll be glad to know that your intuition is as sharp as ever,” Coulson answered in the bland voice he reserved for only the very worst shitstorms. Fury sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was trying to stave off a headache. “Romanoff estimates two hours until we touch down in Washington. I trust that all the accommodations I requested will be ready.”

Fury inclined his head in affirmation before holding up his hand.

“Before we get into whatever was big enough for you to completely alter the parameters of your mission, can you at least tell me that you made some progress on the mission you were actually sent on?”

“Morning, Grayson,” Coulson smiled, “Mind if I sit with you?”

Grayson didn’t answer but he did nod, so Coulson took it as a go-ahead to sit down across from him. He set down his stack of files and pulled out the top sheet, his stylus flying over the screen of his tablet.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Grayson said after a few minutes, staring glumly at the bowl of oatmeal on the table. He leaned over sullenly, his head in the crook of his elbow and the other hand absently flicking the spoon around. Coulson was a little surprised the medical staff had approved him being given metal utensils; protocol for anyone ranked over threat level eta was to limit them to disposable plastics.

He was grateful, though. After everything the kid had been through, he didn’t deserve to be treated like a prisoner.

“I figured you could use some company,” Coulson answered lightly, “Medical can get a bit lonely.”

Grayson didn’t answer but his fingers made an aborted twitching motion and the spoon clattered against the bowl. He swallowed and for a few seconds it seemed like he was about to say something. But the moment passed and he went back to eating. Coulson turned back to his paperwork, keeping one ear tuned in case Grayson changed his mind.

It was barely five minutes before Grayson spoke.

“Aren’t you going to grill me for information?” 

“Absolutely not,” Coulson answered firmly. Grayson blinked and shock was the first full emotion he’d seen on the kid’s face that wasn’t fear.

“What?” the kid asked, looking dumbfounded, “You don’t have any questions?”

“I’m sure you’re in possession of a lot of information that SHIELD would like to know. But under no circumstances is any personnel permitted to ask you for any of it. Richard—”

“Don’t call me that!” the kid jumped in, holding his hands up to soften the words, “Please.”

“What would you like to be called?” Coulson asked gently.

“Grayson is fine. Or, just Gray?”

“Okay, Gray. I want you to understand that your SHIELD protection is not conditional. You do not owe us any information or services in exchange for your safety.”

Grayson didn’t look like he really believed Coulson, but he nodded anyways.

“So what happens now?” Grayson asked, looking unsure.

“Since you’re a minor, your custody has been temporarily granted to the agency. Usually, in cases where an operation results in the rescue of displaced minors, we typically provide short-term housing, meals and counseling while our case workers arrange permanent placements. For abducted minors, our priority is normally to reunite them with their families.”

Grayson stiffened, his eyes widening in fear but Coulson was already holding up a hand to cut off the worry.

“I made you a promise, Gray,” Coulson started, “There is no official record of your rescue, and although I do have some questions, you have my word that Wayne will never find out you were ever here. You are currently in SHIELD's protective custody for the indeterminate future.”

Gray nodded. Some of the tension in his back bled away, his posture slouching to something Coulson wouldn’t have thought him capable of a week prior.

“He’s a good dad,” Grayson said quietly. His eyes were welling up with tears and the metal spoon in his hand was getting mangled by the force of his grip. “I miss him—all of them—but if he knows I’m here then he’ll come and then Slade will—”

He cut himself off with a hand over his mouth. The twisted lump of metal that had once been a spoon clattered against the table. Coulson took the liberty of discreetly removing it before the kid noticed what he’d done and got worried about accidental destruction of property.

“Your father has been trying very hard to find you these last few months,” Coulson said quietly. He didn’t know if it would make any difference, but Coulson had dealt with enough abductions in his life that he could see how desperately the kid just wanted to go home. “He has an exceptionally large pool of resources; with SHIELD’s guidance, we could help him put together a security force capable of protecting both you and your family.”

The kid barked out a laugh that sounded like he’d swallowed broken glass.

“Nothing works forever,” Grayson said in a voice that left no room for doubt, “When Slade finds me, he’s going to hurt me for leaving again. But as long as I stay away from them, he’ll leave them out of it.”

“Wilson is not going to find you.”

Grayson gave him a despondent smile.

“This isn’t a rescue, Coulson. I wish it was, but… this is just… I want to be away from him as long as I can until he comes back for me and it starts all over again.”

There was nothing to say to that.

“You should get some rest,” Coulson said as he stood up. “The doctors are happy with your progress, if you keep it up, they’ll be releasing you in a day or so.”

“The council is not happy,” Fury started as soon as Coulson entered his office.

“When are they ever, sir?” Coulson returned, taking his usual seat across from Fury’s desk. Fury nodded to concede the point. Goose trotted out from under Fury’s chair and jumped up on Coulson’s lap, headbutting Coulson’s hand and demanding to be pet. Coulson obliged, scratching under the cat-shaped alien’s chin and behind his ears the way Goose loved.

“The situation in Nanda Parbat is stable; al Ghul is focused on retaining his power base and with a few notable exceptions, his followers are being well-treated and the local populace considers themselves more or less unaffected by DEMON’s stranglehold over the region,” Coulson reported.

“Except…” the director prompted, and Coulson sighed.

“Except that we were not able to confirm why Deathstroke was present in Nanda Parbat in the first place,” Coulson answered.

And of course, Fury had to go ahead and say what Coulson didn’t want to admit.

“Then there’s a possibility that Grayson was a plant. And you’ve apparently gone ahead and promised him that he won’t be questioned.”

Coulson scowled, his hand tensing. Goose opened one eye and let out a frustrated mrowl, prompting Coulson to resume petting him or risk upsetting the alien.

“If Deathstroke orchestrated this situation to get the kid inside SHIELD then what good would questioning him do? As long as you suspect him, any information he might have would be suspect as well. And in the case that Grayson is just a kid that has spent the last year of his life being tortured by Interpol’s most wanted, then I would just as well skip the step where we put him through any more misery.”

“Not grilling him is one thing,” Fury snapped, “What you’re suggesting is another thing entirely. He’s not Romanoff.”

“You had your suspicions about Romanoff,” Coulson reminded out sharply. Fury took a deep breath.

“Romanoff was a very different case. And she has more than proven herself.”

“Doesn’t he deserve that chance too?”

“Grayson is not an agent. He’s a minor in protective custody until we figure out a way to deal with that motherfucker Wilson.”

“And how is that going?” Coulson demanded, the first hints of anger leaking into his voice. “The kid is positive Wilson is coming back for him. From what he’s said, this isn’t the first time Grayson has managed to slip away.”

Fury scowled. He sat down in his desk, fingers tightly interlocked.

“He’s in the wind. Our sources in the area reported that following your escape, Wilson attempted to kill the guards that failed to stop you and al Ghul personally intervened. There was a very ugly, very loud confrontation and al Ghul had Wilson cast out. Of course, he seems to have disappeared in between takeoff and landing.”

“So it seems like Grayson’s concern is justified.”

“It would seem,” Fury agreed. The twitch in the man’s single eye revealed exactly how much he hated being outmaneuvered.

“So what are our options?” Coulson asked.

“We could put him in witness protection and allocate a branch of IT to run constant surveillance and interference to make sure he’s never recognized, running the risk of Wilson killing innocent civilians if his location is discovered.”

“Which is not an option.”

“No, it isn’t. Which brings us back to square one.”

“…Not quite.”

Fury looked up at him with an unimpressed eye. He made an impatient gesture with his hand, practically demanding Coulson to get on with it.

“There is the other thing,” Coulson said after a long moment of trying to decide whether or not to say it.

“What ‘other thing’ would that be?”

“Have you had a chance to look at his medical report, sir?”

“Concussion, six broken bones, deflated lung, fractured tibia,” the Director listed off, “Not pretty but nothing life-threatening. Unless I’m missing something?”

“Did you look at his blood work?”

“The tox screen was negative.”

“It was. But they found something else.”

“Well?” Fury prompted when Coulson didn’t continue.

Coulson reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file. He passed Fury a stack of chemical analysis sheets; Nuclear Magnetic Resonance scans, Infrared Spectroscopy readings, Ultraviolet Spectrum Visibility analyses, Plane Polarization Chirality data, and a set of ultra-high resolution electron microscope images of the blood samples they’d taken.

Fury glanced down at the files, raising an eyebrow at the graphs and assortment of readings and spectra and looked back at Coulson with an unimpressed expression.

“Do I look like a damn chemist?” the director demanded.

“There was an irregularity that kept appearing in his blood work. We had a sample taken to the labs for extensive analysis and Agent Fitz noted some striking similarities to… data collected from a very old blood sample. He made some notes for you,” Coulson summarized. The unimpressed look on Fury’s face turned suspicious.

“How old?”

“Oh about… seventy years or so.”

Fury’s eye widened. He looked down at the charts again, flipping through them with laser focus as he read the scientist’s notes. Coulson knew by the way Fury’s eyebrows rose that he’d seen the note reading, “No peak matching from external literature review. One match confirmed in SHIELD database; see S. Rogers, 1944.”

“It’s the serum?”

Coulson nodded.

“It’s not an exact match, but it looks like the closest anyone’s gotten since… well, Rogers.”

“The kid’s a goddamn supersoldier,” Fury realized.

Coulson passed him the mangled spoon.

“Grayson didn’t even seem to notice,” Coulson said as Fury inspected the damage. “What Wilson did should’ve killed him and less than a day later, he was walking around on his own.”

“If this is accurate…”

Coulson could see the wheels turning in the Director’s head. He was right; the instant Fury had seen the serum, the chance of letting the kid out of his direct sight was gone. And from what Coulson had seen, the last thing the kid wanted was to be coddled. Wilson had evaded every law enforcement agency in the country, and most of the agencies outside it, for almost two years. SHIELD was the best there was, but Wilson somehow managed to slip their surveillance in the span of a few days.

Coulson had a feeling that if anyone was going to be able to catch him, it was Grayson. And after everything the man had done to him, he deserved that chance.

“Then Wilson is going to be back for him. And if this gets out, he won’t be the only one.”

“Richard Grayson,” Fury announced as he entered the room. The kid flinched, his back straightening and his posture smoothing itself into a picture-perfect military stance at the clear recognition of authority. “My name is Nick Fury.”

Grayson met Fury’s eye and barely stopped himself from flinching, but he couldn’t stop the tremor that ran down his spine.

“At ease, kid.”

The kid didn’t move until Fury raised an eyebrow and nodded firmly at him, and slowly, the child soldier allowed himself to relax.

“That’s better. As Agent Coulson was just informing you, you are not under arrest. But given that you have no intentions of allowing us to bring you back to your foster family and the fact that you are an extremely high-profile individual, we do have a bit of an issue regarding your situation.”

Fury paced the room as he spoke, mindful of the careful gaze Grayson had on him.

“You are officially in SHIELD's protective custody and all records of your rescue have been sealed and placed under maximum security clearance. No one will ever know that you are or were ever here, so long as that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Grayson breathed in sharply, his hands twisting together, “They can’t know I’m here, no one can. Coulson promised—”

“He did,” Fury agreed, “Which leaves us with a fairly limited number of options.”

Grayson listened in rapt attention as Fury explained exactly what those options were, detailing what the various forms of protective custody would entail and the unfortunately bleak timeline they were looking at for the manhunt for Wilson. As both he and Coulson had suspected, Grayson seemed entirely uninterested in the idea of being given a false identity and sent into protective custody to wait.  

“Of course, there’s another option,” Fury said careful, watching Grayson try and fail to hide the misery at the thought of being hidden away somewhere, just waiting for the day when SHIELD would track Wilson down without any way to help.

“What is it?”

“You might call it an employment opportunity.”

Grayson blinked. He stared at Fury for a few seconds in incomprehensible confusion. Then…

“Are you serious?”

“We do have a bit of precedent for this. I will warn you, your actions will be under scrutiny but given your situation, you will be able to assist in the efforts to track Wilson.”

“You’d let me help?” Grayson sounded stunned.

“Your assistance would be welcomed, in whatever capacity you’re willing to give it,” Fury answered.

“Then I want that,” his hands tightened into fists and he nodded firmly, “If there’s something I can do, I can’t just sit around and wait for him to catch up to me. I want to help.”

“Good. In that case,” Fury held out his hand and the kid only hesitated for a second before shaking it, “Jr. Agent Gray, welcome to SHIELD.”

Chapter Text

“They put you in an on-call dorm?” Barton asked, raising an eyebrow. Gray shrugged. The kid looked too tired to be bothered with it, and Barton was struck with the sudden urge to tuck the kid into bed and read him a bedtime story. Grayson was fourteen, only two years older than Cooper and the thought of what the kid had been through filled Clint with the kind of primordial rage he’d only ever felt when his own kids had been in danger.

But as much as Barton’s instincts as a father were screaming at him, Gray deserved to be treated with dignity. He was an enemy operative who’d defected of his own volition, and Barton was determined to treat him with the same respect he’d shown Romanoff in her early days.

“I didn’t want an apartment,” Gray said quietly. It took Barton a second to realize he was answering the question he’d asked. “It’s too empty.”

Barton couldn’t stop the grimace that twisted onto his face.

“You’ve spent a lot of time alone, huh?”

Gray flinched and turned away. His arms were wrapped around his stomach defensively as he sat on the bed and refused to look back at Barton.

“I forgot you’re all spies here. Am I just going to be under constant surveillance the whole time?”

“What?” Barton asked, “No! Absolutely not, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Well for one thing, I’m one of the only agents with the clearance for Operation Sunshine.”

The kid shrugged again.

“Well, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Barton nodded, for lack of anything better to say.

“Is that all you came here for?” Grayson finally turned around to look at him, and the tension was mostly gone even if there was still a clear wall of caution separating them.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like a campus tour?”

Grayson stared at him.

“Is that allowed?” the kid asked. Now it was Barton’s turn to shrug.

“You’re a junior agent now, right? That puts you at level two clearance right off the bat,” Clint shot the kid the kind of winning grin that always made Nat roll her eyes and whack him in the arm. “You might as well take advantage of that.”

“Okay.”

The on-call dorms were located on the third floor close to the upper deck helipads so agents could ship out on a moment’s notice. Barton started the tour with the rec room just around the corner, figuring that the kid had probably wandered through there already. The group of level fives playing Texas Hold’em gave Barton a big greeting and invited him to join the game; they made an attempt to pretend they weren’t just fishing for information about the junior agent that had suddenly joined the ranks but Barton wasn’t fooled. And judging from the overly-blank expression on Gray’s face, neither was he.

The next stop was the upper helipad, and Barton derailed his plan to go immediately to the top floors in favor of showing the kid SHIELD’s outdoor facilities, nestled safely away in the center of the compound to protect from prying eyes. Barton waited patiently as the kid stood in the center of the obstacle course, his eyes closed and his hair blowing in the wind. It was damn cold outside but Barton was more distracted by squashing down the fury at what Gray had been through if a little bit of fresh air was enough to stop him in his tracks.

Finally, Gray opened his eyes and gave Barton a sheepish smile.

“Back inside?”

“We can stay,” Barton answered casually. Gray shook his head.

“I want to see the rest of it.”

Barton took him to the upper levels, pointing out important spots like Fury’s office, the executive cafeteria (which a level seven like himself had access to, thank you very much), the best coffee machine in the building, the various training facilities, and his favorite spot, the archery range. Gray gave a tight smile that was barely more than a grimace when Barton suggested they do some target practice and Barton was good enough at reading people to know that the kid did not want to shoot a bow and arrow.

Instead, he took Gray to the R&AD (Research and Accelerated Development) Labs. Coulson was in the main lab, listening with a poorly hidden smile on his face as Fitz raved about his newest discovery, with Simmons chiming in every other beat to pepper in extra details.

Coulson was quick to make introductions and the scientists were shockingly quick to accept the fact that the kid standing in the middle of their top-secret laboratory was actually an agent. Honestly, Barton wasn’t sure who was more excited to tell Gray about every single invention in the place; Fitz, Simmons, or the kid himself. All three of them looked like kids in a candy shop. Barton almost felt bad when Coulson suggested they continue with the tour after almost an hour of Fitz-Simmons parading Gray through the various pieces of equipment and tech. Almost. But Barton’s eyes were glazing over and even Coulson’s placid expression had become a little bit strained.

With promises to come back as soon as possible to see the rest of the lab, Gray allowed Barton to lead him back into the hallway. Coulson decided to accompany them on the tour (and Barton honestly couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted to check in on Gray or if he just couldn’t stomach the thought of spending another second in the lab).

Most of the tour from that point on was offices, joint workspaces, and the entire Accounting department. So it wasn’t really a surprise that the kid’s mind started to wander. But it was hilarious when Gray suddenly asked, “Why Operation Sunshine?” as they were passing through an empty cube farm. Coulson and Barton looked at each other. Or, more accurately, Coulson froze and Barton shot him a shit-eating grin.

“Most mission names are chosen at random—” Coulson began but he cut off when Barton snorted.

“Don’t listen to him,” Barton laughed, “Fury picked it because Coulson said that when he tracks down Wilson, he’s gonna shoot him where the sun don’t shine.”

A horrified laugh escaped the kid’s mouth and his eyes were wide like he didn’t know whether to start laughing or crying.

“I told Fury it was inappropriate—” Coulson tried to say but this time the kid interrupted with a laugh.

“No, I like it. And here I thought Director Fury didn’t have a sense of humor. Operation Sunshine, huh?”

“Operation Sunshine,” Barton repeated with a matching grin.

“Agent Rumlow, this is Jr. Agent Gray,” Coulson introduced. Rumlow wrapped the towel around his neck and held out a sweat-soaked hand for the kid to shake. To his credit, Gray didn’t hesitate before accepting it. With how hard he’d fought Coulson to be allowed to do combat training, he wasn’t surprised that Gray was trying his best to make a good impression.

“Good grip,” Rumlow praised. The kid offered him a sort of half-smile and Rumlow turned back to Coulson. “I heard you brought a new stray in, but I gotta say, he’s shorter than I was expecting.”

“Size isn’t a guarantee of skill,” Coulson reminded him.

“You say that, but I wouldn’t want to fight the Hulk,” Rumlow shot back before turning his attention back to Gray. “Alright, shortstack, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Coulson glanced over to see Gray’s mouth was pressed together tightly, his eyes narrowed a little bit too much. Privately, he thought to himself that Gray had caught on quickly. Usually it took more than five minutes for people to decide Rumlow was a dick.

Coulson was preparing himself to intervene before things got messy, but Gray just let out a breath and the irritation flooded away. He let Rumlow direct him over to the sparring mat and ran through the warmup exercises without a word of protest, and Coulson kept a close eye on the two of them the whole time. But even when they moved into active drills, everything was going smoothly. Coulson’s instincts were telling him to stay, but his watch was telling him that he was already twenty minutes late to a high priority meeting and he didn’t have time to sit here and supervise a routine training session.

He waited another twenty minutes but Gray was following Rumlow from one sparring drill to another without a problem and finally Coulson couldn’t justify staying any longer. Coulson left Gray with Rumlow in the training room full of agents and headed for his meeting.

Later, he would deeply regret that choice. Because once Rumlow had tired the kid out with hours’ worth of sparring drills, he’d dropped him on the center of the mat in front of thirty other agents and challenged the kid to a full contact spar. He’d probably intended to humiliate the kid, and instead Deathstroke’s apprentice had knocked Rumlow on his ass in front of a room full of laughing agents.

Rumlow—to the surprise of no one—was a sore loser.

Barton only hesitated once before knocking on the door. There was no answer but Barton just readjusted his grip on the cylinder in his hands and kept waiting. He’d checked with Coulson and the kid wasn’t scheduled to be anywhere; there was a chance he was out exploring headquarters, but after the rough week he’d had, Barton was willing to bet the kid would need to be pried out of his room with a crowbar.

After a few minutes, Barton knocked again and called out, “You got two minutes?”

Sure enough, the door unlocked and the kid slowly pushed it open. He looked exhausted and Clint squashed down every single one of his paternal instincts and opted for a simple nod.

The kid didn’t say anything; his eyes scanned across the hallway behind Barton and flicked up to the security cameras they both knew were just around the corner before inspecting Barton for any hidden weapons and finally settling on the tube he was holding.

“Mind if I come in?” Barton asked. He was reasonably sure no one was watching, but he knew the kid wouldn’t take well to discussing personal matters out in the open. Gray stiffened, his fingers wrapping around the door and squeezing like they were about to slam it shut. The kid already didn’t trust him and Rumlow’s tantrum had put him even more on edge. “Coulson filled me in on what happened with Rumlow.”

Gray stiffened.

“He’s an asshole, kid, whatever he said is complete bullshit. You just have to shake it off.”

“Easy for you to say,” Gray mumbled, wrapping his arms tight around his chest. That was still progress though; now he wasn’t actively blocking the door.

“That’s why I thought you could use a distraction. Can I?” Barton gestured into the room and this time Gray nodded. He stepped aside to let Barton in and closed the door behind him.

“You grew up in the circus, right?”

Gray froze. He swallowed heavily and it was a long time before he nodded.

Barton offered him the tube.

“Thought you could use something to decorate besides the motivational posters they keep around for the cube farms.”

The kid hesitantly accepted Barton’s offering, pulling the end cap off the tube and sliding the paper cylinder out. He untied the string holding it together and the poster unfurled on its own.

Gray’s jaw dropped open. His head shot up to fix Barton with a suspicious glare.

“Where did you get this?!” he demanded, something a little too tight and panicked in his voice.

“A friend of mine from back in the day made posters for all the big shows, he put out some feelers and word got back to someone at Haly’s.”

It was crystal clear from the look on the kid’s face that he didn’t believe him so Barton added, “I was in a show for a while, too. Sharpshooter.”

The suspicious look on Grayson’s face turned to surprise.

“Best shot you’ve ever seen with a bow and arrow,” Barton bragged, offering the kid his best conspiratorial grin. The ghost of a smile appeared on Gray’s face as he shrugged.

“I don’t know, I’ve met Green Arrow,” the kid paused, the smile slipping off his face, “I punched him in the face.”

Barton hid his wince of sympathy in favor of casually shrugging.

“It happens,” he said as lightly as he could. He and Nat had both gone hunting for SHIELD's files on Grayson as soon as they’d made it back to HQ with Coulson and their new charge in tow, and if Barton remembered correctly, the run-in with Green Arrow had been Renegade’s very first appearance. It was shit luck that the first time Wilson forced him into the field, the kid had to go toe-to-toe with a member of the Justice League. Of course, Wilson might have done it on purpose. Deliberately botched the kid’s mission just to attract attention and show off his latest project.

The kid was still staring at the poster and Barton looked away to give him a little privacy.

“Thank you,” Gray said finally, clutching the extremely limited edition Flying Grayson’s poster tight to his chest.

“Hey, us circus brats have to stick together.”

“Nice office.”

Romanoff glanced over her shoulder at the kid standing in the doorway. His hands were tucked into the front pocket of his sweatshirt like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Romanoff smirked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Is that your idea of small talk?”

Gray didn’t laugh but the corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile and Romanoff counted it as a win. She pushed back from her desk in the ridiculous shared office space that Coulson insisted she use for filing reports and filling out paperwork and headed for the door.

The kid followed her down the hall like a lost duckling. Nat scowled (making sure the kid couldn’t see it). She was supervising him today for the sole reason that Barton and Coulson were both currently out on active assignments. Gray wasn’t her responsibility and just because he’d been rescued from a horrible situation didn’t mean he was trustworthy. Getting attached to him was a mistake and she knew it.

“I’m from Gotham,” Gray said suddenly as the two of them walked down the hallway towards the elevator, “My idea of small talk is, ‘Did you get caught in the Scarecrow’s fear-toxin blast this weekend?’”

Nat raised an eyebrow.

“That happens a lot?”

Grayson’s face twisted in befuddlement.

“You’re SHIELD, you have to know about our Rogue gallery. I mean, Gotham’s. It’s constant. Some of them even have a schedule. Dr. Freeze comes out blasting every Fourth of July like clockwork.”

The elevator dinged as the doors opened and they both stepped inside.

“And despite that, people still choose to live in that hellhole,” Romanoff commented mildly. Gray grinned.

“Hey! It’s our hellhole, alright?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Romanoff said as she swiped her badge and pressed the button to take them to the private training facilities reserved for level six and above. Gray crossed his arms and leaned back against the glass walls. Once the doors closed and the elevator began to rise, she turned to look at him.

“How’s the search going?”

Gray frowned and all the tension she’d managed to break through began to creep back in.

“Everything I know is useless,” he answered tightly. Romanoff frowned and waited for him to keep going. Gray’s arms tightened until he was practically hugging his stomach and his face was pale. “Slade knows everything I know and he knows Coulson was SHIELD. so he’s not going to… all the bases we used, the safehouses, the contacts, he’s not going to use them again. They’re all burned. I’ve just been sending analysts running in circles.”

He sounded so distraught that Romanoff couldn’t help herself.

“You know they’re not interested in your intel,” she reminded him, “You know how he thinks. How he acts. You may be able to predict how he’ll act when he resurfaces. All of that is much more valuable than names and addresses.”

Gray watched her quietly for a couple of seconds. Then he gave her a tight grin, just in time for the elevator to arrive at their floor.

“Thanks.”

“A doubleshot espresso and a hot chocolate for Sharon?” the barista called out, setting two cups on the counter. Sharon grabbed the drinks and handed Gray his coffee.

“How do you not drink coffee?” Gray asked incredulously as she sipped her hot chocolate. Sharon shrugged, shifting the bag with the muffins higher up her arm so the handle rested in the crook of her elbow. Blue Rock’s muffins were the best in the city, which made the risk of escorting the junior agent off campus even more worth it. She didn’t know where Coulson had found him, but his latest stray was fitting right in.

“Don’t you know it’s addictive?” Sharon shot back. Gray snorted, a smirk crossing his face.

“I think I’ve been through worse than a caffeine addiction,” he said dryly and Sharon coughed on her drink, “I’ll deal with it.”

“That was a low blow,” Sharon reminded him, trying not to think about how the kid had spent four days on a ventilator after having his lung reinflated with six broken bones set in casts.

“It’s true though.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Sharon agreed. Gray held the door open for her and she picked an empty table on the patio in front of the coffee shop. The two of them sat there, soaking up the humidity and warmth of an unexpectedly beautiful day in the D.C. swamp. The shopping bags full off Gray’s new clothes were on the ground under the table, and the kid kept glancing down at them, an excited shine in his eyes that Sharon hadn’t seen before. Sharon had never seen him look as happy as he did when Coulson told him Fury had given permission for the agent to go out, and he’d practically fallen over himself to pay with his new SHIELD-issued credit card before Sharon had the chance to.

She’d been one of the many agents pretending not to eavesdrop when Coulson explained to the kid that as a Junior Agent, he counted as a full-time employee and as a dependent of the agency. And she hadn’t missed the smugness on his face that meant the sneaky bastard had managed to find a way to get the kid a full pay check on top of the stipend for rooming and personal expenses.

Whatever had happened on Coulson’s last mission, the kid had gotten his claws into the senior agent. Sharon hadn’t seen him so protective over anyone since Romanoff. Not that she blamed him; she would’ve been a fucking terrible spy if she’d somehow managed to miss the year and a half of news coverage over the Wayne kidnapping. Not to mention that there was some serious shit going on given that every single employee of SHIELD had been ordered to refer to their new refugee as “Agent Gray” on pain of federal prison, demotion, or worst of all, being assigned a desk job in Accounting.

The two of them chatted for a while, exchanging office gossip and enjoying the time away from the office when Sharon stiffened suddenly.

“What?” Gray asked, his back tensing. The relaxed teenager was gone, replaced by wariness.  He hadn’t been allowed to leave SHIELD headquarters since Coulson brought him in, and Sharon could tell he was thinking about the fact that if something went wrong, he was going to be stuck inside again for a long time.

“We’re being watched.”

“By who?”

“Not sure,” Sharon answered, keeping her voice casual and her body language relaxed. There was no point in tipping off their surveillance that they’d been noticed. “But we’re not taking any chances.”

She pressed the button on her watch that activated the emergency beacon. In seconds, a van pulled up to the curb and a team of agents piled out.

“Get us back to headquarters,” she ordered to the driver. He nodded, waving Gray into the van as one of the agents put her hand on the kid’s arm to help him inside. “The rest of you, sweep the area.”

“Yes ma’am,” the agent who’d helped Gray into the van nodded, signaling her squad to move out.

Once the van was out of sight, that same agent peeled off from the group, turning left down an alley and slipping away.

On the far side of the alley, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb, and the agent slipped seamlessly into the backseat next to a nondescript-looking woman. The car pulled off and the agent pulled off her standard issue helmet.

“Well?” Lex Luthor asked impatiently.

“The package was delivered,” Cheshire answered loftily. She leaned back and draped an arm over the seat cushions, her fingers grazing the other woman’s shoulder. “The kid’s in position and ready to start setting the board.”

“Excellent,” Lex grinned. He tapped his knuckles on the barrier separating them from the driver and the car pulled to a stop.

“Mercy, I expect you back at the hotel in two hours,” he instructed.

“Absolutely, Mr. Luthor,” his bodyguard nodded.

“I can work with that,” Cheshire purred, sliding her hand up Mercy’s thigh. Luthor rolled his eyes and swiftly exited the vehicle.

Several weeks later

“Well, the good news is the kid is great at making friends,” Barton reported, “He’s got all the level one and two’s wrapped around his little finger.”

“And the bad news?” Fury prompted.

“It’s not working. He’s bored as an intern, Rumlow’s a bad loser and he’ll bite anyone’s head off if they try to take the combat training gig away from him, and he’s not cleared to go on missions,” Coulson reported.

“So clear him for missions,” Barton suggested, “The kid’s going stir-crazy and I don’t blame him.”

Fury fixed the agent with a steely-eyed stare.

“Are you seriously suggesting that I send a minor in SHIELD’s protection out into the field where he’ll instantly be a target, not only for his original captor but for anyone and everyone who has ever heard the words ‘super-serum’?”

“Well, not when you say it like that,” Barton sighed.

“Fortunately, I have another idea.” Fury said, pulling out a file from desk. Coulson just stared.

“Really?” Barton asked, looking between the innocuous-looking file and a shell-shocked Coulson.

“It’ll give them both something to do. Besides, Cap could use to shear up his combat forms, and Grayson needs someone who can put up a fight.”

“Uh, Director Fury? You wanted to see me?”

“Grayson, come in,” the kid didn’t hesitate like so many of the younger hires did. Fury would have said it spoke to the boy’s confidence if he didn’t know exactly how forcefully ‘follow orders’ had been beaten into him. “Have a seat, if you like.”

Grayson glanced at the chair across from him, took in the sightlines and the closed door before shaking his head.

“I’ll stand.”

“Fine.” He decided against standing as well. “How are you doing?”

“I…am I in trouble or is this a status update?”

“Status update.” Fury reassured him.

“Oh. Why are you— I mean, I’m doing fine.”

“You’re allowed to ask questions.” Fury reminded him, keeping his tone gentle. Grayson’s face turned red, but he forced his expression to stay neutral.

“I was going to ask why you’re doing my status update.”

“Special circumstances. I hear that you’re doing a very good job with Human Services, but I also hear that you’re miserable doing office work.”

“I’m not—is that a cat?” Grayson got distracted. Fury turned to see that yes, Goose had slunk around the back of the desk and was staring up at the kid curiously.

“Yes it is. Goose, this is Jr. Agent Grayson. Be nice please.” Goose yawned at him, flopping onto his back and rolling so his stomach was exposed. “Grayson, be careful if you say hello and make sure you respect his space.”

Grayson reached out hesitantly, letting the ‘cat’ sniff his fingers before gently petting the top of his head.

“Tell me, what do you know about Captain America?”

Grayson looked up. “I asked Coulson about him once.”

“Then you know everything I could possibly have to tell you?”

“Just about.”

“Okay. So you know that Captain Steven Grant Rogers crashed into the Artic Ocean on January 19^th, 1945, and was never heard from again.”

“He wasn’t officially declared dead until 1947 by Agent Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter, who became the founder of SHIELD five years later.”

“Right. So here’s something you might not have known. Howard Stark, the other founder of SHIELD, was close friends with both Peggy and Steve during the war.”

“Tony Stark’s dad?”

“The very same. Howard spent forty-five years funding research missions to the Arctic Circle in order to excavate and recover Rogers’ body.”

“Which Tony Stark prevented from being defunded when Obediah Stane took over as CEO.”

“Yes.” Fury didn’t bother to ask where he’d found that out from. “When was the last mission?”

“Uh… I have no idea.”

“The last mission concluded two months ago. There won’t be another.”

“What? Stark’s defunding them?”

“No.”

“They found him?”

“They found him. Alive.”

It didn’t even take a full second for Grayson’s jaw to drop.

“What?!”

Fury nodded.

“The super-soldier serum allowed his body to enter a dormant state, similar to the idea of cryogenic stasis. Our scientists assisted in the process to defrost him, and he was given to SHIELD protection.”

“Captain America is alive?”

“Yes. But he’s Steve Rogers, a twenty-six-year-old army vet who has no idea what to do with himself.”

Grayson rolled his eyes when he realized why the director was telling him all this. Fury resisted the urge to smirk.

“If you don’t want this assignment, I’ll gladly tell Coulson you passed on the opportunity to be Captain America’s handler.”

“His handler?”

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s a decommissioned officer with four years of field experience. You’re an active-duty agent, with how many years of combat experience?”

“One.”

“Bullshit. How many years, Grayson?”

Grayson hesitated for a second and then gave in.

“Seven.”

“That’s more like it,” Fury paused, “You have any leadership experience?”

Grayson hesitated.

“We… ran a field simulation once. I took over when the ops leader died.”

“How did you do?”

“We all died. After that, I wasn’t crazy about being team leader.”

“Must’ve been some field simulation.”

Grayson’s hands tightened into fists and Fury would’ve put money on the fact that the kid would rather spend a month as Rumlow’s training dummy than think about whatever horrific things had happened during the simulation.

“The good news for you is that Rogers isn’t cleared for field work, so the two of you will have plenty of time to get used to each other until then. Any questions, comments, concerns?” Fury asked, putting actual effort into making the words sincere. For anyone else, the Director would never be bothered with something as trivial as an agent disliking their assignment, but anyone as traumatized as Grayson was another case entirely.

“You wouldn’t really tell Coulson if I said no, would you?” the kid asked. Fury frowned.

“Kid, I’m a secret agent. I’m not evil.”

Chapter Text

“Rogers, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Fury announced as he pushed through the doors to the rundown gym like he owned the place. Which he probably did, considering how tight of a leash SHIELD had him on.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, not pausing the barrage of blows he was laying out on the punching bag. A quick eight-punch combo ending with a killer left hook that sent the bag flying backwards and smashing apart against the wall with a spray of sand.

“I figured you could use a break from breaking my shit, so I found you someone who can keep up with you. Steve Rogers, meet Agent Gray.”

Steve let his hands drop from the fighting stance, breathing heavily as he wiped his forehead and turned to look at the Director. At first, he couldn’t see who Fury was talking about. Then he noticed the teenager wearing a gray t-shirt and black sweatpants that were both emblazoned with the SHIELD logo. The kid was short, with black hair neatly cut to military regulation and bright blue eyes that were looking everywhere except at Steve.

For a second, Steve just stared. What the hell was Fury trying to pull here?

“Uh… hi?” Steve offered when neither of them said anything. The kid didn’t acknowledge him but Fury smirked.

“Agent Gray is your new handler,” he announced. Steve blinked.

“My what?” Steve asked, positive he’d misheard.

“Your handler, Rogers. From now on, he’s in charge of you.”

Steve blinked. The kid was still just staring around the gym, taking in the piles of destroyed punching bags and the holes in the wall and finally settled on the boxing ring. He hadn’t given Steve any more than a passing glance.

“Is this a joke?” Steve demanded. He knew he was probably being rude but Fury had absolutely started it by trying to prank him. And okay, maybe he hadn’t been the most cooperative with SHIELD’s attempts to acclimate him to the new century but he didn’t think Fury was floundering for what to do with him so badly he’d resort to… whatever this was. This, of course, referring to the teenager who’d finally stopped staring around the room and was looking up at the ceiling with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.

Fury snorted.

“This is me making the best of two very complicated situations,” he answered but he was clearly enjoying himself as he grabbed one of the folding chairs leaning against the wall and set it down so he had a good view of the boxing ring, “I know you’re going stir-crazy, you’ll enjoy having an ass to beat down.”

“Fury!” Steve snapped, “I’m not going to fight a kid—”

“I was talking to Agent Gray, Rogers.”

Steve closed his mouth and tried not to look as confused as he felt. Then he noticed the kid was nowhere to be seen, and Steve turned around sharply to find him standing in the center of the boxing ring and stretching out his arms.

“Fury—” Steve started.

“Get your ass in the ring,” Fury cut him off.

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was a punishment for breaking all the punching bags, Fury was just getting back at him. He wasn’t actually going to make Steve fight a teenager.

The kid was watching with wary eyes as Steve climbed into the ring.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Steve said quietly. The kid actually grinned at that, the apprehension on his face fading into amusement.

“I know,” he answered.

Fury leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest smugly.

“Go easy on him,” he called.

“No promises,” Gray answered before Steve could say anything.

Steve settled into a fighting stance, waiting for the kid to do the same. But the kid just stood there watching him. Finally, Steve sighed.

“You should put your hands up,” he said. The kid raised an eyebrow but lifted his fists in a very sloppy impression of a ready stance. Steve sighed again. Might as well get this over with so Fury would leave him alone.

Steve threw a gentle punch and the kid made no effort to move out of the way. He just let Steve’s fist push him backwards a few steps. Steve dropped his hands and turned on Fury.

“This is ridiculous!” he snapped.

“Watch your left,” Fury countered evenly. Before Steve could even turn his head, something barreled into his side and nearly knocked him off his feet. Steve stumbled back, turning as he brought his hands up to protect himself.

The kid was smirking at him, his head tilted to the side.

“Fury told me you’d put up a fight,” he said, his voice dripping with challenge. Steve shot him an incredulous look that turned into the face Bucky used to call the “someone just told Steve Rogers to back down but he won’t because he’s a dumbass” face. For better or for worse (always for the worse, if anyone asked for Bucky’s opinion), Steve had never backed down from a challenge.  

“Alright, kid, let’s do this,” Steve answered. The kid shot him a grin that was as cocky as it was taunting and suddenly, it didn’t seem important that his opponent was a kid half Steve’s size.

He threw another punch, this time much harder. The kid moved faster than Steve had ever seen anyone move before and he didn’t have time to block before the kid’s hand struck his elbow and landed three quick blows on his abdomen. Steve let out a choked breath as the wind got knocked out of him, his arm flailing out as the muscles around his elbow spasmed.

The next thing he knew, Steve was flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He blinked as the sound of Fury’s laughter echoed through the old gym.

“How did you do that?” he wheezed. The ceiling tiles wobbled for a few seconds before righting themselves. Instead of answering, the kid held out a hand and easily pulled Steve back to his feet.

“You didn’t have your hands up,” Gray answered, something mischievous behind the otherwise bland look on his face. Steve dropped into a ready stance and gestured at the kid, suddenly a lot more invested in paying attention.

“Go again,” Steve demanded.

Gray raised an eyebrow.

“You sure?”

“Again.”

Steve was ready for the first hit and he felt a surge of confidence when he blocked the next three punches to his abdomen. But when he shifted his weight for a cross, the kid suddenly dropped and swept his leg out, using Steve’s already powerful momentum to bowl his legs out from under him.

Steve hit the mat even harder this time.

“And Canary’s right again.”

Gray’s voice was so quiet Steve could barely hear it but when he looked up, there was a full-fledged smile on the kid’s face. He was enjoying himself.

And so was Steve.

The next round went a little better, until Steve threw a punch that the kid twisted away from like smoke. As Steve turned to follow him, he pointed down and said, “Don’t overbalance, you can throw a cross or you can follow me but your stance is off if you do both. That’s the second time you tried it.”

Steve shifted his right foot out and the kid nodded.

“Better.”

As they sparred, the kid kept pausing to point out adjustments and Steve was amazed how much of a difference they made. It wasn’t until the sound of metal scraping against concrete rang out through the gym that he realized he’d completely lost track of time.

Light had been trickling in through the windows when they’d arrived but by now, night had fallen. Fury cleared his throat, pushing the metal folding chair back.

“I’ll leave you in his care, then,” Fury announced. He nodded at the kid and said, “Agent Gray. Have fun with him.”

By the time they finished, Steve couldn’t count the number of times Gray knocked him on his ass.

Steve tossed the kid a towel and Gray passed him a bottle of water. Steve chugged it down and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this exhausted. Or sore. Seriously, he was hurting in places he didn’t even know he could hurt.

“Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

“It’s… a long story,” Gray said.

“How long?” Steve asked curiously. Gray shrugged casually.

“Well, if you wrote it down, it’d probably take around half a million words, a thousand pages and more than ten years to actually finish it.”

“What?” Steve blinked, feeling like he was missing the joke somewhere.

“It’s a meta joke for the readers, don’t worry about it,” Gray said dismissively before he took a drink of water from his own bottle and turned his head to look over at Steve, “What about you?”

“What about me?” Steve repeated, a little confused.

“You’re strong, fast, and you can take a punch, but you’ve never actually been trained, have you?” Gray asked.

Steve frowned.

“I had basic training,” he explained, “We did a bit of hand-to-hand but I wasn’t… that wasn’t exactly my strong suit then.”

Gray nodded like that made perfect sense.

“That was before the serum, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Gray headed back over to the mats on the floor, starting what looked like the most elaborate stretching routine Steve had ever seen. Steve was transfixed as the kid practically bent himself in half to stretch out his back. The muscles in Steve’s back were screaming just watching the kid contort himself. By the time the kid sat on the ground to stretch out his legs, Steve’s aching muscles reminded him that it was probably a good idea for him to stretch a little too.

The kid didn’t say anything as Steve joined him on the mat and the two of them stretched in comfortable silence.

“What was it like for you?” Gray's voice was quiet and the question seemed to come out of nowhere. Steve frowned, a little confused, and he pulled out of his straddle (a much less impressive one than Gray’s but Steve was still pretty proud of how flexible he was for his size) to look at the kid’s face.

“The serum?” he asked.

“No, when… I mean, I guess. But when you… changed… what did it feel like?”

Steve frowned. Plenty of people had asked him that before, but they’d all had a little too much awe behind the curiosity. The look on Gray’s face and the heaviness in his voice made Steve pause. There wasn’t any hero worship in the question. It was more… like he was confiding in Steve. Like he wanted to compare answers.

Instead of giving his usual answer—something about how he’d suddenly felt faster and stronger and knew all his senses had been heightened—he let out a breath. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to give the kid a real answer. He’d only known Gray a few hours and they’d barely said anything to each other aside from adjusting Steve’s fighting form, but something in his gut told him that the kid would understand in a way nobody else could.

“I had a lot of health problems growing up. Asthma, osteoporosis, arthritis, bad eyesight, shit hearing, you name it. I got bullied a lot, even worse because I could never… I didn’t like to see anyone get picked on. When the war started, I tried enlisting everywhere I possibly could. Every time they turned me away, I just showed up again at a different spot. I knew I could help and I couldn’t just stay safe at home when there were people out there risking their lives, not when I could do something.”

Gray’s mouth tightened into a line and Steve recognized the look on his face. He knew exactly what Steve was talking about.

“When I heard about the experiment seeking volunteers… they took me when no one else would. Peggy—she was one of the recruiters, on loan from British intelligence—she believed in me, even when I was just… me. I finally had my chance and I was desperate not to waste it. After all that, when the experiment finally happened, all I remember is that I didn’t care how much it hurt, I had to get through it so I would be able to help. And then Eskrine was shot and I chased the spy down and I didn’t have time until hours later to really think about what was different.”

“And what was different?” Gray asked.

Steve exhaled.

“It feels like I’m wearing glasses all the time. Sometimes I try to take them off and then I remember that the world just looks too sharp now. When I breathe, I expect that it’s going to be hard and it always feels wrong that it isn’t. Sometimes I get dizzy from it all; the lights and the sounds and how fast my thoughts go and the worst part is that I never lose my balance because I shouldn’t be able to just... when I look in a mirror, I still expect to see me. Instead there’s just this perfect body staring back and I can’t tell if I’m even still in there.”

Gray nodded, frowning heavily.

“Do you regret it?” he asked carefully.

“No,” Steve answered immediately, “If I made a difference, if I saved anyone because of the serum, it was worth it.”

Gray nodded, the sad look on his face not going anywhere.

“I’m… I’m glad I met you, Steve,” he admitted.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Steve returned. There was something about Gray that made him feel, well, at ease was the wrong way to describe it, especially with how thoroughly the kid had demonstrated he could take Steve out in a matter of seconds if he wanted to. But he knew that Gray was like him. And not just because he was clearly enhanced (no normal teenager could hit with enough force to knock a supersoldier off his feet like that) and not just because there was something deeply sad about the kid.

No, the feeling of relief that had settled in his chest (relief at finally having someone that could understand him) had happened the instant Steve told him that he couldn’t sit by if he could help people and Steve had seen himself reflected on the kid’s face. That was when he understood why Fury had actually brought them together.

The kid grinned, breaking Steve out of his thoughts.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Feel like dinner?” Gray asked. Steve shot him a matching grin.

“I could eat,” he said modestly, as if he wasn’t going to consume his weight’s worth in calories to make up for everything he’d burned during the most intense workout of his life. Gray snorted.

“I’m sure,” Gray teased.

Steve blinked as Gray did a backwards roll and pushed himself out of it with one hand, ending up in a one-handed handstand. While upside down, he did a one-handed push-up and somehow lowered himself into a full split, both of his legs hovering parallel to the ground. Steve’s jaw dropped at the sight.

“I’ve been an acrobat since I was born,” the kid said casually, as if he wasn’t holding himself in the most ridiculous position Steve had ever seen, watching the dumbfounded expression on Steve’s face.

“You’re not going to make me learn to do that, are you?”

The kid actually grinned.

“I don’t think Fury wants me snapping you in half,” he answered.

“I would also like to avoid that,” Steve answered, wincing as he tried to stretch out his back. He hadn’t been this sore in a long time.

“Want a ride back to your apartment?” Gray asked as he unlocked the door of a black sedan.

“How old do you have to be to drive now?” Steve returned, raising an eyebrow as Gray sat in the driver’s seat and nodded for Steve to climb in.

“You can get a permit at sixteen,” Gray answered. It took Steve a second to realize that his teenaged handler had left out a very important detail.

“Do you have a permit?”

Gray snorted.

“Relax, I’ve been driving since I was six.”

“You what?” Steve demanded, leaning forward in his seat. Gray chose that moment to start the car and take off down the road. It took a few panicked seconds for Steve to realize that Gray was in fact a very good driver.

“I grew up in a circus. Omar—he was one of the clowns—made sure everyone on the troupe knew how to drive. Part of that was to make sure that if the guy driving the clown car got sick there was always an alternate, but it kind of turned into a rite of passage.”

“How did that work?” Steve asked, unable to contain his curiosity. Gray had mentioned the circus during dinner the night before when the two of them had exchanged brief introductions but Steve hadn’t had a chance to ask more then.

“Usually there’d be a big parking lot near where we were setting up the big top, he’d talk one of the roustabouts into letting him borrow their car and take us around the lot. When my cousin and I were too little to reach the pedals, he’d let us sit on his lap to steer and tell him when to break or hit the gas. But by the time I was eight, I could drive on my own.”

"That's impressive."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"When did you learn to drive?"

Steve froze.

"In the army," he said slowly. Gray glanced over briefly to shoot him a knowing smirk.

"You were self-taught, huh?"

Steve snorted.

"Guilty."

"Want me to teach you?" Gray offered casually, "There's a big mall around here, you can do some laps in the parking lot."

"I might... take you up on that," Steve answered, trying to figure out how to bring up the fact that the computer mounted to the dashboard seemed like something out of science fiction and that he had no idea how the clutch and gear stick were operated when the car didn't seem to have either.

“And while we’re at it, we have to get you some new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Steve asked defensively. His bomber jacket was comfortable, and he didn’t see anything wrong with it.

“What’s wrong?” Gray snorted, “Steve, you look like a walking retirement home. I mean, seriously, pants are not meant to go that high up.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”

“Steve, I’m doing you a favor by telling you this. Otherwise, you’re going to look back someday and wonder why nobody said something sooner.”

Steve blinked when he opened the door to his apartment and the person standing on the other side was not the teenager he’d spent the last week with. The woman had bright red hair that curled in on itself just above her shoulders and a very tight pencil skirt that didn’t come close to reaching her knees. Steve made sure there was a polite smile on his face as he kept his eyes on her face instead of the very low cut of her blouse.

“Can I help you?” Steve asked politely.

“That depends,” the woman said in a sultry voice as she leaned on his doorframe, somehow showing off even more of her cleavage, “I’ve seen you around the building a few times and it’s a crime we haven’t talked yet. How’d you like to take me out to lunch?”

Steve kept his smile pleasant and tried very hard not to think about how much he missed the USO girls he’d toured with a million years ago. How had it only been three years since the army had trotted him around as a glorified puppet to sell war bonds? Well, it hadn’t been three years ago. He was in the future now, the USO days were more than seventy years ago and all the girls he’d toured with were…

Steve shook his head to clear those thoughts away.

“I’m sorry, ma’am but I can’t. I have a prior engagement today.”

The woman pouted, twirling a finger through her hair.

“Maybe another time, then? We could get dinner? Or coffee?” she tilted her head as she and looked up at him and Steve suddenly had the sudden urge to dive for his shield. The woman was gorgeous and the soft, hopeful smile on her face was making his chest feel tight and all the many, many reasons why it was a bad idea to throw himself into a relationship with a random woman living in the same apartment complex felt so far away. But it was a terrible idea and he hadn’t even been in the future for two months yet and it would be completely unfair to dump any of that baggage on anyone.

“I’m sorry, you seem really lovely but it’s not a good time, I just… I just had a big move and it’s been a pretty big adjustment so this just isn’t… it’s not a good time. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sure?”

Instead of apologizing again, Steve just nodded.

“Dammit!” the woman hissed, making a face. Steve wasn’t expecting the bright cackle that echoed down the hallway, but he’d spent enough time with his handler to recognize it anywhere.

“Swing and a miss!” Gray laughed as he suddenly appeared next to the woman, “Barton’s never gonna let you hear the end of it!”

The rush of emotions might have been relief except for the fact that he felt like a complete idiot for falling for her act. Steve sighed.

“I take it you’re SHIELD?” he asked the woman. Gray grinned.

“Steve Rogers, meet Natasha Romanoff. Nat, meet Steve.”

“You can’t trust me, Steve,” Gray said out of the blue one night after they were wrapping up at the gym. Steve nearly dropped his water bottle as he turned to stare at his handler.

“What?”

Gray couldn’t meet his eyes.

“You can’t trust me. All you know about me is that Fury put me in charge of you and the things I’ve told you, but you don’t really know anything about me. You’ve made up your mind that I’m like you and that means you can trust me but you’re wrong. I know you’re not stupid, and you’re not the naïve poster boy from the forties everyone thinks you are. I… you—”

Steve bit back the sarcastic, “Wow, thanks” to stare at the teenager across from him who looked like he was making the most important decision of his life.

Finally, Gray sighed.

“You need to ask Coulson about me.”

“Why Coulson?” Steve asked slowly.

“Because if you can trust anyone, you can trust him.”

“What about that whole speech you just gave me about not trusting anyone and making my own decisions?” Steve asked, only half kidding.

“Coulson is a good man. He’ll give you an honest answer, even if it isn’t the whole truth. Besides, I want to know how far his hero worship goes. My story’s above your clearance.”

“Agent Coulson,” Steve said by way of greeting. The man jumped to his feet, turning around with a huge grin on his face.

“Captain Rogers!” he beamed, practically charging across the room to shake Steve’s hand, “What an unexpected pleasure to see you!”

“Likewise, Agent.”

“Oh please, you can call me Phil!” Coulson said brightly.

“Then you should probably call me Steve,” Steve answered. Coulson’s eyes practically bulged out of his head.

Steve looked around the office, taking in the massive pillars and imposing marble architecture before letting out a long whistle.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen SHIELD. HQ before,” he shot Phil a commiserating grin, “Not since I woke up anyways. But Agent Gray mentioned he had some paperwork to handle so I figured I’d tag along.”

“I’d be happy to give you the tour,” Phil offered immediately.

“No, that’s nice of you, but I don’t want to take you away from your work,” Steve shook his head.

“Captain, it would be my honor,” Phil returned.

“If you’re sure, then that would be swell.”

Phil beamed.

“What can I say except, this way please, Captain.”

“Steve,” Steve corrected with a warm smile.

“How have you been settling in?” Coulson asked as they passed one of the research and development labs.

“It’s been a bit of an uphill battle, to be honest,” Steve answered.

“I will confess that I’ve glanced at a few of Agent Gray’s reports, and from the sound of it, things seem to be going well with you two.”

“I think that’s a fair assessment,” Steve agreed. He hesitated, and Phil immediately caught the motion. “I do have… a couple of questions about him though. And I know, this is a top-secret agency, everything is classified and covered in red tape, but I was hoping that you could maybe… help me understand him.”

Coulson stopped walking. The genial expression on his face faded to something serious, and that fit much more with all of the small quirks and signs of suffering that hung around Gray like a shroud.

Phil gave him a sad sort of grin.

“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to ask, Captain.”

Phil led them back to his office and secured the room. It wasn’t until the last of the blinds had dropped over the windows that Coulson sighed.

“You might have heard some jokes about how I collect strays. Sometimes they’re enemy agents, sometimes they’re people in a bad place who just need someone to put a little faith in them, and sometimes they’re people who have suffered too much that need a safe place to hide. Gray is one of mine.”

Steve frowned. He considered himself a pretty good judge of character, and just because he was currently in the protective custody of an espionage agency didn’t mean he had to lie to get what he was after.

“Gray told me I should ask you,” he said honestly, “He trusts you, as much as he trusts anyone. Which isn’t a lot, as far as I can tell.”

For a long moment, the room was silent. Then, Coulson sighed heavily.

“When I met Gray, he was dying.”

“What?”

“I was being held by a pseudo-paramilitary terrorist cell about halfway around the world from here. From what I could tell, Gray’s… boss,” Steve took note of the fact that Coulson had hesitated before calling the man his boss as Coulson continued, “had been hired by the organization for contract work, so the two of them were stationed there as well.

“His boss was angry with him, practically stormed down to the cell block and threw him in. He’d beaten him. Badly.”

“What?”

“The short version is that SHIELD rescued him and brought him back here for his own protection.”

“And the long version?”

Phil sighed, shaking his head back and forth.

“There’s nobody that really knows the full story other than Gray himself, but from what we know… there’s a mercenary named Slade Wilson, he calls himself Deathstroke the Terminator. He’d volunteered for a set of experiments during the Vietnam war to, well, to recreate the serum. It wasn’t nearly as successful as you, but it was enough to make him dangerous. About a year and a half ago, he kidnapped the son of a wealthy American businessman and blackmailed him into becoming his apprentice. Although… we suspect Wilson had been blackmailing him for years prior to his kidnapping. There was a national manhunt for the two of them that kept turning up dead ends; their names appeared all over the globe but they were already long gone by the time anyone realized they’d been there. We had no idea they were working for that terrorist cell until I stumbled across him.”

Steve frowned. Coulson kept going.

“We’ve tried to piece together the events since Gray’s kidnapping but it’s difficult to find anything concrete. We know that Gray managed to escape at least once before, and that Wilson found him every time. Officially, SHIELD knows nothing about Richard Grayson’s whereabouts since his disappearance. Unofficially, Gray is a junior agent under temporary protective custody while he assists our efforts to bring down Wilson.”

Steve was quiet for a few seconds while he thought about that answer.

“And what’s the real story?” he finally asked, “If he’s supposed to be helping track down this Deathstroke guy, why did Fury assign him to me?”

Coulson sighed.

“Gray knows his captor better than anyone else on the planet. He’s by far the best chance we have of catching him. Unfortunately, all of his intel is compromised.”

“Wilson knows where he is.”

“He knows that Gray is in SHIELD’s custody. It’s logical to conclude that Wilson is being cautious to avoid using any resources that Gray knows about. Especially given the lack of success we’ve had in the past few weeks.”

“That sounds like it’s been… frustrating,” Steve said. Gray was hard on himself, and even though Steve hadn’t known him very long, he knew the kid didn’t handle it well when he felt like he’d failed at something. When something didn’t work, he doubled down and tried twice as hard, which was uncomfortably familiar to Steve.

“Well, it’s only so long before an exercise in futility becomes a form of self-harm. Short of dangling the kid out as bait, there’s nothing we can do to track down Wilson until—”

Steve’s eyes widened and he cut Coulson off.

“You think Wilson is going to come looking for Gray?”

“No,” Coulson answered heavily, “We know he is.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief.

“We have to stop this guy.”

“Captain Rogers, believe me, SHIELD is doing absolutely everything we can but it’s not a simple task. Wilson has resources beyond what we know about and Gray… even with his intel, we’re still missing the whole picture.”

Steve frowned, a new thought occurring to him.

“When you said Gray’s intel was compromised… do you trust him?”

It was a long time before Coulson answered and that told Steve everything he needed to know.

“I trust him to be your handler and to help with your transition to the twenty-first century. And I will do whatever it takes to keep Wilson from getting his hands on him ever again.”

“Look, Gray, I—”

“I take it you asked Coulson,” Gray interrupted him.

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Gray said. The corner of his mouth tugged up into something that was almost a grin. “Was it what you were expecting?”

“I knew it had to be bad, but kid—”

“Don’t call me that,” Gray said exhaustedly.

“Sorry.”

They started warming up and Steve’s resolve not to ask any more questions lasted about five minutes.

“How did it happen?”

“What?”

“I want to hear it from you. If you’re okay telling me, that is, if you can’t…”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just… I’m not used to people not knowing.”

Gray trailed off and Steve waited for him to keep talking. Finally, Gray sighed and his shoulders slumped. He looked much older than fourteen. Much older.

“Slade saved my life.”

Steve stiffened, his eyes snapping to Gray’s face. Gray didn’t seem to notice.

“I was eleven. I did something really stupid and got separated from my dad and I would’ve died if Slade hadn’t saved me.”

“And what happened after that?”

Gray shrugged uncomfortably.

“He let me go home,” Gray said, but his voice was tight and the look in his eyes was so very far away, “I trusted him. He trained me, he taught me how to be better, and for a long time I thought he was doing it all to help me. And then things got complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“He wanted more from me and it started taking over my life and it just got to a point where I couldn’t keep him a secret anymore. I tried to get away; one of my friends… she convinced me to try to get help and it just made everything worse. When he kidnapped me, it almost felt like a relief. Don’t get me wrong, it was horrible and lonely and I made it so much worse for myself, but at least I didn’t have to pretend anymore. I could just… be his. Pay him back for saving me.”

“Jesus, Gray. You don’t owe him anything."

The smile Gray gave him was devastating.

“Deathstroke knows I’m here. When he comes back for me, if he comes back for me tomorrow… today even… I’m going with him,” Gray took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "I don't expect you to understand. But you need to know."

“Do you have any siblings?” Gray asked out of the blue. Steve looked up from his book.

“No,” Steve answered, and for the first time he was glad the answer was no. He couldn’t imagine how much more it would’ve hurt to wake up in the future and have lost even more. He’d made the choice to sacrifice himself to save Peggy, the Howling Commandoes, and as much as it hurt, it was nothing compared to losing his mom. Or watching Bucky fall off a train.

Steve took a deep breath.

“But I did have a friend. He wasn’t just a friend. My whole life, it was the two of us. Me and Bucky against the world.”

“What happened to him?” Gray asked. Steve didn’t bother asking how the kid knew Bucky was dead; spies were good at picking up things like that.

“He died during the war,” Steve answered.

“How long ago? For you, I mean,” Gray said. Steve puffed up his cheeks and let out a big breath of air, trying to ignore the way his chest tightened.

“Five months maybe? I’m not sure,” Steve lied, pretending that he hadn’t been keeping count of every single day that went past.

“I’m sorry.”

Gray’s voice was heavy in the way a betrayed too much grief and for the hundredth time, Steve understood why Fury had stuck the two of them together. Two supersoldiers, both stuck in a place they didn’t belong, and both of them longing for better times they could never go back to.

 “Do you?” Steve repeated Gray’s question back to him. Gray nodded almost immediately.

“I have four.”

Steve waited for Gray to keep going, and sure enough, he did.

“They’re all younger. All adopted too. I miss them.”

“How long has it been since you saw them?”

“I don’t know,” Gray admitted, “I don’t remember what day I was kidnapped. When I woke up, he told me he kept me drugged for two months.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I think he was lying but I don’t know. Anyway that was… at least a year ago.”

“Where’s Barton?” Gray asked as he sat down at the table across from Sharon. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“He’s been assigned to Project Pegasus,” Sharon told him, flicking the screen of her tablet. She tore open her bag of potato chips and offered one to Gray.

“Any idea how long he’ll be away?” Gray asked, taking a couple of chips and putting them on his sandwich. Sharon shrugged.

“Sounded like a long-term assignment,” she answered, “He’ll probably be back in a few months, assuming he doesn’t stop by the barn for a while.”

Gray paused mid-bite.

“I thought the farm was supposed to be a secret,” he said. Sharon laughed.

“It is,” she admitted, “but I’d be pretty pissed at my sister if she hadn’t told me she was married to one of my coworkers.”

“Wait, Barton is your brother-in-law?” Gray asked. Sharon grinned.

“Aunt Peggy set them up when she was still running this place,” Sharon confided in him, “She got tired of watching Laura fawn over him, so one day she just paired them up and sent them off to Beirut.”

Gray smiled.

“Steve told me he wants to go to IKEA,” Gray said as the two of them were taking their weekly lap around the Reflecting Pool. The Washington Monument loomed overhead in front of them and sunlight glittered off the water and if Coulson turned his head, he could see the distorted reflections of the steps leading up the Lincoln Memorial and the towering marble columns above them. This early in the morning, there were plenty of joggers and parents out with strollers enjoying the sunlight and pleasant weather. With his black hair ruffling in the wind, the relaxed set of his shoulders and the amused smile on his face, Gray finally looked like the teenager he actually was. “Two weeks ago he had no idea what a computer was, yesterday he was showing me an ad he got for the Björksnäs and asking if I could help him put it together.”

Gray snorted, shaking his head in delight before adding, “He printed the ad out, by the way. On his own.”

Coulson laughed with him and asked, “What did you tell him?”

“Well, the nearest IKEA is outside my protective bubble so I can’t take him, but once he has it, it shouldn’t be hard to build. I mean, it’s a dresser, it can’t be harder than diffusing a bomb,” Gray said so casually that Coulson paused to give him a hard stare. Gray opened his mouth, closed it, then raised his hands defensively and lied, “Which I’ve never done before.”

“Right,” Coulson filed that information away in the mental file he’d gradually been filing up since rescuing the kid in Nanda Parbat.

“What is it?” Gray asked, staring at Coulson a little too sharply.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got your bad news face on,” Gray pointed.

“I don’t have a bad news face.”

“Yeah, you do. You get all bland and unassuming, like you’re about to start whistling.”

Coulson frowned. He’d need to work on that tell, it hadn’t taken Gray very long to figure it out. But there was no point lying to him.

“I’m taking a new post,” Coulson told Gray.

“Away from D.C.?”

Coulson nodded.

“I’ll be moving out to supervise Project Pegasus.”

“With Barton?”

“You’re not supposed to know that,” Coulson reminded him, “You’re only level three.”

“Whoops,” Gray said dryly. But then his mouth creased into a tight frown and he looked down at his shoes. “Is this a permanent assignment?”

Coulson sighed, hearing the question Grayson was really asking.

“It’s not permanent, but it has the potential to be long-term. But we’ll still be in contact,” Coulson said gently, “I’m still the lead agent on Operation Sunshine, if there’s any developments that takes immediate priority.”

Gray scowled. Coulson waited for him to say something to that but he didn’t. Coulson stopped walking and reached out. Gray flinched when Coulson put his hands on the kid’s shoulders, crouching down a little so they were at eye-level.

“Are you doing alright?”

Gray’s scowl deepened and he looked away from Coulson’s face. But the agent didn’t miss the fact that the kid leaned into the hands pressing against his shoulders.

“I have no idea where he is,” Gray admitted and Coulson didn’t need to ask to know the kid was talking about Wilson.

“He could be anywhere right now and I know I’m always being watched but I have no idea if it’s SHIELD or if it’s him and I just feel like the second I let my guard down, something bad’s going to happen.”

Coulson wished he had something reassuring to tell the kid, but he wasn’t wrong. He was under constant surveillance and even though the protective measures SHIELD had set up allowed Gray to move around the city in relative safety, new vulnerabilities were identified as fast as they were closed. But given the alternative of keeping Gray safely locked inside headquarters indefinitely, Coulson and Fury had agreed Gray’s freedom was worth the risk.

Especially given what Grayson had told Steve about the first few months as Wilson’s captive, and the fact that it had taken him months to earn the privilege of being allowed to go outside. Only a monster would put him through that again.

Coulson had no intentions of lying to him, but under no circumstances was he going to tell him the truth, which was that SHIELD couldn’t guarantee his safety any more than they could guarantee Wilson’s capture within the year.

“Then keep your guard up. But know that SHIELD will never leave you undefended.”

Gray stiffened. He stopped walking, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he stared at the Reflecting Pool. Coulson’s brain spun in circles, trying to analyze that reaction and figure out what he could say to give Gray the reassurance he so clearly needed.

In the end, Coulson patted his shoulder and smiled encouragingly.

“I look forward to reading your report about Roger’s first IKEA trip.”

Nat knocked on the door to the lab, watching the two scientists jump. Gray just gave her a two-finger wave, his other hand shooting out to grab the device Fitz had dropped in surprise.

“Do you have to do that every time?!” Fitz whined while Simmons accepted the piece back from Gray.

“I did knock,” Nat pointed out to the clear amusement of the junior agent.

“She’s got a point,” Gray agreed. He nodded at the gadgetry laid out across the workbench and asked Nat, “Have you seen the new wrist comms? Jemma says they’ll be distributing the first batch next month.”

“Not yet,” Nat answered, “But maybe another time. We should head up.”

Gray looked down at his watch and nodded.

“What are you two up to?” Fitz asked curiously. Gray looked at Nat to take the lead on what they were free to disclose to the scientists, and Nat nodded. Fitz and Simmons had level seven clearance, and besides, this project was fairly low security.

“We’re testing the new combat-sim facility,” Gray told them, and Simmons’ face lit up with recognition while Fitz nodded excitedly.

“Oh, is that today?” Simmons asked her partner, who nodded.

“We got that memo from Katz earlier,” he answered. Then to Nat and Gray, he said, “I helped with the design of the intuitive retraction mechanics, Jemma was the brains behind the adaptive difficulty algorithm.”

“Have fun!” Simmons grinned, “And also, please be careful!”

Gray gave her a smile and Nat hid her own frown at the almost unnoticeable way the kid stiffened, hints of discomfort appearing in his body language.

“See you guys later,” he said, hopping down from the counter he was sitting on and heading out the door. Nat nodded at the scientists and followed the junior agent. Gray was waiting for her by the elevator, watching the “up” button a little too intently.

“What’s wrong, kid?” she asked bluntly. The forced look of blandness on the kid’s face shifted into a grimace.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just… it feels weird to have people be… worried about me.”

“They’re good people. Worrying about their friends is what they do.”

Gray didn’t have anything to say to that, but his discomfort only grew. Nat didn’t blame him. She remembered the first few years after defecting and how distrustful she’d been of everything and everyone. Even now, the only person she truly trusted was Barton, and that was built on years of partnership and the man proving himself to have her back every single time. But she also remembered how desperate she’d been to prove herself, to show that she was more than just the red staining her ledger.

The elevator arrived and Gray followed Nat inside. She swiped her badge and hit the button for the ninth floor. The doors closed and the elevator began to rise.

“Do you trust them?” Gray asked suddenly.

“Fitz and Simmons?” Nat returned. Gray nodded. Nat pressed her lips together in thought.

“I trust that the gadgets they make will work. In order to do that, I have to trust their word. But for what you’re asking… no. I don’t.”

“How do you do it?” he asked, “Trusting no one, it’s… it’s exhausting.”

“Exhausted is better than dead,” Nat answered smoothly.

“Doesn’t it bother you? Being surrounded by people that you can’t trust every single day?”

Nat took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“In the Red Room, before I came to SHIELD, it was everyone for themselves. That was how I lived my whole life. At least here, there are people I’m willing to lean on. Even if it’s just on the surface, people respect each other and help each other. And I still like most of the people I’m surrounded by.”

She said the last sentence pointedly, offering the kid a small smile but he was looking out the glass wall of the elevator.

“I don’t even trust myself,” Gray admitted. Nat met his eyes and her stomach tightened in a way that she wasn’t used to because fuck did she understand what the kid was saying. That was a feeling she was intimately familiar with even if she’d never admit it to anyone. “I miss him. A lot. And… and it scares me because Slade… he kidnapped me and tortured me and the things he made me do… but I trusted him. I had to, he was all I had and… part of me has wanted to turn around and go back since the second I stepped on that plane.”

“I get it, Gray,” Nat put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, “But going back would be wrong. He saw you as a weapon. You’re more than that. And you deserve a better life than that.”

The elevator dinged before Gray had a chance to respond, and the instant before they had an audience, Nat’s relaxed stance shifted to her usual guarded posture, a quick check confirming she had all her concealed weapons. Even if the testing mandated unarmed combat, she was damned if she was going to put herself through a potentially fatal experiment without a few backup plans.

Next to her, Gray had straightened, every hint of vulnerability vanished like it had never existed. The ridiculous, sympathetic part of her brain catalogued the instant switch and Nat had to take a breath to squash down the part of her that wanted to shove the kid back into the elevator and get him far, far away from everyone; from the facilities test, from SHIELD, and especially from Wilson and his damn impenetrable wall of allies that made it impossible to track him down.

Besides, even if she wanted to act on the impulse, it was too late. The elevator doors were open and a man in a neatly pressed three-piece suit was standing there to greet them.

“Agent Romanoff,” the man held out his hand.

“Secretary Pierce,” Nat nodded, shaking the man’s hand. He smiled at her and then turned his attention to the kid.

“And you must be Agent Gray. I’ve heard some extremely impressive things about you, I’m glad to finally meet you,” Pierce said warmly. Gray shook his hand. “Please join the other agents, we’ll begin shortly.”

Nat led the way over to the locker room where the other field agents were waiting.

“Agent Ward,” Gray nodded, holding out his hand. Ward gave him a big smile, shaking his hand firmly.

“Good to see you, Gray! You too, Romanoff,” Ward offered her a nod before shooting Gray another grin, “Rumlow’s gonna be pissed they brought you in too.”

Sure enough, in the corner of the locker room, Rumlow was scowling at the junior agent. Nat shot him a dirty look.

“He tries anything, we’ll kick his ass for you,” Ward muttered to Gray. Gray snorted.

“I’m holding you to that.”

It wasn’t long before all the agents had arrived and soon they were called out into the observation room for the brand new facility. There were dozens of screens and computer monitors set up, showing every corner of the entirely unassuming gym in the room beyond. If it wasn’t for the panels covering every surface of the walls and ceilings, Nat wouldn’t have known it was anything special.

She’d gotten the briefing though. Every inch of the room could be weaponized; mechanical protrusions could extend from any panel, the walls, floors and ceilings could all move and shift, and a variety of targeted motion systems could be engaged at any time. The facility could simulate anything from dozens of simultaneous attackers to hostile terrain, to nonnative weaponry, and the difficulty would adapt to the combatant’s skill level.

The SHIELD technician in charge of the testing stepped forward, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. The line of agents all turned to face him and the collection of equipment techs, medical personnel and upper level administrators went silent. Even Secretary Pierce and his entourage paused their quiet conversations to listen.

“Thank you all for coming, as you know, this facility is implementing some brand-new training technology designed to adapt to your combat abilities. The session will end immediately if a fatal blow is simulated, however it will not stop for anything else. If you need to stop the session earlier, you must audibly tap out. I need verbal confirmation from each of you. Agent Ward, do you understand and assent?”

“Yes,” Ward answered confidently. The tech moved to the next agent in line, asking each of them for a verbal “yes.”

“Good,” the tech nodded once they’d all agreed, “As SHIELD’s most skilled hand-to-hand combatants, each of you has been specifically chosen to test this equipment before it is rolled out as a training tool for less skilled agents. This technology is still in its experimental phase and as such, there are risks. You may be injured during this testing process. As the purpose of these tests is to determine the efficacy of the adaptive combat programming, we will not manually alter the difficultly of the session. If the level of combat is too difficult, you must tap out or continue the session until the point of failure. I need a verbal confirmation from each of you that you understand the risks involved. Agent Ward?”

“Yes,” Ward agreed again, and on they went down the line until all the agents had agreed again.

“Excellent. With that, we’re ready to proceed. Agent Ward, you’re up first.”

“You nervous?” Nat asked Gray while they watched Agent Barker fight for his life against the swiftly moving mechanics of the training equipment.

“Not really,” Gray answered calmly. He glanced over at her and asked, “Are you?”

“Eh,” Nat shrugged. “You defeat one killer robot, they all kind of seem the same after that.”

Gray shot her a grin.

“You’ve only defeated one killer robot?”

Nat rolled her eyes at him.

Before she could answer, Barker took a mean hit to the stomach that sent him careening to the ground.

“Oooph!” Gray winced in sympathy and even Nat grimaced.

That did not look fun. No one had tapped out this far, which meant that there was no way in hell Nat wasn’t going to go through with her turn. But watching the three men ahead of her drag themselves off the floor made it clear this wasn’t going to be easy. And even though she was a significantly better fighter than Barker, that only meant she was more likely to make it to the harder training levels with chances of an even more dangerous take-down.

“Agent Romanoff.”

“Good luck,” Gray nodded at her, and Nat returned the gesture as she stood up and made her way through the door. As she went, she passed Agent Barker, who was being tended to by a trio of SHIELD medics. Nat resisted the urge to roll her eyes; as much as she hated the idea of losing face in front of the assorted agents, techs and administrators, she hadn’t forgotten about the dozens of assignments waiting on her. She would tap out before she allowed her pride to compromise any of her missions.

“Ready,” Nat called when she was in position.

“Beginning simulation in 3…2…1… begin,” the automated voice called out and instantly the equipment whirred to life and Nat was moving with it.

In the end, she kept her word and tapped out before her aching knee had a chance to give out. She’d made it past level eight, farther than anyone but Rumlow, and he’d only beat her time by four seconds. And watching the other injured agents try to act tough while she strode back to the control room (exhausted, but in one piece) took away the sting of losing.

“Agent Gray, you’re up,” the tech read off. Behind the main console, Secretary Pierce shifted to watch as the kid walked into the simulation room.

“Ready!” Gray called. The kid had settled into a fighting stance, his weight balanced lightly on the balls of his feet and the instant the simulation started, he was moving like the wind. Literally—he flipped over an attacking beam with enough height that it made Nat wonder if SHIELD had found a way to disable gravity.

Nat had sparred against the kid plenty of times, but it was still an incredible thing to watch him fight. Deathstroke was considered one of the most dangerous men on the planet for a reason, but Nat would absolutely believe that his apprentice had already outpaced him. She’d seen him and Steve training together plenty of times, but seeing him next to the best combatants SHIELD had to offer gave her a fresh perspective on just how damn good he was.

Levels one through four were a cakewalk. Gray was grinning like a maniac as he bounced around the room and took out simulated enemies with ease. By level five, even Nat was enjoying watching him. Around level six, the difficulty had advanced enough that Gray wasn’t just playing around anymore. He hadn’t taken a hit yet, but the theatrics weren’t quite as pronounced.

And then the game changed.

“Advancing to level seven,” the machine announced. The kid stiffened, his eyes shooting up to the ceiling in alarm but the pace increased suddenly and he didn’t have time to get distracted. Alarm bells went off in Nat’s head because there was nothing that should have surprised him like that and this far into the simulation, it was dangerous to lose focus for even a second. “Probability of fatality, forty percent.”

The grin on Gray’s face was gone, and even though he barely looked winded, she could see the first signs of how hard he was concentrating. His movements shifted from showy to simple. He still moved like lightning, dodging blows before they could get anywhere near him, but there was no more flipping or dancing away. He made it through level seven and then to level eight without missing a step, even though he was constantly in motion and under an unrelenting assault from all sides.

“Advancing to level nine,” the machine announced. The kid threw himself out of the way, his eyes totally fixed on the fight. And the changes only grew more pronounced as the difficulty kept increasing. He was getting tired. Hits had started landing, and the machinery was moving fast enough that they wouldn’t just cause training injuries.

Gray dodged a triple-combo of flailing mechanical protrusions and countered a sliding pillar, only for the next hit to slam against his knee hard enough that the crack echoed into the observation room. Nat’s eyes went wide but Gray didn’t even pause.

“Shut it down!” Nat ordered, her eyes glued to the kid. He wasn’t putting any weight on his left leg and his arms were practically purple from all the bruises, but worse, his face was a blank mask. He was completely focused on the battle, barely aware of himself or anything beyond the room.

“He hasn’t tapped out,” one of the techs warned her, but Pierce held up a hand. He pressed a button on the console to activate the microphone and asked, “Do you need to stop?”

“No sir!” Gray snapped immediately, as if he was responding to an order. Nat stared as he forced himself to put weight on his bad leg, his breathing picking up as he pushed himself to move faster, hit harder, and ignore the pain as the machine advanced to level ten.

Nat could barely breathe as she watched him; all the grace had been honed down into pure efficiency and his strategy had narrowed from finding the best path to surviving the next hit. And for an unbearably long time, he did. The training simulator hit hard and fast but Gray was faster and dodged blow after blow that would have taken anyone else out in an instant.

But he couldn’t last forever.

The snap echoed through the room as Gray’s arm bent the wrong way but the kid didn’t even flinch. The techs recoiled in sympathy and Pierce leaned forwards to get a better look at the console display. Nat’s eyes narrowed and a flash of rage burned through her chest before she could clamp down on it.

“That’s enough!” Nat snapped, and before any of the techs could try to stop her, she slammed the interlock button and pulled the emergency stop lever. The machinery whirred to a stop, the lights snapping on to full brightness. Nat had the door to the training room open in an instant, but instead of running over to the kid the way she wanted to, she forced herself to approach him slowly and keep her hands up where he could see them.

“Simulation failure,” the voice announced, and from inside the room, she could hear that it wasn’t the same voice from when she’d had her turn. Instead, it was a man’s voice, the tone dark and smooth, and it sounded familiar in a way she couldn’t place. But the kid recognized it, all right. No wonder he’d panicked when the voice changed at level seven. “Agent, report status.”

Grayson froze, his eyes practically glazed over and a tremor running through his whole body. His mouth opened to answer, but instead he dropped to his knees and bowed his head, shaking so badly that Nat was afraid he was about to pass out. Especially with all the weight he was putting on his injured arm.

“Gray, look at me,” Nat said softly.

The blue eyes that looked up her were hollow and distant. Nat couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to cup his cheeks with her palms and gently stroke his hair. The boy immediately leaned into the touch, his eyes still glazed and unfocused, and nausea rose in Nat’s stomach that he’d been conditioned so thoroughly that even comfort had been weaponized against him.

She almost pulled away in disgust at what Wilson had done until she heard Gray whisper her name so quietly it was barely a sound at all.

“I’m here,” Nat answered quietly. Gray’s hand found her wrist and squeezed tight enough to cut off her circulation. “It’s over, the test is done. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

She repeated that string of words over and over, glaring at the medics and techs waiting just at the edge of the training room to keep them from coming in, trying in vain to untangle her own actions.

It wasn’t until Gray finally shuddered and started crying that Nat realized why she’d been so unnerved. It wasn’t the kid’s relapse; Grayson had been Deathstroke’s captive for a long time and he’d spent the better part of the last two years at the beck and call of a dangerous psychopath. Returning to his survival mode was an understandable reaction to being pushed past his limits, no matter how terrible it had been to see.

No, that wasn’t why Nat had stepped in.

It was the look on Pierce’s face.

“Romanoff, what happened?” Fury demanded when she made it to the privacy of his office to give her report. Gray was safely in medical, with Agent Carter sitting watch over him and strict instructions to keep everyone else far, far away.

“Someone wanted to see how far they could push him,” Nat answered darkly. Fury trusted Pierce, as much as the Director of SHIELD trusted anyone. In Nat’s opinion, Pierce was a skilled politician, which meant that even if the man’s intentions were to the benefit of the common good, that didn’t mean they were necessarily good. Making Gray a full-fledged field agent would be good for SHIELD; the kid was one of the best fighters she’d ever seen. But the kid deserved more than that.

Not that she would tell Fury any of that. No, it was better to give an honest assessment that left plenty of room for Fury to go fill in the blanks himself.

“Are you Maria Hill?”

“I am. I’m assuming that you’re Agent Gray?”

“What gave it away?” the kid asked, and it took Maria a second to realize he was kidding.

“I heard you were assigned to Captain Rogers?” Maria said, pushing out a chair for him next to her desk. “Is everything going alright there? Not that I mind having you shadow me, but if you’re unhappy with your assignment, I’m sure Fury would be willing to reassign you.”

“No, it’s going really well,” Gray shook his head, “Steve’s great. I really like working with him. It’s just… I get kind of antsy doing the same thing all the time and it’s really… well, it’s been a while since I got to pick how to spend my time.”

Maria’s eyes widened at the sudden reference to Grayson’s time as Deathstroke’s unwilling apprentice, and she tried to mask the reaction with a smile and nod. It was probably more of a grimace, but the kid didn’t comment on it. Maria decided it was probably best to just move on.

“So, obviously you don’t have the clearance for a lot of the stuff I do, but there’s still plenty of things I can show you. As Deputy Director, one of my main jobs is to provide oversight the to various departments and work with Director Fury to make sure operations run smoothly. You have clearance level three, correct?”

“Level four, actually,” Gray corrected, “They moved me up so I could participate in the tests of the new training facility.”

Hill winced again. The actual testing process had been a success and Fury himself had signed off on the next phase of the project, but the reports on Gray’s performance had been hard to read. His physical performance had been beyond exceptional; he’d been the only agent to reach training level ten and spent an unbelievable eight minutes at that setting before Romanoff had pulled the plug. But by Romanoff’s report, the kid had completely checked out; Coulson in particular had been so livid that he’d almost flown back from Project Pegasus to yell at Fury in person.

“I heard about the incident,” Maria said, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, “How are you doing?”

“A little freaked out,” Gray answered, his voice a little too defensive, “I’m not really in the mood to fight anyone for a while, which is kind of why I need a break from Steve. He’s great, but all he wants to do right now is spar.”

Hill nodded. That definitely sounded like Captain America. At least, from what she’d read of the reports.

“Well if you need a break from that, I definitely have some paperwork I would love to have a hand with.”

-

“Hill’s office,” Gray answered the call smoothly. He immediately spun around and pushed the headset at Maria. “It’s Coulson, there’s a situation.”

Maria grabbed the headset and jammed it on, briefly pausing to nod at Gray who turned back to his stack of paperwork.

“Talk to me.”

“There’s an issue with Project Pegasus,” Coulson said. “We’re issuing an immediate evacuation, you and Fury need to get down here, now.”

“On our way,” Hill ended the call and immediately opened a direct line to Fury. After filling in the Director, she turned to Gray.

“Can I help?” Gray asked before she could even open her mouth. Hill shook her head.

“Sorry kid, this one’s above your clearance level.”

Gray looked disappointed, but he nodded and didn’t try to protest. He held up the task list Hill had given him that morning.

“Can I at least finish this stuff up?” he asked, and Hill hesitated. She’d been careful to make sure he didn’t go near anything beyond level four, but she didn’t love the idea of leaving the kid alone in her office.

Of course, it wasn’t like the kid was a master hacker who was just waiting for her to let her guard down so he could steal SHIELD’s secrets. He wouldn’t be able to access any of the files beyond his clearance even if he did try to use her computer. And she really, really needed to go, which meant dropping everything, which meant having even more work to come back to when she was done.

“Alright,” she finally nodded, “but you need to log out of everything before you leave the room. Call agent Hand if you need anything.”

Gray nodded.

“See you soon,” the kid said as Hill left, and Hill really wished she could have shared his optimism. Coulson had never, ever told her and Fury to drop everything, and something told her they were about to be in for a mess.

Chapter Text

“Agent Romanoff? Captain Rogers,” Coulson introduced. Steve nodded at Nat, who shot him a sly grin.

“We’ve met,” Steve said. Nat looked him up and down.

“I see you lost the old man gear,” Nat grinned, “Gray drag you into this century yet?”

“He’s trying his best,” Steve answered. Nat grinned even wider before turning to Coulson.

“They need you on the bridge. They’re starting the face trace,” she said. Coulson nodded at Steve.

“Captain. I’ll see you in there.”

“You’ve got the cards?” Steve asked him. Coulson beamed and patted his suit pocket right above his chest.

“Got ‘em right here, Steve. Thank you again.”

“My pleasure,” Steve smiled. As Coulson headed away, Nat raised an eyebrow.

“You signed his trading cards?” she asked.

“They’re vintage,” Steve explained with a smile.

“He’s very proud of them,” Nat agreed, “Banner’s already on board.”

She stepped back and gestured towards the door Coulson had disappeared through.

“Shall we, Captain?”

“Lead the way.”

“Gray,” Jemma blinked, looking at Fitz in alarm, “What are you doing here?”

“Fury sent Steve ahead to get about a decade’s worth of briefings before he meets the rest of the team,” the junior agent explained casually, “I figured I’d make myself useful while I’m waiting to meet back up with him. Where do you want the spectrometers?”

“That bench is fine,” Jemma pointed, trying to catch the words Fitz was mouthing at her. Jemma nodded at him, her eyes flicking back to Gray a few times as the two scientists argued silently. Finally, Jemma frowned. “Erm, Gray, I thought you weren’t supposed to leave headquarters?”

“I’m Captain America’s handler, my job is to keep an eye on him,” Gray answered easily. Jemma blinked. That was true, but she and Fitz had been part of the team that invented new safety protocols to construct a secure enough perimeter to allow Gray limited, supervised access to most of D.C. and it didn’t make sense that he’d been allowed to just leave the country and follow Captain America to Germany without so much as a memo going out to the higher-level agents. The story didn’t add up. “H.Q. is running on a skeleton crew right now. Fury knew I’d be a sitting duck if something happened while everyone’s manning the Helicarrier.”

Jemma looked at Fitz. Fitz blinked. He didn’t look happy about it and Jemma wasn’t crazy about the idea of their friend being in danger, but it made sense when he put it that way. Plus, the Helicarrier was impossible to infiltrate once it was in the air, and even if there was an attack, there were hundreds of armed SHIELD agents that could help protect Gray. Fitz shrugged at her and tapped the intercom button, suggesting that they call Coulson to double check.

“To be honest, the lab is a bit cramped in here and there’s not really much we need help with right now,” Jemma lied as Fitz took his cue to edge to the side so he was standing in front of the door that slid open to reveal the truly massive workspaces the Helicarrier boasted. The bright smile on Gray’s face faded a little in disappointment and Jemma breathed a sigh of relief that he bought it, “Maybe you could go explore the ship if you need something to do?”

“Oh. Are you sure?” Gray asked, visibly disappointed and as much as it broke Jemma’s heart to send her friend away, she realllllllyyyyy needed to follow protocols on this one.

“Really sorry but it’d just be boring for you. Nothing fun to show you today, I’m afraid.”

“We’re really sorry!” Jemma added, not wanting their friend to be too put out when he really was just trying to help.

“No, it’s okay. Thanks anyway, guys. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do later,” Gray offered hopefully.

“Yep, sure will!” Fitz answered immediately, much too quickly, and Jemma would’ve elbowed him for how obvious he was being if he wasn’t blocking a door on the other side of the room.

“I’ll, uh… guess I’ll just see you guys later then.”

When Gray was gone, Jemma and Fitz let out matching breaths of relief. They weren’t sure how he’d bought their excuses, but that didn’t change the fact that it had worked.

Jemma locked the door to the lab and Fitz was already putting in the call.

“Fitz, what’s the status on those readings?” Coulson asked immediately.

“Up and running in a few,” Fitz answered as he glanced over his shoulder at the monitor. He was about to launch into the data they’d already collected but Jemma cleared her throat and he startled. “Oh, right, uh… we just wanted to check in with you and he said it was fine so we’re sure it is but we just…”

“Who said what was fine?” Coulson’s voice was all-business, immediately catching on to the problem.

“Gray. Erm, Junior Agent Gray.”

“You talked to him?” Coulson asked and Jemma didn’t need to see her boss to know that he was frowning.

“Well, the thing is, he’s on board, sir,” Fitz said.

“He said it was Director Fury’s orders and that he’s here in his capacity as Captain Roger’s handler.”

There was silence on the other end. Jemma was about to ask if he was still there, but she knew perfectly well that the call was still connected. Still, the silence was as unpleasant as it was unnerving. Finally, Coulson answered.

“Rest assured, if it was Director Fury’s orders, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Right.”

“Certainly,” Fitz nodded along with her, “But um… we’re not saying that we’re doubting the Director’s orders but… well we were just hoping that you could confirm that they really were from Fury.”

“Well, Simmons, I can assure you that there’s nothing for you or Fitz to worry about. For now, just focus on getting me those readings and call me back as soon as the scanners are running.”

“Yes sir!”

“Busy day?”

Steve’s nerves had him on high alert, so he’d noticed the instant that the familiar footsteps appeared behind him.

“I know you have that whole thing about not trusting you, but it is really good to see a familiar face right now,” Steve greeted his handler. Gray nodded, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“You know, I can relate to that,” Gray smiled back, “How was the tour?”

“Expensive,” Steve shot back. Gray raised an eyebrow and Steve shrugged, “Lost a bet with Fury.”

Gray laughed, shaking his head at Steve’s misfortune.

“Rule number two, never take a bet against a spy.”

Steve paused as they turned the corner, watching Gray take a few steps before realizing he’d stopped.

“I thought rule number two was ‘trust no one’?”

“Nah, that’s rule number three.”

“Huh. So what’s rule number one, then?”

“Treat others the way you want to be treated,” Gray joked as they started walking again, “Didn’t your mom teach you that one?”

“I don’t think so. She was a bigger fan of ‘don’t start fights you can’t finish.’”

Gray looked at him and nodded.

“You know, that explains a lot about you.”

“Does it?” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Sure,” Gray grinned, “You just decided to finish all of them.”

They both laughed and kept walking down the hall.

“So, how are you handling all this? It’s kind of a lot to deal with at once, and that file they put together isn’t exactly light reading.”

“I’m getting used to it,” Steve admitted. His head was still spinning and he didn’t exactly get off on the best foot with Howard’s kid. And that hit him a little harder than he was ready to admit, Howard had been one of his closest friends and he’d kind of hoped that he hadn’t lost everything from his old life in this new one. Having met Nat before helped, and Banner seemed like a good guy, but Thor… “Still trying to figure out how all of this works.”

“The Helicarrier?” Gray asked.

“No, the whole…”

Steve paused. Did Gray know about the alien-gods and other worlds?

“Did you know?” Steve asked without thinking.

“About?” Gray shot him a bemused grin that told him absolutely nothing.

“Thor. Loki. Asgard. Alien rainbow bridges.”

Gray just stared at him, waiting for him to keep going.

“Did you know they were real?”

“Before today, you mean? Nope. That Bifrost thing is pretty cool though,” Gray answered with a grin. Steve blinked.

“Wait, so you find out that there’s such a thing as Norse gods and you’re not even a little bit phased.”

“Yeah,” Gray nodded, pulling one hand out of the pockets of his sweatpants to start raising fingers, “I mean there’s Greek gods, Egyptian gods, Sumerian gods, aliens pretending to be gods, New Gods, Watchers, actual G-d—”

“Excuse me?”

“Well I haven’t met him, but I did meet the actual Devil and he had a lot to say about, you know,” the kid made a face and pointed straight up. “So just in case you ever meet him, be ready for some serious daddy issues.”

Steve blinked.

“The devil? Like the actual, biblical devil.”

Gray looked around and when he was reasonably sure nobody was watching, he leaned forward.

“He lives in Los Angeles. Goes by Lucifer Morningstar, tells everyone he meets exactly who he is, owns a nightclub and works with a homicide detective on the LAPD by day.”

Steve rolled his eyes, sure that his handler was fucking with him. Gray fixed him with another look and then muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “at least he believed me.”

“But anyways, yeah, Norse gods. Sure.”

Steve just stared at him. Gray blinked.

“And, I’m just realizing that you definitely did not know any of that,” Gray said slowly. Steve gave him a look that he hoped conveyed the fact that no, he absolutely did not and he wasn’t sure he appreciated all the bullshit his handler had just thrown at him. Especially because he really couldn’t tell when Gray was kidding or not.

“Why don’t you go take a walk?” Gray offered, “Maybe take some time to go process. I’ll meet up with you later.”

And with a reassuring pat on the back, his handler was gone, leaving Steve with many, many more questions than he’d started with.

“You’re Bruce Banner,” the voice came from directly behind him, and was so full of awe and surprise that Bruce had to fight back a sigh. It was bad enough that SHIELD had decided to make him their full-time houseguest but the constant interruption was getting on his nerves.

“I am,” Bruce agreed, giving up on studying the scepter in favor of turning around to talk to the newcomer. Might as well get the next round of SHIELD-sanctioned poking over with. He was expecting another scientist from the awe in their voice, and if not, then probably another agent. What he wasn’t expecting was a teenager in a pair of dark sunglasses and a gray sweatshirt emblazoned with the SHIELD logo. Bruce tried to hide his surprise and instead gave the kid the kind of look he gave students that showed up late to his office hours back when he was still trying to get tenure. “Can I help you?”

But instead of being cowed, the kid beamed.

“No, sorry I just… this is so cool. I mean, you’re like Bill Nye meets Einstein!”

“Um… thank you?” Bruce tried to sound sincere but this was the weirdest interaction he’d had since Romanoff had dragged him out here. Plus, the kid wouldn’t stop grinning at him.

“One of my friends is a huge fan of yours, he’s told me so much about your work.”

“Well, that’s certainly flattering,” Bruce tried to smile but the confusion was making it really hard. The kid wouldn’t stop grinning at him like he’d just met a celebrity, but Bruce was still trying to figure out exactly why a teenager had just waltzed into the middle of the top-secret laboratory on a flying helicopter warship out in the middle of nowhere. “Would you like me to… I don’t know, sign something for him?”

The kid flinched, the smile on his face faltering. Bruce knew he’d fucked up, but he had no idea what he’d just said was the wrong thing to ask.

“No, that’s nice of you, but… sorry, just forget I said anything. I probably shouldn’t even be talking to you,” the kid apologized, “Sorry to bother you.”

The kid turned to leave and even though Bruce had been annoyed about the disruption seconds before, he was about to call out to the kid to stop him. Before he could, Captain America reappeared in the doorway.

“Oh Gray, there you are. Coulson’s looking for you,” the super soldier said, before catching sight of the kid’s face. He stopped and put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, “Uh… you okay?”

The kid snorted, giving Rogers an incredulous look.

“Am I ever?”

The kid left without another word, disappearing down the hall. Captain America frowned, watching the automatic door slide shut behind him.

“Not to pry, but who exactly was that?” Bruce asked. Rogers blinked and shook his head, turning around to face him.

“Uh, that’s Agent Gray.”

“Agent?!” Bruce repeated, “SHIELD’s recruiting high schoolers now?”

“He’s a… special case.”

“Agent Coulson? Steve said you want to talk to me.”

To his credit, Gray didn’t so much as flinch as the entire command room turned to look at him. He met Coulson’s eyes unflinchingly, even with Fury’s barely contained fury drilling into him. He knew very well that he was not supposed to be here, and whatever bland excuse he’d given Fitzsimmons wasn’t going to hold this time.

“Actually, I did,” Fury said. The entire room’s eyes ping-ponged onto the director. Fury took one intimidating step forward, his coat flaring out to emphasize that he was pissed, “My office, Junior Agent Gray.

“Now.”

“Don’t you dare try that bullshit you fed Fitzsimmons on me, Grayson,” Fury spat the instant the doors closed behind Coulson. Gray stood at parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back. The sight made Coulson sigh; he’d tried to get Gray to drop those habits and slouch like a normal teenager, but he’d refused to budge on it. Coulson hated it; it was just another reminder of the power Wilson still held over the kid. Fury stalked over to his desk and sat, leaning his crossed arms on the surface as he kept his glare fixed on the current issue at hand. “Now tell me why you’re not going to be spending the rest of this incident inside a holding cell.”

Gray looked up at Fury, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“Aside from the fact that I would’ve actually been a sitting duck if I stayed back in D.C., you’re going to need me.”

Fury’s eye twitched. If the situation wasn’t so serious, Coulson would’ve been tempted to laugh at the perfect analogy of a father confronting his trouble-making kid about breaking curfew. As it was, there really wasn’t anything funny about it. No matter what excuses he had, Gray really, really should not be here.

“Explain.”

Gray didn’t so much as blink at the command, forced out through gritted teeth.

“Project Pegasus,” Gray began, breaking away from Fury’s gaze long enough to fix Coulson with a knowing look, “I know what else you recovered when you found Steve. And I know what happened in New Mexico.”

Coulson’s eyes widened, dozens of little incidents connecting in his head. Shit. Was Grayson after the Tesseract?

Fury’s eye narrowed until his glare could have leveled a city.

“And how exactly do you know about that?”

“Slade kept an eye on calamity-level threats,” Gray answered calmly, as if he was speaking about the weather and not the psychopath who’d kidnapped and tortured him to an inch of his life, “His partners want to control the world. Not destroy it. So when an Asgardian Destroyer wiped a town off the map before Thor, God of Thunder, defeated it? They noticed.”

“The details of that incident were only shared with the World Security Council,” Fury warned him, “Are you suggesting that the council has been infiltrated?”

“Infiltrated?” Gray scoffed, his eyes widening as an incredulous grin pulled across his face, “No.”

“Agent Gray,” Fury said, standing up from his chair, “Are you suggesting that one of Wilson’s partners is affiliated with the World Security Council?”

Gray shivered, his shoulders pulling in. For the first time since entering Fury’s office… he was scared.

“Director, if I tell you anything about the Light, I might as well throw myself off the Helicarrier and save us all the trouble.”

The Light.

There’d been whispers for years about the organization, rumors and empty boasts, and every so often, an incident. But nothing was known about it. Every time SHIELD came close, leads dried up, sources vanished, and witnesses suddenly lost all memories what they’d seen. And not just in a “we’ve been blackmailed into silence” but in a “something powerful wiped their minds” kind of way. It was exactly the kind of organization that a powerful megalomaniac like Ra’s al Ghul would align himself with.

Jesus Christ, if those were the kinds of people that Slade Wilson was partnered with, it was no wonder that SHIELD couldn’t find him.

The stalemate lasted for a full minute.

Finally, Fury sighed.

“Is that why you’re on my ship?”

“Director, whatever’s going on with the Asgardians has nothing to do with them. I told you, I know what happened in New Mexico. I know that SHIELD couldn’t handle it. You aren’t used to dealing with incidents that outclass you like that.” Gray paused, considering his next words very carefully before shrugging. “I am.”

When neither of them answered, Gray’s shoulders pulled up defensively.

“Look, I’m not stupid! Whatever’s going on here, it’s huge. The entire base is mobilized, there’s already been one international incident, and you called in Steve! Whatever’s coming isn’t just going to be big, you think it’s going to be catastrophic. So let me help! Please!”

Fury looked at Coulson. He’d already made up his mind, but he wanted to let Grayson sweat. They would be talking about this, once Loki had been defeated and the Tesseract was safely back in SHIELD’s possession, but for now, Gray had a point. Plus, Coulson didn’t believe for a second that a holding cell would keep Grayson contained if he wanted out.

Fury waited until sweat was beading at Gray’s temple, his knees trembling with nerves, and Coulson didn’t miss the satisfied glint in the Director’s eye at finally making the teen realize he was in deep shit. The kind that meant he’d be on late-shift coffee duty (a truly daunting and miserable chore, considering the horrifying hours the analysts worked) for the considerable future.

Finally, Fury let out a huff. Gray’s shoulders dropped in relief before the Director said a single word.

“Assist Steve in whatever capacity he needs,” Fury ordered, before jabbing a finger at the junior agent, “But you step one toe out of line, and you’re going to be in a cell faster than you can blink. Understood?”

“Yes sir, Director Fury.”

“Where are you going?” Gray’s voice appeared out of nowhere. Steve jumped a foot in the air, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the hallway was clear, then grabbed his handler’s arm to drag him around the corner.

“Something doesn’t add up here,” Steve whispered, knowing he’d been caught in the act and there was no point denying what he was up to, “I know SHIELD has done a lot for you, but you need to see that they’re hiding something.”

To his shock, the teenager barked out a laugh.

“Uh, yeah, I know,” Gray nodded, looking at Steve like he was a complete idiot, “Why do you think I told you not to trust anyone?”

“Not even Coulson?” Steve asked. Gray pinched his lips together, taking a deep breath before releasing it slowly.

“Thor seems like he’s exactly what it says on the tin, but he’s an immortal alien from ancient mythology so I won’t put any money on that,” Gray tried to grin, but even to Steve, it looked hollow. “There’s a lot that SHIELD is hiding, Rogers. If you go looking, you’re going to find a lot of things you don’t like. And if you go deep enough… put it this way. You’re going to wish all you had to worry about was an alien invasion.”

Steve frowned.

“Do you know what they’re planning to do with the Tesseract?” he asked. Gray looked him dead in the eyes.

“That’s the wrong question, Steve,” Gray warned.

“What’s the right one, then?”

“The Tesseract is an energy source at best and a weapon at worst; it’s not a surprise what they’re planning to do with it. But what you need to figure out who is behind it.”

“Do you know?”

“If I did, do you think I’d have snuck on board and started snooping around while everyone was freaking out over Norse gods and alien rocks?”

“Wait, what do you mean you snuck on board? Didn’t Fury assign you to tail me?”

Gray gave him a smug grin.

“It does sound like something he would do, doesn’t it?” His handler stepped back, nodding his head at a recessed door that Steve had assumed to be a storage closet, “Watch your six, Rogers. Next person that catches you will probably care a lot more than I do.”

Steve watched his friend carefully.

“Be careful,” he finally said, before disappearing inside the utility corridor Gray directed him to.

“You too.”

“—hypothesized the superposition of complex gamma waves using variable parametrization based on—"

Bruce cut off mid-word at the knock on the doorframe. A weird expression crossed his face, and Tony turned around to see what had his new friend so uneasy.

And the answer wasn’t anything he expected. It was either SHIELD’s shortest agent or the unfortunate result of “bring your kid to work” day. It was a teenager, with an unruly mane of black hair and a sweatshirt plastered with the agency’s dumb logo. He gave Bruce a hesitant wave.

“Hey, uh, I got kicked out of the labs. Is it cool if I hang out in here?” he asked. Tony’s eyebrows shot up and he instantly decided the kid could stay, if for no other reason than he wanted to know what the pipsqueak had done to get himself banished.

“Rulebreakers are always welcome,” Tony announced before Bruce could be a party pooper, “Welcome to the cool kids club.”

“Thanks,” the kid said. Maybe sarcastically. Hard to tell—Tony hadn’t spent much time around teenagers ever, he’d skipped all of high school and flown through college too quickly to really meet anyone. The only times he ever saw kids was at the yearly charity balls Pepper occasionally forced him to go to.

In any case, the kid crossed the room and hopped up on one of the counters.

“So, you gonna introduce yourself? Ooh, and definitely throw in a little trivia, like maybe what a world-famous teenage mercenary is doing chilling with a covert government agency and why I shouldn’t call your dad about it?”

Grayson looked him dead in the eye.

“I’m hiding.”

Ah. That explained most of Tony’s questions.

“You know Agent Coulson?”

“Who doesn’t? He’s Agent Coulson,” Tony snarked; he didn’t dislike the man, but his mild-mannerisms and Pepper’s blatant favoritism towards him rubbed him the wrong way.

“He pulled me out a bad spot, convinced me to come back here. SHIELD thinks they can get rid of him.” Grayson’s mouth tightened into a thin line, showing that he didn’t believe a word of it, “I’m giving them a chance to prove it.”

Tony considered his words. He seemed like he was telling the truth, but who knew?

“And I shouldn’t tell your dad because?”

“Because they’re wrong,” Grayson said bluntly, his voice positively frigid, “And as long as he’s out there, I can’t go back. I won’t put them in that kind of danger. So please, Tony, keep your mouth shut, because it will kill them to get kind of false hope.”

Tony stared at him and the kid stared back.

“You just happened to wander in here, huh?” Tony challenged.

“I won’t take any chances with my family,” Grayson warned him and the threat sent a shiver down Tony’s back. Damn, the kid had gotten scary.

“You two know each other, then?” Bruce asked, cutting through the tension.

“We’ve crossed paths,” Tony shrugged. Grayson scoffed.

“I’m surprised you remembered that. You were always drunk off your ass,” Grayson snarked.

“And you were yawning like it was past your bedtime,” Tony shot back. Grayson rolled his eyes but at least he was grinning now. The kid shrugged good-naturedly.

“Yeah, it probably was,” Grayson nodded, “Sorry I interrupted you before, it sounded like you were in the middle of something.”

“Nah, just killing time,” Tony waved him off, “Tracking the Tesseract, digging through SHIELD’s secret files, having a snack. You want in?”

Bruce elbowed him and shot him a look, asking if he was crazy just telling a SHIELD agent that they were snooping around for classified government secrets.

“As an active-duty agent, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Grayson said casually, “But unofficially, I’d take an apple if you’ve got one.”

“Ooh, sorry, all out,” Tony apologized, reaching for the sealed bag he’d stashed inside a cabinet earlier, “You want dried mango slices?”

“Sure.”

Tony tossed it to him.

“Thanks,” Grayson said, holding out the bag, “You want any, Dr. Banner?”

“Uh… I’m good. Still processing,” Bruce said slowly.

“You sound like Steve,” the kid snorted, pulling out a few slices of fruit.

“Where’s the big boy scout, anyways? Shouldn’t you be with him, he’s your babysitter, right?” Tony sniped.

“Other way around.”

“You’re his babysitter?!” Tony demanded delightedly. When Grayson smirked, he let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands together, “Oh that’s too good!”

“By the way, you should be expecting an angry Fury anytime now,” Grayson threw out, eating another slice of mango.

Tony shrugged.

“Eh, cost of doing business,” he answered. The kid was right, but Tony didn’t give a shit. All the better to get some answers out of him.

Fury was in the lab with Banner and Stark when Steve stormed in, throwing the results of his investigation down on an empty bench. He wasn’t surprised to see Gray already in the room, sitting on one of the counters in the back.

Gray also didn’t look surprised in the slightest by the half-complete prototype Steve had brought, and his handler’s warning echoed in his head. The weapons were just the tip of the iceberg. What else was SHIELD hiding? What else was Fury hiding?

“Phase two is SHIELD uses the cube to make weapons,” Steve announced, before turning to Stark, “Sorry. The computer was moving a little slow for me.”

Fury walked towards Steve with an outstretched hand, already spinning excuses.

“Rogers, we gathered everything related to the Tesseract, this does not mean—”

“—I’m sorry, Nick, what were you lying about?” Stark interrupted, turning around one of the holographic screens showing a diagram for some kind of missile with a glowing blue center.

“I was wrong, Director, the world hasn’t changed a bit,” Steve said as Thor and Nat entered the room like they could sense the impending blowup. And maybe they could. Steve didn’t claim to understand how either of them worked. Thor’s eyes flicked back and forth, while Nat’s expression tightened.

“Did you know about this?” Banner asked Nat, gesturing with his glasses at the screen.

“Do you want to think about removing yourself from this environment, doctor?”

Banner let out a disbelieving laugh.

“I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed.”

Something about that statement set her on guard, and she carefully moved towards the scientist.

“Loki is manipulating you.”

“And you’ve been doing what, exactly?”

“You didn’t come here because I batted my eyelashes at you,” Nat reminded him. Steve felt like he was missing something, but even so, he could feel the tension underlying her every word. As polite and harmless as Banner seemed, SHIELD was clearly nervous about his other half.

“Yes, and I’m not leaving because suddenly you get a little twitchy,” without pausing for breath, Banner tilted the screen and continued, “I’d like to know why SHIELD is using the Tesseract to build weapons of mass destruction.”

There was a long pause. Steve wanted to hear the answer just as badly as Banner. Just when Steve was about to push, Fury straightened. He raised a hand, jabbing a finger out to the side.

“Because of him,” Fury announcing, pointing straight at Thor.

“Me?” the Norse god repeated, looking confused. Steve’s eyebrows rose and he could see Stark and Banner turning to look at each other.

“Last year, Earth had a visitor from another planet who had a grudge match that leveled a small town. We learned that not only are we not alone, we are hopelessly… hilariously outmatched.”

“My people want nothing but peace with your planet,” Thor protested. Fury turned on him.

“But you’re not the only people out there, are you? And you’re not the only threat,” Fury punctuated his words by turning back to the others, like he could convince them what he was saying wasn’t lunacy, “The world’s filling up with people who can’t be matched. Who can’t be controlled.”

“Like you controlled the cube?”

“Your work with the Tesseract is what drew Loki to it. And his allies. It is a signal to all the Realms that the Earth is ready for a higher form of war,” Thor announced.

“A higher form?” Steve repeated dubiously. The hell did that mean?

“You forced our hand,” Fury shot back, “We had to come up with—”

“A nuclear deterrent,” Stark interrupted again, “Because that always calms everything down.”

“Remind me again how you made you fortune, Stark?”

Steve scowled at the attempt to deflect the blame, moving closer to get right in the Director’s space.

“I’m sure if Stark was still making weapons, he would be neck deep—"

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on. How is this now about me?” Stark asked. Steve huffed.

“I’m sorry, isn’t everything?” Steve shot back.

“I though humans were more evolved than this,” Thor taunted, glaring at Fury, who immediately turned on him.

“Excuse me, did we come to your planet and blow stuff up?” 

“You understand that this isn’t the forties anymore, Captain?” Stark snarked. Steve’s hands clenched into fists, irritation boiling over. The asshole was treating all of this like a game, completely unconcerned with the fact that real people’s lives were on the line.

“Are you boys really that naïve?”

In a matter of seconds, the room devolved into shouting, everyone yelling at each other and shouting louder and louder to try and make themselves heard.

Then someone started laughing. At first it was a giggle but it quickly erupted into full-blown laughter. The arguments stopped dead as everyone turned around to stare. Stark shot Steve a look to ask, “you want to handle this?” but Fury jumped in instead.

“Is something funny, Agent Gray?” he demanded. Gray held up a hand, trying to take a deep breath and get control over himself.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just… you guys are fucked.”

With that ominous proclamation, the room fell silent.

“Do you have a suggestion to make?” Fury asked coldly, “If not, I will remind you that you are in violation of the terms of your protective custody, so I suggest you zip it.”

“I do, actually. A couple,” the kid shot back, completely unintimidated, “First of all, why is he here?”

The question was so unexpected that everyone turned to look at who he was pointing at. Banner looked just as surprised as the rest of them.

“His expertise was necessary to track the Tesseract. Dr. Banner is an expert on gamma radiation,” Romanoff answered.

“So are half the scientists on the lab decks,” Gray pointed out, “But it’s pretty obvious that Banner doesn’t want to be here. And now here you all are, all the biggest threats to whatever Loki is still planning gathered in the same room. Yelling at each other.”

Gray shot them all a grin.

“Fun coincidence, huh?”

“You think Loki planned for this?” Thor demanded. Gray shrugged.

“I think that I recognize a distraction when I see one. You have Loki in custody and you’ve got his scepter. But that doesn’t mean it’s over, unless you think that dozens of brainwashed high-ranking SHIELD agents won’t cause any problems,” Gray answered confidently. He turned to Fury.

“Here’s my next question, Director Fury, and believe me when I say I don’t ask this lightly. Why haven’t you called in the Justice League?” Gray frowned, “You’re trying to track the Tesseract, well the Justice League specializes in locating dangerous materials. Especially dangerous otherworldly materials. Zatara’s back on the roster now, he can find just about anything on the planet in seconds.”

“The Tesseract is the property of the United States government,” Fury answered, “The Justice League has no jurisdiction to intervene.”

“Right. Because you don’t want them to know what kind of force you’re assembling. You don’t want anyone to know, otherwise you would’ve had to have some oversight beyond the World Security Council. No, SHIELD wants to be the only ones with this kind of power. Whose decision was that? If the goal is really to protect the whole Earth, seems kind of counterintuitive.” Gray paused, “Oh, and spoiler alert, you’re not the only ones. Intergang has been mass-producing weapons derived from Apokaliptian tech for like two years now.”

Steve blinked at the flurry of words he didn’t recognize. What the hell was Intergang? And apocalypse tech? Was he supposed to know what that meant?

“All the more reason for us to be prepared,” Fury snapped. Gray rolled his eyes.

“Great. So what’s your plan? Since you’re prepared for this.”

“We locate the cube and take it back.”

“And what about Loki?” Gray asked, still in that fake-casual tone that made Steve feel like an idiot.

“Loki is contained. He isn’t going anywhere,” Fury shot back.

“Exactly.”

Fury glanced over his shoulder to exchange a look with Nat. All the humor was gone from Gray’s face, and the teen looked more serious than Steve had ever seen him.

“You guys still don’t get it. Loki is here because he wants to be.”

“Correction, shortstop, he’s here because we beat the crap out of him,” Stark snarked. Steve scowled.

“He surrendered because he knew he couldn’t win,” Steve corrected. Out of the corner of his eyes, Thor frowned and shifted uneasily.

Gray snorted.

“Whatever the reason, he’s here now. And all that’s left is to find the cube, right? Problem solved? Well here’s the deal. Loki is dangerous and the people he’s mind-controlling have an all-powerful energy source to do whatever he wants with. Sure, government agency secretly producing weapons of mass destruction is a problem. But that’s not actually going to matter if Loki uses the cube to destroy the entire world. That’s bigger than any of you. All of you need to put your egos aside and pay attention to the actual problem.”

Stark rolled his eyes.

“Alright, so the kid suggests the power of positive thinking, anyone else? Suggestions, people, let’s hear them,” he said scathingly.

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

Steve had never heard Gray’s voice sound so cold.

“Agent Gray, why don’t you show yourself out?” Fury suggested.

“No. You listen to me. I know exactly how fast this kind of stuff spirals. You have a chance to stop this entire thing now before anyone gets hurt. If you mess it up, people will die. If you mess up badly enough, which it kind of seems like you’re going to, everyone will. And I’m not going to wait for you to get that far.”

“Gray—" Steve tried.

“It’s clearly past your naptime, kid,” Tony started.

“A child has no place in this matter,” Thor announced.

“This isn’t the time—” Nat said.

“Do you even hear yourselves?” Gray’s voice was quiet and full of disgust. It cut through the noise like a knife, where yelling had only made things louder. Steve’s mouth shut, and all he could do was stare at his handler. “Name calling, playing the blame game, making excuses for everything. It’s pathetic.”

The insult stung. Gray was the youngest person in the room by a decade, but he wasn’t wrong. As much as Steve wanted to blame Stark’s obnoxious attitude and complete disregard for everything but himself, Steve wasn’t helping things either. He couldn’t help it; the discovery that SHIELD was hiding something so nefarious disgusted him.

“None of you have even figured out why he surrendered, have you? He knew what he was doing taking Barton and Selvig; it’s not just about the Tesseract. It’s about SHIELD. He is specifically targeting this organization.”

“Even if that were true, the fact remains that the threat Loki himself poses has been neutralized. He is not going anywhere, and not that it’s any of your concern, Junior Agent, but we are aware of what he intended to do onboard. Retrieving Barton and the others is our top priority once we’ve recovered the cube.”

Gray barked out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re seriously sticking with that? You really think lying to the rest of the class is the best move right now? Because personally, I think Banner has a right to know that Loki wants the Hulk to rip this plane out of the sky.”

“What?” Steve’s eyes bulged, while Thor looked stunned and Stark’s face twitched in a way Steve couldn’t read. Banner didn’t seem particularly surprised, though.

“Agent Gray!” Fury snapped, a vein bulging in his neck, but before he could get any farther, Gray turned on him.

“I’m done watching this trainwreck. None of you has any idea how to handle this, and before you say anything, Director, if you knew how to stop Loki, you wouldn’t have needed to bring them in. So, I’ll make it simple. Banner walks,” Gray said. Fury’s scowl deepened but didn’t interrupt him. “I don’t care whose idea it was to have him here, and it doesn’t matter why. Unless he actually decides to stay, of his own accord. In which case this flying death trap cannot be your base of operations.”

“The helicarrier is structurally sound enough to withstand—"

“And a building fifty sublevels deep collapses when you take out six pillars on ground level,” Gray countered, “Everyone on board is in danger if the Hulk misses a single punch—”

“I can’t—” Banner started to say.

“Which would not be your fault,” Gray rounded on Banner before the scientist could get more than a word out, “You were tricked into coming here because the World Security Council was scared into believing that you’re a bigger threat than whatever attack is coming. They’re wrong and nobody is going to stop you if you decide to leave now.”

Gray shot Fury a look and even though the Director bristled, he didn’t disagree. Romanoff didn’t say anything either but Steve could see her doing mental calculations to figure out what exactly Gray was doing.

Banner’s mouth fell open, and he looked around; first at Fury, then at Nat. Neither of them spoke. The scientist’s head dropped, his hands curling into fists and Steve didn’t miss the way that Nat tensed.

“I knew something was off about this whole thing, but I came anyway. I think there’s part of me that wants to know what happens if… the other guy comes out in the middle of all this. But Loki, this guy is fucking nuts, and the last thing I want to do is help him rip a hole in the fabric of spacetime to bring an Earth-conquering army through. Maybe it would’ve been better if I never came, but I’m here now and you’re not getting rid of me. I want to help.”

Gray smirked. Steve got the feeling he’d known Banner was going to say that.

“If you want to help, tell me something. What did you use to track the Tesseract?”

“Uh… gamma energy signature from the scepter,” Banner shook his head.

“The distinct, traceable signature that the scepter is emitting?” Gray repeated in the voice that meant he was trying to lead the rest of them to a conclusion he’d drawn a while ago. Banner’s eyes widened at the same time that Stark’s jaw dropped.

“Son of a bitch!” Stark swore, scrambling for the screens.

“What is it?” Thor frowned.

“We’re leading them right back to us.”

“Director Fury? Quick question,” Gray asked.

“What now?”

“Does this ship have a backup plan if an airborne attack targeted something vital like say, the engines or the main power supply? I’m just saying, if I was part of a coordinated attack on an enemy base that happened to have a critical weakness like being at cruising altitude, I’d probably make sure they were too busy not falling out of the sky to stop me from escaping with my target. Just a thought.”

“Goddamn—”

Fury stiffened, his hand flying to his ear. Nat did the same.

“Fuck.”

“What is it?”

“An unidentified aircraft just entered our airspace.”

Gray turned to Banner.

“Dr. Banner, any chance you’re feeling angry right about now?”

“Furious.”

“Great. Then I have an enemy chopper with your name on it. Stark, your suit’s got flight capabilities, right?”

Gray phrased it as a question, but Steve had a feeling he wasn’t really asking.

“Yeah. So?”

“You’re with Banner. And before you say anything, yes, you are his backup. Anyone that goes over is your job. Actually, Thor.”

“Me?” the Norse god looked up in surprised, pointing a confused finger at himself.

“Does that magic hammer let you fly?”

“It’s not flight, it’s a leveraged propulsion. But essentially yes.”

“Then you’re with Banner and Stark.” The three were barely out of the room when Gray turned to Fury. “Director, what are the odds that Barton is on board that chopper?”

Fury crossed his arms over his chest.

“He’s the highest-ranking agent out of all the men Loki brainwashed, as well as the most familiar with the Helicarrier’s layout.”

Gray nodded.

“Okay. Romanoff, Rogers, you’re on Barton. If you can’t snap him out of it, neutralize him.”

“Understood,” Steve and Nat said at the same time.  

“Good luck.”

“Let’s go,” Steve told Nat, and the two of them were off, leaving Gray and Fury behind with the scepter.

The very, very last voice that Coulson wanted to hear broke through the haze of pain that had taken over. Being fatally stabbed through the chest fucking hurt.

“COULSON!” Gray shouted. Very loud, very fast footsteps echoed after the shout. Coulson gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay quiet, but the kid was too damn good at finding people who didn’t want to be found.

Fuck, the last thing he wanted was for the kid to watch him die.

“COULSON! SHIT, COULSON!”

Too bad for him. Gray was there. Kneeling next to him, pulling the ridiculously big gun out of the way to get a better look at the hole Loki had made.

“Get a medic!” Gray shouted over his shoulder, his hands pressing hard on the gushing wound in the center of Coulson’s chest, “Stay with me, Coulson, you’re going to be okay!”

Coulson grit his teeth together, trying to get his thoughts together when his whole body was screaming because FUCK that hurt and every part of him knew that this wasn’t the kind of injury you survived.

And after everything the kid had been through, he wasn’t going to let Grayson watch him die.

Coulson raised a hand to grip Gray’s sleeve.

“He’s got the scepter,” Coulson ground out, “Tell… tell Fury.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“That’s an order, Gray!”

Gray froze, his eyes wide as he stared at Coulson. His gaze dropped down to the wound on his chest and the blood spilling out between them and he raised his head to look at Coulson with horror. Looking in the kid’s bright blue eyes, Coulson was met with nothing but grief. Grayson knew the same thing Phil did; there was nothing that could be done to save him.

“Coulson, I…” Gry bit out, guilt twisting across his face, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

“This isn’t your fault, kid.”

“No, I—” tears started dripping down the kid’s cheeks from bloodshot eyes. Gray wiped his face with the back of his hand and squeezed Coulson’s hand one last time, “I’ll tell Fury. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Slowly, Gray drew back, his hands still pressing against the wound on Coulson’s chest. He’d already lost enough blood that the world was turning gray and sounds were getting fuzzy, and as soon as Grayson moved his hands, it was over.

“Gray, please.” Coulson tried his best to take a deep breath, but he didn’t have working lungs anymore and the best he could manage was a nearly-silent rasp. “Go.”

There was about two seconds between when Gray pulled his hands away and sprinted out the door back into the twisting hallways of the helicarrier and when Coulson’s heart stopped beating. He’d already seen his life flash before his eyes when Loki buried the scepter in his chest, and then he’d seen it a second time when Loki pulled the scepter out again. As a SHIELD agent, Phil had always known the risks. He’d always been the modest type, but even he knew that his work had saved countless people, countries, maybe even planets. Or realms, if Thor’s definition was the one to go off of.

Out of all the ways he could have died in the line of duty, this was far from the worst. He’d shot Loki back, hopefully wounding the Asgardian enough to give the Avengers a fighting chance when the time came.

He just wished he could’ve been around for the day SHIELD finally brought Deathstroke down. But at least Grayson was safe, and more importantly, out of Wilson’s clutches for good.

That was a good thought to end on.

“It’s too late,” Loki gloated, “Not even you can stop me now, brother.”

Thor flinched as the mad god spat his name like a curse.

“It’s never too late! Brother, even for you, this is madness. Surely you know it is! We can stop this together, please, Loki!”

Thor’s declaration had the desired effect. He dropped the front of Tony’s shirt and he let out a grunt as his back slammed into the ground. Damn, that hurt. His original idea was a much better plan than getting up close and personal with a deranged lunatic and no suit to protect him. But Loki’s eyes gleamed that freaky ice blue and all his attention went on his older brother instead of the whirring machine behind them.

“Together?!” Loki hissed. Tony took the moment of distraction to pull himself out of the way, trusting Thor to take over the job of distracting the psycho. He could handle it. Definitely.

A pulse of energy slammed Thor into the wall with a grunt, and Tony could see blood staining his armor as he clutched at the knife sticking out of his arm.

He winced.

Okay, Thor could maybe handle his crazy brother.

“But my moment is finally at hand. Once my army arrives, I will ascend to my rightful place as ruler of this realm and nothing will be able to stand in my way. Now rejoice! My era begins!”

At his words, the machine finally spun to its peak momentum and a column of blue light shot into the clouds, splitting open the sky.

Loki spread his arms and closed his eyes in triumph, basking in the moment as a deafening roar split the air and a monster the size of a skyscraper began to appear through the portal, swarms of creatures on otherworldly hovercrafts sneaking through alongside.

‘Shit, come on, kid,’ Tony thought to himself, trying to pull himself high enough to reach the panel that would summon his suit.

A crackle of electricity made them all jump. The console sparked and a bolt of blue energy pulsed off the tall column, which started to shake. The shake became a tremor, then a waver, until the entire column was vibrating back and forth, the intensity of the light pulsing and fading and wobbling until the straight beam of energy began spinning in unstable spirals that reached higher and higher until the outline of the portal itself began to glow.

And not just any glow. But the quickly intensifying glow that meant Tony had about five seconds to duck for cover before his entire lab went up in flames.

“What on Asgard—” Loki began, but that was all he had time for before the console exploded in a spray of metal chunks and arcs of molten plasma, and then the shockwave traveled all the way up the unstable beam of energy until the portal itself ripped apart. The entire sky lit up a devastatingly bright blue, even through the hands Tony pressed tightly over his eyes, and the shockwave made the entire city shake.

Then it was quiet.

Tony’s heart stopped.

Too quiet.

“Oh, shit… kid, no, get the hell up—”

The pile of rubble shifted and Tony felt himself age a decade from the sheer rollercoaster of emotions the damn kid was putting him through.

Gray staggered to his feet, ripping a thick shard of metal out of his shoulder and throwing it to the ground. The remains of a circuit board was clutched in one bleeding fist as he grinned savagely at the would-be conqueror.

“Hard to take over a planet without an army,” he taunted.

“YOU!” Loki thundered, a crazed blue light shining in his eyes. Gray turned on him and glared at the foiled conqueror.

“Me,” he agreed darkly. Then the corner of his lip ticked up into a smirk. “And him.”

“Wha—”

“PUNY GOD!” The Hulk roared, and the next thing Tony knew, the puny god was being hurled around by an angry green rage machine.

“The portal is closed but we’ve still got about a hundred and fifty hostiles, plus one of the big ones,” Black Widow reported over the communicators.

“Hulk, you’ve got the big one.”

“Don’t let it get too far from Stark Tower!” Gray exclaimed, “It’s going to go down hard, so we need to keep the damage contained as much as we possibly can!”

“You heard him!” Steve echoed.

“Hulk smash fast!” Hulk shouted and Tony winced at the bellowing call right in his still-ringing ear.

“Wait, wait, what the heck is the Justice League?” Steve stumbled over the question, the Asgardian liquor burning through him and giving the world a very strong but very pleasant buzz he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Justice League. What a stupid name.”

“Says Captain America,” Nat shot back, staring at him with one pointed eyebrow that was betrayed by the obvious amusement on her face.

“Hey! That was wartime propaganda… I mean, Patriotism!” Steve joked and the Avengers laughed, the combination of alcohol and the post-battle adrenaline pushing them all the way into delirium, “But seriously, what is it?”

“They’re heroes, Cap,” Banner answered.

“Heroes? Like superheroes?” Steve echoed.

“Just like ‘em,” Clint agreed, “Superpowers and spandex and saving the day from evil, the whole nine yards.”

“There’s a ton of them, too,” Tony threw in, looping an arm over the back of Steve’s chair to get closer as he started putting up fingers, “There’s the super strong lady in a sexy one piece and an even sexier lasso, there’s the king of the fish who can talk to whales, which makes no sense because whales are mammals, and a bunch of aliens that can shapeshift and throw skyscrapers and shoot lasers from their eyes, and another sexy lady with wings and a mace, and another one with the hottest fishnets you’ve ever seen and a killer ass—"

Gray snorted into his sparkling apple cider. Nat slapped Tony on the arm.

“Come on, you’re just messing with me!” Steve interrupted.

“He’s being a sexist jerk but unfortunately he’s not completely wrong.”

Tony jerked back at the death glare the dangerously sexy assassin sitting well within strangling reach was leveling at him and he scooted away from Steve, holding his hands in the air.

“Fine, fine, the guys are hot too. Lots of super buff dudes on the team. That one archer’s got arms big enough to— not that they’re better than yours,” he added hastily when Clint raised an eyebrow at him.

“So you’re saying you think I’m sexy?” the archer grinned, flexing and showing off his muscles to the cheers of a very, very drunk Banner. Gray let out a cough that couldn’t hide the laughter underneath.

“I’m not saying I think you’re sexy, I’m just stating an objective fact.”

“That you think I’m hot.”

“That are have objectively bigger arms than he does,” Tony countered.

“Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute, does that mean you’ve measured them?” Banner teased. But then he remembered who he was talking to and leaned forward, looking very curious to know the answer.

“Your honor, that is not pertinent to the discussion,” Tony pointed an accusing finger at his fellow scientist, who shrugged good-naturedly.

“Fine. All in favor of bringing this up again at a later date?”

Everyone raised their hands. Tony rolled his eyes and huffed, but Steve was getting better at figuring out when he was just being dramatic instead of actually upset.

“Alright, moving on. Justice League. They’ve got archers, hot babes, buff aliens, uh… fish king, capes and tights, who am I missing?”

“I believe I’ve heard tale of the super man who guards Metrocity,” Thor raised his hand. Gray facepalmed and Barton patted him on the back.

“He’s doing it on purpose. He has to be,” Gray muttered to Barton, who laughed and whispered back, “Bet you Fury’s eyepatch it takes Tony a week to catch on.”

Steve couldn’t see whether or not they shook on it, but Tony was already midway through correcting the Asgardian.

“-polis. Meh-troh-po-lissssss. And it’s Superman, one word. AND, he’s a buff alien, so I totally already counted him. That’s everyone, right?”

“You forgot the sidekicks,” Romanoff threw a rolled-up sock at him. For all the money in the world, Steve could not have said where she’d gotten it from.

“Yes, thank you, the sidekicks,” Tony agreed, snapping his fingers in Steve’s face to get his attention, “Now, young grasshopper, while there’s a lot of debate about which of the heroes is the best, there is a very clear winner for best sidekick for one reason and one reason alone.”

“Go on,” Gray said. His eyebrow was raised as high as Steve had ever seen it go, and he looked like he both dreaded knowing and desperately wanted to know.

“The pipsqueak’s clearly got a strong opinion, but guess what, he’s gonna agree with me. Because the reason that there is a clear answer for best sidekick is that… there is only one sidekick whose name anyone actually knows. And that’s Robin.”

A chorus of “yes!” and “oh, right!” rang out. Even Thor was nodding along.

“Robin?” Steve frowned, looking around at the other Avengers to see which would be the first to crack. Obviously they were messing with him again, right? “What is he supposed to be, some kind of bird?”

Gray let out a strangled noise, and when Steve looked over, his friend’s face was buried in his hands.

“Nat, come on,” Steve tried, since Barton wouldn’t miss an opportunity to mess with him and Gray was no help, “They’re messing with me, right?”

“Nope,” the spy shook her head, saluting him with her glass before downing the little liquor that remained. Barton was quick to refill it for her. “Batman and Robin are Gotham’s Caped Crusaders. They’re very famous.”

Steve stared at her, but she wasn’t going to break. If they were messing with him, no one was going to fess up to it. He gave up; he’d just look it up later.

“Fine. Okay. Robin. Are there more?”

“Sure are! UH, let’s see… there’s uh, Fishboy?”

Gray’s face dropped even farther into his hands and he mumbled, “lad.”

“Fishlad,” Tony corrected brightly.

“Fishlad?” Steve repeated, rolling his eyes, “Come one. At least pretend you’re not messing with me.”

Gray sighed.

“It’s Aqualad. Not Fishlad.”

“That is… still bad,” Steve nodded. Nat and Barton laughed, Thor tilted his head consideringly, and Gray just groaned like the conversation was causing him physical pain.

“And there’s that other kid, Speedy,” Banner added.

“Speedy quit,” Gray said, his voice incredibly muffled by his palms.

“What? No he didn’t, he and the Flash were on the news last week about that Gorilla invasion,” Banner pointed out.

“That’s Kid Flash.”

“Well who’s Speedy then?”

“Speedy quit,” Gray repeated, raising his head just enough that they could hear him, “He used to be Green Arrow’s partner.”

“Sidekick,” Barton corrected. And apparently hit a button, because Gray’s head snapped up, his arms flying out for emphasis.

“Partner! Calling us—them sidekicks is so… they’re heroes too! They’re out there saving the day right next to the League but just because they’re kids, it doesn’t count, right?!” Gray snapped.

“Awww, don’t worry, half-pint,” Tony cooed, reaching forward to ruffle the kid’s hair, “You’re a big boy Avenger, now.”

“No stabbing,” Barton leaned forward to put a hand on Gray’s shoulder and hold him back before the teen had a chance to retaliate. The scowl on Gray’s face deepened and Barton whispered something to him that was too quiet for anyone but a super soldier to hear. Steve hid his grin in his drink while Gray let out a loud cackle.

“Hey, hey! No conspiring against me, I saw that.”

Thor let out a boisterous laugh and clapped Tony on the back.

“A word of counsel, my fellow warrior. When you poke a Muspelheimian wasp nest, you cannot be surprised when you are stung.”

“Yeah, Tony, don’t poke the Muspelheimian wasp nest,” Banner laughed.

“I don’t believe this,” Stark scoffed in mock offense, “I open my home to you, I feed you and share my very expensive booze with you and you all gang up on me?”

“You’re an only child, aren’t you?” Gray asked.

The conversation devolved pretty quickly from there. Tony brought out more food and booze and it was quite honestly the most fun Steve remembered having in a very long time. The Avengers, huh? He could get used to seeing more of these guys.

As the night dragged on, bottles grew emptier and people drunker. Steve included. By the time Thor crashed over on the couch, snoring like he was trying to bring down the building, Steve had lost track of the conversation. Tony was egging Barton on, while Nat and Gray added even more fuel to the fire. SHEILD gossip, then.

Steve couldn’t keep track of any of the names, but it was nice to just tune out and enjoy the feeling of being really, truly drunk off his ass.

“You know who’s a dick?” Gray demanded suddenly.

“Who?”

“Rumlow,” Gray stated like a fact, “He sucks.”

“Hear hear!” Barton raised his beer, clinking it against Gray’s soda.

“Who’s Rumlow?” Bruce asked tiredly, blinking to try and keep himself awake instead of nodding off the way Thor had. The Asgardian was sprawled across the entire couch, deafening snores coming out his wide-open mouth. Bruce had elected to take the floor and lean against the cushions instead of being crushed by Thor’s bulk.

“SHIELD guy,” Barton waved his hand, “He’s an asshole. They gave him the combat instructor gig to scare off the recruits who are just there to be—” he was cut off by a hiccup “—secret agents.”

“Nahhhh the whole STRIKE team is like that,” Nat shook her head.

“Really?” Gray asked, his eyes clear and his expression sharp. Steve thought it was kind of funny that the kid was the most awake one out of all of them.

“Ahuh,” Nat nodded, gesturing with her glass of wine, “They’re all dicks.”

“All of ‘em!” Barton added, raising his beer even higher.

“Hear hear!” Steve called, raising his cup and spilling a bunch of it on himself.

“Alright, Rogers, I’m cutting you off,” Gray said, pushing himself up.

“Boooo,” Stark called as Gray pulled Steve to his feet. Steve blinked, still not used to the fact that there was someone who could push him around so easily, much less a someone who was so much smaller than him. He stumbled on the hardwood floor and Gray steadied him, letting Steve rest almost all his weight on him. “Let the man drink!”

“I did,” Gray teased, “And if he drinks any more, then he’ll be even worse off than those two.”

Nat and Barton both flipped him off in response to that, but they were too drunk to do much more than that.

“Fine, whatever, buzzkill,” Tony scowled. He waved a hand and a glowing blue screen appeared in midair. Steve stumbled backwards, still shocked by the fact that technology had somehow just become straight-up magic in the last seventy years. “Elevators are coded to your floor, door’s unlocked. Take whatever rooms you want, the whole floor’s yours.”

“Steve just needs one,” Gray sounded like he thought that was funny. Nat pulled herself up to glare at the kid as Stark said, “One of them’s for you, dummy.”

A little robot with a claw for a head zoomed forwards suddenly and Stark waved it away.

“Not you, Dum-E.”

Steve let Gray lead him to the elevator, his head spinning and his whole body warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been even a little drunk and now he was drunk drunk. His thoughts felt fuzzy and the world was spinning and it felt so good and he was gonna barf and—

“How you doing?” Gray asked, and Steve suddenly realized he was sitting on a bed in a really nice room. Stark was a pain in the ass but he had good taste.

“Ahuh,” Steve answered, but he was grinning and everything was suddenly so funny and Gray was laughing too.

“And I thought Brucie was bad,” the kid muttered.

“Bruce’s upstairs,” Steve reminded him. Gray looked sad but before Steve could ask him about it, he put down a water bottle and a bottle of painkillers.

“That’s for tomorrow. Have fun,” Gray grinned, patting Steve on the shoulder.

Steve nodded and laid down, closing his eyes as soon as they hit the pillow. He heard clicking sounds and opened them to see all the windows were drawn and Gray was standing at the computer, typing so fast Steve couldn’t see his fingers.

“Whatcha looking at?”

“Porn,” Gray answered without pausing.

“Don’t look at porn,” Steve tried to blink but he was still so asleep and so so so so so so so so drunk and he tried to remember what the rule was. Or was it different in the future. “How old are you?”

Gray paused.

“Fifteen in a few weeks,” he answered.

“It’s your birthday soon?” Steve asked. He didn’t know that; why didn’t he know that? Gray was his friend, he should know things about his friends.

“In March,” Gray said. He was still typing and from this angle, Steve could see how hard he was frowning at the computer screen. There were files on the screen. SHIELD files with that SHIELD blue color that Fury liked so much. Steve would have frowned too if he had to look at SHIELD files when there was a birthday to plan.

“We’ll have a party! We have to… to celebrate!”

“We’ll see. With any luck, this’ll be done by then.”

“What’ll be done?” Steve asked, blinking as he tried to sit up. “What are you doing?”

“Good night, Steve,” Gray repeated.

“No, no, Gray, what’s are… what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Gray asked. He stepped away from the computer to show Steve the picture of one of Iron Man’s suits that Stark had told him was called a desk topper.

“No, you had SHIELD colors. Files. Why did you have files?”

“What are you talking about, Steve? It’s the middle of the night and you’re drunk, why would I be looking at files right now?”

“Agent Hill. Take a seat.”

Hill had never seen Secretary Pierce look so serious; she knew he took his job seriously, but she’d never given him any reason to doubt him.

“Do you know why you’re here today?” Pierce asked seriously.

“I’m assuming this is about the Avengers Initiative?” Hill returned calmly. Pierce’s frown only deepened.

“Agent Hill, you’re facing some serious allegations. I advise that you cooperate to the fullest extent.”

“Allegations?” Hill repeated, “What allegations?”

“On the day of the Chiutari Invasion, you accessed files beyond your clearance level. Do you deny these charges?”

For a second, all she could do was stare. This had to be some kind of bad joke. But Pierce was deadly serious and it took her a few seconds to realize that she’d been asked a yes or no question.

“Yes, I deny the charges.”

“Top secret files were accessed by your credentials. We have paper copies of the access logs to prove it.”

Hill looked down at the papers and scowled.

“I don’t know the access codes for Project Insight. Even if I had tried—which I absolutely did not—I wouldn’t have been able to get any of this.”

Pierce looked unconvinced.

“We know for a fact that Tony Stark’s AI breached our firewalls in an attempt to gather information on the tesseract.”

“I’m well aware of Stark’s interference. We know every file that he was able to get his hands on. What we don’t know is why you went poking around into Project Insight earlier that day.”

“I didn’t.”

Pierce leaned forwards, a stern warning set into his face.

“Unless you can help us figure out who did, you are facing multiple charges of treason and espionage against your own country. So I will ask you in good faith, Agent Hill. Do you have any idea who used your computer and credentials to breach our security?”

Hill thought for a few seconds. If the intruder had used her computer, they would have had to set up a line to virtually access the machine or they would have had to hack the system in person. Either way, they would have physically had to enter her office.

The good news was that Hill’s door documented every single person that entered and exited the office and logged it in three separate databases. The bad news was that as soon as she began to run through the list of every visitor, she remembered that she had in fact left someone in her office unsupervised on the day in question.

But that wasn’t… he couldn’t have…

Oh, who was she kidding? The kid was Deathstroke’s apprentice who’d been rescued under convenient circumstances and slotted himself seamlessly into life as a SHIELD operative. Of course he could have.

“I’ll check the security cameras.”

“Agent Hill. If you know anything—”

Pierce trailed off and Hill’s instincts lit up with the certainty that this entire conversation was a setup. She hadn’t been the one to access the files on Project Insight. Pierce knew that. Just like he knew full well every single person that had stepped through the door into Hill’s office. This was a test and if she wasn’t careful, it would be a trap too. And not just for her.

“As soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Director Fury?”

“Shouldn’t you be with the other Avengers, Agent Gray?”

“Tony keeps trying to fit me out for a suit,” Gray mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest sullenly. Fury kept his face stern and didn’t let the smile show; in that moment, Gray looked like a normal teenage boy all the way down to the grumpy teenage rebellion.

“So you’re hiding from Stark.”

“I’m not hiding,” Gray grumbled.

“Good,” Fury straightened, pulling his overcoat onto his shoulders, “Then you’ll be free to join me for lunch.”

“Yes sir.”

“Kid, drop the sir,” Fury ordered, “You like burgers?”

A short car ride later, the two of them were sitting in a booth in the back of a restaurant well-within Gray’s protective boundary. Gray was picking at his food, something clearly bothering him. Fury was patient. He just ate his own lunch, taking full advantage of the opportunity to eat a real burger instead of the sanitized version served in SHIELD’s cafeteria.

“Am I being punished?” Grayson finally asked. Fury didn’t say anything and the kid continued, “I know I shouldn’t have gone to Germany, but Steve was going and it’s my job to watch out for him.”

“Captain Rogers is adjusting well to this century, thanks in no small part to your efforts. He’s being assigned to a strike team that will make better use of his abilities and his time.”

“He still needs a handler. All active-duty agents do,” Gray pointed out petulantly. No, not petulantly. Fury leaned forwards, his eye narrowing. He was wrong; none of this was normal teenage angst. Gray knew something.

“He does,” Fury confirmed, still carefully watching the junior agent, “You’ve done very good work for him, but regardless of the fact that you flagrantly violated the terms of your arrangement, Captain Rogers is needed on active duty. For many reasons, it’s not feasible for you to remain as his handler.”

“So I’ll be reassigned,” Grayson concluded quietly, dragging a French fry through the ketchup on his plate. Fury instantly flashed back to the innocuous file sitting on his desk, orders from on high that detailed the junior agent’s promotion to Level Five and subsequent transfer to one of SHIELD’s smaller facilities on the West Coast. The approvals had all been finalized. Junior Agent Gray’s future had been neatly and officially taken out of Fury’s hands, and the file had been hidden inside a pile of other bureaucratic nonsense.

“Do you trust my intuition?” Gray met Fury’s eye, unintimidated by the sudden suspicion. Fury didn’t miss the fact that Grayson didn’t bother to ask if Fury trusted him.

“Based on what I’ve seen, yes. I do.”

Gray nodded like he expected that answer. That was one of the things Fury appreciated about him the most; he was confident in his own abilities and he had a right to be.

“People want to believe that there’s good guys and bad guys in the world. But there’s really only people trying to get what they want,” Gray said, picking up another fry. Instead of eating it, he stared at it. “If they reassign me, I’m going to disappear.”

Fury’s eye narrowed, his grip on the fork tightening. A thousand suspicions solidified into one undeniable conclusion that he’d been building towards for a while now.

“What do you know?”

Gray stared at the placemat for a long time before he answered.

“For once, this isn’t about what I know. This is me trusting my instincts.”

“About what?” Fury asked carefully. He wasn’t prepared for the raw intensity on the kid’s face when he looked up at him.

“About you.”

For a second, neither of them said anything.

“I know that Coulson was a good man. If he was still alive, then I would be having this conversation with him right about now. But he’s not and he trusted you, so I’m taking a risk. And if I’m right about you, then all I’m asking is that you hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

Gray’s jaw tightened.

“You’re not going to want to hear it.”

“I’m listening.” Fury repeated. He already knew; just like how Gray knew Fury already knew what was coming next. The kid had laid out a beautiful trail for him to follow. And he’d told the truth so far, Fury recognized the little details that would’ve caught Coulson’s eyes in a heartbeat.

“There’s a parasite inside SHIELD. A monster,” Gray said slowly, watching Fury for any sign of a reaction. Fury didn’t bother looking around to make sure they were alone; he’d already ensured it. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“The kind with too many heads,” Fury finished. Gray’s mouth pulled into a thin line, his head nodding ever-so slightly. Fury’s chest tightened, his stomach sinking with the confirmation. There had been rumors over the years, the kinds of tiny incidents that were easily overlooked, but it was his job to unravel secrets and he was damn good at it.  

“You suspected something?” Gray guessed.

“I was never able to find anything concrete.”

“That’s why I left you a trail to follow,” the junior agent answered. Fury was a little surprised at the outright admission, but he supposed it made sense. This meeting was a final gambit, one last chance to place bets before the dealer showed his cards. Gray was apparently planning to leave everything on the table.

Fury respected that. He respected it even more because he could see the kid’s tells; Gray was sweating, his eyes darted back and forth every so often to confirm that they weren’t being watched, and his fingers were tapping against the plate in a slow but obvious rhythm. He’d been trained better than that. Which just confirmed that whatever Wilson had sent him to SHIELD for, this wasn’t part of it.

Grayson was taking just as much of a risk as Fury was hearing him out.

“So what happens next?” Fury asked, leaning back again now that he’d made the kid sweat enough.

“If Pierce has his way, you’ll be killed.”

“You put a target on my back?” Fury asked coldly.

“I pointed a finger at Hill. You went digging into Project Insight all on your own.”

“Don’t pretend this is on me,” Fury warned, “You’ve been lying to me and the entire organization since you arrived. You lied to Coulson.”

Grayson flinched. The guilt that crossed his face was real, and for the first time since the conversation began, he looked like the teenager he was. Fury eased off; Gray really was devastated by Coulson’s death, and given that Fury wasn’t about to let the mole in on Project Tahiti anytime soon, there was no reason to rub salt in that particular wound.

“Why should I believe you about any of this?” It was a challenge more than any actual question. Whatever the kid was willing to tell him—true or not—Fury wanted to hear it.

“I put myself in the line of fire. If this goes wrong, I’ll be taken for reprogramming as Hydra’s newest asset.”

“Hence your reassignment making you disappear.”

“You weren’t surprised,” Grayson realized, his eyes widening.

“I do pay attention to what goes on in my agency,” Fury replied, “You shouldn’t have been involved in the tests of the new facility.”

“Romanoff said something to you,” the kid guessed.

“She implied a few things,” Fury said, which was true. But he’d had his suspicions about Pierce long before then. All that incident had done was reaffirm his confidence that Romanoff wasn’t working with those bastards. Whether or not he could trust her, well… as much as he liked her, that was a different story. But as long as they were exchanging secrets…

“Who are you working for? Wilson is a mean son of a bitch but he doesn’t have the fire power to go after SHIELD head-on.”

“Not on his own. But he has partners.”

“Let me guess, al Ghul being one of them?”

Gray frowned. He took a deep breath. Fury tightened his fists to avoid visibly grimacing. So this wasn’t just some contract Wilson had taken. This was two shadow organizations of unimaginable power butting heads, each trying to destroy the other. Renegade was just the Light’s weapon of choice.

“You’re a spy. You know that the most convincing lies are built around the truth. I left out a lot of things but I never lied about Slade. Hydra is a threat and the Light is going to destroy it from the inside out. And I’m going to do everything I can to help them do that because Hydra wants to destroy anything and everyone that stands in their way and I can’t let them do that.”

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk.

“They’re a lot like the Light that way. But I can’t do anything about them.”

The way he said it suggested he’d like nothing more than to turn on his own masters, and Fury suspected that if he’d found any way to ensure their demise along with Hydra’s, he’d take it in a heartbeat. The fact that he couldn’t… didn’t bode well.

But it also raised a few questions. Like how he’d ended up in the mercenary’s grasp in the first place. And there was the other matter than they’d never discussed.

“There aren’t a lot of fourteen-year-olds with seven years of combat experience,” Fury said slowly. He raised his head to fix Grayson with a steady gaze. “You would’ve been, what, seven, eight when you started?”

Grayson licked his lips, reaching for his untouched glass of water. Fury resisted the temptation to ask how the appearance of the newer Robin, clearly younger, less experienced, with skills that frankly paled in comparison, fit into the big picture. But they had more important matters to deal with than gossip about the heroes of the world.

“One way or another, Hydra burns tomorrow. The Light doesn’t give a shit if SHIELD goes with it.”

The non-answer was as good as confirmation, and it was one less secret between the two of them. It was refreshing, and Fury appreciated the fact that although he’d been correct in his suspicions about Gray, there were plenty of things about the past few months that were real.

“Why warn me?”

“The World Security Council voted to nuke New York City and you stood in their way. Iron Man was ready to sacrifice himself to save everyone. I’ve been with SHIELD long enough to see the good people there. You know your agency as well as anyone.”

“Not well enough.”

Grayson pulled a pen out of his pocket and started writing names down on a napkin. The list went on and every name felt like a knife pressing deeper into Fury’s chest. When he was done, he slid the napkin across the table.

“Every name on this list is Hydra. I’m positive about them. The only people I’m sure about not being Hydra are Rogers, Hill and Barton. And Coulson.”

Fury looked at the list and squashed down the emotions rising in his chest, choosing instead to pull out the names that weren’t there. He inhaled slowly.

“Agent Romanoff?”

“I don’t know. But I like her.”

“Who else do you like?”

“Fitz. Simmons. Agent Carter. Agent May,” Grayson’s frown deepened, “But I liked Agent Ward too. Until I heard him hail-Hydra Agent Sitwell.”

Fury scowled, but forced himself to accept the information and move past it. There would be time to process later. And Gray wasn’t done yet.

“You have twenty-four hours to get your people out and take whatever you need to keep the real SHIELD alive.”

“You could come.”

“I need to see this through. And no offense, but I’m sick of being in hiding.”

“So you’re going back to Wilson?”

“Director.” Gray looked up at him with an exhausted expression, the corner of his mouth tightening in self-contempt, “I’ve been Slade’s the whole time.”

“You’re a smart kid, Grayson,” Fury countered heavily. He tapped his knuckles against the table twice in an old superstition. “Even if the things he did in Nanda Parbat were staged, he’s shown you what he’s capable of doing to you. And don’t tell me you agreed to that serum.”

Gray flinched. Fury wasn’t done.

“You’ve been watching SHIELD, well, I’ve been watching you. Do you know what I see? I see someone that cares. I saw you make friends with an entire agency. You did more for Rogers in a few weeks than we managed in months. You’re a damn good leader; New York would have been a different story if you hadn’t been there to pull a roomful of people’s heads out of their asses, mine included. You deserve more than being Wilson’s.”

Grayson swallowed. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“I can’t. I… I owe him too much. I can’t.”

“I know. Worth a shot.”

For all the crap Steve had given Tony, crap which he absolutely deserved, Steve could admit that he pulled through in a pinch. Because Tony and his magic computer were the reason Steve found out about the media blackout.

What media blackout?

SHIELD was under attack.

“Something big’s going on, Cap,” Tony told him over the comms in his ears as Steve gunned the handle of his motorbike, swerving at breakneck speeds towards the black smoke cloud rising into the sky. “Multi-pronged attack, all emergency response channels are being blocked, and there’s absolutely zero media coverage. Zero. Not even a shaky cell-phone video, you got that?”

“What does it mean?”

“Someone’s wiping everything as fast as it appears,” Tony answered, “Whatever’s going on, SHIELD is right at the center of it. Banner’s the only one I can get in touch with and he didn’t know anything was wrong. Thor’s still off world, so nothing there.”

“And Romanoff? Barton?”

“Nothing.”

“How can there be nothing, Tony?!” Steve shot back, “What about your magic computer butler?”

“If there was anything to be found, JARVIS would find it. They’ve been scrubbed.”

“Fuck!” Steve swore, then jumped up a curb to narrowly avoid smashing into a semi. Then a new thought hit him, bad enough that he nearly toppled off his bike, “OH, FUCK! TONY! GRAY!”

“Oh shit,” Tony swore, “Shit, shit, shit, Cap you gotta drive faster!”

SHIELD headquarters. Steve had been there plenty of times with his handler, but the entire building looked different now. Partly because of the thick cloud of black smoke billowing out of the highest open windows, partly because of the fires and broken glass and crushed support beams. But also because of the swarms of hostiles actively laying siege to the place.

Steve swerved out of the way of the bullets that flew past him, diving off his bike and pulling out his shield as one of the attackers shot a pair of glowing red disks at him. He rolled to the ground and turned back in time to see the disks hover in midair over his bike, before arcs of electricity shot out from them.

Noted. Flying electricity attack.

Steve didn’t give the attackers a chance to stop him; he plowed through them, barely sparing them each a second. Gray had taught him some fairly brutal takedowns and these grunts were in his way.

Gray was trapped inside the building, and Steve had a terrible feeling that this attack had something to do with him. Coulson himself had admitted that SHIELD knew Deathstroke would try to take his apprentice back someday. And who else would dare to attack in broad daylight like this?

Steve broke through the barricade of enemy attackers, then through some freaky glowing wall that shattered under a strong blow from his shield, and finally, he was inside.

The front lobby looked like a warzone, rubble and bodies lying everywhere. Before he could move, a dozen enemies swarmed him, and it took a precious few seconds to put them down. Alarms blared in his ears loud enough that he couldn’t hear himself think.

He had to find Gray. He had to find Gray, now!

Steve charged up the stairwell, throwing open doors and sprinting through halls, looking for any sign of his friend. Battles were raging everywhere he went, and he tried to help the SHIELD agents he found as he could. But Gray’s safety was the most important thing.

“Captain!” a familiar voice called, and Steve found the members of his new STRIKE team surrounded by a bunch of… fuck, were those ninjas? What the shit was going on?! “A little help?”

Ninjas or not, Steve took them down easily.

“Fuck am I glad to see you, Rogers,” Rumlow grinned, grabbing Steve’s outstretched hand and slapping him on the back, “Please tell me the rest of the cavalry’s on the way.”

“Where’s Gray?” Steve demanded.

“What?”

“Agent Gray. Where is he?!”

Rumlow and the rest of the agents froze.

“Shit. Uh, fuck, he’s staying in the on-call dorms.”

“Where is that?!”

“Sixth floor. West corridor,” another member called out.

“Rogers,” Rumlow snapped his fingers, pulling his attention back. He was busy reloading his weapon. So were the rest of the members of the STRIKE team, “Cavalry?”

Steve shook his head.

“I’ll come back once I find him,” Steve promised. Rumlow gritted his teeth, but nodded.

“You do that. Good luck, captain.”

He hated leaving them to defend the floor, but he couldn’t afford to waste a second. Steve took off for the stairwell again.

“Gray!” Steve roared as alarms went off all around them. Every color and sound code blared at the same time as the autodefense protocols engaged and went haywire. SHIELD agents scattered in every direction, dodging gunfire and blades made of fire and discs of light that sent their targets to the ground, covering their ears and screaming. “Gray!”

The sixth floor was just as much of a mess as the rest of the building, and Steve took out every single intruder that crossed his path without any mercy. He threw open every door he found, desperate to find his friend safe and terrified that he was already too late.

He’d swept the floor twice before accepting that Gray was nowhere to be found. And experience told him that his handler was going to be in the middle of the action.

Steve didn’t even pause as he charged up towards the highest floors, sure that Fury’s office would be the center of the chaos.

“GRAY!” Steve bellowed, taking out a pair of intruders that tried to shoot him at the top of the stairs. He sprinted onto the floor, shield raised to take the sword strike from yet another fucking ninja. He’d finally found the real battlefield. SHIELD agents on one side, dozens and dozens of assorted gunmen and ninjas and hooded freaks with the guns that shot red disks. Carnage everywhere.

“Steve, listen to me,” Gray’s voice was urgent but perfectly steady despite the chaos all around them, right in Steve’s ear, “SHIELD was never what you thought it was.”

“Gray! Where are you?!” Steve yelled, trying to find his friend in the chaos.

A thick cloud of smoke burst through the room, concealing everything and everyone. Steve caught a flicker of movement out the corner of his eye, outside on the massive terrace.

“GRAY!” Steve shouted, raising his shield and charging through the thick, black smoke. He burst through the bulletproof doors in a shower of glass, sprinting up the steps to the helipad.

Where his handler stood waiting.

Just Gray and no one else.

Steve’s mouth went dry, his shield dropping into his hand even as his heartbeat began to pick up again.

“Gray,” Steve said calmly, the feeling nearly identical to the first time he’d defused a bomb, “What’s going on?”

Gray didn’t turn around. His usual clothes, the casual hoodie and sweat pants, were gone. Instead, he was in all-black, with long pants and sleeves that went down to his wrists. It looked almost like an undersuit.

The kid looked fine.

Suspiciously fine.

The entire building was under siege, and Gray was standing by the helipad, his hands in his pockets, calmly staring up at the sky.

Not the sky.

At the chopper heading straight for the building.

“Gray, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Gray’s shoulders stiffened, the only sign that the kid heard him. Steve took a step forward, and without looking, Gray barked, “Stop.”

“Gray—”

“Steve. Don’t.”

There was a long pause as the chopper drew closer. Then Gray turned around.

He couldn’t look Steve in the eyes. That was the worst part.

“None of this has anything to do with you,” Gray said. His voice trembled, “You need to leave. Now.”

“I’m not leaving you here!” Steve shot back immediately. “You want me to get out of here? Fine. Come with me and we’ll go right now.”

“Steve.” Gray’s voice was cold, but the kid didn’t fool him for a second. The growing panic in his eyes was as clear as day. “You have to go NOW.”

“Gray. Tell me what the hell is going on.”

A loud explosion shook the building, and the aftershocks nearly sent Steve off his feet. He braced himself and rode it out. The helicopter drew closer and closer.

“Hydra.”

Steve staggered back like he’d been punched, the single word knocking all the air out of his chest.

“-what?” he managed, half-strangled with shock.

“Hydra. They infiltrated SHIELD from the bottom all the way to the top. This is the only way to get rid of them,” Gray said.

“What the hell are you talking about? Hydra? Like Hydra Hydra?”

“Yes. Scientists weren’t the only things that got brought over after the war; it started from a splinter cell and they had fifty years to grow.”

“Gray, that’s not possible. Fury—”

“Has already gone to ground. Along with any of his people worth taking,” Gray answered. Steve could only stare in horror.

“Gray, what did you…”

“Shit!” Gray’s eyes went wide and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. The chopper was descending. “Steve, go! NOW!”

“No.”

Gray opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was drowned out by the deafening roar of the blades as the helicopter descended onto the helipad, wind whipping up in every direction and scattering the thick smoke. Steve finally found his opening, moving too quickly for Gray to stop him as he yanked the kid and dragged him behind his back. The chopper landed, and Steve could only hang onto his shield with his right hand and Gray with his left, watching as the rotor slowed to a stop.

The door opened and a man climbed out.

Blinding rage filled Steve’s chest, fury beyond anything he’d ever felt before. Coulson hadn’t wanted to show him, but Steve had insisted until the agent caved and gave him the field.

Slade Wilson.

The mercenary Deathstroke.

A twisted copy that the military had tried to make to replace him.

Behind him, he felt Gray stiffen in his grip as the mercenary inspected the roof like it belonged to him. The man wasn’t wearing a mask, which meant that Steve could clearly see a single gray eye track across Steve’s face before landing on the kid behind him.

His mouth quirked up into a sickening grin.

“Good work, Renegade,” Deathstroke praised, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Shock slapped Steve in the face, and he couldn’t do anything as Gray pulled his arm free and stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was an arm’s length away from the mercenary. Wilson reached back into the chopper and pulled out a briefcase, dangling it in the air like a treat for a dog.

Gray’s shoulders straightened.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve ground out, fury pounding through his veins.

“This isn’t up to you, Rogers,” Gray answered tightly. The formal address slapped Steve in the face.

“After everything he’s done to you, you’re just going to go back to him?!”

“Rogers, stand down.”

It was an order. Steve readjusted his stance, pulling back his shield and calculating the trajectory he’d need to knock the rotor clean off the chopper.

“Not a fucking chance,” Steve snarled back.

“Steve,” Gray tried again, but Steve didn’t care what he said. Gray would thank him someday but there was no way in hell he was going to let Wilson take his friend.

“I know what he did to you. I’m not letting him take you.”

Wilson’s eyebrow rose curiously.

“A friend of yours?” the mercenary asked. The edge of mockery made Steve’s teeth grit against each other.

“He’s my trainee,” Gray said.

“Is he now?” Wilson twitched his hand, the barest motion, and Gray moved. He took the briefcase and the final few steps, turning around to face Steve from behind the mercenary. Wilson’s attention was now solely on Steve. “Captain Rogers.”

Steve shot him a glare that could melt steel.

“Let him go, Wilson. I won’t warn you again.”

The mercenary raised his hands calmly.

“There’s no need for hostility, captain. I understand that you’re concerned for my apprentice’s wellbeing. I appreciate it, even. But I can assure you that our arrangement is mutually beneficial. Isn’t that right, Renegade?”

Gray’s eyes were fixed on the ground.

“Shut the hell up! Gray, come on. We need to get out of here, now.”

“He’s not going anywhere with you, Rogers,” Wilson put a hand on Gray’s shoulder. Nausea bubbled in Steve’s stomach as the kid’s shoulders relaxed and he leaned into the touch. “I see that you don’t understand yet, so I’ll make it simple. Richard, do whatever you like.”

He released his hold on Gray’s shoulder and turned away, retreating back inside the chopper without another word.

Gray, still clutching the briefcase, stared at Steve. Steve stared back at him. His grip on the shield tightened, still eying the rotor. Gray tracked the motion, his body tensing once again. And Steve knew.

If Steve attacked the chopper, Gray would fight him.

And Steve had sparred his handler enough times to know that he couldn’t beat him, not in a real fight.

Another explosion shook the building. They were out of time.

“Don’t do this,” Steve forced out, aware that the fires were creeping closer with every second, “Gray, please. You can’t do this. Whatever he’s got on you, or whatever he promised you, it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out, together. Just please. Don’t go with him. Please.”

Gray flinched, emotions flashing across his face too quickly for even Steve to follow. For a second, he thought he’d gotten through to his friend. But then his head dropped, hands clenching into fists.

“I’m sorry.”

Without another word, he was gone.