I'm going to start writing descriptions for all of these one-shots, so yeah. Requested by: ClarissaMackenzie. AoS spoilers. I made up things because canon doesn't have the details I needed and this doesn't take place anywhere specific. :)

Fitz-Simmons accidentally travel back in time to the light house and meet a younger version of Deke who's being abused.

"Is it supposed to be doing that?" Fitz words from earlier rang through Jemma's ears as she slowly regained consciousness. She groaned and raised a hand to her head, refusing to open her eyes to see the bright florescent lights of their lab.

What even happened? Jemma wondered. We were in the Lighthouse, working on our latest projects...and then a blast? Where's Enoch and Fitz?

"Who's Enoch?" Someone suddenly said with a rough voice, startling Jemma. Did she accidentally say that out loud? "And Fizz? Cause...I don't thin' they're here."

She sat up hastily and instantly regretted it. Her meal from that morning threatened to make its way up, but Jemma managed to keep herself calm. Flickering open her eyes, they landed on a big beefy guy standing over her with a raised eyebrow. Jemma slid back a little bit.

"Uh," she said, "Enoch is my friend. Fitz is my husband." He grunted and offered a hand. "Where exactly is here?"

The man gave her a strange look. "The Lighthouse—"

"This can't be the lighthouse. I was just there!" Jemma interrupted.

"Well, that's what we call it 'round 'ere." He shrugged. "Now if you'll excuse me..." The man trailed off as he started towards the door, stopping only to pick up a crate.

Jemma carefully took in her surroundings. The first thing she noticed was the large boxes on top of a shelf, stretching down the room's length. Some were full of small objects while others spouted out green leaves of some sort; one was even purple with a flurry of red speckled in. The biochemist had to stop herself from further examining it.

A light groan was heard from underneath a pile of boxes. Fitz.

Jemma jogged over and started pulling apart the wood. Finally, she found a hand and pulled out her still unconscious husband. Jemma scanned him over. Fitz looked the same and everything, even wearing the same lab coat he always wore; the one that always smelled like lemon after an experiment gone wrong near Deke's lemon supply.

He inhaled sharply and sat up, taking in the room. Fitz definitely wasn't panicking however, because Jemma was still by his side. "Is this the Lighthouse? It looks like a storage closet."

Jemma nodded and helped him to his feet. "Agreed. It's a creepy storage closet with alien plants."

Pulling out a small round object, Fitz carefully spun the dial. It was his newest invention — a watch. Well, a watch that always automatically turned to the right time, no matter what time zone you were in. The watch even showed basic information about coordinates, direction, and a line of Jemma's favorite stars around the edges.

It was still a bit of a work-in-progress, but it accomplished its goals pretty well so far. Fitz assured Jemma that it would work without glitches...about 67% of the time.

The pin on the side shrunk down into the watch and moved the dial. It stopped on a new set of numbers that were completely different than where they were before. Jemma couldn't read them from where she stood, but Fitz's widened eyes told her everything they needed to know.

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," she joked to lighten the mood. The joke fell flat.

Fitz looked up. "Uh, I don't think Kansas exists anymore." Jemma raised in eyebrow, so he showed her the display and announced, "Welcome back to the future!"

The timestamp read: N/A - */A - 20*7. Of course today's usage was a part of the other 33%. Great. We know where we are but not when, Fitz thought.

"—so the time travel navigation broke?" Jemma asked. She peered around the corner frame to look for any wandering pedestrians.

Fitz nodded. "Something malfunctioned and then that activated it; one thing lead to another." He sat cross-legged on the metal floor, pulling out wires in a vibrant white colored disc. A blue light flickered every once and awhile, alerting him that there was a problem. "We've probably scared Enoch half to death."

"Enoch," Jemma repeated "Do you think we can try and contact him?"

"I..." Fitz thought for a moment. "He may be able to bring us back, but we have to make repairs to this—" the engineer pointed at his disc— "and hope Enoch is patient enough to wait."

Jemma kept look out while her husband examined the insides, noting how charred they looked. Nobody walked by, which was a little strange, but also a massive relief. The biochemist could hear voices somewhere in that general direction.

Fitz muttered a curse beneath his breath. "Found the problem." He made a clicking sound with his tongue.

His wife walked over and picked up the wire. The end of it was occasionally shooting off golden sparks, the light a heavy contrast against the dull and brown room.

They said together, "It's inverted—"

"—and copper," Jemma finished. "Silver would work much better, wouldn't it? Copper is way too conductive, overloading the system interface."

Fitz rose to his feet and embraced Jemma. "I was thinking lead, although a bit of vibranium could really do wonders..."

She kissed him. "We'll find some lead. Fix the wires properly this time, then go home and see Enoch."

"Tear it all out, replace it with sweet sweet vibranium." Fitz smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

"Even better since we're together!"

The moment was ruined when, seconds later, there was screaming down the hall. Fitz-Simmons locked eyes with each other before packing their supplies and taking off together. They slowed to a stop and took in the scene.

A body sat still against the corner wall, something glowing on their arm. Another man, very much alive, stood in the middle. He was brandishing the weapon used — a curved knife. "Let that be an example to all of you!"

Murmuring amongst the people. Jemma couldn't understand any of it. Fitz noticed how frail and weakened some of the crowd looked, but others had muscles and broad shoulders.

"Back to work, everyone," the same man as before yelled. He put the knife back on his belt, but it was covered with his jacket.

Jemma whispered to her husband, "He must be the leader here."

"I wouldn't exactly call that leading. Dictating is a better word," Fitz replied. Everyone else seemed afraid of the guy, which was understandable when he murdered in plain sight and was one of the bigger guys in the community.

Suddenly, a kid yelped.

Fitz-Simmons saw a boy with a messy mop of dark hair. He had sunken cheeks, likely as a result of poor nutrition. The boy's forehead had a large cut that was already bandaged. Blood slowly trickled from his nose. Jemma felt a pang of guilt at how easy going she'd had it, while this poor kid was fighting for survival.

Something about him looked familiar, but neither SHIELD agents could quite place it.

Mystery Kid walked past them, not even sparing a glance, before wiping unshed tears from his eyes. Fitz clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes at whoever had hit the boy. He wasn't entirely sure who it was, but it looked like some guy hanging out with the gang leader who'd spoken earlier.

Jemma felt the same way. She tapped her husband's shoulder lightly. "We have to do something."

Fitz nodded solemnly. Together, they maneuvered their way through the market, only stopping read advertisements and ask around for lead. Cheap jackets were luckily in stock, so Jemma traded for two — the scrappiness wasn't a bother. Their lab coats stuck out like sore thumbs, so they carefully tucked them into their new jacket pockets.

Splitting up was never a topic brought up. Fitz-Simmons were called Fitz-Simmons for a good reason, and prior experience was a great motivator.

It wouldn't be long until the couple found the same boy as before. This time they looked a little closer at him, taking in the scrawniness and dirtier appearance than most. His leather jacket was way too big for his frame, but the kid didn't seem to mind. Sitting on a counter top, a young girl working behind the booth gave him a warm smile.

"Deke," she said.

Jemma suddenly felt like throwing up again — meanwhile Fitz turned an unhealthy color of paleness. They'd come over here because of the half faded sign reading: Metals and—A.

The boy — Deke — nodded in her direction. "Hiya, Tess. "Where's Virgil?"

Jemma gave Fitz a look to see if he recalled poor Tess and Virgil. It was clear that he did.

Tess shrugged. "He's Virgil. Who knows anymore..."

Fitz cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the children. "Er, do you guys know where we can find some lead?"

"Pipes?" Tess perked up. "Wires? Sheets?"

Deke motioned to Fitz-Simmons and spun a single finger by his temple. Fitz almost said something, but Jemma shushed him before he could manage an insult towards their grandson and his friend.

"Don't forget about plating!" Deke exclaimed. He slid over the counter and landed on his feet. Going through a shelf, he held up various shining metals. "Whatcha need it for?"

Fitz said sarcastically, "Nothing important. Only time travel, y'know?"

Their grandson bonked his head on the counter. "Uh, what? Can I help? Please?"

Tess grimaced. "Deke, a word real quick."

"Yeah?" He asked once they thought they were a safe enough distance away from Fitz-Simmons — which they weren't.

"You should be careful. Remember what happened last time you offered to help someone."

Deke snorted. "Thanks for the reminder, trash girl. Few broken ribs and a limp that I couldn't shake for days."

"Well," Tess said. "If you'd come to me or Virgil sooner, we would've been able to help you. You're just too stubborn."

"I pride myself on that." He walked back over to a horrified Fitz-Simmons and repeated: "Can I help? No questions asked even-though-I-kinda-wanna-ask-questions."

"Of course!" Both of his grandparents practically shrieked, one a little more enthusiastic that the other. Fitz still didn't know what to make of Deke — both kid and adult, but he always felt a strange surge of protection for the guy. Was it really that strange?

If Deke noticed anything unusual about the people he was currently helping, he didn't say a word. He kept unusually silent for a boy his age; almost like he were afraid of the consequences. Fitz also saw how the boy tensed up considerably, ready for a good smack, whenever the Scotsman simply raised his hand.

Bobo had to give his grandson credit. It was like he already knew exactly how to do everything they needed. Someone had clearly taught him stuff before, but who? This was top-notch information aquirred through years of experimentation and excruciatingly long SHIELD academy seminars.

Jemma watched him work peacefully for a minute before asking, "Have you ever heard of SHIELD?"

Deke raised an eyebrow, sceptical. She felt a surge of guilt course through her about making her own grandson feel that way.

"The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement Logistics Division?" Fitz offered.

The boy hesitated. His eyes darted around wildly, scanning for possible exits and enemies. He realized how much trust he'd already put in these new weird people, something Deke hadn't done in awhile. "My buddy, Virgil. H- he always talks about that."

"W—" Fitz started.

Panic sprung up in Deke's eyes. "Forget  I- I said anything."

Jemma placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Deke immediately flinched and fell over from where he was sitting on his knees. "Apologies, Deke," she spoke in a soft voice, hoping to make him feel safe.

If that's not a red flag then I don't know what is, Fitz thought. Abuse.

"Does...does someone ever hit you?" Jemma knew the answer already, but wanted to hear Deke say it. Admitting something should always be the first step to solving the problem at hand. "Fitz and I aren't like that."

Fitz nodded. "Exactly, and just like how you're helping us now — we want to help you to."

"You...I..." Deke finally overcame his shock and spoke a whopping total of two words. He silently scolded himself and thought of how to dodge the question directly. "You don't want to help me, or anyone else here. We're all outlaws who fend for themselves, yeah?"

"But not everyone is strong enough—"

Deke interrupted, feeling a little hurt, "Are you calling me weak? I mean, I know everyone always say that, but...m- maybe I- I was hoping you'd be different."

He started walking off, the time travel project long forgotten. The truth though: they'd finished about an hour before, but Fitz and Jemma kept slowly breaking the machine, just enough to stop it temporarily, and removing parts. Fitz-Simmons shared a look before going after their grandson.

"Deke, wait." He actually stopped.

"What now?" Deke snapped. He realized his mistake, not even a beat later, when his hand clamped over his mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Jemma crouched down to eye level. "Sh, it's okay." Tears welled up in his eyes before he hesitantly wrapped his small arms around the scientist. "Everything will be okay. We're both here."

"But why? Why care so much about someone so useless?"

Fitz ignored his anger at who'd done this to Deke. "You're not useless, kid. It doesn't matter what others think, because everyone thinks and acts in their own unique way. They're dumb if they can't see your potential."

"Potential?" Deke scoffed, with a smile tugging at his chapped lips. "That sounds like a food people ate before we ended up 'ere."

Jemma laughed. "Well, it's pretty far from it. Your brilliant and amazing, Deke. Remember: the steps you take don't have to be big, they just have to take you in the right direction. Keep all those things in mind."

"You kinda remind my of my mama." He froze mid-laugh (which had a beautiful sound to it, by the way) and fear replaced the bliss in his expression. "You also...make it sound like you're leaving. That's what the time travel is for, isn't it? You're going to the past! How old are you? Do you remember what Earth was like before it happened?"

Fitz smiled sadly, a glint of guilt taking over his soft eyes. "We don't exactly belong here." Jemma started saying something else, but her husband instead dug into his pockets. He pulled out an Icer, freshly remodeled with more features than the first models. Fitz added beneath his breath, quite enough so that nobody heard, "You don't belong here either, Deke, not really."

"—have to get home and help our friends. We'll meet again some day," Jemma was saying. "What's that?" She pointed to what Fitz was wrapping in his lemon-scented lab coat.

"Nothing," Fitz lied with a wink towards Deke.

Jemma shrugged, knowing he was up to something strange, but also not really caring with how much a hell-hole this future was. She reached into a pocket and pulled out the time travel disc.

Meanwhile, Fitz pulled Deke aside and placed the Icer into his hands along with his lab coat. "Take this."

"I can't—"

Fitz smiled a lopsided smile. "Nah, I insist."

Deke admired the Icer. "What's it do? It this what my papa always called a gun?"

"Sorta, but—" yelling cut off Fitz's answer. He looked left and saw someone pointing at Deke, a murderous look in his eyes. Deke immediately tensed and scanned the area for escape routes. "It does this."

Fitz demonstrated by shooting the Icer. A shot of blue light fired out and instantly knocked out the man running at them with his knuckles cracked and ready. Deke's eyes widened to a size that was comical.

"Oh lord." Jemma sighed. She definitely wasn't mad at Fitz though.

"Is this dendrotoxin?" Deke continued looking at the Icer, not even paying attention as, minutes later, the man who routinely beat him up, ran away and screamed like a girl. He turned around to thank Fitz-Simmons, but noticed how they'd disappeared completely. Almost like they never arrived at the Lighthouse in the future.

With a tinge of sadness, he realized he never caught their names or how they looked underneath the bulky leather jackets and hoods. Deke's feelings got replaced with joy when he remembered that he grasped a highly dangerous weapon — perfect for fending off people who abuse others.

"You've gotta see this, Tess!"