Chapter One

Jo

I hit the punching bag harder, counting the strokes to keep my mind from yammering on. "One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four." The crack of my father's nose breaking enters my mind as my fist hits the cloth and I gasp at the sudden intrusion of the memory. Shaking my head clears it, and I continue, faster now. "One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four." My mom screaming enters my mind and I see her fall to the ground beside my father, her body landing in the growing puddle of his blood. I hit harder and faster. "Onetwothreefour! Onetwothreefour!"

Yelling now, I hit as hard as I can and as fast as I can. Finally, one of the top chains breaks and rips part of the bag with it, showering me with sand. "Damn it!" I reach up and tear the stupid thing off, then toss it against the wall on the other side of the room. I stare at the bag lying against the wall and hang my head, putting a hand on my face as tears threaten me. My head snaps up when I hear footsteps on the stairs to my far right. Quickly and quietly, I straddle the nearest punching bag and grab onto the top. I pull myself up into the rafters and scurry across the metal beams to the door, waiting there to see who's here at this time of night.

A tall man walks in with dirty blonde hair, a tight blue shirt, and grey sweatpants. His large hands are already wrapped, unlike mine, and are relaxed by his sides. Even a homeless brat like me knows that this is Captain America. Everyone knows the Avengers. I wait until he's hooking up the bag to the ceiling to flip myself and slowly hang from the ceiling, dropping to the floor as quietly as possible. I freeze and shut my eyes when he speaks, knowing I've been caught.

"You have pretty good moves for someone so young." His voice is much less stern than it is when he talks on tv. It's softer now, more tender. I don't turn towards him to answer.

"Thanks." My voice is hard and cold, like me. I begin walking out again and stop just past the threshold when he talks again.

"Hold on, kid." His voice reaches me again and I pause again obediently. "Why're you here this time of night?" He asks, his voice getting closer. Ugh, damn. When I feel that he's right behind me I turn around to face him. To his credit, he doesn't jump back when he sees my face. He only looks mildly surprised as his eyes observe the scar that trails down half my face. Nonchalantly, I reach up and tighten the hairband holding my ink black hair up and out of my face.

"Same as you. Working out some frustrations." I incline my head towards him as a gesture of respect. "Good night, Captain." I say politely and rush out the door and up the stairs before he can stop me again. I'm on the roof as fast as possible and looking up at the hidden stars in a sea of black. As I breathe out, my breath creates a shape all its own before joining the invisible stars. I wish I could disappear as easily as that. 

I walk to the back of the gym and go down the fire escape. After hopping over a big green dumpster, I'm home. I'd moved two dumpsters horizontally so they flanked the alley. No visitors that way. A nice box lying down on it's side serves as my bed and thankfully it still has flaps on it to keep out the cold. It'll be harder the next few months because it's getting colder. I jump onto the dumpster and get ready to jump down into my foyer, but am interrupted by a familiar, smooth, deep voice.

"You live here?" I spin around, fists up, just to find Captain America facing me with the eyebrows of disappointment. Sighing, I lower my hands.

"Well, not anymore. Thanks for that." I snap and jump down into the small square, shoving the small amount of stuff I have into a backpack I kept hidden behind my box bed. I fold a small blanket and put it inside with my notebooks and one picture. After zipping it, I jump onto the dumpster opposite the Captain as he climbs onto the other.

"Hold on!" He asks vehemently. I pause to shrug on my backpack and turn towards him.

"What do you want?" I ask, irritated. His blue eyes widen and still manage to shine in the dim moonlight, his dark, golden hair looking like a halo on his head. America's golden boy he is. He hesitates at my question, as if he doesn't even know himself.

"Why don't you come back with me? I can get you some food, a warm bed, some clean clothes?" He offers kindly. I look at him skeptically.

"Back where? Your ivory tower?" I sass. "And what would the press say about Captain America escorting a seventeen-year-old girl to his place of residence?" I ask, already seeing the nasty headlines. He presses his lips together before jumping over to the dumpster, making a ton of noise.

"Look, I just want to help. It doesn't matter what the press says. They get a lot wrong anyway." He shoots a smile down at me to try and win me over.

"Well, that's wonderfully patriotic of you," I hop down and start walking down the alley away from him. "but no thanks." I slip my thumbs under the straps of my backpack and clutch on. At least walking in the alleys keeps the wind off me. In my shorts and thin black tee, the wind would eat me alive in seconds. Steve Rogers appears next to me in seconds, walking with me. I create distance between us, making sure we don't touch. Before he opens his mouth, I stop us both, my temper flaring up. 

"Look, I have no interest in being your charity case. I don't want to be in the press, used as an example of how good the Avengers are, or any of that shit. I just want to be left alone!" I huff, pulling my backpack tighter against my back to resist punching Captain America. Steve's eyes go to my still bloody knuckles in the dim light and his eyebrows furrow even further. "Oh, dear god." I complain at seeing more concern on his face. Before he can put a gentle hand on my shoulder and give me a rousing speech about justice or something I kick him hard in the balls. As soon as he leans over I start sprinting. I reach another dumpster and jump on top of it, then leap to the nearest fire escape. Then, I'm on the roof and feel like I'm flying.

I run as fast as I can for as long as I can before stopping. Unfortunately, because of Captain America, I'm without my box so it's going to be a cold night for me. After settling in behind a relatively not foul dumpster under a fire escape, I go to sleep. In the night, I wake up to find myself in someone's arms. Shivering and close to biting my tongue off from my teeth chattering, I don't even care. They could take me to hell for all I care, at least I'll be warm there.

* * * * *

"I'm sorry, what did you expect me to do? Watch you wallow? Really not my style."

"Well, I didn't expect you to go kidnap her, Buck."

"You losing your memory in your old age, Steve? Out of the two of us, which one actually got shit done?"

"If I remember right I wasn't the idiot who spent a month's rent on a science experiment."

"That experiment worked!"

"Fellas, not that this isn't fascinating, but you woke her up. Shut your mouths." I open my eyes to see Natasha Romanoff sitting at the foot of a bed big enough for four of me. Captain America and his best friend from the past stand behind her, arms crossed across their broad chests.

"Kidnapping is a little rude." I sigh and rub my eyes as I sit up. Flexing my limbs, I make sure I'm still normal me. "What the hell, Captain?" I ask, more than a little annoyed. After spying my backpack on the floor next to me, still zipped, I relax a little. He manages to look a little bashful, but his friend steps forward.

"I kidnapped you actually. Steve was worried about you." Bucky explains like it's the most natural thing in the world. I look at Natasha, hoping she's still sane. She shrugs.

"Are you at least warm now, kid?" Steve asks, the eyebrows of concern appearing. I roll my eyes and notice I now have a large sweatshirt on and fuzzy socks. I throw the comforter aside and climb out of bed, almost laughing when I see the sweatshirt nearly comes down to my knees.

"Yeah, I'm warm. Thanks for the new dress." Nat smirks at me as the guys chuckle. "By the way, not a fan of the nickname kid." I tell him.

"Maybe if we knew your name, we'd call you something different." Bucky says under his breath and Natasha and I both send him glares.

"The sweatshirt is James' and the socks are mine. There's a room on my floor that's yours too, if you want it." She offers, her face kind but eyes searching. My eyebrows pop up.

"What's in it for you all?" I ask, putting my hands on my nonexistent hips. Natasha is the only one not surprised by my question.

"Those two get to feel all good inside and I get to rub it in Rogers face everyday that he got outsmarted and beaten by a seventeen-year-old girl." She answers quickly. My eyes look Natasha up and down as Bucky laughs at Steve. Natasha Romanoff is the one person in this room who is the most likely to have ulterior motives, yet she's the one I trust the most. Steve steps forward and I notice he's changed. His shirt is now white, although just as tight as the last one, and is in low hanging black sweatpants.

"You're also fast, strong, and have acrobatic skills that would give Nat and Buck here a run for their money." Natasha and Bucky both pout a little at that. I shake my head, confused.

"So, what? You're going to train me? To do what?" I fire questions at them, wiggling my toes in the fluffy purple socks.

"We want to learn more about you." Natasha says gently, or warily. I sway back and forth uneasily looking between the three of them.

"So, if I stay I get a room to myself, free food, clothes, and access to a training room just because I'm a little interesting?" I affirm suspiciously.

"And so Steve can feel warm and fuzzy when he goes to sleep." Bucky adds, grinning at Steve. Steve rolls his eyes, but stays focused on me. I frown as I think, weighing the pros and cons in my mind.

"Fine. Thanks." I consent, picking my bag up from the floor and tossing it on my shoulder. "You said it was on your floor?" I ask Natasha, ready to be alone. She stands gracefully and walks to the door. We slip through it and she tells the boys to behave before we head to the elevator.

"I'm just two floors under this one." She tells me with a slight smile. We're on opposite sides of the elevator, observing each other. "Now," she starts and her tone puts me on guard. "may I ask how you got that scar?" She traces the side of her face, starting from her eyebrow down to her chin. I put a hand on my face and trace the scar. I can still feel the cold metal of the man's knife on my face, his other hand on my throat. His hissed words echo in my mind. Helpless, helpless, helpless. Swallowing, I shrug at Natasha.

"Ah, well. Life on the streets, wrong place wrong time." I say nonchalantly. My hands curl into fists to hide the fact that they're shaking as we both continue watching the other.

"You know, it looks pretty badass." She says genuinely, smirking afterwards. My lips twitch at the compliment as the doors of the elevator open. Natasha leads the way to the right until she opens a door to a bedroom. It's simple and neat, clearly unused but regularly cleaned. Windows line the far wall, but I can tell they're thankfully tinted. 

The walls are white and so is the furniture, including the comforter on the huge bed. There's a door to the left of the bed that's open to reveal a pristine bathroom. Thank goodness, I don't have to share with anyone. The wall across from the bed has a tv hung on it and built in bookshelves on either side, holding books, DVDs, even CDs too. I'm guessing the entertainment box under it contains all the technology to play those things.

"I'm going to take a shower. Are there clothes in here for me?" I ask, turning back towards Natasha. She walks over to the bed and reaches under the bed, pulling out a drawer full of clothes.

"Pretty much all of these are men's, so we'll get you some actual clothes that actually fit soon. These are all clean though." She shuts the drawer and crosses her arms in front of her. "You mind if I hang out as you shower? I'd like to ask you some more questions." I shrug, heading into the bathroom.

"That's why I'm here, right? Interrogate away." I say in a monotone, just wanting to take a shower. I'm pretty sure my skin is stitched together by dirt. She follows me into the bathroom and turns the water on for me since I have no clue how the shower works.

"Okay. You're seventeen, right?" She asks just to make sure. I nod with a hand in the spray of water, waiting for it to get hot. "So, any parents in the picture?" Rescinding my hand from the now warm water, I shut the curtain.

"No parents to speak of." I talk to her in the mirror as I take my rat's nest hair out of the high ponytail I had put it in.

"You might want to brush that before getting in." She points to my pile of dirty curls. I open the nearest drawer and take out a paddle brush. I yank at the knots with a vengeance, watching Natasha observe me with a small smile. "Do you want help?" She asks as I struggle with a particularly nasty tangle on the back of my head.

"No, I think I'll just get in. Thanks." I reject her offer and start stripping without care that Natasha's present. I sigh at myself in the mirror. Dark eyes, dark hair, tan skin. I'm basically a raccoon personified. I nod at Natasha to keep asking questions as I get in the shower, letting out a sigh when the water hits me.

"I think you already know what question I'm going to ask next." She says slowly, careful to be mindful of my feelings. As if I have any left.

"No need to tiptoe, Natasha. It's hard to offend me." I assure her as I start to scrub at the grime covering my body. "You want to know about the marks all over my body." I say it like a statement, but hear her hum to confirm. "To earn money, I'd fight in the clubs. Sometimes it gets rough." I tell her unemotionally. Shampoo and conditioner are already in the shower so I use basically half a bottle of each on my hair.

"Is that why your knuckles are raw as well?" I look at them under the spray of water, not even wincing at the pain anymore.

"No, uh, that's from last night. I didn't wrap them before going at it with a punching bag." I rinse my hair out and relish in the feeling of my long, wet hair against my bare back.

"How are you so good at acrobatics? Steve said you were in the rafters when he walked into the gym." My lips twitch at the fact he knew I was there. Old man caught onto more things than I thought.

"I was into gymnastics pretty much my entire early life." I was actually going to go for the Olympics, but that dream died a long time ago.

"Do you have any idea why you're stronger than the average? And faster?" My hand hesitates on the way to my hair with a dollop of conditioner cupped in it.

"No. Could be something I ate on the streets. Never really know what's going into your mouth out there." I say jokingly. After rinsing the conditioner out of my hair, I turn the water off and jump when Natasha throws a towel in at me. I dry myself off as Natasha asks another question.

"Last question for now. Why did you kick Steve in the crotch?" I grin at this question, wrapping the towel around my body and stepping out. My smile is hidden before I do.

"He wasn't going to leave me alone," I shrug. "so, I made him leave me alone." I explain. She grins at me and I allow myself a soft smile. I take the brush in my hand once again and find my hair is much more cooperative now.

"Have any preference in what clothes I grab for you?" She asks, going in the bedroom.

"No. Although sweatpants with a drawstring would be appreciated." She hums in acknowledgement as I part my hair and brush it out again. My reflection isn't the greatest, not to diminish the extreme cleanliness of the bathroom. I'm skinnier than a rail, earlier I could see my ribs under my skin every time I took a breath. The extreme thinness makes me look more dangerous than I am. My jawline is sharper and I'm pretty sure if I tried hard enough I could break someone's skin with my elbows. 

Natasha comes back in with the sweatpants I wanted, a navy tee, and some boxers. She lays them on the bathroom counter and sits herself on the dark marble as well. I put my towel on the counter and slip the clothes on, adding Natasha's fuzzy socks and Bucky's sweatshirt too. It smells nice. There's a hamper beside the toilet, so I put my dirty clothes in there and vow to find a washing machine later.

"How about some food?" Natasha asks as she slides off the counter. I scrutinize her.

"Thank you, but I don't need a babysitter." Her lips twitch at my words, amusement crossing her face.

"It's called a friend, actually." She corrects me and walks out, waiting at the bedroom door for me. Frowning, I follow her out and we walk through the hallways together, back to the elevator. "Do you think I've earned your name yet?" She asks me calmly. I let a chuckle slip out of my lips.

"Josephine Leigh, but I prefer Jo."

A/N; Hey there. New story! So, if you hadn't already guessed, this is an Avengers' kid fanfic. It'll get pretty dark, so if all you want is happiness and rainbows I'd say stop reading right here. If you don't mind some dark clouds mixed with some sparse sunshine, read on brave one. ;)

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