Chapter 1: Foolproof

"I thought you said your plan was foolproof, Tony!" a young boy with sandy brown hair and Ray-Ban sunglasses huffed out as he fired off a batch of arrows with the ease of Robin Hood. The arrows found their target: a group of angry-looking men in leather jackets and brass knuckles.

"I thought you said you'd have an eye out on everything, Clint!" Tony, a slightly taller boy with the beginnings of a mustache, yelled back.

"THIS WAY!" the tallest boy with blue eyes and short blonde hair that was ruffling in the wind created by his sure and steady glide spouted, turning into an alleyway. Six kids followed behind him, the only girl, dressed in black with fiery red hair, was letting loose a barrage of bullets as well as a string of Russian curse words. The group had the advantage of size and speed and managed to get a few full feet ahead of the livid, profusely perspiring men.

"There's a deserted house a few blocks up- it was abandoned in the process of being built, so plenty of places to hide," the smallest boy said loudly, his voice noticeably smaller than the others, even though he was 13 and the third oldest.

"Good job, Banner!" the blonde boy said, giving the smaller one a reassuring smile... Anything to keep him from getting too upset, because when Bruce Banner was upset, well, let's just says that no one was happy, either.

The blonde one—Steve, the leader of the rag-tag group of thieves and con artists—found the door of a barely begun home about a block down, and waited outside of it as he ushered everyone in first.

"Such a gentleman," Tony winked, causing Steve to roll his eyes and shove him into the building.

Once inside, the group collapsed on the floor to catch their breath- everyone that is, except for Clint, who was climbing to the exposed beams of an unfinished ceiling with an ease that attested to his years as a circus performer.

"What can you see?" Steve asked, sounding every bit the leader.

"I see... I see the idiots giving up and running back and a clear street! Hey! I guess we showed 'em who's boss! Nice shooting, 'Tasha." Clint dropped down to the floor as silently as a cat.

"Back at'cha, Clint!"

Everyone erupted into cheers except for Steve.
"See?" Tony laughed, "My plans are foolproof."

"No way- there's no way guys like that would have given up so easily. Are you sure it was a clear street?"

"As far as I could see- no one was coming."

"That's because I was already here," a nameless voice floated menacingly from a corner where the sinking sun's rays didn't quite reach.

"It's Amory. Sergeant Amory, police chief of this fair city. I was looking for squatters, but wait till I tell the boys I caught the infamous gang of runaway kids." An older man in uniform with a slightly graying hairline and mustache walked toward the kids. His leathery skin evidenced the many years of hard labor, and there were wrinkles permanently ironed into his forehead. He smiled a menacing toothy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, his crow's feet barely moving, and spit tobacco.

"Forgive me," a large framed, muscular boy with long blonde hair, innocent baby blue eyes, and a heavy Scandinavian accent began, "but what are 'squatters'?"

"You are such a dolt, Thor," the towering, yet thin boy with long black hair and an accent not as strong as his brother's replied, rolling his equally blue, but ten times more mischievous, eyes.

This was the distraction—Tony and Bruce started making their way to the back of the room while Steve, Clint, and Natasha had slowly started making their way closer to the man.

"Brother, I do not jest. I do not know this word."

"And you believe now is the proper time to ask the definition? You've always been reckless, but this is a whole new level of stupidity. I apologize for my brother's naiveté. We aren't from around here."

"I know. Thor Odinson: golden son of the Royal Duke of Trondheim, and Loki Laufeyson: the Kraut with a bad attitude. I hope they send you back to Hitler when you get home," the policeman drawled, spitting tobacco on the floor.

Thor growled wildly and picked up a hammer that he found discarded on the ground and held it menacingly. Loki's eyes flashed and he swiftly drew his weapon of choice- a staff given to him by his father—adoptive father—he reminded himself, and laughed as if the world had let him in on the best joke in the universe. The sheriff drew his gun and fired, and that was all that was needed to start the pandemonium.

Tony and Bruce watched in horror as Clint yelled out, "I'm out of arrows—I dropped my quiver outside when we were running from the biker fat-heads!" – Never a good way to start a fight.

"Don't worry, big guy. I'm sure they won't need you. You're safe; this will be done quickly, ok?" Tony said to Bruce who was fighting back rage, fear, and aggression—fighting back the feeling of falling inside of him—fighting back becoming an MK-Delta programmed assassin.

Thor threw the hammer at Sgt. Amory's hand that held a semi-automatic pistol causing him to drop it with a few colorful curse words.

"He is my brother! We laughed, played, and fought by each other's side!" Thor swung at the older man. "You will rue the day you ever spoke to the brother of Thor in such a manner!" This time his fist connected, stunning the man for a few seconds. Loki ran at the policeman and got in two solid hits before Natasha had run up to him, trained to be lethal in hand-to-hand combat from her years as the daughter of a Mafia capo. After a brief struggle, Sgt. Amory managed to grab hold of the gun and pointed it at Natasha's head.

"Back off, or the girl goes first," he snarled. Everyone froze and began to drop their weapons.

Bruce screamed; an empty, bone-chilling, soul shattering yell that was an octave deeper than the boy's normal voice. Tony could tell by the distant look in his eyes that Bruce wasn't aware of the situation at hand, he was somewhere else. Someplace dark and violent and miserable, someplace someone as fragile as Bruce shouldn't have been.

"Get off of her!" the 90 pound boy who normally didn't take up more space than a church mouse bellowed, tackling the large chief of police with the ease of a 200 pound defensive lineman. A powerful fist connected with the older man's jaw and he was out. Bruce didn't let up, unleashing a barrage of punches that rivaled the rapidity of machine gun fire.

"Stop hurting her! Stop hurting her!" he repeated over and over.

To the average observer, it would seem that Bruce was being overly protective of Natasha, but the years Tony spent around Bruce let him know that it wasn't the Sgt. Amory he was beating, it was his father. And if Bruce didn't snap out of it soon, he'd kill the police chief with the ease of a wild lion hunting down an antelope, and Bruce would spiral into a bottomless chasm of depression, and pull even further into himself.

"Bruce, stop!" Natasha screams. "He's down, we have to run now! Leave him be! He's not worth it!"

"I can't stop, not after what he's done to you... He deserves it, he deserves it!"

"Bruce, Bruce—you gotta snap out of it, okay?" Tony grabbed the smaller, but more powerful kid by the shoulders and tried to shake him back into reality. "You're not there. You're not in danger anymore. And it's not your fault that your mom died; it was that asshole of a father you had who messed with your head." Bruce's pupils were slowly shrinking back to their regular size, and the punches were losing velocity. Tony took a deep breath and kneeled down next to the child who was slowly starting to tremble and tenderly began to run his fingers through the mass of curly brown hair that sweetly hung around Bruce's face.

"You have every right to be angry, but killing this guy won't do anything to hurt your dad, just you. And we have to leave soon. You're a part of this family now...we love you, and we'll never make you do things you don't have to do, but goddammit we need you to come back, Bruce."

That was it. Bruce broke down into gut-wrenching sobs and curled into Tony's lap. Steve caught his eye and mouthed "good job", and the rest of the group were visibly relieved.

"Alright, big guy, it's time to move. We need to cover some ground between here and wherever the hell we're going to be sleeping tonight."

"Guys, we can't just leave the man like this—he could die," Steve contested, his blue eyes flashing judiciously. Bruce flinched and backed away from the group until his back was touching the crumbling drywall behind him.

"I agree. It is said that the man who can treat his enemies well in times of need is a far superior warrior than those who only show brutality," Thor rumbled in agreement.

"But fellas, how are we going to move him without getting caught? Seven kids dragging an unconscious policeman through the streets aren't going to look kosher, are they? And then the bulls will be on our tail faster than Thor on bacon," Clint reasoned, climbing down from his perch on the uncovered beams above.

"Perhaps there is a way to make him appear sentient," Loki began, a mischievous sparkle appearing in his crystal blue eyes. "Tony, I will need your mechanical assistance."

Everyone looked at Steve, who nodded his silent agreement, lips set in a thin line. Sometimes, he didn't know how he got tangled up with these kids whose sense of adventure often overran their sense of morality, but until their lives no longer depended on stealing, running, and trickery, he'd have to settle for the fuzzy gray area between right and wrong.

"But we don't need everyone. The fewer we are, the less likely we'll get caught. 'Tasha: you, Bruce, and Thor take the loot and tie it up so that we're ready to leave ASAP, and then go to the old hideaway and make sure it looks like we were never there; Clint and I will be their back-up."

Thor groaned in protest, wanting to be the warrior and go out on adventures, but a sharp look from Natasha snatched the wind out his diaphragm. The three started to trudge tiredly towards the door, Natasha linking arms with Bruce and protectively laying her head on his shoulder.

"Remember to look out for any sign of danger, ok? We don't need another close call like this."

"Yes sir," Natasha said, snapping her arms into a salute without hint of irony or sarcasm. She knew orders when she heard them, and following orders was what Natasha Romanoff was raised to do. Well, that and giving orders, but learning how to lead meant learning how to be a good follower. Or at least, that's what her trainer had always told her, and he had always seemed to be right.

Once Thor, Natasha, and Bruce slipped into the night air, Steve focused his full attention on Loki and Tony, two of the group's best strategists, arguing over whether or not it would be feasible to build an apparatus to prop up the presently unconscious policeman. The young leader found it ironic that Tony, the one who would have less than five minutes to build whatever elaborate sketch he was drawing, was rooting for the most difficult idea.

"My idea is much simpler, and more easy to execute. All we need are my staff, these small beams of wood, and this rope."

"But simpler is boring," Tony spat, as if being boring were synonymous with being the devil.

"Tony—"Steve warned, anxious to be out of the room, especially if Sgt. Amory would be waking up soon.

"Fine, fine. Have it your way. No one appreciates my wonderful, visionary mind."

"So that's what you call being an arrogant, daisy-minded, rich boy?" Steve asked drily, a smirk creeping ever-so-slightly to his face. His blue eyes were dancing with merriment as he stared into Tony's chocolate brown eyes, daring him to retort.

"Save it for someone who cares, Cap," Tony replied lamely, too focused on finding a non-permanent way to connect the thin wooden beams to Loki's staff while making the staff accessible and easy to remove. His tongue peaked out of the side of his mouth and his thick, dark eyebrows were storm clouds gathered over his eyes.

"Stark may be a pain in the rear, but he has concentration and vision," Steve decided, ambling over to Clint who had his bow unstrung and was eyeing the pathway leading up to the unfinished ceiling, visibly considering climbing back up to his perch. The young leader knew not to be fooled by the looseness of the bow- Clint could have his arrow strung and firing faster than a bullet could leave a barrel. He was very protective of his bow and quiver- given to him by his parents for his first performance in the circus. Clint found it ironic that he'd probably be using them for his final performance in life. He had dimly accepted that a life without violence would probably be unlikely. All he heard about in the foster home was how studies say this and that, and that once a criminal, you were pretty much destined to be a criminal. At first, he thought the studies were balderdash, but as he got shuffled from temporary home to temporary home and forced to do things that were less than legal, he found that he was becoming a statistic; an unwilling participant in one of God's studies. A hard lesson for someone only 11 years old to have learned and learned well, but then again, none of the kids ever had it easy except Stark, the world-famous rich runaway kid.

Tony got a sick sense of delight when he would see his face on milk cartons and flyers. His dad had even managed to get the story on ABC, NBC, DuMont, and CBS. Tony was finally famous for something he did on his own- not for whose son he was. Combined with the knowledge that his emotionally unavailable son of a bitch father might actually be distraught over him—maybe even feeling remorseful—was even sweeter. Then again, he probably just drank all of it away, and his mom was running everything behind the scenes. A groundswell of guilt threatened to overcome him, but was swiftly replaced by pride: dadgummit, he'd finished the contraption, and it was ingenious and damn beautiful.

"Well, of course it would be beautiful, I created it," he thought, gently running a finger across a beam.

"Swell- it's finished!" Steve smiled and playfully tugged at Clint's dangling leg, causing him to tumble down- he still landed on his feet.

"No, no, no, no! It's not finished yet!" The boy's pale hands disappeared into his pants and he scrounged around for a few seconds before his face broke out into a sunny smile and he produced a pen from his pockets. In giant, neat block letters he printed "STARK" on a beam of wood and smiled like a teacher watching their students graduate.

"Now it's done."

Clint rolled his eyes and sighed sarcastically: "sure, that's better."

"Come on, boys- we don't know how long he'll be out. We're going to move him to the alley beside the gin mill down the street."

Meanwhile, Thor had busied himself moving the massive stones they had used to blockade the view of "their corner" of the now deserted park back to their original location.

"And it is good that I came with the others, they would have never been capable of moving these boulders without me," Thor smiled, genuinely pleased at his chance to be a hero- even if it was only in a small way.

"You take the saying whistle while you work to a whole new level, Thor," Natasha smirked as she folded the recently acquired assortment of food and medical supplies into a tattered blanket and tied it into a knot.

"I do not know of this saying," Thor frowned, furrowing his brow in disappointment. With his long, unkempt straw-colored hair hanging loosely around his face, he looked every bit like a scolded golden retriever.

"It means to be happy while you're doing whatever job you have, even if it's grunt work," Natasha smiled at the son of Norway's ambassador to the U.S. who still appeared confused.

"And grunt work is grovarbeidet- dirty work, yes?"

"Exactly. You're getting better at this, Thor!" Natasha smiled as Thor glowed in the warmth of her compliment. She could've told him that he was the most handsome guy on the planet and he just won a million bucks, and he would be the same level of excited. No one could dislike Thor- which was why he was the distraction on their operations. He was loyal and kept his promises, no matter what the personal cost. That's how he ended up a runaway- by following Loki. Not just because he was his brother, but because he had promised that he would keep him safe when they were younger and Loki was almost hurt in a hunting accident, years before Loki decided to run away. He had kept that promise ever since.

A few feet away, a disheveled and disheartened Bruce was picking up the debris of evidence that they had been staying at the park and dumping it into trashcans scattered across the park. He was muttering, as he always did after he had an "episode". No one understood what he was saying, but it seemed to have some dark, ritualistic meaning.

Once, Natasha had recognized as part of Alice in Wonderland: "I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!" Other times, it would seem to merely be gibberish: "We have caught the sniper like a duck in a noose" or, "go tell Alice to open her eyes as the rainbow ends in the mirror", but he would whisper it with such fervor that a passerby might think he was praying. Occasionally, he would get so worked up that he would simply sit down wherever he was and whisper to himself until Tony- and only Tony- came and gently led him back to reality. Natasha and Thor figured they were better off without disturbing him- he was getting his job done.

Thirty minutes later, a breathless and maniacally giggling Steve, Tony, Clint, and Loki ran up to the their friends and started talking over each other in excitement like a pack of puppies fighting over a ball.

"We got him over there without people noticing-"Steve starts.
"-except-"
"-except for this old lady—"

"—and she was like, ancient, a real stick in the mud—"Tony interjects.

"Tony, no."

"—she was old, alright, and she looked at us like she wanted to yell, 'dirty delinquent scoundrels!', and asks the Sarge how he's doing—"Clint continued.

"—and we're all flipping our wigs, and trying not to laugh until we get to where we're dumping the copper at," Tony commandeered the story back.

"So we lay him down, right? Next to a—"

"GET THIS- it was STEVE'S IDEA to put him next to a—"

"—this sleazy little joint—"

"—and Loki goes in and takes some passed out drunkards giggle juice—"

"—and puts it in Sarge's hand!"

The group was mass hysteria. Clint picked up Natasha and swung her around and kissed her cheek triumphantly, Tony's arm was clapped around Steve's shoulder, and even Loki had a wide smile and a gleam of pride in his eye.

"And right as we leave," Steve started, "shush, Tony- I'm telling this part! A dame comes stumbling out, and passes out beside him! And he starts to wake up, and he looks like he's been in a bar fight, tried to run off with some floozy, and passed out drunk!"

All four of the boys were near hysterics, Tony rolling on the ground with tears escaping from their dark brown prison. Natasha smirked at the boys fondly, and Thor's laughter echoed across the park.

"Now that is a story of conquest! If I could, I'd lay a feast for you victorious men!"

"Alright, alright," Steve interjected after wiping his eyes and dusting off his jeans, "we have to move. 'Tasha, where's Banner?" The mood shifted instantly.

"He's on the other side of the park getting rid of the rest of our trash. He did a good job- he even had a method and everything."

"So he's... okay?" Clint asked, tapping his forehead.

"I think s—"

Natasha was cut off by a crash and a scream of frustration. Tony took off and reached Bruce who was sitting cross-legged in front of a dented trash can and bleeding from only God knew where, whispering, "red hands, red blood, breath is gone, all is good", repeatedly.

"Hey, Bruce," Tony whispered softly, the rest of the group crowding around him. Bruce looked up at Tony, a tiny light of recognition passed through his eyes as he continued to rock back and forth and whisper.

"What's... what's wrong, big guy?"

Brown puppy dog eyes slowly met Tony's again and filled with tears.

"YOU CAN'T JUST SHOVE NEEDLES IN MY EYES AND THEN ASK ME WHAT I SEE!" Bruce exploded. The group looked at each other and slowly backed away, leaving Tony to deal with the hard situations.

"Hey, hey, look at me. No one's doing that here. No one's going to do that to you." Anger and hatred boiled up inside of Tony, hatred for Bruce's dad, hatred for the hospital he worked for, hatred for the fact that his own dad had partly funded the research that caused his best friend to be so shattered and scarred.

"Tony," a heart wrenching whisper floated out into the air, tentative, almost apologetic.

"What?"

"Tony, you guys should just leave me, I'm broken and I can't get fixed," Bruce whispered, "I slow you down, make you all miserable."

"Bruce Banner, I never want to hear you say those words again. You're a part of our family, and we aren't going to leave you, ever. Now what got you all shook up?" Tony sat down beside Bruce and enveloped him in a hug.

"I threw up..."he looked down ashamedly.

"I thought I smelled apples," Tony joked lightly, allowing Bruce to nuzzle his face into his shoulder, a sigh of laughter escaped from Bruce's mouth, tickling Tony's neck. He started rubbing his hands across the tiny boy's back in small, soothing circles. "It's alright; we thought you were over that, but maybe you're not. Maybe it depends on how intense the episode is; it was kind of bad today. It's not like we can exactly run a thorough scientific analysis of your physiology on the run, so you can't expect to be making a million breakthroughs a day. It's all a part of the process. How do you feel now?"

"Going..." his voice quivered and broke, "going back. Like apple bits coming back up...chaos."

Tony's heart broke with every word. He motioned to the team that it was ok for them to come back around before focusing his attention on the quivering boy in his arms.

"How did you feel this morning?"

"Good. I...played with Thor, and—and the sun came out, and I walked on my feet, and heard with my ears." Natasha and Clint looked at Tony inquisitively, who shrugged in turn. It was a code, some code that only Bruce knew, but it was very important for him to walk on his feet and hear with his ears. Tony didn't even want to know what the doctors did to him to make him appreciate such basic body functions to such a high degree.

"I hate the bits," he choked out, "the bits that work, the bits that function like I'm a real boy. I hate it because I know it will go away. The sun goes dark, and chaos comes again." He finally lost it. "Bits?! Fluids!? What am I?!"

"You are my brilliant best friend in the whole entire world," Tony answered, kissing his forehead and hugging him tighter.

"I threw up on your blanket," Bruce elaborated.

"Yup. Definitely my best friend."

That elicited a snort from Clint, causing Bruce to giggle, and as if on cue, the group was enveloped in a giant group hug.

"Bruce, are you ready to move?" Steve asked gently.

"Uh-huh. I'm...I'm sorry guys. I'm really, really sorry."

"Friend! There is nothing to be apologetic for," Thor's voice boomed amiably. "There are many brave warriors in Trondheim who returned from battle with invisible scars. To me, these men are more heroic than the ones who return from battle bragging and laughing, for the ones who suffer are righteous men who fought the hardest and the longest! I feel the same way about you, Banner—you have fought foes which none of us shall ever face, and you fought bravely and survived. Unlike us, all of your battle wounds are internal, and you are facing them like a true warrior."

Loki's chest swelled with love for his older brother's ability to make anyone feel better about themselves, and was happy, for the millionth time, that he had chosen to run away with him. As everyone beamed at Thor's war analogy- to be called a warrior by Thor was no small feat- Bruce let loose an uncharacteristically loud "huzzah!", stood up, and clapped Thor on his back.

The group of kids and barely-teens turned and walked towards the city limits, the future in their eyes and hope in their hearts.