Bang

BANG

The punching bag tore off its hinges, clanging to the ground in a cloud of dust. Steve watched silently as it crashed ruthlessly to the ground at his feet, the fifth bag that hour. He sighed kicking the bag with his foot, and pausing only for a moment to wipe a glittering bead of sweat off his creased brow and tighten the worn straps on his boxing gloves. Than he stood straight; lugging over another bag from the pile in the corner, and attached the chains replacing the now destroyed bag that lay still beside him. And than he lunged his fist hitting the bag in a dull thump;

Bang

BANG

Usually Steve spent hours destroying Tony's punching bags, lost in his memories of World War Two.

But now it was different.

He couldn't seem to discard the memory of the boy he had just met earlier that day. The one who held the burdened look in his eye, the one who seemed as if he held the sky on his own shoulders. And Steve couldn't budge the thought that he wanted to help the boy.

BANG.

But the more he thought and the more he destroyed the punching bag he realized that he was being stupid, so to put it. The boy would get help from whoever he went to live with. Whoever took him in.

Bang.

The thought made Steve feel guilty. Maybe if he hadn't stopped at Sam's house after his friend had decided that he was done jogging. Which was considerable seeing that he tried to keep up with a super soldier for ten miles before crashing. Maybe if he had left immediately after dropping him off. Than perhaps he could have stopped the fire before it started. Gotten everyone out of the building, even the boy's parents. He was supposed to be a superhero...but what good was a superhero who couldn't even stop a fire.

BANG.

He knew that if he was able to stop the fire, the boy and his kid, Steve admitted grudgingly, wouldn't have to find anyone to stake home with. They would just go back to the boy's parents and live happily ever after. At least that's what Steve presumed would have happened.

But he wasn't feeling pity for the boy. No.

He was feeling regret for what he should have done to help him.

.

The punching bag fell to the floor like its brethren. Crashing in a heap of against the far wall. Steve sighed and slipped the boxing gloves from his hands; throwing them to the floor in frustration. Why couldn't he dismiss his feeling of caring. Though he barely knew the boy, he knew enough to counter with any objection that the boy had lived to his limit. And Steve could relate.

Steve slowly walked back to the bench set up beside the sagging heap of punching bags. Gripping the wet water-bottle in his fist he drowned it and than placed down beside him, glaring at it like it was the bottles fault for his problems.

Though it obviously wasn't.

Steve sighed again and placed his head in his sweaty hands, before grudgingly standing and leaving the room to make his way toward the kitchen. Or what was left of the kitchen...

Because in his haste, he had forgotten to refill the Poptarts...and you really shouldn't leave Thor and Clint in the same room with only one Poptart left. So if one would presume a tornado hit the kitchen Steve wouldn't have been surprised.

It looked as if the fight had been going on for a few good minutes...or Hours...it was hard to tell. The two fully grown men, though Steve applied the term 'fully' loosely considering both men could have learned from a kindergartener on how to share, were in the middle of a viscous rustling match by the looks of it. Neither of them seemed to notice the red haired assassin sitting on the granite counter top, munching on the remaining pop-tart a rare look of amusement etched on her face.

It was a possibility that perhaps Clint and Thor couldn't have seen the assassin in the first place even if they wanted too. The whole place seemed to be coated in feathers from Tony's decorative pillows that now lay burst and shriveled in the corner. So they no longer would be considered decorative, unless you had a strange appeal for a very wrinkled tomatoes. Steve noticed that the air was full of white powder, which as he entered the wreckage of the room, was identified as flour.

It seemed that the war had started out in a food fight, which clearly showed where the flour had come from. Ketchup littered the walls, pineapple rings hung from the fan. Steve even noticed a full out taco splattered on the flatscreen, which Tony would NOT approve. Than an obvious result of their wrestling match, a lamp lay shattered on the ground.

Steve rubbed his temples and took a deep breath. He wasn't going to get angry. He had gotten angry yesterday, and the day before about practically the same thing. So this wasn't the time. He slowly turned again, to face the god and the assassin sprawled on the floor their match considered over. Of course the most reasonable outcome had come to be true, as Thor had pinned a whining Clint to the ground to much protest. Even though the archers face was considerable smushed against the floor, Steve could make out quite a bit of swearing and mutters about it being an unfair match.

But the mere sight of Steve out of the corner of their eyes sent them both scrambling to their feet, though Steve waved them off and went to sit beside Natasha at the counter. Who was making quite a show of chewing the last pop-tart which probably would have started a whole new war if Steve hadn't jumped in.

"Okay, okay, go clean that up." Steve pointed towards the mess that they had made though he already knew for a fact he was going to be the one cleaning it eventually.

Clint glanced around at the mess he had taken a part in making.

"I didn't do this! It was Thor!" He cried as Thor turned to him indignantly his hammer flying back into his hand as he reached for it.

"IT WAS NOT I WHO SENT UPON THIS WRATH!" He declared, rather loudly for the confines of the kitchen but it didn't seem to bother the son of Odin.

Steve sighed, grabbing an unscathed apple from its improper place upon the mantle. Shaking his head he sent a rather annoyed look in the archer and god's direction. "That might have worked if I didn't see you make it. Clean it. Now."

Natasha gave him a slightly impressed look as both boys turned and started to pick the various objects strewn across the floor sending glares towards Steve every so often.

"You actually got them to clean up, I'm impressed." She smirked, watching Clint pick up a shriveled pillow case and whacking Thor on the back before tossing it into the waste basket. Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Really. I can't say I believe that." He grimaced slightly, which hadn't gone unoticed by the highly trained assassin who rolled her eyes.

"I doubt your going to tell me, but care to share?" She sighed, not looking at him, but instead staring ahead out the window of the tower.

Steve placed his hands on his knees, him too staring out the tower at the golden sun, low at the city skyline. "I doubt you'd want to listen." .

"It's not exactly how I'd like to spend my free time." She admitted, a small smirk taking over her features.

Steve let out a small puff of air nodding his head ever so slightly, still not looking at her. "Have you ever thought that maybe if you just done something differently, you could have stopped a whole lot of pain?"

Natasha glanced at him as if she was trying to to read his expression. "I'm an assassin it's practically written in my contract."

Steve turned to face her and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by an another voice.

"I leave you guys here unattended for TWO HOURS! And look want happens!"

Steve bit his lip and turned to Tony...

And stopped.

Because their beside Stark was the one person causing Steve's worries.

Percy Jackson.