Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world around Levv is burning down.

That’s the only way he can describe it. He’s drowning and everything is burning down. Everything is falling apart.

As he turns a corner into an alley, he curses internally when he realizes it’s a dead end. He stumbles forward and leaps up the wall, slamming his hands into the brick and digging his claws in. He makes it to the second floor windows when something hard and metal slams into him from the side, sending him flying down toward the ground.

He’s caught midair by The fucking Falcon, and dragged out of the alley, into the dark, empty street. He lets out a terrified yowl as The Falcon throws him at the ground and he smashes into the hard, damp asphalt.

He can’t help wondering if maybe he should just let them kill him. He really does deserve it. As he lays there, catching his breath, he agonizes over how quickly everything went wrong.

First he collapsed in that alley, after two weeks of fever and starvation. Then he woke up with that… that man on top of him. And he did what he had to do. He did what an animal does. Because that’s what he is. An animal.

Then The Avengers came, and everything unraveled further, and now he’s just drowning in all of it. It’s his fault, he knows that, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

The Avengers are advancing, closing in around him as he lays bloody and broken on the ground, chest heaving. God, what a shitty way to die. He had hoped to die in a way that meant something. This was just sad. Pathetic, really.

The world around him jolts and his vision floods with black as something smacks into the side of his head with a sickening crack.

Everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

The burning pain in his leg is gone.

That's the first thing Levv notices when he comes to consciousness. In fact, he can’t really feel his leg at all anymore. In the back of his mind, a small voice is saying that that’s a bad sign, that the infection from the wound on his upper thigh is going to kill him soon, that he’s going to go into shock within the hour. But he’s so tired, and he can hardly find the energy to open his eyes, let alone sit up to look at his wound.

His chest pain is worse, however. That’s also a bad sign. Each breath in feels incomplete, weighted, wet. Punctured lung. He guesses, not nearly as panicked by this thought as he should be.

He does what he always does when he wakes up hurt— he methodically searches his body for pain and catalogs every injury. his bruised ribs have turned into cracked and broken ribs, if the tight, stabbing pain in his chest is anything to go by. His head is pounding, and his mind feels like it’s full of heavy fog. Concussion. Great. He thinks bitterly.

He lets out a quiet, puzzled “huh” when he realizes his mask is still on. He opens his eyes and squints against the harsh lights and white walls that greet him. Where the hell is he?

He slowly, carefully sits up, propping himself up against a wall. His hands are zip tied behind his back. He’s pondering whether or not he should dislocate his thumb so he can slip out of them, when the heavy metal door across the room opens, and two people step in. He recognizes the first person immediately. His dark sunglasses and goatee are unmistakable. Tony stark. Levv just barely holds back a sneer. He hates Tony stark. The second person takes him a moment to recognize, but after a few seconds he places it. Hawkeye. Clint Barton.

They come further into the room, Stark with a quick, confident stride, and Hawkeye with a quieter, shiftier gait. He holds himself in the way a liar does. His body language is too purposefully open, but Levv can see how his shoulders are set, ready to spring into action. His face is carefully neutral, but his eyes are sharp and searching.

Stark, however, hides nothing. He takes a seat at the metal table in the middle of the room— Levv has only just noticed that table. How has he only just noticed that? This concussion must be worse than he originally thought.— and fixes Levv with a blank, judgmental look. Behind the sunglasses, his eyes hold barely hidden disgust.
Hawkeye sits in a chair next to Stark, and leans forward slightly in his chair, in a way that is supposed to seem casual, but only makes him look like he’s anticipating an attack. He probably is.

Stark folds his hands on the table and speaks, the sneer in his voice glaringly obvious.

“So, kitty cat. Do you wanna tell us what happened? Or did you just feel like having a little fun a couple nights ago, trying something new?”

Hawkeye briefly, almost imperceptibly glances sideways toward Stark, before looking back toward Levv.

“Why don’t you come over here, have a nice little chat with us?” Stark says, gesturing to the chair across the table from the two of them. Levv says nothing, pressing himself harder against the back wall and glaring. His ears fold back, and the tip of his tail twitches in agitation.

Hawkeye inclines his head slightly, and speaks.

“Where were you two nights ago?”

Levv blinks. What a stupid question. “You know where I was, don’t you? Why bother asking” he spits out. His voice is hoarse and a bit shaky. It’s hard to force words out past his ruined ribs.

“So you admit it? You admit that you killed and ate that man?” Stark says, voice full of contempt. “I thought you were a vigilante? Last I checked, vigilantes don’t kill and eat random people in dark alleyways.”

Levv stays quiet for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is tired.

“You don’t know what happened. There’s more to it than that.”

Stark scoffs. “What, you have a good excuse for your little midnight feast? You ate someone. There’s no good excuse for that.”

Levv looks away. His body language is slumped and dejected. He brings his legs up to his chest and rests his forehead on his knees. The two men try to talk to him more, but he tunes them out. After about ten minutes, they leave, and Levv is alone again. Always alone.

Levv stays sitting there for a while. He doesn’t know how long. He loses track of time pretty easily these days. He’s hot, and sore, and his head hurts, and his chest aches.

Breathing is getting harder. One moment, he’s pulling half breaths in like he has been since he woke up, and the next, there’s a hot wetness creeping up his throat, and his breaths are short and wet. He coughs, once, short and forceful. He feels warm liquid spill out his lips and pool in his airtight mask. He knows he needs to do something, take the mask off maybe, or lean forward, but everything feels far away. He finds he doesn’t really care.

He coughs again, a small spray of blood hitting the inside of his mask. Then he coughs again. And again. And suddenly, he can’t stop coughing. He’s dry heaving in between coughs, desperately trying to clear his lungs and take a full breath. Distantly, he realizes he’s pulling at his mask with his hind paws, unable to bring his hands up to unlock the mask and get it off. It’s filled with blood.

He’s gonna drown. The thought sends a sharp jolt of fear through him. He realizes he has started making pathetic, pained whimpering sounds, choked little sobs escaping between desperate breaths.

He doesn’t wanna die. He’s scared.

The door across the room opens, and a figure steps in and rushes towards him. It takes Levv a moment to focus past the blurry haze in his head, but he recognizes Steve Rogers, Captain America, leaning down toward him, reaching for his face. Levv realizes he’s laying on his back on the floor. When did that happen?

He’s begun choking on his blood, his mask filling fast. Rogers says something, but Levv can’t process the words. He makes a questioning sound towards Rogers, who is lifting Levv’s head and tilting it to the side, so that Levv can breathe past the mess of blood in his throat.

“How do you take the mask off?” Rogers says urgently. Levv twitches his hands, pulling at the zip ties around his wrists. Rogers seems to contemplate for a moment, before taking out a small blade hidden in his boot and moving toward Levv’s hands. The door across the room opens again, and Levv registers Stark, who is shouting at Rogers to stop. But Rogers doesn’t stop. He slices through the zip ties in one clean swipe, and Levv hurriedly reaches his shaking hands up to the back of his head, where the lock to the mask strap is located. He presses his thumb into the round, flat circle on the buckle, which flashes with light for a moment before beeping. Rogers pulls the mask off Levv’s face, and blood pours out and onto the floor.

Levv leans forward, nose almost touching the cool tile floor, and retches. Rogers gives Levv a moment to spit up all the blood that had built up in his throat, while Stark, Hawkeye, and a few more people kneel down beside him. Hawkeye reaches forward and gently grabs Levvs chin, lifting his face up to inspect it. There’s a sharp intake of air from everyone in the room, and Levv doesn’t understand what they’re shocked about. He kneels there for a few seconds, arms hugging his chest and wet coughs wracking his body.

“Holy shit.” Stark breathes out. “Holy shit, he’s a fucking kid.”

Chapter Text

“Any idea how old he is?”

Awareness comes to Levv in short, drifting moments. He hears voices around him, but can’t always understand them.

“It’s hard to say. He’s obviously malnourished, which has probably stunted his growth.”

It did a lot more than just stunt my growth. Levv thinks distantly. It made me eat someone.

He drifts away.

The next time Levv wakes, he’s slightly more aware. Although, not much. He still feels like he’s floating. Everything feels fuzzy and far away.

“What did you say his injuries were again?”

That’s Stark’s voice. Ew.

“Infected wound on his upper right thigh, 4 broken ribs, a punctured lung, a mild concussion, and numerous cuts along his left arm. Self inflicted.”

“Jesus…” says Stark. As if he cares.

Levv drifts again.

The next time Levv wakes up, he’s really truly awake. Very groggy, slow, and loopy, sure. But he’s aware, and mostly coherent.

He groans softly, a little sound of confusion from the back of his throat. Forming real words seems like too much work right now.

“Kid? Hey, you with us?” A voice to his left says quietly. He turns his head towards the voice, intending to ask what’s going on, but the words die quickly. Hawkeye is sitting in a chair next to Levvs bed. Why is Hawkeye here? Why is Levv in a bed? Where the fuck is he?

“You’re in The Avengers Medbay, kiddo.” Hawkeye says.

“Haw’ky.” Levv states. It’s not a question, just an observation.

“Yep, that’s me. But you can call me Clint” Hawkeye says, smiling reassuringly at Levv.

“No. Th’stup’d. C’ll you Barton” Levv says. “Я не буду называть тебя по имени. Это глупо, как в аду.”

“He says he’s not going to call you by your first name because that’s stupid as hell.” A voice to Levv’s right says in a flat tone. Levv turns and sees The Black Widow—The Fucking Black Widow!—sitting in a chair against the wall to his right. Why the hell is The Black Widow here?

“…what th’ fuck…” Levv mutters. Beside him, Barton laughs. “Do you Remember what happened?” He asks. No. No, Levv has no fucking clue what’s going on right now.

“Nah.” Levv says simply. Barton nods, smirking. “Yeah,” he says, “you’re on the good stuff right now. I’m surprised you’re this coherent.”

Levv grunts in acknowledgment. Suddenly, there’s someone standing at the side of his bed, looking down at him.

“Hello,” she says softly, “my name is Helen Cho. I’m a doctor. Do you mind if I check you out really quick, make sure you’re healing okay?”

Levv makes a noise and nods his head sluggishly. “G’head.” He confirms. He feels her moving around his bed, probably taking his vitals or something, who fucking knows. He’s getting too tired to keep his eyes open.

Levv whines softly.

“What’s wrong, Hun?” Barton asks.

“Don’t w’nna sleep. D’nno what’s goin on. S’all so confusin.” His Appalachian accent is making an appearance now, which only happens when he’s exhausted. “Don’t wanna be ‘lone. M’scared.”

“You won’t be alone, kiddo. I’ll stay here. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Barton says softly, brushing Levv’s bangs out of his face and running his fingers through Levv’s hair in a comforting, reassuring gesture.

“Ya prom’se?” Levv murmurs

“I promise, Kitten.” Barton says.

“M’not a kitten. M’grown cat.” Levv whispers indignantly.

“Keep telling yourself that, Hun.” Barton says, smile evident in his voice.

Levv drifts again.

There are fingers carding through Levv’s hair. It feels nice. Levv feels like he’s floating. His thoughts are slow and loopy, like his brain is full of honey.

He leans into the touch slightly, seeking the warm comfort the hand brings. The hand in his hair pauses for a moment, before a voice from his left chuckles softly.

“You awake, kitten?” The voice says. Levv isn’t really sure. He might be. He doesn’t much care either way. He opens his eyes a bit, lids heavy, and sees Barton leaning against the bed, arm wrapped around Levv’s shoulders and hand in his hair. That must be who was talking.

The hand continues carding through his hair. It’s warm, gentle, and calming. It feels safe. Levv leans into it more, and a deep, contented purr begins in his chest.

“Holy shit. Guys, are you hearing this?” Barton says. Levv glances up, and sees a couple other people in the room. Levv blinks at them lazily, eyes half lidded.

“Jeez, look at his pupils. They’re huge.” Says one person. Rogers.

“Yeah, well, he’s like, really high right now.” Says the other person. Black Widow.

“Yeah but still, that’s not normal. Is it?” Rogers says.

“Well his irises are also just generally bigger, so I suppose his pupils would be too. Maybe it’s a cat thing.” Barton remarks, pulling Levv closer towards his side. Levv leans his head against Barton’s shoulder, tucking his face into the crook of his neck. His purr gets louder, and the tip of his tail flicks occasionally. Levv lets out a happy chirp, and he can feel Barton’s shoulder shaking a little as he chuckles. Levv peeks up toward Barton’s face and blinks slowly at him. Barton smiles.

“Hey, kitten.” He says. Levv scrunches his nose in irritation at the nickname, which only makes Barton coo.

“That’s it, I’m keeping him.” Barton declares, scratching behind Levv’s ears. The feeling makes Levv sigh in contentment, a small smile creeping onto his face.

“You can’t just keep him, what if he’s got family?” Rogers says. Levv knows there’s something wrong with that statement, but he can’t really figure out what. There’s a warm haze covering his thoughts, and all he really cares about is the fingers in his hair, and how nice it feels. He lets out a small, happy mewl.

“Is he… purring?” A new voice asks from the doorway. Levv glances over to see Stark standing there, leaning against the doorframe. Levv tucks his ears back at the sight of the man. He hates Stark. He can’t really remember why right now, but he knows he does. His tail flicks lazily in mild irritation, and his purr trails off and stops.

Barton ruffles his hair softly. “What’s up, Kitten? Why’d you stop purring?” He asks, a small hint of concern in his voice. Levv wants to tell Barton that Stark is there, and that he hates Stark, but he can’t remember how to use words. Instead, he lets out a hiss in Starks direction, glaring through half lidded eyes. That seems like the right way to express his dislike, he decides.

“Woah. Little Kit doesn’t like you, Tony.” Barton says. Levv huffs through his nose quietly, a sound of discontent. He flicks his tail again, and a small warning yowl forms at the back of his throat. His human words aren’t working right now, but he thinks Stark will get the message.

“Christ, kid really doesn’t like me.” Stark says, unphased.

“Suka.” Levv hisses. That's a human word, right? Levv is pretty sure it is. Or maybe it’s just a cat sound. He can't tell. He’s what Spidey calls “Cat-Brained” right now. It’s much easier to be a cat when things are confusing. Human words and emotions are complicated, and he doesn't have the brain power for anything complicated at the moment.

“What did you say? Natasha, what did he say?” Stark asks, turning to The Widow.

“He called you a cunt.” The Widow replies evenly. Stark gasps in mock indignation.

Levv chirps quietly, settling into Barton’s affectionate touch. The affection is weird. Levv isn’t used to it, and a small part of him is vaguely upset by it, but he doesn’t know why. He can hear Stark exchanging words with the other people in the room, can feel the rumble of Barton’s chest as he speaks, but the words are lost on him.

The next time he wakes up, Barton is gone. The Widow is still there, though, as well as a new person.

“Bruce Banner.” Levv states, causing Banner to startle and look up from whatever the hell he’s working on.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yep. That’s me..!” Banner says awkwardly. “how are you uh. how are you feeling?”

Levv considers the question for a moment. “Kinda high.” he eventually answers. to his right, The Widow snorts.

“Well yeah. That's because you are.” The Widow says. “Not as high as you were the last couple times you woke up, but definitely still high.”

“figured.” Levv says simply. “Thank fucking god.” The Widow snorts again.

“Puma,” Banner says, “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Levv scrunches his nose. “S’not my name.” He mutters.

“Sorry?” Banner asks.

“That's not my name.” Levv says, louder.

“what should we call you, then?” The Widow inquires, raising an eyebrow.

Levv thinks for a moment. His birth name has no place in his life anymore. He hasn’t used it in years. But should he give these people his chosen name? After a beat, he says “Levv. My name's Levv.”

The Black Widow chuckles, and Banner looks at her. “What?” he asks.

“Lev means Lion in Russian.” The Widow says, a small smirk on her face. “лев. Lev. You come up with that on the spot, котенок?”

“Nuh uh.” Levv says, without elaborating.

“Okay, well, Levv. Do you mind if we ask a few questions?” Banner asks. Levv shrugs.

“Sure.” He answers simply, looking away. He folds his hands in his lap and fidgets nervously.

The Widow looks toward Banner. “We should get Tony here first.” She says. Ugh.

“Ugh.” Levv complains. “Hate that guy.”

The Widow huffs in amusement, and Banner raises his eyebrow at Levv, but doesn’t say anything.

“Alright,” Banner says to The Widow “I’ve just texted him. He should be here soon.”

Banner turns to Levv. “Levv, how old are you?” He questions, tone slightly wary, like he’s talking to an animal that might spook. He kinda is.

“Thirteen. Wait, no… what month is it?” Levv says.

“It’s October.” Banner answers.

“Oh. Then I guess I’m fourteen.” Levv says, shrugging dismissively. “Birthday was in August.”

“Well happy birthday then. If you want I can go pick up some balloons, maybe a nice little party hat to wear.” Says a slightly snarky voice from the doorway. Levv looks up, startled. He would usually hear someone coming, but he’s kinda out of it.

Stark is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. His stupid, ridiculous sunglasses rest on top of his head, so Levv can see his eyes clearly this time. They’re full of… something. Dislike, maybe. But his face and voice give nothing away, just as smug and full of himself as he always is.

“Good to hear you actually talking. Last time we saw each other, you hissed at me and called me a cunt.” Stark comments.

“You are.” Levv says simply, voice flat. “And why do you care if I’m talking now? You don’t care about me at all. Don’t pretend. I know you don’t like me, I can practically hear your judgemental thoughts.” Levv says, voice tainted with annoyance.

“I do care. I’m not heartless, despite what most people think. You’re a kid, I’m obviously gonna care.” Stark says, his voice also full of annoyance.

“God, whatever. Just fix me up and let me go, or send me to jail, or whatever the fuck you have planned for me. I don’t care.” Levv mutters, ears drooping. “I’m done caring.”

The room is silent for a moment before The Widow speaks up.

“Ты же знаешь, мы не можем тебя отпустить.” She says calmly. “But we won’t be sending you anywhere either.”

Levv looks at her, brows furrowed. “…what? Then what’s gonna happen to me? Why- why wouldn’t I go to jail? We all know what I did, we all know I’m- I’m wrong.”

“Well first of all, you’re not. Second of all, we were planning on having you stay here, in the tower.” The Widow says.

Levv squints at her, trying to determine if she’s bullshitting or not. “Why the hell would you do that?” He says, and there’s genuine distress and confusion in his voice. “Why would you do that?” He repeats. His chest has started to burn, and he rubs at it absentmindedly.

“Look, kid, you can have a crisis about your self worth later.” Stark says, and his voice is tainted with something dangerously close to sympathy. “right now, what matters is that we still need to do surgery on you to fix those ribs.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Banner chimes in. “The wound on your leg- it was infected. It was very close to killing you. We had to close it and bring your fever down, as well as administer antibiotics, before we could repair your lungs fully. We did a quick surgery to repair enough that you would be okay to wait a couple days to get your infection taken care of. We were afraid… well… the infection, it was bad. And we were concerned that if we did a major surgery on you, it might kill you. You were already very weak. But now that you’re stable, we can fix your chest properly.”

Levv blinks at him before tilting his head questioningly. “So what are you waiting for? Why haven’t you just… done the surgery?” He asks, perplexed.

“We wanted to make sure you would wake up first. It was touch and go for a hot minute there, and we weren’t sure if you would even get through the night. When the fever started falling, we were worried about potential brain damage, because your fever was almost fatally high. But now that you’re awake and coherent, we should be good to operate.” Banner responds.

“Okay, so… you’re gonna do it now?” Levv asks.

“Yes.” Banner replies. “But first, we’re gonna up your med dose, because you are very clearly in pain.” He adds. Levv realizes that he’s been clutching at his chest and breathing heavily.

“Oh. Yeah, that would be nice. Drug me up, doc.” Levv responds. Stark snorts.

Chapter Text

Tony Stark sat in his workshop, fiddling with a prototype he had been working on in his spare time between bigger projects. He wasn’t getting very far right now, though. He couldn’t focus. He kept thinking about what that kid said. That kid. God, the whole time he was a child.

“You don’t know what happened. There’s more to it than that.”

The way the kid had said it was so defeated. Borderline hopeless. It stuck with Tony. For some reason, it kept replaying in his head. The way the kids' weird little lion ears had drooped, the way he had curled into himself like he was expecting a blow. The unmistakable exhaustion in his voice.

“You don’t know what happened. There’s more to it than that.”

Tony didn’t want to listen, hadn’t wanted to consider there might be a justifiable reason for what the kid had done, because it was so wrong. That kid killed and ate someone.

But the more he thought about it, the more it bothered him, and the more it started to not make sense. Why had the footage they had been given been so short? It didn’t show what led up to that moment, nor what happened after. And god, the kids ribs — he was skin and bones. Tony could still see the image of his head, when they took the kids shirt off and saw his chest. Fuck, Tony could count his ribs, and his whole chest was black and blue with bruises scattered across his skin. And fuck, there has been so many scars.

And now that Tony really thought about it, he realized the kid had been fucking terrified the whole time they had been trying to capture him and bring him in. At the time, Tony had thought he was just scared that he had been caught, but now he was giving it second thoughts.

He finally gave up on trying to focus on what he was building, setting down his tools.

“Friday, could you find me footage from the security cameras of what happened that night? The whole thing, not just what he did.” He said.

“Sure thing, boss” Friday chimed cheerily. “Give me a moment.”

A screen flicked to life to his right, and he turned to it as it started to play footage of a dark, empty alleyway. There was nothing there but a couple dumpsters and a flickering light on the wall above a boarded up door.

Then, at the bottom of the screen, in the entrance to the alleyway, a figure stumbled into frame. They had one arm wrapped around their chest, and their gait was uneven and jolting. As the figure moved fully into frame, Tony recognized it as the kid. His tail was dragging limply behind him, and he seemed off balance and disoriented.

He limped a few steps forward into the alley, before stumbling and falling left, slamming into the side of a dumpster and falling to the ground, unmoving.

The footage stayed that way for a good ten minutes, which Friday sped through, before another figure approached. This one was bigger, bulkier. The man walked towards the kid, who was still lying limp on the ground.

The kid was flat on his stomach, so his face was out of view.

Until the man crouched down and turned him over.

Now, with the kid laying on his back, Tony could see his face. His eyes were closed, and his mask remained secure over his mouth and nose. The man fiddled with it for a moment, eventually managing to pull the thing off, tossing it to the ground beside them. Tony noted that it wasn’t the same mask he had been wearing when they had captured him.

Then the man put a hand on the kid's crotch.

His other hand was reaching down and just starting to unbuckle his own belt when the kid's eyes shot open and he jerked, arms coming up to try to push the man off of him.

Tony felt sick. Part of him felt like he should stop watching, but he didn’t. He just stared at the screen, eyes wide and body tense.

The man was on top of the kid, leaning down towards his face, still groping him. The kid was trying and failing to push the man off, panic and terror clear in his expression.

As the man leaned down, the kid froze for a split second before reaching his head up and latching onto the man’s throat with his teeth. Then he jerked his head back hard, ripping the entire front of the man’s throat out. The man scrambled back, hands coming up to his throat to try to stop the gush of blood. But it was too late, blood was pouring onto the ground fast.

The man fell backwards, landing flat on his back. His legs moved as if he was trying to get up, but his hands stayed on his throat. Within minutes, his movements slowed, before stopping entirely. He lay there, on the damp concrete, surrounded by a pool of his own blood.

The kid didn’t make any attempt to flee. He just sat up and then stayed there, staring blankly at the ground. For six minutes, he remained still, eyes completely blank and empty. It was disturbing, honestly.

Eventually, he slowly lifted his head, looking up to stare at the man’s body. He was still. His eyes were still empty and lifeless. His face was blank.

Then, without warning, he lurched forward, kneeling above the man, chest heaving. Then he twitched, before practically falling forward onto the man.

He bit into the man’s ruined throat.

He pulled.

He chewed.

His eyes stayed empty.

Occasionally, he would pause out of nowhere, unmoving and staring at nothing, before twitching and starting up again.

It went on for five minutes.

There was emotion returning to his eyes and face, and he was slowing down. Then all at once, he jerked backwards, face horrified. His breathing became heavy and erratic, and one hand came up to clutch at his chest, claws out and digging into his shirt and skin.

He jumped up, stumbling past the man toward the alleyway entrance in a panic. At one point, he lurched to the side and slammed into the hard brick wall before catching himself and launching forward again, stumbling out of frame.

“You don’t know what happened. There’s more to it than that.”

Tony felt nauseous. He watched as the footage continued, flicking through security cameras to follow the kid as he fled through the empty alleys and deserted streets.

Before the kid had even gotten a block away, he keeled over and vomited onto the pavement. Then he kneeled there, arms wrapped around himself, and just sobbed.

The footage stopped. Tony’s stomach churned.

Jesus fucking christ.

Chapter Text

Levv can hear a voice to his left. He doesn’t really understand what it’s saying, but it’s kind, and comforting, and it makes Levv feel safe.

“Once you wake up, we’re gonna move you to your room in the tower. It’s on the shared floor, so we can all check in on you if you need anything. But once you’re healed, you might get your own floor. Depends on how much Stark likes you, honestly.”

Levv hums contentedly, turning his head slightly toward the voice.

“You awake, Kit?”

Levv exhales through his nose quietly, trying and failing to form words.

“Take your time, kiddo, it’s okay.”

The voice continues talking, and Levv drifts for a while, lulled into a sort of half asleep state by the calmness of the voice.

“I know this is all hard for you, Kit. And we fucked up. We should have handled the whole thing better. That’s on us.”

Levv chirps quietly, smelling the air to try to catch the scent of whoever is talking. It’s not hard, because they’re sitting right next to him. He can’t remember the person's name, because words are having a hard time forming in his brain, but he knows them. The smell reminds him of safety. He chirps again, trying and once again failing to speak.

“Yknow, I didn’t know cougars chirped. Pretty cute, I think.”

“M’not cute.” Levv murmurs. His voice is hoarse, and his throat is scratchy and sore.

“Kit? Hey, you awake?” The voice asks.

“No.” Levv responds. Because he really isn’t sure that he is. He doesn’t feel awake, but he knows he must be, at least to some extent. Probably.

“Are you sure?” The voice asks, amusement in their tone.

Levv slowly peels his eyes open. His eyelids feel impossibly heavy, and he struggles to keep them from falling closed again.

Barton is there. Barton is the voice. Huh. How does he know Barton? He knows he does, but he doesn’t remember why or how. He hums quietly, which trails off into a low, sleepy purr. Barton smiles and reaches towards Levv’s hand, grabbing it and holding it in his.

“Hey, Kit. How’re you feeling?” He asks gently.

“Mmm… t’red. Floaty.” He whispers back, fingers curling around Barton’s. He realizes his eyes have closed, and he forces them open.

“Yeah, you’re gonna be pretty tired for a while. That’s okay. We’re gonna take you to a more comfortable bed, okay?” Barton responds, squeezing Levv’s hand.

“Mkay. W’ll you c’m with? Don’ wanna be ‘lone.” Levv murmurs.

“Sure, Levv, I’ll come with. We just need to get you in a wheelchair, okay?”

Levv hums in response. Barton stands and calls someone over. Levv recognizes them, but he can’t remember their name. Together, Barton and the other person help lift Levv out of bed and settle him in a wheelchair. He realizes he’s not wearing a shirt, just sweatpants. His chest is wrapped in bandages and gauze. Levv can’t quite remember why.

“Alright, kid, let’s get you to your room, yeah?” The other person says. And Levv recognizes that voice. It’s Captain America. That’s… odd. Why is Captain America here?

Levv feels himself being pushed along in the chair, going through hallways and doors. Eventually, they reach an elevator, and Barton and Cap pull Levv’s wheelchair in, pressing a button on the elevator. It starts moving up, which makes the floaty, weightless feeling Levv has even stronger.

Levv leans his head back to look up at whoever is behind his chair. It’s Barton.

“Hi.” Levv says sleepily.

“Hey, hun.” Barton responds fondly, smiling down at him. “You doing okay?”

Levv hums tiredly in response. Barton ruffles his hair affectionately, and it makes Levv’s heart feel warm and happy.

The elevator dings, and Levv is pushed out into a short hallway that leads into a large, open space. There’s couches and a tv in the middle, and a kitchen area off to the right. Several people are scattered around the room, and they all turn to look at him. It makes his skin crawl.

“Hey, котенок” The Widow pipes up from a couch, where she is sitting with a book.

Levv chirps in greeting, and several people around the room chuckle.

“Wow, he's really high.” Someone else says.

“Lucky.” Says another person.

Barton ruffles his hair again, which makes Levv purr. “Yeah, he pretty much just woke up.”

“Holy shit, you guys weren’t lying, he really does purr!” Says yet another voice.

Levv realizes that his eyes have closed yet again, and he opens them halfway. He’s being pushed again, towards a hallway across the room to his left. He passes several doors before stopping in front of one at the end of the hallway.

Cap reaches over and opens the door, revealing a dimly lit, lavish bedroom. Seriously, it’s huge. It’s got a sitting area with a couch and a couple chairs, as well as a large TV. There’s a door on the right wall of the room that Levv assumes is a bathroom. In another corner, there’s a desk.

If Levv was more lucid, he would scoff. Instead, he just closes his eyes. Someone is trying to coax him into standing, but when they lift him he simply lets himself fall into their arms, still purring. Someone chuckles, and then he’s being placed on the large bed and tucked into the covers. He opens his eyes to see Cap and Barton turning to leave, and he grabs Barton’s wrist.

Barton turns back to look at him, and Levv is too tired to talk, so he just looks at Barton, hoping he’ll understand.

“You want me to stay?” He asks. Levv nods and closes his eyes again, letting his hand fall back onto the bed. He hears Barton pull a chair from the desk over to the side of the bed, and his purr gets louder. He drifts off to the feeling of safety and warm, gentle fingers carding through his hair.

Chapter Text

The next few days, Levv mostly just sleeps. Occasionally, someone wakes him up to make him eat, but that’s about it.

But as he gets more lucid, he also gets more closed off. He stops talking, partly out of spite and partly because he just can’t. Every time he even thinks of speaking, he just panics, and his throat closes. It’s happened before — periods of time when Levv was doing particularly bad where he just could not talk. But something tells him this one is gonna last a good long while.

He takes to writing on a notepad they give him. Not much, just quick things like yes, no, I’m hungry. Besides those short answers to questions he’s asked, he doesn’t communicate at all. There’s no point. They’ll realize he’s worthless sooner or later, and the less familiar he gets with them, the better. That way it hurts less when they get rid of him.

Then finally, after 5 days of refusing to cooperate beyond short yes and no answers, he writes a full sentence.

Stark, Banner, and The Widow are there, discussing some bullshit that Levv doesn’t care about. They’ve been hanging out in his room and trying to include him in conversations, which is really annoying. Levv thinks they’re hoping if they can get him in a conversation, it might help with whatever was going on with Levv and his refusal to talk. He doesn’t bother telling them that he can’t.

Levv chucks the notepad directly at Stark's head, then snickers when it hits him. Stark glares at him and opens his stupid mouth to make some sort of stupid remark when he actually processes what’s written on the paper.

Please let me go. I need to go home. My family will be worried.

When Stark looks up at Levv, there’s a knowing look in his eyes that makes Levv’s skin crawl. His expression is almost pitying, behind the layers upon layers of snarky sarcasm.

Banner, who had leaned over to read the paper, looked to Levv. “It’s gonna be a while, Levv. You’re really hurt, and you’re… you’re not well. We can’t just let you go. But we can contact your family and let them know you’re safe, okay?”

“Except we can’t, can we?” Stark asks, in a tone that makes a pit form in Levv’s stomach. “Can we, Volkov?”

Levv jolts and his claws come out involuntarily, sinking into the blankets and mattress he’s sitting on. Volkov is his last name. How the fuck does stark know that?

Levv stares at Stark, pupils slitted, hackles raised. And then all at once, his fear is replaced with anger and hatred. Hatred for Stark, for finding his identity, which Levv really didn’t think was possible. Hatred for the other Avengers for trying to be nice to him when he didn’t deserve it. Even hatred for Barton, who was so patient and understanding with Levv that it made his heart ache.

Levv hisses at Stark, pulling back the corners of his lips to show his teeth and gums. A completely animalistic expression, which is fitting. Because Levv is an animal. That's all he will ever be.

“What do you mean, Tony?” Banner says, seemingly unphased by Levv’s display of anger. He’s looking toward Stark with a confused expression. “You said we could contact them once things calmed down and it was safe for him? That’s why we haven’t told anyone he’s here, isn’t it? To keep the whole thing under wraps, so that the wrong people don’t find out?”

“He doesn’t have any family.” Stark says plainly. Levv huffs and curls his lip up in a sneer.

“I looked into you, Levv. Facial scanners, security footage, public and private records, the works.” Tony continues. “Two or three years ago, an eleven year old disappeared after running away from their foster home in the middle of the night. Funnily enough, that was around the same time you started making appearances as a vigilante. Only three months apart.” Stark leans forward and looks at Levv through his stupid fucking sunglasses. “You’re that kid, aren’t you.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement.

“I’m not going to say your first name, because I assume you don’t want it to be known. But your middle name is Milena, and your last name is Volkov.”

“Hm.” The Widow pipes up from the chair where she was watching this all unfold. “Russian all the way through, huh?” Her face is blank, but her voice has a sort of searching lilt to it, like she’s trying to find out something about Levv without actually asking him. “Did you grow up there? Or do you just come from a Russian family? Me, personally, I grew up there.” She says, voice carefully neutral.

Levv knows what she’s doing. She’s giving him something personal about herself to try to make Levv more at ease, and to make it feel more like a conversation than an interrogation. He does it all the time, when he’s trying to get information from someone.

Instead of answering her, he just hisses at Stark again, then turns away from all three of them and lays down on his side facing the wall.

They don’t try to talk to him anymore after that. They just leave after having a quick, hushed conversation that they thought Levv couldn’t hear. As soon as the door closes and he hears them walk all the way down the hallway, he sits up, grabs a cup from his nightstand, and chucks it at the wall across his room.

He’s angry. He is so angry. And the worst part, the most frustrating part, was that he didn’t really know why. He just was. He was just angry and scared and sad. He watches the water from the cup drip down the wall, and feels his eyes stinging with tears. Which was stupid. He had no right to cry. He didn’t even have anything in particular to cry about.

But he still cried. That has been happening more and more often in the past few months. He would cry for no reason, and be overcome with an overwhelming, unexplainable wave of grief. He didn’t know what he was grieving. He wished the grieving would stop. It made him feel even weaker and more cowardly than he already was.

But he just felt hurt. He was hurting, that was the only way he could really describe it.

Sometimes, he wishes more than anything that he was dead. He wishes The Avengers had killed him trying to bring him in. He wishes he had starved to death. He wishes he hadn’t survived that stab wound. He wishes he had died in the fire that killed his parents.

Briefly, he considers just getting up and jumping out the window, but he's too tired and too numb. Plus, he still can’t really walk. The wound in his leg had been brutal.

So instead he just lays there in his stupidly huge bed and cries.

Chapter Text

Over the next couple days, Levv realizes it’s getting more and more uncomfortable to live without his few precious possessions. His old clothes from various foster homes and shelters, that he would scatter around the old shipping container he lived in because they smelled like him and it made him feel safer.
The old Walkman that a friend from the group home he spent so many months in had given him. It had so many good songs on it. He even misses his ratty old backpack, the only bag he had.

Also all the alcohol he has stashed in his den. He definitely misses that.

He knows he can’t escape, and even if he could, he would never get far. He’s still sore and exhausted from being beat to a pulp by The Avengers. No, he has to find a way to convince them to take him there. But how? How can he possibly convince The Avengers to let an at risk, mentally unstable, unpredictable vigilante kid out into the city in any capacity?

He decides to just wing it. He has a good chance, he thinks. It’s easy to get what you want when you’re pathetic.

So he grabs his notepad and scribbles out his request.

I need someone to take me to my hideout. I have stuff there that I really need.

The Widow was in his room right now, because ever since he threw that cup at the wall they’ve made sure there’s at least one person in the room with him at all times, since he ‘may injure himself or others’ or whatever the fuck.

He decides to be nice and tosses the notepad into her lap instead of hucking it at the side of her head.

She’s sitting in the chair that’s now a permanent fixture next to his bed, reading a book. When Levv tosses the notepad, she puts her book down and picks up the notepad to read without skipping a beat or even looking toward him.

“You can tell us where your hideout is and we can get the stuff for you. How about that?” She says, in a way that makes it sound less like a question and more like a formality to give the illusion that Levv has any choice whatsoever.

She passes the notepad back to him, and he immediately scribbles out a new sentence.

No. I can’t tell you where it is. But I can show you.

The Widow scans the paper quickly and looks up at Levv. Her face is neutral.

“What’s there that’s so important?”

Stuff. From before.

She doesn’t bother asking what he means by ‘before’. She just considers him for a moment, then pulls out her phone and types something.

“I’ve just messaged Tony and Bruce. They’re gonna come in here, and we can talk about this together, okay?”

Levv rolls his eyes and huffs in frustration. He does not want to talk about this ‘together’.

Barton.

The Widow looks at the single word on the notepad, then looks at Levv. There’s something in her expression now that he can’t quite identify. It’s not unkind or malicious, but it puts him on edge nonetheless.

“You want Clint to be here too?” She questions, and Levv nods.

“I’ll message him now.” She assures him.

Levv doesn’t really know why he’s asking for Barton. He hates that he wants him to be here. It’s childish and embarrassing.

After five minutes or so, all three men (ew) arrive and sit in various seats around the outlandishly huge room. Levv is really pissed off by how many places to sit there are in this stupid room. Do rich people really love sitting that much? Nobody needs so many fucking seats.

“Alright, what’s up? Nat said you have a ‘request’.” Stark says. He’s wearing his stupid ugly sunglasses. Even though he is inside. What a dickhead.

Levv grabs the notepad and hurls it at Starks head. It hits him in the forehead. Levv snickers, a chirpy little purring sound. Stark sighs and picks up the notepad to read what Levv had written earlier. Then he passes it to Barton, who reads it and passes it to Banner, who reads it and passes it back to Levv. None of them speak until Levv is holding the notepad again.

“Why can’t you just tell us where it is?” Stark asks. Levv flicks his tail in irritation and grabs his pen to write a response.

I just can’t. It’s an instinct thing. I’m territorial. If you’re gonna be there, I need to be there too.

“Instinct?” Banner questions once Levv turns the notepad around for everyone to read.

Levv nods but does not elaborate.

Before Banner can say anything, Stark cuts in.

“You realize why we’re hesitant to do this, right?” He says passive aggressively.

Because I ate someone, probably. That’s just a guess, though.

“Right. You’re a risk.”

I’ve always been a risk.

Stark doesn’t say anything.

“What kind of stuff do you have there that you need?” Barton pipes up.

It’s just random stuff. My Walkman, old clothes, my backpack. Sentimental trinkets and such.

“Why do you need to be there with us?” Stark finally resumes with his obnoxious questioning.

I just do. The thought of you being in my den when I’m not there is really uncomfortable.

“Your…den?” Stark asks, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Levv glares.

Shut up.

“So… you’re saying it’s a cat thing? It’s not that you’re hiding anything or trying to get away, it’s just that you’re a weirdo?” Barton teases.

Levv flattens his ears and levels Barton with an exasperated glare. Barton smirks. Levv finds he doesn’t really mind the teasing, when it’s from Barton.

Pretty much, yeah. Sorry.

Don’t be sorry.” Banner remarks earnestly. “So… do you have other ‘cat instincts’?”

Banner is looking at Levv like he’s a science experiment, and while typically that would be unsettling, Banner is so awkward and unthreatening that Levv just finds it amusing.

Take me to my den and I’ll tell you everything I know about my powers and their side effects.

Banner turns to Stark wordlessly. Stark sighs.

“I’ll think about it. This is dangerous, you know that. He cannot be seen.”

“Right.” Banner says. The two file out of the room, while Barton and The Widow stay and talk to each other in hushed voices that they don’t know Levv can hear.

“He requested you specifically, Clint. I think he’s attached to you.”

“Oh, I know. It’s pretty obvious.”

“I don’t think he even realizes he’s attached, though. He had this look after he asked for you, like he couldn’t figure out why he had just said what he said.”

“Like that face you made the first time you said something remotely positive to Tony?”

“Shut up, Barton.”

“Sure thing, Romanov.”

“Clint, I think you should stay and take the next shift. You might make some progress with him.”

“Yeesh, don’t jinx it. It’s one step forward, two steps back with him. Poor kid.”

“More like ten steps back, actually.” Levv pipes up, not looking up from his notepad, where he’s doodling a little cat.

“Did you hear that whole conversation?” The Widow asks.

“Yup.”

“Hm.”

Later, at night, just after the sun set, Stark waltzes into his room like a jackass and tosses something at Levv. Upon closer inspection, Levv realizes it’s a crutch. The kind that people with bad legs use.

“Well? Cmon, let’s go. We only have about an hour to get this done.”

Levv scrambles to sit upright, scooting to the edge of the bed and tentatively trying to stand.

Ow.

“Dont be cruel, Tony.” The Widow says from where she’s standing in the doorway. She strides over to Levv and helps him stand, showing him how to adjust the crutch so it sits comfortably on his arm.

“There we go, Levv. Cmon, I’ll help you till you get the hang of it” she says patiently. She’s being extra nice and it’s weird. Levv doesn’t like it. He doesn’t say anything, though. Just hobbles his way to the door, where Stark and Barton are waiting.

Levv very swiftly gets the hang of walking with the crutch. It’s a bit awkward, and his gait is extra lopsided, but that’s fine.

They take him down to a private parking garage and load him into an obnoxiously shiny car, and Stark drives them out through a hidden private driveway.

Levv directs them to the mostly abandoned warehouse district where his den is hidden. He stops them when they pull up to his warehouse. It’s just as run down and shitty as it was the last time he saw it.

Home sweet home.

The warehouse is full of random stuff. Stacks and stacks of junk scattered around. Mostly old equipment, metal and wood scraps, shit like that. In one corner, there’s a shipping container surrounded by junk, creating a barrier that hides that corner of the warehouse.

Levv slink through the warehouse, albeit somewhat awkwardly, and beckons the others to follow him by flicking his tail forward, before realizing they don’t know what that means.

“Uh… it’s this way.” He mutters.

He dodges through the densely packed piles of junk, weaving his way up to the barrier. He’s standing in front of the shipping container, which makes up most of the wall.

He realizes he won’t be able to go through his messy tunnels to get to his den, because his leg is so fucked up.

“I… uh… it’s through there. But… you have to crawl, and… I…” he mutters nervously. They’re all looking at him and it’s making him uncomfortable. Their faces are dangerously close to pitying, and Levv hates it.

“Oh!” Levv suddenly exclaims, turning back to the wall of the shipping container. “I can try to jump it.”

“Do not do that.” Stark says almost immediately. Levv huffs, irritated.

“I’ll be fine. I can jump up to 20 feet in the air. It’s a cougar thing.”

“You’re injured, your leg is fragile. You’re gonna make it worse.” The Widow advises. Levv rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be fine, Widow. I’ve done more in worse circumstances.”

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?” Stark asks. Levv turns back to them, exasperated.

“Well… yknow, I’m a vigilante. Or… I was. And yknow, vigilantes, we get shot, and stabbed, and beat up, and a lot of the time it’s not really in the cards for us to seek medical help, so we hafta kinda patch ourselves up. That’s just how it is. I once jumped across rooftops for three miles home with a bullet in my leg.” Levv remarks, smirking for a moment at that last bit. Boy, that was an awful night.

“I mean… you guys know how it is, yeah? Sometimes you gotta improvise.”

They’re all looking at him with something akin to horror, and it’s really confusing.

“Kid, that is not normal. Did you have anyone helping you when you got hurt?” Stark questions, with his stupid fucking sunglasses resting on his stupid fucking forehead.

“No..? It’s not a big deal, Stark, really. It’s just life.”

“That is a big deal! How often did you get hurt like that?”

“Uhhh… I’d say once or twice a month. Really, it’s fine. It was mostly just stab wounds and such. Yknow, easy stuff. Stitch it up and be on your way.”

“People don’t usually have to stitch up their own wounds once or twice every month!” Stark says in very clear exasperation.

“You wouldn’t get it, Stark. I’d never expect you to. You’ve always had enough. Sometimes people don’t have everything they need.” Levv snarks, sneering. “But whatever. Can we just do what we came here to do? I need my stuff, and I’m going to jump the shipping container. fuck you a million times and then some, Stark.” Levv says.

He leaps straight upward into the air, leaving his crutch on the ground.

Holy shit, ow. He lands on top of the shipping container with a small yowl of pain. He hears the others clambering up to stand on the roof with him, and it pisses him off for some reason.

He slides forward on his butt and drops off onto the dusty concrete floor.

Holy fucking shit that hurt.

They’re in the concealed corner of the warehouse, now. In it is a lone shipping container, doors open. Without hesitation, Levv limps inside. He can hear the others stop at the doors, watching him.

There’s old shirts and scraps of fabric all over the floor, and a big pile in the corner. His nest. He scrambles over to it and rummages around in it. Eventually he manages to pull out his backpack, his Walkman and earbuds, and four and a half plastic water bottles full of a clear liquid that The Avengers will probably assume is water.

It’s not water.

Levv smiles inwardly. God, he can’t wait to get shitfaced.

He stuffs all his shit into his ratty backpack, and fits as much of his old clothes into it as he can. The backpack already has the most important items in it. He keeps them in a little bag in an inside pocket. Trinkets and things from people who aren’t around anymore.

Eventually, after surveying his den for a moment, he nods to himself and turns back to the others.

“Okay. That’s it.”

“You packed a lot of water, kid. You realize there’s water at the tower, right?”

“Fuck you.”

Before Stark can retort back, The Widow puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head at him.

Stark leaves it.

They leave.

Levv pretends to accidentally trip and shoves his crutch in front of Stark's feet, which makes him trip.

Levv smiles.

Chapter Text

The next day, when Levv wakes up, his leg is burning. He neglects to tell anyone about it. It’s what he deserves.

Stark barges into his room (like a jackass) with The Widow, Banner, Barton, and Rogers in tow. Once again, Stark is wearing those stupid motherfucking sunglasses.

They take seats around the stupidly big room and focus their attention on him.

“Here’s the deal, kid.” Stark begins, looking at him with some sort of rich person version of sincerity. “We need to know a few things about you.”

Levv grabs his notepad to protest — he hadn’t spoken since they got back from his den — but Stark stops him.

“We took a risk in letting you stay here. I took a risk in letting you stay here. I watched the footage, I saw the whole thing.”

Levv jolts.

“I made a calculated risk. If SHIELD finds out about you being here, or the police, or really anyone, it will be bad. I let you stay here because it didn’t seem like you had any other options.”

Levv glares skeptically at Stark.

“But we need to know what happened. I helped you, now you need to help me. Tell us what happened that night.” Stark says evenly. “Please.” He tacks on as an afterthought. What a bitch.

“So what was it? Was it an ‘instinct?’” He asks, putting ‘instinct’ in air quotes. “Were you angry? Was it revenge?”

Levv realizes he will need to speak to get out of this, and though it makes him nearly gag, he pushes words out anyways.

“If I tell you, will you shut the fuck up?”

“Absolutely.” Stark answers.

Levv sighs and tightens his hands into fists in his blankets.

“The wound on my leg. I’ve had it for… a while.” He began nervously, swallowing back bile.

“It made it hard to get around. And it got infected pretty quick. So I couldn’t…” Levv hesitates. Fuck, they’re gonna think he’s such a freak.

“I couldn’t… hunt. I… I usually eat… pigeons. And rats. It’s just easier for me.” He says, avoiding eye contact with the people in the room.

“And the fever from the infection… it made it hard to… to think. And by the time I realized I needed to eat something, I was too weak. It was just… bad circumstances.” He mutters.

“I kept passing out. I was wandering around aimlessly. Not going anywhere in particular. Just restless, I suppose. I’m not sure, I don’t remember much.”

Stark holds up a hand to stop Levv’s explanation. “How long did you go without food?” He questions, and Levv looks away.

“Uhm… ‘bout two weeks”

There’s a collective intake of air from everyone in the room and it makes Levv’s skin crawl.

“Anyways…” he continues before they can ask anything else.

“Well, in that alleyway, I passed out again. And when I woke up…”

Levv swallows anxiously. His voice is getting shaky, and he’s hunching forward and wrapping his arms around his middle.

“He was undoing his belt.”

Levv squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to keep talking.

“And I wasn’t thinking. I was just scared. So… so I…”

“Killed him.” Stark finishes the sentence for him, and Levv nods, eyes still squeezed shut.

“I didn’t mean to. I just bit. I bit as hard as I could because- because if- I couldn’t- he was going to-“ Levv stammers out.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Barton comforts, and Levv tries to focus on the present so he can get this shit over with.

“I don’t remember much. But I remember… his blood… it tasted…” Levv hesitates. “Blood tastes the same no matter what it’s from. And I wasn’t…”

Levv chokes on a small, pitiful sob.

“I was so hungry! You have no idea what it’s like! It’s violent. It burns. True hunger burns and claws at you from the inside and it feels like there’s a fiery angry creature tearing through your stomach with teeth and claws, and you feel so hollow, and all I could think about was how much I wanted that to stop! I was so tired of it!”

Levv forces out, claws sunken into his covers and ears flat.

“That’s it. That’s what happened. I was hungry.” He spits out with contempt.

The room is silent for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, Levv.”

Levv looks up. The Widow had said that. What???

“I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.”

Levv shrugs halfheartedly.

“Maybe I didn’t, maybe I did. Really, I think I did deserve it. I deserve everything bad that’s happened. But I’m really tired of bad things happening.”

The room is quiet again, before Stark asks, with something dangerously close to gentleness;

“I only need to know one more thing, Levv. Then I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”

Levv shrugs.

“Why did you run away from your foster home?”

All at once, Levv stiffens and his heart slams in his chest. He stops breathing for a moment, mouth hanging open slightly in something akin to shock. something mean and ugly flickers in his chest, and he wants to snarl.

“He was bad.” Levv says simply. His voice has hardened and it’s flat now, he’s closed himself off entirely.

“According to literally everyone who knows him, he’s an angel. He takes in the kids that have no chance otherwise, the once who are troubled, the ones who have a record. He takes in the kids nobody else will.”

The feeling in his chest grows, swelling with anger and hatred and fear. It beats at his rib cage and sinks its claws into his heart, begging to be let out. Begging to do damage.

“He’s BAD!” Levv says firmly, loudly. “He’s not an angel! He’s not even close! He’s- he-“ Levv starts to choke up and he curls up, knees to his chest and head down.

“He’s bad.” He murmurs.

“You have to give more than that, kid.” Stark says, but Levv has stopped listening.

There’s an ugly, twisted monster rearing its head inside of him, full of his darkest memories, made up of anger and fear and an indescribable feeling of being so, so lost. dripping with regret and grief and the overwhelming feeling of violation. It’s ready to bite and claw and maim, and Levv is trying desperately to hold it back. It practically roars in his head, drowning out whatever bullshit Stark is saying. It’s wailing to be let out, it’s begging for Levv to just fucking scream at the top of his lungs.

It’s begging for Levv to bring his claws out and slash his arm into ribbons.

Levv gasps and tries to keep himself tethered to the present. But his heart is beating so fast, and his fists are so tight it’s painful, and he’s pretty sure he’s shaking.

“Stark.” Levv says firmly, cutting off whatever Stark was saying.

“He doesn’t take those kinds of kids in out of the kindness of his heart.”

Levv swallows, takes a deep breath, and tries really hard not to puke.

“He does it because nobody will believe them.”

Chapter Text

Levv doesn’t say anything else after that. He unfurls a bit, sitting cross legged in his bed, eyes downcast. But he doesn’t say anything, or look at anyone, and when Barton reaches over and grabs his chin gently to look at his face, his eyes are so empty and so full of dejected hopelessness. And he doesn’t really see Barton. He looks at him, but he doesn’t see him. His thoughts are so loud.

Barton tries to talk to him, but he looks back down towards his hands, which lay limply in his lap. Then The Widow says something, and the tone of it is vaguely… upset? Worried? But Levv doesn’t understand the words, or look at her.

Banner is talking to the others. Levv doesn’t listen. His thoughts ring in his head, bouncing back and forth and rattling his brain.

Nobody believed them

Nobody believed ME

Nobody cared

Nobody cares.

I’m worthless. Maybe he was right. That’s all I’m good for. I’m not worth anything else. I don’t deserve anything else.

Maybe I should be dead.

I wish I was.

They stop trying to talk to him. He doesn’t notice.

Later, Levv can tell it’s going to be a bad night. He knows he’s gonna have those dreams again. He knows it’s unavoidable, no matter what he does.

He sleeps on the floor anyway.

It’s easier. It’s familiar. It’s safe. It’s harder to fall into a deep enough sleep to dream. It keeps him just uncomfortable enough to keep him half awake for most of the night.

So he tosses his blanket and covers onto the floor in the far corner of the room, behind an armchair. He forms it into a nest and circles twice (which holy shit, that’s embarrassing) before curling up tight. His chest and leg ache, but he ignores it.

It works, for a while.

But nothing good ever lasts long for Levv.

in the midst of his usual nightmare, with the dark figure above him, pinning his wrists, dripping and oozing with malice, there's suddenly a new person. Standing behind him, the figure is watching. Levv squints for a moment before realizing it’s Peter.

The first figure, the original one, the usual one, dissolves, and Levv throws himself forward towards Peter. He’s shaking and scared and tired and weak, and he crawls to Peter’s feet and grabs hold of his pants, pulling himself up to look into Peter’s eyes.

At first, they’re as full of genuine kindness and goodness as they always are.

But then they shift, they change. Peter’s face twists into one of pure, unadulterated disgust, and he sneers.

“Peter! Peter, please, help me, I’m- I don’t- he won’t leave, he never leaves!”

Peter looks at him. When he speaks, his voice is cold and full of contempt.

“Why would I help you?”

“Wh- what?” Levv stammers

“You’re a freak. You’re a monster. Why would anyone help you? You’re not worth that.”

Then Peter kicks Levv away, and there’s a strange flash of red.

Levv jolts awake. He’s soaked in sweat and there are holes in his blanket from where his claw dug in. He shoots up out of his nest and barely manages to stumble into the bathroom before puking.

His breath comes in shaky huffs as he grips the cold porcelain and gags. Occasionally, in between gasps and coughs, little choked sobs escape him.

God, could he get any more pathetic?

It’s true though, isn’t it? He really isn’t worth all this. He is a freak, and a monster. He’s less than dirt, and he just does not understand why people keep trying to help him when he clearly doesn’t deserve it. When he’s clearly less than nothing.

He wishes they would all go away and let him die.

When he’s finally done puking, he finds he just does not care enough to crawl all the way back to his makeshift nest.

He decides to sit in the shower for the rest of the night. It’s cold and cramped and dark, and he likes it.

“Kid? Hey, wake up. Cmon, what the hell are you doing in here?”

Someone is shaking his shoulders, and Levv tries to push them away, but he’s tired and weak and completely unsuccessful.

“Kid! Come on, up you get.”

Levv begrudgingly opens his eyes and immediately squints against the awful, harsh lights. Stark is standing over him, shaking Levv’s shoulders.

“God, I’m up, stop doing that. And turn the fucking lights down for Christ sake.”

“They’re… they’re on the dimmest setting?”

“Oh. Hm. That’s… huh.” Levv mutters. His eyesight hasn’t been great in a good couple months. His powers give him incredible eyesight, but most of his powers only work when he’s well rested and well fed. Which is not something Levv has ever really been. Not completely, anyway.

But now his light sensitivity is coming back, which means his night vision will be back soon too.

“Why are you sitting in the dark in the shower at 5:30 in the morning, kid?”

“Had a nightmare” Levv responds, rubbing his eyes and squinting. The light still kinda hurts.

“…you had a nightmare… so you… sat in the shower?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Levv is still squinting and blinking at the disorienting lights, when out of nowhere something is shoved onto his face, and suddenly the light is bearable.

It’s sunglasses. Stark gave Levv his sunglasses.

…what..??

“I got tired of you squinting like an old man trying to read a street sign. Cmon, up you get, you need to be in bed. I know you’re in more pain than you’re letting on.”

“How..?”

“Been there, done that.”

Stark holds out a hand. After a moment of skepticism, Levv takes it, and Stark hauls him up and steadies him when he wobbles on his unstable leg. Wordlessly, he helps Levv out of the bathroom and to his bed.

“Where are all your blankets and pillows?”

“Floor.”

“…okay.”

Stark helps Levv lay down, and retrieves new blankets from a closet that Levv has never opened and will never use because it’s fucking stupid to have an entire closet of clothes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What?” Levv asks, confused.

“The nightmare.”

Levv stays quiet for a long moment.

“I’m really not sure I’m worth any of this, Stark.”

Stark sits in the chair next to Levv’s bed until the sun rises. They don’t talk, which Levv doesn’t mind at all.

Levv keeps the sunglasses.

Chapter Text

After that, his nightmare is different. It still starts out the same, with the figure pinning him down, but then the figure will dissolve and reveal someone. Levv will beg them for help and they will remind him just how worthless he is. Usually, it’s Peter. Sometimes it's Barton, a couple of times it was The Widow.

One time, it was his parents. They were disappointed in him, they said. They were upset that the polite little girl with crooked little kid teeth and an Appalachian accent that they raised could have turned into this. A violent, unstable, bitter, and permanently ruined freak of a boy. Crooked teeth replaced with fangs. politeness stripped away and replaced with hisses and angry words.

He stops sleeping. He stays awake as long as he can. It’s just easier.

One day, Stark barges into his room (like a jackass) and announces there’s a ‘team movie night’ and that Levv is going to join, apparently. This is news to Levv, who certainly does not want to join. He says as much, but Stark objects.

“Look, kid, you’ve been here for like a month, and you’ve left your room once. You need to get out of your room. Cmon, it’ll be good for you. I’ll even let you pick the movie.”

“You’re not going to drop this or leave me alone.”

“Correct,”

“Fuck you.” Levv says bitterly. But he still stands and makes his way to the door, then into the hallway. As they walk toward the common area, Levv stays behind Stark. He’s nervous, for some reason, which is stupid, because if anything they should be nervous to meet him properly after nearly beating him to death.

Just before the common area, Levv stops Stark.

“Stark, if anyone teases and makes a big deal of me being out of my room, I’m leaving.”

“Noted. Friday, could you relay that to the team?”

“Sure thing, boss” an accented voice says from… somewhere?? The walls???

“Stark, genuinely what the fuck.”

“Don’t worry, that’s just Friday. She’s my AI, she kinda lives in the building itself, she has security access and all that.”

“And she’s just… there? All the time?”

“Kinda.”

“That’s deeply unsettling, I hope you know that.”

“Most of the things I do are deeply unsettling.”

When they get to the common area, Levv makes a beeline for the floor in front of the couch, so he can sit at the low coffee table and draw.

Levv knows who the avengers are. He knows all their names, he knows who’s on the team. He just wasn’t expecting pretty much all of them to be there. Thor, The Falcon, Cap, and Banner are all sitting in different armchairs. There’s a lot of fucking armchairs in here, actually, and it pisses Levv off.

The rest of the avengers are either on one of the two couches or in beanbags.

Levv settles onto the floor in front of the couch that’s facing the stupidly giant TV. Barton and The Widow are sitting on the couch behind him, and he tries not to be freaked out by it. The cougar in him despises having his back to anyone.

“So, kid, what are we watching?” Stark inquires, settling onto a loveseat next to an unfamiliar woman.

“John Carpenters ‘The Thing’ 1982.” Levv states without missing a beat, or even looking up from his notepad, where he’s drawing a wolf.

“Damn, he had that ready.” The Falcon remarks.

“It’s a good movie.” Levv says flatly, still not looking up.

“Isn’t it, like, a horror movie, though? And like, really gory?” Banner asks.

“Yup. It’s a good movie.”

There’s a moment of silence before Stark turns on the TV.

“If the kid wants to watch The Thing, we’ll watch The Thing.” He states.

There are several cries of disgust at the kennel scene, when the dog's face splits, and Levv smirks.

During the movie, Levv sketches. He draws random shit, mostly. The Kennel Thing, Jed The Wolfdog, little wolves and huskies and spiders and stuff. All mostly on theme, all things considered.

When the movie ends, The Falcon turns to Levv with a vaguely dismayed expression.

“That’s it? That’s all?? That’s how it ends??” He says incredulously.

“Mhm. Who do you think it was?”

“What?”

“The Thing. Who do you think it was, out of the two of them.”

“Childs.” Interjects The Widow from behind him. Levv nods enthusiastically.

“Yeah, that’s what I think too. There’s plenty of clues, you just have to pay attention. It’s the kind of movie you gotta watch more than once to get the full experience.”

“Why is it Childs?” Banner pipes up.

“I’m not telling you. Figure it out.” Levv states stubbornly.

“Okay, we’re watching that movie again.” The Falcon says decisively.

“Do we have to?” Asks Cap.

“I have to know what the hell this kid is talking about! Look at him, he’s fucking smirking about it!” The Falcon cries, pointing at Levv like a toddler tattling to his parents. Levv snickers, hiding his mouth behind his hand in a halfhearted attempt to cover his amusement.

“Fine. Let’s watch it again.” Stark says.

They watch it again.

Somewhere around the kennel scene, Levv’s eyelids start getting heavy, and he leans his head back against the couch without really realizing.

By the Palmer reveal, Levv’s eyes have slipped closed, and he can feel someone running their fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp along the way, in the same way you would pet a cat. Levv purrs quietly, and leans into the touch. He yawns, and he can hear someone nearby chuckling, but he’s too tired to care. There’s voices talking in hushed voices, but all he cares about is the fingers that are now scratching behind his ear.

“I don’t think I’m ever gonna get over the purring.”

“He’s pretty damn cute when he’s not trying to kill or maim anyone.”

“I still don’t understand the ending of that movie.”

“There’s clues, like Levv said. Just look.”

“I DID!”

“Sam, shut the hell up. You’re gonna wake the kid.”

Strong, steady arms lift Levv, and he finds himself settled against someone’s chest. They’re warm, and he presses into them, bringing one arm up to cling to the back of their shirt.

“I’m trying to lay him down but he won’t let go.”

“Of your shirt?”

“Yeah. He’s got his claws in and everything.”

The warmth tries to pull away, and Levv grips harder, whimpering softly.

“Just lay down with him and wait for him to let go.”

“He’s gonna hate that.”

“Yeah, probably. But he kinda hates most things, it seems.”

…

“Is this progress?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell. It’s not gonna be linear. He’ll probably fall back into a depressive state again, who knows how many times.”

“And we’ll be here to catch him.”

Levv doesn’t have any nightmares that night.

Chapter Text

It becomes a thing. Movie nights, that is. Twice a week, Levv is dragged out of his room to watch a movie with the team. He knows they’re doing it to try and get him out of his shell or whatever the fuck, but he really doesn’t have any say in it.

He doesn’t always get to choose the movie. They take turns choosing, except for Thor (who fucking sucks at picking movies) and Stark (who literally ONLY chooses Young Frankenstein. Every single time.)

One night, Stark stops Levv in the hallway before they get to the common area.

“Kid, I just gotta warn you, p- uh.. Spider-Man is gonna-“

“I know his name.” Levv cuts in.

“…okay. Well Pete is gonna be by later, probably sometime after the movie is finished. We figured we should finally tell him you’re here. He’s been worried. Keeps mentioning you, and how he misses patrolling with you.”

Levv visibly brightens.

“Really? You’re gonna let me see him?” Levv asks, and there’s a hopeful lilt to his usually snarky, monotone voice.

“Yeah, kid. You’ll get to see him.” Stark says, and he starts reaching forward to ruffle Levv’s hair, but retracts his arm almost immediately when Levv flinches.

“Sorry. Forgot you don’t like touching.”

“S’fine.”

“Hey, I heard there’s a sequel-prequel to The Thing. You ever watched it?” Barton says when Levv enters the room and settles in his spot on the floor.

“We are not going to watch that fucking worthless cash grab cgi trash movie.”

Barton blinks.

“Don’t like that movie, I take it?”

“Fucking sucks.”

Levv thinks for a moment before deciding on a movie.

“How about Avatar?”

“What, the one with the blue alien people?” Stark asks.

“Yeah.”

“Sure, why not.”

After the movie is over and Levv has thoroughly infodumped about it, most of The Avengers amble out of the sitting area. Some leave the room, some go to a different sitting area (why the fuck would you need more than one sitting area in one room what the fuck.)

The ones that stay are Levv’s usual entourage. Barton, The Widow, Stark, and The Captain.

Levv hates this. He hates the way they look at him, like he’s something they’re trying to figure out. Like he’s a wild animal they want to befriend, but are afraid of spooking. Which is kinda true, to be fair.

for a moment, Levv wonders if maybe he should just… let them help him. He wonders if maybe they really do care. But then that vicious, twisted anger inside him rears its head. It wraps around his heart like a vice, and it kills any hope he could ever have.

This happens every time Levv tries to get better. It’s infuriating. Levv knows he will never get better. He knows he will never be worth anything. But he wishes he could at least hope.

Hoping is dangerous, though. Hope hurts. So maybe it’s for the better that he can’t.

“You okay, котенок?”

The Widow's voice cuts through the dark storm cloud of thoughts swirling around his head. He looks up at her, and her eyes are so dangerously caring that it makes Levv’s heart twinge.

He wants to say he’s not. He wants to tell her that there’s a hollow, violent hole inside him that eats away at every positive emotion or experience he’s had. He wants to tell her that he’s tired, and he wishes he had died when they had brought him in.

He wants to tell her he’s scared.

“Я в порядке. Мне не нужна твоя жалость, оставь меня в покое.” Is what ends up coming out of his mouth, instead of the desperate HELP ME that's stuck somewhere in his chest.

The Widow gives Levv a calculating look, and he pulls his lip up to show one of his sharp canines. Not quite a sneer, but something close to it.

She backs off, but not before him what Levv can only describe as a disappointed look. It hurts a lot more than it should.

He reinforces the walls around his heart that have been crumbling in the past couple of weeks. Attachment is dangerous, he reminds himself.

“Levv?”

A familiar teenage voice interrupts his self destructive thoughts, and he turns to look behind the couch.

Peter is there.

“Po.” Levv acknowledges Peter by the nickname that only Levv uses.

“What… what??”

Instead of explaining what he’s doing here, he just gestures to Stark.

“Ask the jackass over there. I didn’t really have a say in any of this, man.”

“Stop calling me a jackass!” Stark exclaims in mock exasperation.

So Stark explains. He explains that the police sent him a short clip from a security camera that showed Levv very clearly committing a crime, and a pretty awful one at that. He explains that the police requested The Avengers capture Levv, because having an enhanced individual on the streets when they’re clearly unstable is ‘a danger to the city’. He explains that they fought, and Levv put up a good fight and a surprisingly long chase before they managed to knock him down and bring him in.

He explains that they didn’t know Levv was a kid. He explains that Levv is staying at the tower now, because it’s the ‘best option’ at the moment.

Except he’s very vague in some parts. Like how he doesn’t tell Peter that the crime Levv committed was cannibalism, or how brutal and violent the fight between Levv and The Avengers actually was, or how Levv was so wounded from that fight that he was spewing blood.

When Stark is finished explaining, Peter turns to look at Levv.

“Your turn, Lion Boy. What happened?” He asks. Levv grins a tiny bit at the familiar nickname, but the smile drops quickly.

“I ate someone. He was going to rape me, I killed him, I was starving to death, hadn’t eaten in weeks, was dying, so I ate him.” Levv says, voice hard.

Levv is ready for Peter to blow up at him, or be disgusted, or simply leave.

Instead, he just looks at Levv for a moment, eyes full of nothing but sadness.

“You should have asked me for help. I could have helped you, Levv.” Peter says, and his voice is quiet and sad.

The beast rears its head, just for a second.

Levv watches Peter’s sad, sympathetic expression with contempt. God, why did he always have to be so good?

“You know why I didn’t.” He says sharply. “You know damn well why. And you’re one to talk, aren’t you?” He argues.

Levv hates how defensive he is. He doesn’t know why he’s defensive, but he is. He’s defensive and angry and bitter. Contempt and bitterness eat away at him, day by day, and they force their way into his words and actions.

“…well… you got me there, I’ll admit.” Peter says.

This was supposed to be a happy moment, seeing Peter finally. But like usual, Levv ruined it. Like he ruins everything. Everything he touches just wilts and rots.

“I’m going to bed. Ask them questions about all this if you want, I don’t care.” He says abruptly, standing and stalking toward the hallway. People call after him, but his heart is twisting with grief and regret, and he knows he won’t be able to talk anymore tonight.

He reaches his room, shuts the door, and falls onto his bed.

His nightmares that night are particularly hellish.

Chapter Text

Peter comes by more often after that. The night after their reunion, the team decides to have another movie night. Peter gets to choose.

He chooses Star Wars.

Of course he does.

During the movie, Peter and Levv are sitting on the same couch, but on opposite sides. There’s a lot of space between them, and they don’t look at each other.

But halfway through the movie, Peter quietly, slowly extends one of his legs till his toes are just barely touching Levv’s.

Levv curls his tail over Peter’s foot.

They don’t look at each other.

A simple, small moment of physical contact is all they need.

It’s the only way Levv knows how to apologize. And Peter knows this. He knows Levv can’t use his words for stuff like this.

Over the course of the rest of the movie, they both slowly shift, scooting closer to each other. By the time the movie is over, Peter is sitting in the middle of the couch, and Levv is laying on it lengthwise, his legs in Peter’s lap.

When the lights are turned on, everyone seems to have a moment of confusion over how relaxed and close the pair seem.

“When did that happen? I thought you were like… mad at him, or something?” Stark asks Levv.

“Not anymore.”

“Hm.” Stark grunts, narrowing his eyes slightly at the two of them.

“This is gonna be a problem, isn’t it.”

“Oh, definitely.” Says Levv, at the same time that Peter says “absolutely!”

“We’re fucked.” Says a guy across the room. Pietro. Levv is pretty sure that’s his name.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Says the woman beside him. Wanda.

“What? What does that mean? Pete, what does that mean?” Start says, first looking at Wanda but turning to Peter at the last question.

“You’re fucked. Are you so old that you’re losing your hearing? God, keep up, Iron Man.” Levv says. There’s a very slight, almost unnoticeable accent in his voice on the word iron. It has that Appalachian lilt to it, so it sounds more like arn. God, that’s so fucking embarrassing.

Stark very obviously heard the slip up, but he doesn’t say anything, which Levv appreciates. He hardly ever lets that accent slip anymore, but there are some words where he just can’t shake it. He hates it. People always look at him funny when he lets his accent slip out.

Levv loves his accent, but it’s very obvious that nobody else here in the city does.

Peter and Levv end up staying on the couch together for hours, talking about anything and everything. Peter tells Levv every unimportant, unremarkable little thing that’s happened since the last time they spoke. Like how some lady gave him a churro, which apparently she had done before. And how he got a new Lego set, and he’s putting it together with the help of his best friend. And how he saw a cloud the other day that looked like a cat.

The next morning, when Rogers comes into the common area at 5am sharp, heading towards the kitchen, he sees Peter and Levv on the couch together, both asleep, practically just a pile of teenager.

He texts the team group chat with a photo, and lets them know to be quiet.

Chapter Text

Levv starts coming out of his shell just a tiny bit more after that. Granted, it’s usually only when Peter is around, and Levv is still pretty much entirely closed off. But he talks more. He has real conversations now, instead of exclusively snarky comments.

Now that he’s talking, Banner — and holy shit, nerd alert — starts asking him about his powers. Levv has never told anyone about his powers, really. He’s told the moon and the stars, but they’re never much for talking, let alone asking questions.

“When did you first get your powers? Did you get them all at once?”

“One question at a time, science boy.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I think… hm.” Levv really has to think for a moment, because after about a week of homelessness, he stopped caring about knowing the date. It doesn’t much matter anyway. Not to Levv, at least.

“I think it was… maybe around… I’d say a month, maybe two months after I… left.” He answers haltingly, because he is genuinely unsure.

“And not… not exactly? The first thing that I noticed was I woke up one day and I could see and hear and smell so much. It was… hellish. Still is, really.”

“Hellish? How?” Banner asks.

“It was just… it was a lot. And I’m not really great with processing a lot of sensory input at once. I had to learn to live with my senses, even ignore them a lot of the time.”

“How good are they? Your enhanced senses, that is.” Banner asks, trying to hide his very much not well hidden interest in Levv’s powers.

“My hearing is… it’s weirdly powerful. Like, it’s beyond even Cougar level hearing. I don’t really know what’s up with that… but anyways. I can hear Pietro and Wanda in their room down the hall. I can’t hear all the words… but I think they’re talking about a RomCom or something.”

“That’s- that’s halfway across the floor of this building! That’s through several walls!” Banner says with astonishment.

“Yup.” Levv says, popping the ‘p’.

“Anyways.” Levv says, before Banner can nerd out, like he so clearly wants to.

“My sight is sharp, I see things from pretty far away, but it’s not that remarkable. It’s the night vision that changed the most when I got my powers.” Levv says, holding up a hand to stop whatever Bannerd is about to say.

“It’s not anything special, it’s not infrared or some crazy shit. Normal cat night vision, that’s all it is. But my eyes… change, I think. Cats can’t see detail and color in the way humans do, especially not in the dark. But I still see those things the human way, most of the time. It’s just when it’s dark that it changes.”

“So your eyes can… transform, you’re saying?”

“I mean… yeah I guess.”

Bannerd opens his mouth to say something, but Levv cuts him off.

“Can we move on to a new question?” He says.

“Oh- yeah, yeah that’s fine. Uhm..” Bannerd says, trailing off as he thinks.

“Just… just how much of you is Cougar? You said you have ‘instincts’… what else is there?”

“Well…” Levv starts, feeling a bit nervous.

“I can’t tell you all of it. But I’ll tell you what I can, yeah? Yeah.” Levv answers himself before Bannerd can say anything.

“Well, my digestive system changed for one thing. I prefer meat these days, the rawer the better. But I’ll take it cooked, it don’t matter all that much to me in the end.

I have… I get… weird… when I’m like- when I’m drugged or tired or hit on the head. Peter calls it being ‘cat-brained’. I kinda… forget how to be human. Sometimes I can’t speak, all I can do is hiss or meow or chirp. I have trouble thinking whole thoughts, and I get sorta stupid. And I get…”

Levv pauses.

“God… I really don’t know if I should be telling you this, because it’s really embarrassing… but…

I get really… affectionate. Like a cat. I kinda cuddle up on people or curl up on top of em.”

“And this happens when you’re impaired in one way or another, you said?”

“Mhm. It’s only happened a small handful of times. Four of those times were because I was drugged, two of them were because I was tired beyond human limits, and once it was because I got my head smashed good and hard into the ground. Good times.”

“Peter knows about this, you said?”

“Yeah. He was there almost every time, except for two of em. One drugging, one exhaustion.”

“You dealt with those two alone?”

“Nope.”

“Who helped you?”

“A friend.”

“If I ask who that friend was, are you going to hiss at me?”

“I should. But I’ll tell you, even though I shouldn’t, because the look on your face when you hear is gonna be really funny.”

Banner doesn’t say anything, he just narrows his eyes a bit at Levv.

“It was Deadpool.”

Banner makes a face of shock and disbelief that is, in fact, very funny, and Levv can’t help smirking just a bit.

The thing is, The Avengers don’t know much about him as a vigilante. Nobody does, really. He’s something of a cryptid more than he is a person to the people in New York City. The criminals and vigilantes, anyway. And the police, too, although they particularly hate him because he’s always been two steps ahead of them.

It’s not that hard. They’re very loud when they talk. Even if it’s not supposed to be heard.

Levv is almost positive that The Avengers have no idea just what Levv can do, and how he’s known to the people he works with and deals with.

He’s a cougar. He’s a silent hunter, he’s built for stalking. He can see in the dark better than any human, so he’s a remarkable night hunter.

Combined with the fact that he almost completely obscures any and all identifiable details on himself, he’s become pretty well known to the underground communities in the city as someone who can very well deal with people if they get on his nerves.

He’s even been sought out a couple times by other vigilantes who wanted to team up for a mission. Except nobody ever knows where to find him, since he makes a point not to have a pattern people can track him with. So they would have to stakeout the scenes Levv was most likely to be at in hopes to encounter him.

He was even sought out by Deadpool. Who, as it turns out, is not all that bad. Sure, he’s weird, and sure, he’s definitely not all there, and sure, he kills people, but that don’t matter none to Levv. Levv is all those things, anyways. Weird, crazy, and a killer.

Deadpool and Levv ended up teaming up more than a few times, and even just patrolling together on occasion, when Deadpool was in town and had the time.

Levv isn’t an ammature. He’s not a wannabe hero, or just some kid who thinks he knows what he’s doing.

He gets into shady shit, goes after shady people, and does quite a few shady things. He’s far from innocent or clueless, and The Avengers don’t really know that. Not the extent of it, anyway.

“Mm.” Levv hums, nodding once. “Great guy. Really funny. Great to work with, too.”

“You know he’s-“ Banner begins, but Levv cuts him off.

“I know. It doesn’t matter to me in the slightest. You don’t know a thing about my job or how I do it. This is, quite honestly, one of the least shady things I’ve done over the course of my vigilante career.”

“You said he’s great to work with.” Says a voice from the doorway of Levv’s bedroom, where Bannerd and Levv have been having this discussion.

It’s Stark. He’s giving Levv a calculating look.

“Just what exactly do you get up to at your ‘job’?” He asks in a measured voice.

Levv blinks at Stark for a second. Surely this guy knows, right? He seems to know everything about Levv.

“Bit a this, bit a that.” Levv responds just as carefully. “Sometimes justice is bloody, Stark. Sometimes the right thing to do isn’t clean, or pretty, or even the least bit peaceful. Sometimes bad people need to be punished.” Levv says.

Stark says nothing for a moment. Just looks at Levv.

“We’re gonna have to have a chat about that later, kid.” He says. “You, me, and the rest of our merry little Kitty Cat Fanclub.”

Levv doesn’t respond. Just shrugs his shoulders and looks back to banner.

“My turn to ask a cat related question.” Stark interjects rudely, like a jackass.

Levv turns back to him and raises an eyebrow.

“Does catnip affect you?”

“No. Absolutely not, we are not doing that.” Banner says immediately. “We are not drugging the kid.”

“It might not even be drugging, maybe it won’t work!” Stark says. “C’mon, it’s for science” he says, in a way that makes it very obvious it’s not for science.

Banner rolls his eyes, gets up, and shuts the door in Starks face, then sits back down.

“Anyways, we were talking about just how much of you is ‘cat’?” He says, as if none of that had just happened.

Maybe this guy isn’t such a loser after all. He can be pretty funny.

Levv picks up where he left off, on his catlike tendencies and whatnot, Banner nodding along all the while.

They don’t get much done, not in a linear fashion at least, because they never stay on one train of thought for more than five minutes.

Still. It’s nice to talk to someone.

Levv thinks maybe he could get used to this sort of thing.

Chapter Text

The very next day, Stark and the rest of Levv’s usual entourage are standing in Levv’s open doorway.

He has a bad feeling about this. He knows what they’re gonna say.

They want to talk about the things he did as a vigilante. The stuff he got up to.

He’s been dreading this conversation since the moment Stark said they would be talking about it.

Levv’s gut churns with something close to fear, but he ignores it, pushes it away.

“Can we come in?” Stark asks.

“You’re going to come in anyway, no matter what I say.” Levv responds with thinly veiled bitterness.

They step into the room, all of them, and settle in various places around the room. They’re all looking at him and he hates it.

“You said you’ve worked with Deadpool.” Stark says. And it’s not a question. It’s a statement, an invitation for Levv to explain. And Levv realizes he doesn’t have much of a choice, so he sighs heavily before answering.

“Yeah.” Levv answers simply. If he’s gonna have this conversation, he’s not gonna make it easy. Stark is going to have to outright ask what he wants to know if he wants to get any answers.

Stark narrows his eyes briefly before nodding slowly, once, in acknowledgment.

“What kind of work did you two do?”

There it is. A direct question, instead of dancing around it.

“Someone hired him to kill a guy. The man was a higher-up in a human trafficking ring, and someone, probably a colleague, had it out for him.”

“And why were you involved?”

“Deadpool needed help finding the bastard. Usually he can track people down, but this guy in particular was giving him trouble. I’m known for my tracking skills, so he found me and asked if I’d be willing to lend a paw.”

Levv pauses for a second before continuing, enjoying the feeling of forcing Stark to be patient for once in his life.

“Usually, I say no to that sort of thing. I’m not someone who kills for no reason.

But it was human trafficking. My specialty is punishing those kinds of people. Those who take advantage of others. It’s kinda how I started out, really. So I agreed to help find the guy.

It wasn’t that hard, once I had his scent. I went around to places he was known to frequent. As it turned out, the bitch was hiding out in a friend's place above some shitty bar in a bad part of town.”

Levv’s lips twitch in what was almost a smile, and his tail flicks excitedly.

“I got the honors of getting the first hit in. Knife through his shoulder. Twisted it for good measure.”

The room is silent. Everyone is looking at Levv in a way that suggests they hadn’t really realized he could be this vindictive. It was almost funny. One of Levv’s ears twitches in amusement.

“You hunted down and killed a man?” Stark finally asks, voice tense.

“Many men. He was one of my favorites, though. He really deserved it.”

Before Stark could ask anything else, The Widow cut in.

“You said this sort of thing was ‘how you started out’.” She says. Again, not a question, but an invitation.

Levv is quiet for a minute. His hackles bristle as he thinks about his first kill. The kill that started it all.

“I didn’t mean to become a vigilante, you know.” He finally says, voice quiet.

Nobody says anything, waiting for him to elaborate.

“It wasn’t planned. I was just walking one night, trying to keep warm, and I passed this alleyway…” Levv starts, trailing off briefly with an almost pained expression.

“There was a man. He had a woman pinned down. Hand over her mouth. She was crying. He was… raping her.

I didn’t really think. I just… killed him. Made sure the woman was okay. Walked her home. Nobody ever knew I was the one who killed the guy. It was a run down, shitty part of town, and half the security cameras didn’t even work. She never told anyone, either.”

Levv smiles briefly, remembering the woman.

“Sometimes when i was in the area, she would find me and give me food.”

The room is silent again. It’s almost deafening. Levv pushes forward, hoping to get away from the awkward way everyone is looking at him.

“After that… I had a purpose. I could help people. In a way nobody ever helped me.”

Stark, for once, is speechless.