Simon Lewis and The Avengers

Questioning

A few seconds later, he regained consciousness although he was on the ground, being hauled up by a blond guy - Thor. He scrambled into sitting position.

"How?" Black widow broke off. Simon forced his chest outwards and inwards, as if he were still breathing, but it hurt as if he were breathing water. He was sure he was over-exaggerating his movements.

"Look, kid, we're not sure how you managed to wake up from a blow to the head, but we're not prepared to keep hitting you until you stay down. So please just come with us peacefully." Captain America said.

Simon rubbed the back of his head, feeling his hand slide over blood. Blood. A couple of years had taught Simon to cope against the urges of feeding. That didn't mean it made his fangs throb any less, though. Simon nodded, not trusting his teeth enough to open his mouth. He looked down at his red hand thirstily, despite the fact he had already fed that day. It was suddenly pulled behind his back and handcuffed to his other one.

"Where's the trust, guys?" Simon managed, when in doubt, be sarcastic.

---

The van ride to wherever was long, especially since Simon had been blind-folded for the entirety of it.
"Will someone please tell me why the subject is not unconscious." The manager, Simon guessed, asked when they had arrived.

"He's just a kid." Hawkeye covered up. "Don't worry, he doesn't know where we are."

"I'm not a kid." Simon disagreed, he might have looked 16 still, but he was near 20.

"Shut up and follow us." The manager said. They wound down the corridors to an empty interrogation room.
"Sit, Lewis." Simon obliged, reluctantly.
"Why did you run?" He clasped his hands in front of him on the table on top of a small file.

"Why did you chase me with superheroes?" Simon found himself being reminded of a faerie; avoiding the question with another question. He mirrored the manager's position.

"You were reported missing countless times by your mother. We take the publics' issues into our own hands when they get too weird for the FBI. So we recently interviewed your mother on the matter." Oh, you really should not have done that. "Do you want to know what she said? She told us that you turned into a monster." He flicked his file open for reference, "Why would your own mother say that?"

"She's on medication." Simon lied through his -currently flat- teeth, the memory of his mother like a wooden stake to the heart.

"Stop lying to me." He leaned forward to glare Simon in the eyes.
"Give me a reason to trust you - your name."

"My name is Director Fury, now tell me the truth or your next bed will be in a cell - or I could let your mum deal with you."

"Fine. My mum's a serious Jew and I made a few mistakes so she kicked me out. You may have noticed the stars of David on the door." Simon kept himself confident, trying a little dose of encanto on the man in front of him. Although, with no avail.

"The contents of your bag actually follow along with your mothers 'vampire' story."

"Please. I'm a fan." Simon gestured to his Star Wars T-shirt proudly, "Fake blood is a collectors item at comic-con. Do you really believe my mum? She's mad, if you didn't realise."

"What if we test your 'fake blood' and find out its real?"

"You'll have to follow up with the supplier. I'll put in a comment myself, if you don't mind." Simon folded his arms, covering his non-breathing chest from view.

Somewhat deciding it wasn't worth his time, (he was buying it. Yes!) Fury pushed the bag to Simon's leg-side under the table.

"If you want more proof I'm not a vampire, I read a lot of books so I hear they can't say the word 'God' and they can't go in the sun." Simon leaned backwards in his chair into the sunrise filtering through the window next to the blacked out glass from which the Avengers were spying. "If you got some garlic bread, I'd be happy to eat it." Simon hoped he'd call his bluff, he'd only managed to keep drinks down, along with pizza if it was a good day.

"Questioning can continue tomorrow, you'll have to stay here at the towers until your personal flies have been cleared."

"But-" Simon noticed his serious expression. "Fine. Do I get a phone call?"

"One." Great.