I think I probably found this prompt on Tumblr. Maybe. I can't remember, I found this story half finished in a note on my phone. Please enjoy.

When not on a mission, Harry Hart's life keeps to a very strict routine. He wakes up at the same time each morning, exercises daily, eats his meals precisely on the hour. It's a comfort, he supposes, knowing that there's some sort of predictability in his home life, considering he couldn't say the same about his work.

It was a balmy summer night, the kind where one left one's window open to enjoy the benefits of the fresh air. As always, Harry was enjoying his routine nightcap at precisely 9:47 pm, a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird balanced on his lap. His drink was halfway raised to his lips when the clatter of rubbish bins in his back garden interrupted his nightly tradition. With a sigh, he set both the book and nightcap on the end table beside him before rising from his seat. He tugged the belt of his robe tight before making his way to the back door.

While it was unusual for Mr. Pickle to become rowdy enough to knock things over in the garden (he was too well trained for that) occasionally accidents did occur. Still, never one to be unprepared, he grabbed the small browning he kept in his silverware drawer and tucked it into his pocket, just in case.

Harry was prepared for the rubbish that was strewn across the back garden. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the young man laying in the middle of it all. It was obvious that he had been the cause of the destruction. If his ripped trouser leg was any indication, he'd hopped the fence into Harry's yard, but was unprepared for the bin standing in his way. He was sprawled face up in the grass, lazily scratching at Mr. Pickle's ears as the dog wagged it's tail madly and licked at the boy's face. It took a moment after Harry flicked the porch light on for the boy to register the older man's presence, and when he did it was with a sloppy grin.

"'s this yer dog?" The boy slurred.

"What the hell are you doing in my garden?" Harry countered.

"'e's a great dog. I love dogs. Always wanted a dog."

Harry quickly put together that the youth was only drunk, not a threat, and the hand that had automatically reached for his pocket at the sight of him relaxed. With a sharp whistle, he called Mr. Pickle back inside the house. The boy frowned.

"Hey, where's 'e goin'?"

Without a word, Harry quickly moved over to the boy and attempted to haul him to his feet. He must have moved him a bit too fast, because the boy promptly threw up all over Harry's shoes.

Great.

Together, they managed to stumble into the house and (after Harry removed his shoes) make their way to the sitting room, where Harry deposited the boy onto a plush sofa. Under the light, Harry could now see that the boy was in even worse shape than he had previously realized. The beginnings of a rather nasty bruise was starting to form over his left eye. There was a fresh cut running along his cheek that seemed to have stopped bleeding earlier in the night, but the one under the tatters of his trouser leg was still sluggishly dripping blood.

"I'll be right back. Don't move," Harry said. The boy made no move to acknowledge him, but the sudden appearance of Mr. Pickle on the cushion next to him seemed to erase all other thoughts from his mind as he started to pet the dog almost hypnotically. Mr. Pickle, though he knew he wasn't allowed on the sofa, wagged his tail without a care in the world as he sat by what was, apparently, his new best friend.

The little shit.

Harry decided it best to just leave the situation for now. In no time at all, he was back with the (rather large) first aid kit that he kept in his bathroom. He set it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa with a loud thump, causing the boy to jerk his head up at the sound. "Woah. That's a huge kit, mate. What're ya, a doctor or somfink?"

"No, but it does have its uses," Harry replied mildly. He prepared a cotton pad with some antiseptic before bringing the boy's leg up to prop on the coffee table. He hissed as the pad made contact with his leg, but Harry's strong grip on his trainer kept him from pulling away as he worked. "I believe introductions are in order. My name is Harry Hart. What's your name?"

The pain seemed to have cleared the boy's head a bit, because this time he actually managed to answer the question. "M' name's Eggsy."

"It's good to meet you, Eggsy, though I'd rather it have been under different circumstances. Might you be willing to answer my previous question about how you wound up in my back garden?"

Eggsy seemed to be thinking very hard about his answer. Harry let him take his time, busying himself with carefully winding bandages around the boy's leg.

"Mmm. Was at the pub with m' mates. But Dean showed up. 'e was real mad. Don't 'member 'bout what."

Harry moved on to his other injuries. "Dean?" he inquired.

"M' stepfather."

"Please continue."

"'e brought a couple of 'is buddies and they decided to come at us. We were a bit too pissed though. We were losing. I knew they only wanted me though so I took off. Let m' mates escape."

"Hmm."

"Ran a looong time. Jumped a couple fences. Didn't mean to knock over yer bin though. 'm sorry."

Harry sighed, repacking the first aid kit. "I suppose all is forgiven. I don't suppose you have anywhere to stay tonight?"

Eggsy took a minute to think about it. "Prolly not. 'e's too mad to go home right now, and he knows where all m' friends live. I'll just go hang out in a park or somefink."

"That would be illegal."

"Only if you get caught."

The small smirk that appeared at the corner of Harry's lips would have been imperceptible to almost no one but a Kingsman agent, let alone a drunk young man. "Well," Harry said. "Come on, then."

"Wha'?"

"You may sleep in my guest room for the night."

"Oh. Awesome."

It took longer to get up the stairs than it should have, but luckily the journey was without incident. Mr. Pickle tried to follow, but one glare from Harry had him realizing that he had pushed the limit as far as he could in one night, and he wisely trotted off to his bed in the kitchen. Harry led Eggsy down the short corridor on the first floor, opening the third door they came across. "This will be your room. The bathroom is directly across from you. I'm right down at the end of the hall if you should need anything, though I ask that you knock and wait for me to answer if the door is closed."

"Alrigh'", Eggsy slurred.

Harry watched as the boy entered the room and flopped on the bed. He was about to shut the door when Eggsy's voice stopped him.

"'arry?"

"Yes, Eggsy?"

"Thanks. Yer a pretty cool bloke."

"Goodnight, Eggsy."

"G'night, 'arry."