Coulson's body his the ground with a dull thump, and Grant threw caution to the wind. He fired recklessly towards the helicopter, not caring how sure his aim was. He reached Coulson's side, where the man lay curled over his wounded agent.

"Dad—Dad"—he shouted frantically, and Coulson looked up at him, his eyes un-focused.

"Run," Coulson whispered. "Grant. Please."

"No," Ward shook his head, only vaguely aware that the bullets had stopped flying. "I'm not leaving you. And you're gonna be okay, you have to be okay"—

"Stand down, kid," a harsh voice said, and Grant realized with a sickening feeling that the firing had only stopped because the two gunman had been dropped into the clearing. "Coulson's going with us."

Grant fired. Once. Twice.

And both gunmen were on the ground, unconscious.

He didn't have to think about his next move, either—it was instinct that forced him to shaky feet, instinct that caused his fingers to close coldly over the fallen soldier's gun and aim it up at the helicopter.

He only had to fire once, and the pilot turned the helicopter and retreated.

And then Grant was alone with Coulson again, and Coulson's eyes were closing and there was too much blood—

A second later the clearing was full again, this time with the back-up S.H.I.E.L.D. team and a med team. Someone dragged Grant back from Coulson as the med team swarmed, and Grant threw a flailing punch that was easily blocked.

"Don't," Steve's voice was colder and angrier than he had ever heard.

Grant went completely still, and Steve's hand closed over his shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully. When Grant winced, Steve's grip loosened, but only slightly.

"You hurt?" Steve asked shortly, not looking down at him.

Ward shook his head.

Steve waves his hand to a member of the med team. "The kid needs a shock blanket," he called. "And Grant," his voice was a shade softer. "You need to put the gun down."

Ward stared down at his hand in shock, and then dropped the gun with a clatter.

"Let's get you out of here," Steve's eyes searched the sky with practiced precision. "They might be back."

"They won't be," Ward said. "It was supposed to be a stealth op, and they won't come without their cover of surprise. They wanted to take Coulson with them, too. Which means that it was probably another inside job. Did someone let Garrett break out of prison again?"

"That's enough," Steve said stiffly, his hand tightening on Ward's shoulder again. "When S.H.I.E.L.D. wants your opinions on a case, they'll ask."

Ward dropped his head, and Steve pulled him unceremoniously away, tossing a shock blanket over his shoulders as they went.

When they reached the transport, May and Natasha was waiting just inside, anger burned across their faces like a brand.

"What the hell did you do?" Natasha demanded. "Where's Coulson?"

Steve shot a look at her. "In med."

May's head snapped up. "What?"

"Gunshot," Steve said shortly. "Lost some blood, but they think he'll be okay."

"They think?" Grant demanded, turning white, and the three adults turned to him sharply.

"Yes," Steve said shortly. "They think he's going to be alright, but they have to get him to the nearest med facility before they'll know. And you, kid, are going home."

"No. I want to stay with Coulson."

Steve raised his eyebrows. "And what exactly do you plan on doing that will somehow help Coulson get better?"

Ward looked down. "I don't—I don't want to leave him."

"Believe me, he's going to be getting the best medical care S.H.I.E.L.D. can provide," Steve said, his voice softening just slightly. "You won't be allowed to see him until he's better, anyway. So we're going home." Steve turned, waving his hand to a nearby agent that they were ready to stow the landing gear and take off.

"No," Grant said desperately. "No. I'll—I'll run away again."

Steve turned around slowly, shoulders stiff, and May and Natasha stared down at him with looks that could kill. "You do that, and I'll let May and Nat go bring you back," he said icily, his face hard. "And I don't think they'll be offering you shock blankets or making sure you're safe, kid."

Grant felt sick to his stomach.

He should never have come.

Of course he shouldn't have.

What had he been thinking? It didn't matter that Coulson hadn't told him the whole truth—he should have just stayed at home; he shouldn't have been so stupid—and now he had gotten Coulson shot—

May took a seat next to him, staring forward silently, and Grant shrunk into the seat. Steve seated himself on the other side, and Nat sat down across from him.

Grant Ward had spent so many years invisible, and now there was nothing he wanted more than to disappear.

Nat glanced down at her phone, and then looked up at Steve. "Clint says that Banner's flying back from Calcutta—apparently Tony has a private jet there for him, so he should be at the hospital with Coulson in a few hours. And Dr. Simmons is flying down as we speak." Grant let out his breath in a relieved whoosh, and she turned to him. "And Clint says to tell you that if you pull shit like that ever again, he'll"—

"Nat," Steve growled.

She turned her glare on him, and he met her gaze, unperturbed.

Steve Rogers, Ward realized, was probably the only person in the world who had returned a Natasha-Romanov glare without flinching.

"Fine," Nat said sharply. "But Grant, I hope you know that there won't be any more rooftop training"—

"Nat," Steve's tone was sharper now. "Take a walk."

"We're on a plane."

"Then take a walk to the cockpit, goddamnit!" Steve snapped, and Ward flinched at their tones.

Nat stood and stalked away, and after a moment's hesitation, May got up and followed her.

Grant stared at his hands.

Everything was wrong.

Everything.

And it was all his fault.

I'm sorry, he wanted to shout. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

Not that it would have done any good anyway.

"Coulson's going to be okay," Steve said quietly, and when Grant looked up at him, he saw an unexpected softness behind the man's stern look.

"I'm sorry," Grant whispered, so softly he wasn't sure Steve heard him until Steve reached out and wordlessly wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

The silence stretched out for miles between them, and neither May or Natasha returned.

Do they all hate me now? He wanted to ask. Are they going to kick me out? Or maybe they'll just let May and Nat use me for sparring practice…god knows they'd both enjoy it. But Coulson…Coulson... Coulson had to live.

Grant realized vaguely that there was still blood under his fingernails.

"Steve," he said numbly. "Steve, I need to wash my hands."

"What?" Steve withdrew his arm and stared down at Ward, not understanding.

"Never mind," Ward said, and May exited the cockpit at that moment.

She looked down at his hands, seeming to notice for the first time. "Bathroom's that way," she said, jerking her head to the left, and Steve's gaze followed her eyes to Grant's hands, understanding washing over his face.

Grant didn't respond, just hurried, head ducked and shoulders drooped, towards the small bathroom at the back of the plane. Once inside, he bolted the door and turned on the water, which had very little pressure. Nevertheless, he scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, scraping his raw, shaking hands until his own blood almost took the place of Coulson's.

The blood was still under the nails.

When Grant had thought about his first S.H.I.E.L.D. mission, he hadn't thought it would be like this. He hadn't thought that blood stained your hands that way, that the sounds of bullets flying was enough to freeze your heart, that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents bled the same way his family had. He had even imagined his first firefight—imagined guts and glory, legends born from the Battle of New York, pride and victory and Coulson's look of admiration.

He hadn't imagined he'd be locked in an airplane bathroom, furiously scraping blood from his hands as he tried not to cry.

What had they told him when he asked about New York?

It was a high price, kid.

Some of the cadets had been talking about becoming specialists, and wondering what their first battle and their first kill would be like.

Grant scrubbed harder, and this time he realized there was tears and snot running down his face now. He'd already had his first kill—outside a Massachusetts farmhouse on a black, black day two years ago—and now he'd had his first battle.

The other cadets were all wrong.

He'd been wrong.

There was nothing after a fight—nothing but the urge to throw up.

There was a knock at the bathroom door.

"Grant?" It was Steve, his voice too calm, too patient, as if he understood too much. "You okay?"

No no no I'm not.

"Yea. Fine."

"We're landing soon, so you need to come out and sit down, okay? The pilot said it'll be a pretty abrupt landing."

Grant nodded, before realizing Steve couldn't see his nod from outside the bathroom door. "Okay. Coming," he said listlessly.

Steve was waiting outside when he opened the door. He looked intently at Grant's face, and Grant wished he had finished wiping away the traces of tears. This time, Steve's hand was gentle on his shoulder.

Nat and May were both seated when he came back out, and Nat looked at him, her face slightly calmer. Her eyes snapped to his hands, which were raw and almost bleeding from how hard he'd scrubbed, and a look passed across her face—whether it was sadness or anger or as if she felt sick, Grant couldn't tell.

Her hand snaked out and closed over his wrist, uncurling his palm so she could look at it. When she looked up at him, the anger had gone out of her eyes. "Don't do that," she said softly. "You can't do that to yourself."

The wheels touched down then, and Grant looked away, glad for an interruption.

When they exited the plane, Clint was waiting for them, arms crossed.

"Heard anything about Coulson?" Steve asked immediately, and though she said nothing, May's waiting eyes focused on Clint with so much intensity Ward was sure they could burn right through him.

"He was stable enough for surgery to remove the bullet."

"He in surgery now?" Nat asked, and Clint nodded his head, still not looking at Grant.

"Last I heard."

May's phone buzzed, and she looked down at it. "In recovery now. He's stable."

"Lily and Banner are with him?" Steve asked, and May nodded.

When they entered the Hub, it was buzzing with gossip about Coulson. Steve forcibly pulled Grant to the private elevator to avoid the gossip and the stares, and May, Nat, and Clint climbed in after him.

"Skye, Pepper, and Tony are upstairs," Clint added as an afterthought. "And Darcy and FitzSimmons."

Grant blanched. He couldn't face all of them, not tonight.

Steve reached down and put a hand on his shoulder—whether to comfort him or make sure he didn't bolt, Grant couldn't tell.

Skye's arms were around him as soon as the doors opened, and oh, thank god she didn't hate him.

"You idiot," she muttered against his neck. "Some 'distraction,' you little shit. Next time take me with you."

Fitz was right behind her, Simmons and Buddy at his heels.

"You scared me," Fitz said, shaking his head. "Next time, let me give you a better gun."

"If I hear one more of you say 'next time,'" Clint began, shooting a threatening look at Fitz and shaking his head.

"But did it work?" Fitz asked, his insatiable curiosity getting the better of him again.

"Fitz!" Jemma reproved. "Agent Coulson is hurt, and you're only worried about the night-night gun"—

"Of course I'm worried about Coulson!" Fitz argued, his eyes sparkling suddenly. "I just—Jemma—I don't want to think about it."

"The night-night gun worked fine," Grant said quietly.

"So, are you saying that not only did you run off on the half-assed idea that you were some kind of hero, the only weapon you took was a kid's prototype of a gun that you weren't even sure worked?" Clint snapped, turning on Grant finally.

Grant nodded, staring at the floor, and he heard Clint let out an impatient huff.

"That is the most idiotic"—

"Clint," Steve interrupted sharply, and Clint stopped midsentence and stalked out of the room, followed quickly by Natasha.

Darcy and Tony started talking at once—Darcy mentioning tasers and stupid, stupid, stupid, and Tony saying he should have just told someone—and Grant couldn't keep it all straight, but he was going to cry, he was, he was, and he was too old for this—

It was Pepper who surprised them all by pushing past Tony and May and Steve and wrapping her arms tightly around Grant. "Shut up, Tony," she said. "Darcy, that's enough."

Pepper didn't put her foot down about a lot when it came to the Avengers, but when she did—it stopped.

Grant buried his face against her shoulder, and she held him for a long moment.

"Tony, take Skye home," Pepper ordered, one arm still tight around Grant. "FitzSimmons too. They can stay with us tonight, and you can send Happy with a car to get me later. Darcy, go back to your Academy girls, and May, you make sure Clint and Nat stay out of here until Clint cools down."

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Pepper shook his head.

"The kid's heard enough lectures today," she said firmly. "Steve, do me a favor and call Maria to see Coulson's status? We need some good news before bed."

Steve hung up a few minutes later. He took a deep breath. "Recovery's going very well, and Coulson's sleeping—naturally—now," he said, and Grant found he could breathe again. "They'll be re-locating him here tomorrow morning. If all goes well, you can see him then."

"Okay," Pepper said firmly. "Bed, Grant. And no, I don't want to hear it, because I know I'm going to be having this same conversation with Skye when I get home in fifteen minutes, so I don't want to have to argue with you, too. You need to rest."

Grant was more exhausted than he could have imagined, and he was grateful to sink into the pillow. The last thing he remembered before slipping off to sleep was Pepper's hand brushing hair from his forehead, her voice too soft for him to catch the words she was saying, but soothing nonetheless.

And that night, despite everything that had happened, the only dream Grant Ward had was of his mother…

AN: I wrote another 2500 words tonight because I got so many messages (as well as a couple reviews) from people saying they couldn't sleep without an update, so….apparently I'm not sleeping tonight, either, and I wrote another chapter. Yea, I realize that I resolved almost nothing in this chapter. I promise there'll be more resolution in the next one.