In the weeks that followed Grant's entry into the Avenger's quarters at the Hub, Coulson didn't learn much about him—and neither, for that matter, did anyone else.

He was quite for the most part, but it was a quiet anger—anger and grief, too—that manifested itself different ways. The boy seemed to avoid emotional displays, though, except when it came to Buddy the puppy. The dog Grant loved unreservedly, and despite Coulson's initial reservations about keeping a puppy that was, in fact, nearly feral, the dog became Grant's shadow, snapping at the others on occasion but devoting itself to Grant.

Grant had started school at a nearby math and science academy, and he never spoke about it when he arrived home at the end of the day. His teachers said he was quiet—not the respectful kind of quiet, but the careless kind of quiet that meant he probably still wasn't paying attention. Coulson didn't blame him. The boy's ribs may be healing, but he had scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life, and he had a lot to work through before he could even think about making school a priority.

The only thing Coulson did learn with any conclusiveness was that for being so slow to trust, the boy fell asleep anywhere. Most often it was on the couch watching Darcy's favorite show, but there were other instances, too.

Once Barton found him on the roof where he'd been waiting up for the two spies to come home from a mission. Grant had fallen fast asleep on the hard ground, leaning against the kick tower that Natasha used to practice.

On another occasion, Steve found him asleep at the kitchen table with his math book open in front of him, Buddy sprawled sleeping across its pages.

Whenever this happened, there was always someone not currently on a mission who would carry him to bed—Steve, usually, but Barton and Thor on many occasions.

Coulson noticed that they all stuck around more often now that the boy was living there.

Between missions, Steve had taken to staying at the Hub for extended periods of time instead of returning to his apartment. Tony kept showing up at random hours—occasionally arriving in the middle of the night with a new invention he was tinkering with. Thor had planned to return to Asgard weeks ago, but he kept making excuses to stay longer, and Jane was in no hurry to leave with him, either.

And Darcy had stopped even pretending to function as Jane's assistant when Ward was around, spending all her time playing with him and Buddy or watching their favorite TV show.

Maria Hill, usually busy with missions, kept making excuses to spend her time in the Avengers quarters, and Pepper Potts, who was usually kept busy doing everything Tony was supposed to be doing, began taking frequent half-days off to join the group for dinners and check in on Grant.

Tasha, usually eager to be on active ops, actually refused an op because she wanted to be present when Grant got his bandages off, and Barton spent hours patiently training Grant on their windy rooftop workout room.

It was closing in on November—about six weeks since Grant had arrived at the compound—when trouble started.

It was a cold, windy Thursday morning, and Coulson had dropped Grant off at the bus stop about an hour before.

Coulson was on a lower level of the Hub in a strategy meeting with Agent Hand and a few others.

Hand asked about the boy frequently—had even stopped in to see them once and stayed for dinner—despite her vocal disapproval of having a kid stay at the S.H.I.E.L.D. hub.

They exited the strategy room together, having finished putting together a team for an op, and Hand brought up the topic of Ward as she always did after they had finished whatever their S.H.I.E.L.D. duties of the day were. "The kid," she said in her usual curt tone. "How is he?"

Coulson sighed. "He's okay," he said. "He's not thriving, though. He's safe, and that's important, but he doesn't seem happy, except when he's playing with the dog, and I don't know what to do to make it better for him."

Hand shot him an odd little smile. "He's getting there," she said. "You only brought him in six weeks ago, you can't expect to fix all his problems in that time, Phil."

Coulson sighed, opening his mouth to reply, when they turned a corner and found Grant himself.

The boy was sitting on the floor, leaning against a door and staring blankly ahead of him, unseeing, and there was a bruise swelling under his eye.

"Grant! What are you doing here?"

The boy looked up slowly, confusion on his face as if he didn't understand what was happening. He had a numb, desperate look plastered across his face, and it made Coulson feel sick suddenly.

He crouched at the boy's level, trying to catch Grant's eye. "What happened, son?" he asked, reaching out a hand to tilt Grant's face so he could see the bruise. "Who did this to you?"

"I'm afraid he did this to himself," Garrett's voice boomed above him unexpectedly, and the boy nearly jumped out of his skin.

In Garrett's hand was Buddy the puppy, yelping in pain. One of Buddy's legs was at an odd angle, obviously angry.

"He snuck back here," Garrett said.

Grant said nothing.

"Playing hooky," Garrett continued. "He picked a fight with a level one. Lashed out. I've never seen a kid so angry, Phil, but he beat the shit out of one of my men—he's in the infirmary now—and when the dog got in the way, he kicked it. Broke one of its legs."

Grant stared straight forward, his eyes dark and empty.

"Grant?" Coulson stared back and forth between them.

Hand stared at all three of them. "You should take this business up to your quarters, gentlemen," she said crisply. "Phil, you and I will have a talk about your boy attacking an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. later. Garrett, get him up."

Garrett reached for Grant, but Phil knocked his hand away, offering his own hand to the boy.

Grant didn't move.

Coulson took his arm and pulled him gently to his feet.

"I did it," Grant said abruptly, his tone blank of emotion, his stare cold. "Everything Garrett said. Just send me away now."

Coulson stared at him. "No," he said firmly. "I don't know what happened, but I know that's not the full story. Take Buddy, and we'll go upstairs and talk this through, okay?"

"I'd like to come, Phil," Garrett said. "I was the one who saw the incident."

Coulson looked up in annoyance as he guided Ward towards the elevator, swiping his badge to gain them clearance. "Grant and I have a lot to talk about"—

"Let him come," Grant said, and Coulson sighed, nodding impatiently for Garrett to get in.

When they reached the quarters, they were empty for the day—Jane, Darcy and Thor were in the lab, Steve was debriefing Hill on his latest op, and Barton and Romanov were both on active ops that morning.

Garrett made himself at home, lounging on the couch after he set Buddy rather carelessly on the ground, making the puppy whimper.

Grant stood where Coulson had left him, near the door.

He stood stiffly, his eyes still blank, but when Coulson looked closely, he saw tears standing in the boy's eyes.

"Grant," he said gently. "You can tell me what happened. It's okay."

The boy didn't move, didn't speak.

He barely seemed to breathe.

"Grant," Coulson repeated firmly. "We need to talk about this. I want your side of the story."

"I don't think you're going to get answers that way," Garrett said, laughing abrasively. "I've seen his type. He's the kind of kid who will hurt someone innocent like that dog, with no regrets."

Coulson wheeled on him sharply. "He's the kind of kid who's been hurt," he snapped. "And I plan to find out who did it, and why."

Grant stepped forward slowly until he was standing near Garrett. "You know why," Grant said, his tone utterly defeated. "That's what I am. Garrett just told you."

"I don't believe it for a second," Coulson said stubbornly, turning away from him in frustration. "I know someone was there when you were in the woods, and I know they hurt you. I know someone hurt you again today—and I know you knew about S.H.I.E.L.D. before we found you—so that means whoever has been threatening you is one"—Coulson stopped, sick realization dawning on him.

"Of you," Garrett said, his voice hard. "That's right, Phil. I'm surprised it's taken you this long to figure that out. No, don't try anything. Turn around, slowly."

Coulson turned around to see Garrett on his feet, a small, twisted smile uncurling across his face.

And he had a gun pointed straight at Grant's head.