Chapter Fifty-Four


We followed the Keener boy half-way across town. By that point, I was starting to wonder if the little heathen was pulling my leg.

"Should we really be listening to this kid?" Peter whispered up to me. "I mean, we don't even know who he is. And he shot at us."

"It was just a potato, Peter, relax," I said quietly. We maintained a distance of about twenty feet behind the kid, just to be safe. "He's not a terrorist. Besides, I wanna see where this takes us."

"Probably his lair of doom," Peter grumbled, then called out, "Hey, how much farther?"

"We're almost there!" the boy said, glancing over his shoulder. He seemed annoyed. "Stop complaining!"

Peter did a slight double-take. "Man, he's bossy."

It was nighttime when we finally came upon a small, single-story house. Its white paint had faded to a dull gray, chipped in places, with a flat roof that looked in need of some repairs. There was a light on inside, but the boy didn't take us to his front door. No, he went around the driveway, to the garage in the back. The place was ramshackle. Perfect place to hide Tony Stark.

Or dead bodies.

"You guys have to promise me to be quiet," the boy turned around to us just as he reached for the door handle. "He doesn't like loud noises. He kinda freaks out sometimes."

Peter and I shared a look. This could either be really good, or really bad.

Nevertheless, we nodded, and the boy pushed the door open, gesturing for us to follow.

I decided to go first, just in case. If was a trap, then Peter could run while he still had the chance. I could feel him clutching the back of my coat, trying to peer over my shoulder; I had to admit, I was a little scared, too. A gust of warm air hit me before I stepped inside — along with the smell of oil, smoke, and a faint trace of ozone. It was brighter in here, and my eyes adjusted to the light source; a small wood stove in the far back of the room flickered red. In the center of the garage, beside a junker car, was a handmade workbench; some plywood stacked on top of old sawhorses and plastic crates. On top was a bright lamp with a magnifying glass.

And on the worn-out couch next to it, Iron Man.

My heart skipped a beat. At first, I thought it was really him — before I realized the arc reactor was dark, the suit slumped over as if it were in a drunken stupor. The faceplate had been removed, revealing an empty helmet. There was no one inside.

My shoulders drooped. Peter appeared next to me, still gripping the back of my jacket. His face fell. "Wait, that's...no, where's the rest of him?"

The boy had come up to the desk, slipping the potato gun off his shoulder and setting it next to the old laptop computer. He hooked a thumb over at the suit, "Oh, yeah, that's just Iron Man. He's sleeping right now."

I stared at the boy, wondering if this was supposed to be some big joke. "Who are you again? How did you find this?"

The boy blinked up at me through thick blond hair, making a face. "I'm Harley, not that it's any of your business, weird tall girl. And he found me, by the way. I didn't ask for this! Mom would kill me if she found out I was harboring a fugitive."

"Fugitive?" Peter and I repeated in unison, somewhat alarmed.

"Dead guy," Harley corrected himself with a half-hearted shrug. "Same difference."

"What? I can't believe this…" I shook my head to myself, unable to believe this. No, no, we did not come all this way just for Tony Stark's suit. That couldn't have been the only thing that led us here. There had to be more. Tony Stark had to be still alive. Someone had to have called Peter's phone. This couldn't have been all for nothing.

I was about to open my mouth and say as much, when there came a muffled clanging. Some curse words followed, unintelligible, and then the back door of the garage opened. Someone stumbled in, his arms full of what looked to be scrapped metal and a red diesel canister. The pile was so high it covered his head, and the man struggled to close the door behind him.

We all stared as the sight of this newcomer, as he tripped on a skateboard left on the floor, stumbled forward into the car, flattened out across the hood, and sent all his scrap scattering to the floor.

Tony Stark started cursing again, picking himself off of the car, running a furious hand through his hair. "Jesus, Mary, son of a —"

He looked up and froze. Eyes darting from Harley, to me, to Peter, to Harley, to Peter again.

For a moment, no one said anything.

Tony Stark held up one finger. I had never before considered the concept of a hillbilly billionaire until now; Stark was dressed in greasy jeans, a red plaid shirt, a vest from a local hunting club, and a camo baseball cap. There was a cut across his nose, bags under his eyes, looking dead on his feet, yet still very much alive. He hadn't taken his eyes off of Peter. "Um, Harley? If what I think I'm seeing right now is actually happening? It better not be."

"Uh," Harley looked to us, then back to Tony, utterly confused. He shrugged helplessly.

"Because," Tony Stark continued, walking stiffly around the car, finger still raised. He stared between the two of us, finger wavering as he squinted a little. Perhaps he thought we were some sort of dream.

There as an odd, fragile lilt in his voice, like a man at the end of his rope, just barely hanging on to his sanity. "Because, Harley, I do not want to be seeing the fact that my teenaged intern and his beanstalk friend are somehow standing in front of me, in only garage in Rose Hill, Tennessee, four hundred miles from New York City, that I happen to be living in, three days before Christmas!"

When Tony Stark finished, he had to take a deep breath; he had been speaking with rising intensity, hands shaking a little, coming to a stop by the desk and looking oddly pale.

Meanwhile, Harley said nothing; it was a rhetorical question.

A long pause followed.

Peter jerked a finger at me. "She's my cousin, actually."

I slapped my face.

"PETER." Tony Stark said at the same time, throwing his arms out and soundly extremely distressed. "Peter. What the hell are you doing here?"

"We here to rescue you, Mr. Stark!" Peter said earnestly, and I couldn't tell if he was happy to have found Tony or growing uncertain over Tony's reaction. "The Ten Rings are all over the news! Everyone says you're dead, but I knew you weren't! I knew you were still alive somewhere! And we found you! We want to help!"

"Yeah, I know all that," Tony Stark said, annoyed. "What I want to know is why you're not at home with your aunt. This isn't your game, kid, all right? You're not ready for this kind of fight. These are some really bad dudes trying to kill me, okay? Trust me, you don't want to be in this. I need you to go home before your aunt finds out and decides to kill me, too."

"What? Come on!"

"No! There's no 'coming on'!" Tony Stark snapped, making air quotes with his fingers. "Jesus, Parker, do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

"Agent Brandt and Savin," I said, jerking my chin over my shoulder. "They work for the Komitet, the Chairman. They're helping the Mandarin try to take over America."

"What? How do you know that? Who are you?" Tony demanded, looking taken aback. He asked this last question at Peter, pointing at me. "Do you know her?"

"I just said, she's my cousin, the one I told you about?" Peter said, eyebrows pinching up in worry. "Mr. Stark, you've met her before."

"You had that interview with me," I added helpfully.

"I've had interviews with a lot of people," Tony shot me an irritated look. "You're gonna have to be more specific—" Then he scrunched up his face and waved a hand, "—Wait, wait, no, I think I remember now. The one that got kidnapped, then had a panic attack in my building. Yeah, I remember you now, beanstalk."

"Glad I made an impression," I muttered, decidedly less enthused now.

"Hey, she gets them, too!" Harley piped up, pointing at me with a smile, as if he just made a brilliant connection. I couldn't tell if he was being serious or just taking the piss out of Tony.

Judging from the look Stark shot at him, I assumed the latter.

"And so, what, you two just thought you're gonna run all the way to Tennessee, find me, and bring me back?" Tony turned back to us, hands on his hips like some disapproving dad. He shook his head, chuckling a little, but it had no humor in it. "No thank you, kiddos, I'm fine where I am. No one needs to know I'm still alive right now, they'll just try to kill me again."

Tony Stark started going around his desk, grabbing his face place, when he suddenly stopped again. "Wait, how did you find me?"

Peter blinked, confused. "You called us, remember?"

"Um," Tony Stark glanced away, then back to Peter, brows rising in confusion. "No."

"You didn't?" Peter and I exchanged looks. Even Tony and Harley were baffled. We all just stood there in mutual confusion. Peter shrugged and added, "Well, someone did. And then we used it to ping the location of your phone."

"How?" Tony demanded, flopping down on a stool, hands slumped in his lap. "The only way you could've done that is through my personal system, or JARVIS, on the main server, which is only located in Stark Tower…" Tony Stark's eyes widened. "Oh, no. You didn't."

Peter and I bared our teeth in equal smiles of shame and pride.

"You did." Tony Stark dropped his head into his hands. "You broke into my building. First the Mandarin blows up my house, I lose my suit, and now a bunch of teenagers can just sneak into my building whenever they want. That's it. I'm done for. The Stark name no longer bears any meaning. I'll just go lay down and die now."

Tony keeled over onto his desk and ceased to move. Harley leaned over and poked him in the shoulder. Failing to get a response, Harley concluded, "I think you broke him."

"And you!" Tony suddenly sat up, jabbing a finger at the boy, as if remembering to be angry again. "I thought we had a deal here. I crash on your couch, and you don't tell anyone. What happened to that, huh? Why'd you bring them here?"

"I dunno," Harley just shrugged. "They're out-of-towners. Why else would they be here?"

"It didn't occur to you that they might be — oh, I don't know — dangerous?"

Harley glanced at us, frowning as doubt flickered across his features. "Dangerous? They're just teenagers. And they helped me. How bad could they be?"

Tony just blinked at Harley, his face going slack, before rubbing his hand down over his eyes. It was clear he was not going to win any argument today. He sighed, shoulders slumping and leaned against the desk. He muttered something under his breath before looking up and saying, "Welp, that's just it, I guess, huh? Now if you don't mind, I have to go talk to a grieving mother getting drunk at the local saloon and make her relive one of the worst experiences of her life, so if you excuse me…"

"Wait, what?" Peter watched, baffled as Tony abruptly rose again from his seat, making his way towards the door. Incredibly, Peter jumped in his way. "No, wait."

"Jesus, kid —" Tony came to an abrupt stop, rolling his eyes, flinching at little. He seemed to be holding himself back from further swearing. He held up his hands in a placating gesture, looking down at Peter and saying, "I have to do this, okay? I need to find out what was up with Chad Davis, figure out what the hell is going on here. You two can stay here with my little friend. Harley, make sure they stay out of trouble."

While Harley saluted, Peter once more jumped into Tony's way. "But we want to help!"

Placing both hands on Peter's shoulders, Tony Stark gingerly pushed him to the side before darting towards the door. "Thanks, but no thanks, kid. Trust me, it's not a big deal. I'll be back in, what, an hour? It's just a little recon. Relax and come up with a convincing argument on why I shouldn't call your Aunt by the time I get back."

And with that, he was out the door.

The three of us just stared as it slammed shut again. After a quiet second, Peter said, "Huh. I thought he'd handle that...better."

"You mean like an adult?" I asked dryly, quirking an eyebrow and crossing my arms. A part of me wasn't entirely surprised. Tony Stark running away from serious issues he didn't like to do ones he'd rather manage? Yeah, that sounded like something he'd do.

Turning around, I frowned at Harley. "W-Who's Chad Davis? He sounds familiar…"

Harley screwed up his face, flopping down on the couch next to Iron Man. Playing with one of the suit's hands, he said, "Some Army guy who used to live around here. Got kinda messed up in the war. Came back and blew up part of the town. Down where the supermarket is. Six people died."

"How long ago was this?"

"Ten months ago? Yeah," Harley nodded, and Peter and I exchanged knowing looks. "He made a bomb or something so big it left nothing behind. He's why Iron Man is here. I guess he's trying to figure out why Davis did it."

"I already know why," I muttered, then cursed under my breath. I whipped back around, going for the door. Slamming it open, I was already charging down the street by the time Peter and Harley caught up with me.

I should've known it as soon as I heard the name. Chad Davis, another Extremis soldier, dead before I could ever meet him. I remembered snippets of his name being spoken in the Crucible, the other soldiers discussing his death. A lost cause, a failed experiment. Once again, something had gone wrong and the Mandarin never made a claim to it.

"What?" Harley called after me, nearly slipping in the snow. The sky had gone dark and it was hard to see where there was ice or not. "What is it? Do you know what's going on?"

"Chad Davis was Extremis!" I called back. "He w-worked for the Mandarin, the guy still trying to kill Tony Stark. Killian invented the serum and created an entire army like Davis to help!"

"You think Mr. Stark is walking into a trap?" Peter asked, catching up next to me.

"I don't know, he could be," I said, my hands clenching and unclenching, breath puffing in the cold. We passed under a streetlight and I stopped to face both boys. "I thought Tony knew as much as we did, but I was wrong. He doesn't know about Killian, or how these guys are detonating at random."

I thought I had explained myself when I told him about Brandt and Savin, but I had made a severe miscalculation. Tony Stark wasn't on top of this. He was barely scraping by. Living off the radar, faking his death, trying to get ahead of the Mandarin before the guy caught up on the scheme. And I had no idea how long that plan was going to last.

Even worse, Tony had disappeared from sight, and I had no idea which direction he went in.

"If we could trace Tony Stark with just his cell phone," I said, fixing Peter a look. "Then how hard would it be for the Mandarin to find him?"

A blink, then horror dawned upon Peter's face. "Or what if we led them right to him?"

"Shit." The three of us said in unison.

Peter and I looked at Harley. He feigned innocence. "What? I'm twelve. I'm not that much younger than you."

"You're not coming with us." I said almost immediately.

"Oh yeah?" Harley challenged, scowling up at me. He had to lean back a little, but still managed to keep his ferocity. He still had his potato gun. "Let's see you say that again with a potato in your face—"

"Hey, hey!" Peter quickly leaned over and covered the gun's muzzle with his hands. Looking between us with a pleading expression, Peter said, "There doesn't need to be any potatoes in any faces, okay? We all want to help Mr. Stark. We can do that better as a team. Harley, you need to stay back, okay, dude? You've got a gun, you'll be better at a distance."

Harley squinted at Peter, pursing his lips as he considered the reason behind that statement. Finally, he lowered his weapon and said, "Fine. But if I see any bad guys, I shoot to kill."

Well, there was no arguing with that. I had to strain not to smile at that. "Alright, fair enough. C-Can you show us where this 'saloon' or whatever it is Stark's h-heading to?"

"Yeah, sure," Harley gave us a curt nod, then turned on his heel and started running in the opposite direction. "Follow me!"

For such a short little guy, Harley was pretty quick on his feet, and I was slightly alarmed at how long this kid could go without needing a break. He wasn't even superhuman, but he sure was energized like one. Still maintaining a certain distance behind him, I whispered to Peter under panting breath, "You got your web-shooters, right?"

"Right here," Peter huffed, raising his wrist as he jogged next to me. He flashed me an uncertain look. "Really think I might need them? Now?"

"One thing I've learned from being on your own," I replied, focusing my eyes on the way ahead. "Is always be prepared for anything. There's no way we'll be dragging Stark home without a fight."

Harley led us down to Rose Hill's Main Street, still alive with activity. The streetlights had speakers that played some folksy Christmas music, and bright festive displays flashed in the windows of closed storefronts. The local bar, Walker's, seemed to be a hotspot tonight — pick-up trucks and vans were parked alongside the road, motorcycles clustered in groups around fire hydrants.

"This is it," Harley said, stopping by a sedan on the other side of the street. He gestured to the bar, saying, "Mrs. Davis usually gets drunk there every night. Kinda sad, I guess. But nothing bad ever really happens —"

Two gunshots, in quick succession, cut him off. The three of us jumped as the muffled screams suddenly filled the air, and the door to the bar burst open, a stream of panicked patrons scrambling out.

Among them, Tony Stark, his hands handcuffed behind his back. He turned around and shouted, "Hey, hotwings! You wanna party? You and me, let's go!"

For a second, I couldn't tell who he was talking to. I couldn't tell right away, as a car door slammed to my right. I looked over.

Savin, stepping out of his car. Pupils already glowing red. He threw a coffee cup over his shoulder.

Then out of the bar walked Brandt. Dressed in a skirt and blazer, gun in hand.

They both grinned, eyes on Tony Stark.

I swallowed, my stomach dropping. Rose Hill was about to turn into a battlefield.