A/N: SO! New arc, new pacing. We're gonna go into the slow-ish burn side of stuff now because apparently the last 6 chapters was the whole-ass prologue lmao. My aim right from the start had always been the Protective!Harry-is-Harley with additional Irondad and sciencelings.

I guess this fic is gonna go on a bit of a Fix-it take on things? Let's face it, Endgame broke a lot of people.

Chapter Warnings: Emotional turmoil, Unreliable Narrator, Iron Man 3 proceedings (Tony's potty mouth)

ARC 2: CHAPTER 7
Pistis

-0-

Snow drifted down in gentle waves, covering their yard in its icy embrace. Even though he'd seen this scene countless times before, his fascination never wore off. The view from their house wasn't even really a sight to behold. Nonetheless, Harley liked watching the first dusts of winter coming into their town.

"Hey mom," Harley calls out from his position gazing out of the window, "Do you really have to go to work? It's snowing. It's cold and then you'll sleep through the day tomorrow."

Him, his mom and little Emma had been putting up garlands and holly sticks, leftover baubles from the last few years's attempts at being festive. Christmas was approaching and even in their broken little household, it's something they celebrate.

With school finally letting out this morning, Harley was free to do anything.

He could finally get around to working on the old car without mom getting on his case again. It's slow work, having to collect parts from all over town and spending more and more time taking care of his sister with the new treatment regimen they had put her on.

"Yes Harley," Mom answers as she exits Emma's room, having tucked the little girl to bed. "They need me at the diner. I'm not about to say no to some extra pay."

With the looming concern of her declining health, Amelia Keener had had to take less and less shifts in order to prevent her condition from worsening. She hides it well, but Harley knew that every move she made caused her pain. It was an admirable effort, and the fact that she had lasted this long was a miracle in and of itself.

There had been the Antiretroviral Therapy that the hospital put mom and Emma on, but mom had dropped out of it a few months ago, saying nothing about her reasons. Harley had accepted her decision with more grace than he should.

"Well I'm pretty sure they can handle themselves fine anyway." Harley sighs dejectedly before grabbing his sling bag, "I'll come with you."

"No." Mom pulled on her winter jacket, one that Harley had spent literal years to save up for and charmed with the best warming spell he could manage on a reasonable but subpar material. She fixed him with a stern look that highlighted the bags under her tired eyes. Under the artificial light, she looked a bit less waxen than she actually is. "You have to look after your sister."

"I already have my bag here, see?" Harley pats his bag in emphasis. "I don't want you going out there in this cold alone, mom." He doesn't have to explain himself, not anymore.

"And I don't like you going out by yourself," She parries, "at night." She added the last bit at his stubborn look.

"I've done it already," Harley reasons, "many, many times before. It's not like we don't know everyone. I know how to protect myself from them."

Because they do. Everyone knows everyone, even that homeless guy that relocated every other week, but ever since Chad Davis bombed himself and killed others, everyone had been cautious. Harley isn't sure if their sleepy little town believed the invasion of New York, but tensions had been higher ever since then.

They have a stare off, Harley holding his ground because his mom looked as though a wind could knock her down. Finally, after a few moments of charged silence, mom sighed and mussed her scrunched up hair in clear agitation.

"Fine," She huffs. "Fine. How did I get stuck with this kid?"

Harley grins—because he knows those words were fond, reminds himself that they'd had this conversation multiple times already—and followed her out.

-0-

Harley was only a few yards away from their house when he noticed the unfamiliar tracks on the snow-covered ground. He crouches down, brow furrowed at the obvious drag marks and indentations that were shaped like shoes. A grown man's shoes or someone with big feet that dragged something heavy behind them.

With narrowed eyes, Harley cast out his senses, trying to pinpoint what he was dealing with.

Little Emma was still in her bedroom, fast asleep. A few meters away from her, inside the garage, was someone else. Now alert and wary, Harley ran a last check to confirm that there's only one intruder. He studies it, feeling his muscles tense as his Magic tried to assess the threat.

He tilts his head, feeling… well, feeling curious.

Rose Hill, Tennessee wasn't an interesting place to be in. The only exciting thing that had ever happened was Chad Davis's suicide bombing, but even that hadn't piqued his curiosity enough to nose around more than a curious kid would.

Besides, whoever was in there was clearly not hostile. And even then, Harley could protect himself well. Out of intense practice as he may be, it would take more than one measly human to take him down.

With that thought in mind, Harley pulls out the potato gun Emma had urged him to make and carried around to reassure his mom, tucking the newspaper under his armpit. It's bulky and childish but Emma had helped him with it, essentially designing it while Harley got out the tools and materials.

("To beat the bad guys," Emma had said, completely his opposite when it came to superheroes. She's absolutely smitten with the idea. Harley wasn't about to take that away from her, actually gives her the toys he never played with. He tries to get her interested in other things instead, like Dora the Explorer, because Emma had always dreamed of travelling all over the world.)

Well, time to see how the gun would work on the 'bad guys'.

He made his way to the open garage door, steps quiet even in the snow.

"Freeze." Harley says to the man fiddling with the garage tools, pointing his potato gun.

The man looks up and-

Is that Tony Stark?

Harley frowns, confused and alert (because why would Tony Stark be in his garage while everyone thinks he's dead) but continues with his lines, "Don't. Move."

Mr. Stark drops the pliers, raises his hand, and deadpans in a humoring tone, "You got me."

Harley's aim doesn't falter even as his mind raced a mile a minute at the implication of the man's presence.

"Nice potato gun," Mr. Stark says (praises? Observes? Fills the silence?), "Barrel's a little long. Between that and the wide gauge, it's gonna diminish the FPS."

Harley knew this. He still shoots the glass on the handmade shelf to prove a point because Emma's design was brilliant, thank you very much.

Mr. Stark blinks in what could be surprise before shrugging at him, unconcerned at his display, as if it was normal to have a kid demonstrate great aiming skills to a stranger, "And now you're out of ammo."

Harley wants to say he isn't because he could load it up with whatever he wants and then turn it into a potato, but lets the man have this round because now Harley notices he's injured. The sudden concern he was feeling surprised him, but he can't be completely hospitable to people who broke into their home now, can he? Superhero or not, respected or not, breaking and entering is still an issue.

So instead, Harley says, "What's that on your chest?" The news was never really was clear on anything, more so with Mr. Stark laying low after his trip to Afghanistan, and Harley was curious of the glowing disc on (in? Is that inside him?) the man's chest.

(Why does that shade of blue look familiar?)

"It's-" Mr. Stark shifts but Harley can read the hesitation in that move and hypothesizes he's about to lie, "ah, it's an electromagnet. You should know, you've got a box of them right here." Mr. Stark flicks a finger at the aforementioned box.

Harley studies the man and the glowing device, finally takes the time to actually examine him. There's something exceedingly familiar about Mr. Stark and feels-

Trust him.

Okay, Harley decided, knowing better than to disregard feelings that didn't explicitly come from his own conscious. The presence hadn't interacted with him this last few years, but it had never steered him wrong—well, not wrong, but not not right either. Being with him counts for something.

(He should have known there was something about that Merchant of Death thing.)

"What does it power?" He wheedles.

Mr. Stark takes a moment to mull it over.

Harley was sure this man wouldn't tell him (why would he?) but is surprised when the engineer pulls away from the stool to put the spotlight on the damaged Iron Man armor lounging on the rickety sofa he often used as a bed.

There were precisely three trains of thought going through his head at the moment but-

"That… that's-" Harley stuttered, oh god, he hadn't done that in a while, "Is that Iron Man?"

Mr. Stark doesn't miss a beat, "Technically I am." It's slightly defensive.

"Technically," Harley finds himself drawn to the armor, barely having the presence of mind to emphasize what his second train of thought wanted by tapping the man's chest with the newspaper, "You're dead."

The third was still criticizing the electromagnet in the man's chest and its connection to the Iron Man armor that surely needed something more than simple electromagnets to work.

Mr. Stark makes a little noise of surprise, "You have a point."

Harley was too busy admiring the genius piece of tech in front of him, catalogues the damages and possible ways to repair it but has to resign himself to the fact that this was beyond him and the tools he possesses. With his Magic, maybe, but sensitive coding and delicate wires don't mix well with it unless Harley knew it inside and out. Still, the Iron Man armor was perhaps the most advanced technology he has seen on earth.

Fanboy or not, Harley knew machines and tech well enough now, and Tony Stark was at the pedestal of the greatest technological and engineering genius he'd ever met.

"What happened to him?" Because apparently there's a fourth train of thought controlling his mouth.

"Life," Mr. Stark replied easily and Harley had to stifle a smirk, "I built him, I take care of him… I'll fix him."

Harley stops. He looks at the man, really looks at him and what he is at the present moment, looks beyond the bravado and arrogance. Mr. Stark looks tired, his shoulders tense and face pinched with stress, hands fidgeting and constantly on the move. Wounds covered his face and arms, blood already dried but still untreated. Harley wasn't really sure what happened, haven't had the time to read through the newspaper except for the headlines.

Standing before him isn't Tony Stark, genius billionaire former CEO of Stark Industries, Avenger, superhero. This is Tony Stark, the person who is just as human as anybody else.

"Like a mechanic?" Harley prompts, the second train of thought already going in the direction of first aid and treating wounds. He wonders how he would have coped up if he wasn't Harley-and-Harrhan-and-Harry.

There's a brief flash of a- well, something that wasn't negative on the man's face, "Yeah."

Harley touches all over the armor, unable to stop himself, "If I was building Iron Man and War Machine-"

"-It's Iron Patriot now," Mr. Stark sniffed.

"That's way cooler!"

Harley doesn't think his sarcasm is convincing because Mr. Stark replies, all petulant adult, "No it's not."

"Anyways," Harley discretely rolls his eyes, "I would have added in, uhm, the retro-"

Mr. Stark catches on in a snap, "Retroreflective panels?"

Harley nods and smiles, feeling a bit victorious at pulling the man's attention away from whatever negative thoughts he had. Not completely, but enough to have a look of intrigue overtake the grimness, "To make him have stealth mode."

"You want a stealth mode?"

Of course, Harley was all about covering all the bases, "Cool right?"

Mr. Stark looked reluctantly impressed, "That's actually a great idea. Maybe I'll build one."

Harley grins and resumes to admiring the armor, itching to take down notes on the servos and complicated wiring he could just peek at. (No he wasn't pawing at it.)

"So uh," Mr. Stark breaks the brief silence, unable to stand it for long it seems, "who's home?"

Harley shifts to sit down properly, scrutinizing the man and considering what the presence had told him.

"Well," Trust him. "My mom already left for the diner and… dad went to Seven Eleven to get scratchers. I guess he won 'cause that was six years ago." It wasn't a painful admission, it was just a fact.

Mr. Stark hums, not entirely judgemental or thoughtful, "Which happens. Dads leave, no need to be a pussy about it."

Harley covers snort, unsure if it was derisive or amused, "Can't really fault him. He had his reasons, I guess."

Mr. Stark studies him this time before shrugging. "Fair enough." And that was that. "Here's what I need." He pauses and Harley narrows his eyes. "A laptop, a digital watch, a cell phone, a pneumatic actuator from your bazooka over there, a map of town, a big spring, and a tuna fish sandwich."

Harley had already made a decision but still asks, "What's in it for me?"

"Salvation."

Harley feels his world stop, feels—

(A large finger tilted his chin up and Harrhan was forced to look at the Mad Titan's eyes.

"Salvation," Thanos answered as if it should make sense.)

—"What's his name?"

Harley jolts back into reality, heart skipping beats but thankfully breathing normally. He swallows, almost says his name, but focuses on Mr. Stark's expectant face, "Who?"

"The kid that bullies you at school," Mr. Stark said it with full certainty in his deduction, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "What's his name?"

Harley takes a deep breath, tries to think of an appropriate response, but his mind's too scrambled with that startling episode. Besides, Mr. Stark wasn't really wrong, per se. "How'd you know about that?" He let the defensiveness leak out in his tone.

"I've got just the thing."

And the ridiculous man (because he is, dear gods) presented him with a compacted stun grenade and said it discourages bullying right after claiming it was a very powerful weapon. Non-lethal. Harley can make it lethal if he wanted to. He can make lethal out of anything. But Mr. Stark didn't know about that.

Then Mr. Stark asks, "Deal?"

"Deal." Harley takes the offered weapon with deep reverence and fascination.

"What's your name?"

"Harley." Harley side-eyes the man, remembering how Harry had once been famous and unable to introduce himself, "And you're…?"

"The mechanic." Harley likes the light tone in the man's voice. "Tony."

(Harley tries to ignore how familiar this is, wants to not-remember balance and what it means. But maybe—

Maybe this wouldn't be the same.)

Pistis - (Πίστις), spirit of trust, honesty, and good faith

A/N: Anything recognized from the movie came from the movie.

Tell me what you think of Harley's character! I know there's fanon and there's not much in canon, so I struggled a bit with his dynamics with the added elements of being Harry/Harrhan/Harley.

I'm blown away by your responses (づ◡﹏◡)づ ~hugs~ thank you so much! And just so y'all know, I'm five chapters ahead so no need to worry about updates until chapter 12 (･ω)