They turned off the paved road onto a long, winding dirt driveway. The gravel crunched beneath the wheels, and Peter watched as they passed a small, worn-down house nestled against a backdrop of shadowy woods. Light leaked out of the curtained windows, and faint, muffled voices drifted into the night. The shouting was distant, but to Peter, it was loud and clear. A man's slurred voice demanded a beer, his curses sharp, while a woman's response crackled with anger. Peter glanced at Harley, expecting him to react, but Harley's face stayed blank and focused on the road ahead.
As they continued, Peter began to wonder if Harley even heard the arguing. He seemed unaffected by sounds that rang harshly in Peter's ears, making him wince. Maybe Harley's hearing was just… different. Peter stayed quiet, unsure whether to say anything, but the volume of sounds that kept him tense seemed like nothing more than background noise to Harley.
Finally, they pulled up to a large workshop at the end of the drive. "Let's get you into the shed first, and then I'll go up to the house for supplies," Harley said, his voice low but gentle. "Need a hand?"
Peter shook his head and climbed out, taking a moment to breathe in the warm night air, fragrant with wild grass and pine. He stood there, instinctively tuning into the sounds around him. The rustling of leaves as a small animal darted through, the faint chirping of insects, and even the distant call of a whippoorwill reached his ears with an uncanny clarity.
Everything sounded so alive around him. It was like each sound wrapped itself around him, coming from multiple directions, creating a vivid map of his surroundings. If there was danger nearby, Peter felt certain he'd know long before it arrived. And if none of the wildlife sensed a lurking predator, then maybe Peter could chill for a moment, too.
Harley led Peter to the shed door, stopping to punch in a code on a keypad. Peter hesitated, glancing around. Tiny, discreet cameras were mounted around the shed, and there was a faint but intense hum of electricity from within. It seemed strange coming from such a humble, run-down looking building. Something about the place made Peter wary, but he kept quiet, not wanting to raise questions he couldn't quite explain himself.
What kind of shed was this?
Harley must've sensed Peter's hesitance because he tried to explain. "I have a lot of sensitive tech inside. I used to like to tinker around, build things. But I'm kind of into programming and game design now. Lots of computers in here, and I don't like my mom's boyfriends snooping around." Harley tapped a code in. "So, I let a friend install a security system for me. He owed me a favor." Harley shrugged like it was no big deal. And really, Peter had no frame of reference for this. It might not be a big deal.
The door swung open, and Peter was greeted by a glowing assortment of monitors, servers, and lamplit tables strewn with computer parts and tools. There was a utility sink in the corner and a curtained area that looked like it might have a toilet. A mini fridge hummed quietly against one wall, and a 3-D printer whirred along industriously, building some project, bit by bit.
Harley noticed Peter's stare and rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Yeah, it's kind of… a lot."
But Peter wasn't overwhelmed; he felt unexpectedly at ease. Each hum and click of the machinery, the faint heat of the electronics, even the subtle smell of metal and oil—all of it grounded him in a way he hadn't felt since he'd woken up in the creek. He felt the tension drain out of him. He understood this space. He felt safe here.
"It's cool," Peter tried a generic phrase that he felt fit the situation, and Harley visibly relaxed.
"I keep some clothes here. There are gym shorts and t-shirts in that laundry basket over there. They're clean. Sometimes I sleep in here so I like to have spare clothes around." Harley pulled clean, folded items from the basket. "No shower, but you can wash off at the sink and then we'll try to patch you up a bit, okay?"
Peter murmured a quiet thank you, clutching the clothes. The shed's bright lights made him acutely aware of the Hydra patch on his chest, and he instinctively stooped a bit to hide it, not even sure why. Harley had already moved on, though, clearing a table and tidying some of the mess.
Harley tossed him a pair of rough, slightly frayed towels. "They look worse than they are. I'll be back soon—just need to check on my mom and grab some food. You're absolutely sure about not going to the hospital?"
Peter nodded, his tone quiet but firm. "I'm sure. It's just a few bruises."
Harley frowned but didn't argue. "Fine. But if there's anything majorly wrong that my first aid kit can't take care of, I'm going to call a friend for help."
"Won't be necessary."
Peter wasn't sure why, but he could tell his injuries were already on the mend. They must've been superficial. His ribs felt bruised on both sides, which made breathing a bit of a chore, but he was almost positive he hadn't broken anything.
Harley ducked out to give him some space to get dressed. Peter started a countdown in his head for 10 minutes and turned the faucet on. Warm water began to run. Peter stripped out of the jumpsuit and started washing his hands and arms. He did his best with his chest and abdomen, but the expanse of flesh there was a minefield of sore, purplish bruises. Peter wet and soaped up a corner of one towel and did his best to remove mud and dry, crusted blood.
There was a small mirror above the sink. Peter stared at his face. It was familiar, certainly. But also, not. It was an eerie feeling, looking at himself, so he stopped. He focused on cleaning out the cuts and scrapes that he could reach, and then he dunked his whole head in the stream of water and tried to get his hair clean.
He toweled off and dressed once he had counted off eight minutes. But then he heard Harley's footsteps approaching early. Peter still had not pulled his shirt on all the way when the door opened.
"Christ!" Harley's voice was a shocked whisper as he froze in place.
Peter turned to see the white-faced teen, staring horrified at Peter's torso. Peter yanked the shirt down quickly.
"My car did all that?"
Peter tugged again, self-consciously, at the shirt hem, though it was long and completely covered him. "No. Most of it… happened before." He didn't elaborate; Harley's face hardened.
"Who did this to you?" Harley asked, his voice low and forceful. "If you're in some kind of trouble, I've got people who can help."
Peter felt his shoulders tense, unsure how much to say. But Harley's concern was sincere, a steady presence in the whirl of Peter's fear and confusion. He settled for a shrug, but the movement drew a pained wince.
"Fine," Harley finally said with a sigh. "Let's just patch you up." He pulled out a chair, dusted it off with the swipe of a hand, and gestured for Peter to sit.
Peter sat down and watched in silence as the other boy readied the supplies. There was a bottle of some off-brand wound-wash, a variety of bandages, a couple small ice packs, and a bag of chips. "Eat." Harley gestures at the chips. "You look like you're going to topple over."
Peter grabbed a few chips and started to nibble them slowly. He was starving, but his nerves made him feel a bit sick. "Thanks." He said quietly.
"No problem." Harley was giving him an unreadable look, so Peter lowered his gaze to the table and tried to sort his thoughts.
Harley started with his arms, which had several open cuts that had stopped bleeding on the ride over but had reopened a bit from all the scrubbing. He placed another ragged towel under Peter's arms to cushion them and started pouring disinfectant over the wounds.
Peter inhaled sharply.
"Sorry. This isn't going to be quite the same as the ER. I don't have any lidocaine or pain pills, so this will hurt a bit. But I'm not going to let you get all gangrenous and gross."
Peter didn't think gangrene was likely but he took the ministrations silently.
Harley continued to glance at him every few seconds. "So, how old are you? Do you go to school around here?"
Peter thinks for a moment. "I don't go to school." That, he was fairly certain was true. He was not sure about age, so he hoped Harley would move onto a different topic.
"Homeschool then?" Harley asked, his voice probing but kind.
Peter shrugged, and Harley seemed to accept it, though his eyes lingered with curiosity. "Do you live around here?"
Peter thought about that one for a while. Nothing about their surroundings had been familiar. The topography, the terrain, the roads, the spoken accents – none of it struck a chord with him. It all felt like he knew about it from a secondary source like a movie or a book. "No." He answered.
Harley quirked an eyebrow. "That answer took a while," he remarked as he started applying sticky butterfly closures along the deeper cuts. "How did you get here? You were kind of far from town when I … when you ran into me." Harley smirked good-naturedly and Peter sensed he was trying to put him at ease. But Peter was growing more nervous. He didn't mind the questions. They were almost like an exercise, and Peter was learning about himself right along with Harley as he thought through the answers. But at some point, Harley was going to get suspicious. Well, more suspicious than he already was. And Peter didn't exactly want to lose the one trustworthy person he knew in the whole world.
Peter decided to be honest. "I don't really remember anything."
"About what happened to you?" Harley's brow draws down in concern. "Lean toward me a bit, I'm going to check for a head injury."
Harley placed his hands gently on either side of Peter's head and started feeling around with a light, careful touch, searching for any injuries.
Peter suddenly and inexplicably felt like crying. It was confusing, so he started to talk to distract himself. "I don't remember anything before a few hours ago. I woke up in a creek about three miles from the road."
Harley finished his inspection and Peter raised his head back up to see that Harley was glowering again.
Peter continued. "Someone was chasing me. And…" Peter felt his throat tighten. "I don't know if there's a reason why. I don't know if I'm supposed to be caught. Like, maybe I've done something bad, and that's why I'm being chased." He surprised himself with the revelation. It had been weighing heavily on his thoughts the entire evening.
Harley sat back, contemplatively. "Why do you think you've done something bad?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think all the blood that was on me was mine. And there was a symbol on my clothes. I don't know exactly what it means, but I know it's something bad."
Harley hopped up and fished the mud-caked jumpsuit off the floor.
Peter's senses prickle again, and he felt a wave of dread. It took a few seconds to realize that the unease wasn't over Harley seeing the patch. There was a strange pattern of sounds outside amid the more expected noises of frogs and bugs.
Harley's phone vibrated on the table next to Peter, but Harley was staring at the jumpsuit, his face a little pale under the fluorescent work lamps. He was looking at the tentacled Hydra symbol as if he knows what it means.
"It is bad. Isn't it?"
Harley nodded. "This is a Hydra jumpsuit."
Hydra. That's the word that had come to mind when Peter saw it. Peter wracked his brain while simultaneously trying to keep an ear out for the strange sounds outside.
Harley's phone vibrated again, and this time the screen lit up and the call went through as if an invisible hand had pressed the answer button and then selected speaker phone. A man's voice filled the shed. "Harley. I need you to listen carefully, your security has been compromised. A Hydra agent has been sent to Rose Hill. You need to lockdown immediately. I'm updating your security system to recognize the agent if he approaches so it'll alert me."
Harley and Peter stared as all the monitors in the room begin to show a file uploading.
The man's voice continued. "We're on our way to get you out, but it's very important you start the 'safe room' protocol and sit tight. And Harley?"
"Yeah, Tony?" Harley mumbled weakly.
"Whatever you do, don't open the door to strangers, okay kid?"
"Uh…" Harley stared open-mouthed at the image on the screens all around them.
It was Peter.