Bullets pelted the back wall of the shed, shredding panels and ricocheting off metal surfaces. Glass rained down as one of the monitors shattered and crashed to the floor, sparks briefly flaring before the room was plunged deeper into shadow. Beneath the table, Harley pressed himself flat against the ground, heart pounding in his ears. Every shot made him flinch.
What the hell was Peter doing? Where did he go?
There was a grunt of pain, a gasp of surprise, and something slammed into the table over Harley before hitting the ground in front of him. Peter?
A grunt of pain and a gasping exhale broke through the chaos, followed by a heavy thud on the table. Harley froze as something – or someone – hit the ground in front of him. Daring to look, Harley reached out, his fingers brushing against fabric. The figure was too large to be Peter. His stomach twisted as he realized it was a man, clad in black tactical gear. The man's arm was bent at an unnatural angle, his face bloodied and slack. He was breathing, but he didn't look like he'd be waking up anytime soon.
There were metallic sounds of a gun being disassembled and discarded on the ground. Harley took that as an "all clear," and pulled himself up in the eerie gloom, looking for Peter.
"Harley?" Peter stood pressed against a set of metal shelves, his chest heaving. His eyes darted wildly, his whole body trembled. He looked like he was trying to melt into the shelves and disappear. His face was pale and haunted. He stammered as words tumbled out of him. "I hurt him. I… I think I broke his nose. I took his gun, and then I hit his h-head against the t-table."
He swallowed hard, his voice thick with horror. "I don't think he thought I'd hurt him. He looked… surprised."
"He'll get over it. Are you hurt? More hurt, I mean?" Harley walked with slow, careful steps to Peter, feeling strongly that he was approaching a frightened, wounded animal. His hands raised instinctively and he wasn't sure if it was to reassure the boy, or if it was the start of a hug. He just knew he wanted to ease the look of horror on Peter's face.
Before Peter could answer, the unmistakable roar of repulsor jets filled the night outside. The vibrations rattled the shed's walls. Harley's shoulders sagged with relief—Tony was here. But Peter stiffened, his posture shifting as he stepped forward with a staggering, defensive gait.
Harley reached for him. "No, wait, Peter, it's okay."
A slightly mechanical version of Tony Stark's voice shouted, "Don't move!"
Harley's heart skipped a beat. "Agh, wait! Tony! No!"
Peter lunged to place himself in front of Harley and a concussive blast from a repulsor hit him square in the chest. The impact sent him flying backward, slamming him into the concrete floor with a sickening thud.
"Stop!" Harley threw himself between the two, hands spread, trying to cover as much of Tony's direct view of Peter as possible. "Don't shoot!"
"Harley?" Iron Man's suited arms grabbed him by the shoulders and held him in place as Tony searched him up and down for injuries. "You're okay? Friday, scan him."
"I'm fine! Check on Peter! You just blasted him unconscious, and I already hit him with my car!"
"You what?" Iron Man turned to the slender figure sprawled on the ground. "Hell. He's just a kid."
Tony's suited form bent over Peter's limp body and muttered, "Knocked out. Looks like he took a hard hit to the head. He'll come around."
Harley growled, "He was unarmed! What the hell, Tony!"
Before Tony could respond, the distinctive whine of a Quinjet filled the air as it descended in the field behind Harley's house. The whirring engines sent dust swirling through the open doorway, adding to the chaos of the destroyed shed.
So, the cavalry had all arrived. Harley wondered if New Moocher #9 had just fainted from fright in Harley's living room. There was no way all this activity would go unnoticed at Keener Abode. His mom was going to kill him.
Sure enough, the distant sound of a woman shouting his name confirmed his fears.
"Just great." Harley glared at Tony. "And how did you even get here before the jet? Let me guess, you jumped out because it wasn't going fast enough for you?" He grabbed angrily for the previously discarded towels, shaking the glass from them. Harley rolled one up and placed it under Peter's feet, scowling as the Iron Man suit opened to reveal a confused-looking Tony Stark.
"I'm sorry, did I miss something? Was I not supposed to save you from being kidnapped and/or murdered today?"
"Apparently, I didn't need saving. Peter beat the crap out of the guy who had the gun."
"Peter? The one you're about to gently waft smelling salts at? Peter was sent to do the murdering and/or kidnapping!"
More figures streamed into the darkened shed which was lit only by the arc reactor of Tony's suit.
"Body," Hawkeye announced to the incoming crowd as he stepped around the gunman's prone form.
"Alive, but incapacitated," Black Widow updated, as she checked for a pulse in the gloom.
Harley sighed and went to flip the light switches. All the lamps suddenly came on. Everyone squinted and blinked in surprise.
Clint swore as he hastily removed a pair of night vision goggles. "The power wasn't cut?"
"No, Peter turned off the lights."
"Good to see you're okay, Harley." Hawkeye reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Tony was flipping his tin lid up there. Hightailed it right out of the jet the minute things got hairy over the phone."
Of course he did, Harley thought with a bit of fondness that only irritated him further.
Clint stooped to check the smaller body on the floor, and if he wondered why Harley was rendering aid, he didn't say anything.
"This is the Hydra agent?" Hawkeye sounded dubious as he looked Peter over.
"I hope so, or I just concussed a random 8th grader." Tony had the decency to sound a little sheepish. "He didn't look this young in that intel file."
Black Widow shrugged. "Baby venomous snakes are more dangerous than adults," she remarked, glancing at Peter's unconscious form.
She was still examining the man dressed in black on the floor. She rolled him onto his stomach and zip tied his arms and legs with quick, efficient movements. "Someone did a number on this one." She arched an eyebrow at Tony.
Iron man let out a low whistle as he looked at the big unconscious guy breathing blood bubbles through a broken nose. He shook his head, "Wasn't me."
"Peter dropped that guy in less than a minute," Harley said as he rapidly patted the boy's cheek to rouse him. He still couldn't quite believe it. And how had Peter known the guy was just outside?
Iron Man spread his hands in surrender. "Well, this is all very mysterious. Let's get these two sleeping beauties into the jet, I'm not turning anything or anyone over to Fury until we know what the hell is going on." Tony pointed a metal finger at Harley. "You. Pack a bag. This location is still not secure. Is that your mom I hear yelling outside?"
Harley winced. They could clearly hear Mrs. Keener shouting from the yard. "Harley Keener, you get out here right this moment and explain what the hell is going on!"
"I'll pack a bag, but you're dealing with my mom."
Tony groaned, his armored head tilting back. "I signed up for murderous Hydra agents, not irate mothers."