Peter waited outside the guestroom door until Harley finally emerged—hair still damp from the shower. The moment he appeared, Peter handed him a plate with a sandwich, and a glass of milk.

Harley blinked down at them, surprised. "What is this?"

"Peanut butter and jelly."

"I meant…" Harley glanced at the plate again. "Is it for me? And why is it cut into triangles?"

"Yes, it's for you." Peter nudged him toward the couch. "Stark just ordered a mountain of takeout, but it's gonna take a while. So this is your pre-meal sandwich."

Harley raised an eyebrow as he lowered himself onto the couch. "Pete, I don't know if you know this, but people with normal metabolisms don't need a pre-meal sandwich."

"Just eat it," Peter said, dropping onto the other end of the couch.

Only when Harley picked up a triangle and took a bite did Peter relax.

"You're hovering," Harley said between chews.

"I'm not." Peter frowned. Then realized, by the way he was watching Harley so closely, that he kind of was. But he couldn't help it.

Harley reached for the second triangle. "Are you okay?"

Peter blinked, startled by the question. "Am I—are you serious?"

Before Harley could answer, the hallway door opened and Tony stepped through the living room, phone to his ear. He paused, eyes flicking toward the couch.

He lowered the phone slightly. "I have to make a call. It might take a while. You two good?"

Harley gave a thumbs-up, still chewing.

Peter nodded, eyeing the now-empty glass of milk. He reached for it to refill it—but Harley swatted him away without looking.

Tony picked it up himself and returned a minute later with a full one and a folded napkin. He set both down on the coffee table in front of Harley.

"Food'll be here soon," Tony said as he turned to leave. "And you're not off the hook from eating a real meal."

Harley rolled his eyes. "Are you two going to start slipping butterscotch candies in my pockets and tell me to call more often?"

Peter frowned. "FRI, add butterscotch candy to the grocery order."

"Added," the AI replied.

Harley sighed.


Happy brought the food up himself and laid it all out across the table, paper bags rustling, steam curling from cartons. He didn't say anything at first—but when Harley stepped into view, he stopped mid-motion, a container of dumplings in one hand.

His eyes swept over the bruises on Harley's face. His jaw tightened. One fist clenched, then flexed open again. Peter understood the impulse.

Happy flicked his eyes toward Tony, who met the look with a near-imperceptible shake of his head.

And then Peter wasn't the only one hovering and fussing over Harley. Happy joined them. He sat beside Harley at the table and started piling food onto his plate like it was his job. Fried rice, lo mein, two different types of dumplings. He dropped a couple eggrolls in front of him for good measure.

"Here, kid. Take these too."

Harley blinked but his lips quirked a little. "I think you all are used to Peter's appetite."

Happy dropped a couple of crab rangoons on his plate. "Eat."

Harley raised his eyebrows but took it all in stride.

He even let Peter take his plate to the sink for him after, though he gave him a rather flat look, and muttered, "You've got to be kidding me."

Tony had barely touched his food before vanishing into his office again. He didn't just step aside to make a call—he disappeared. Always to the office. Always closing the door behind him.

And then something else strange. Peter could hear nothing from inside. Well, not nothing, exactly. It sounded like as soon as Tony stepped in, the room became a fuzzy wall of static. Like silence turned thick and opaque.

He recognized immediately that it was on purpose. FRIDAY was providing some sort of interference to block him from overhearing things.

Not that he was trying to overhear.

Happy disappeared into the fuzzy-sounding office after dinner. He reappeared a few minutes later, jaw tight, shoulders stiff.

He told them both goodnight—which was unusual enough—but then walked over to Harley and squeezed his shoulder firmly.

"See you later, kid."

Harley looked completely thrown. "Yeah, see ya, Happy."

Peter glanced around for Tony, but he hadn't come back out yet. He could still feel the low hum of static behind the office door


By now, the lab had come to represent the happiest place in the tower. It wasn't just the fancy tech or the sleek, glowing workstations—it was the memories he'd already etched into the space. Late nights spent building, coding, arguing, laughing. It was where projects had stretched on for hours with music in the background and snacks within reach, Tony leaning over their shoulders offering ideas and praise.

So it was no surprise that the moment the leftovers were packed away and the kitchen cleared out, Harley glanced at Peter with one eyebrow raised.

Peter caught the look and grinned. "Lab?"

Harley gave a short nod. "Lab."

They didn't even have to say anything else. Without a word to Tony—who was still locked in back-to-back phone calls—they headed for the lab, ready to see what kind of trouble FRIDAY would let them get into unsupervised.

"What do you want to work on? Haptic glove? The nanite block Tony left unattended? A fizzy volcano? I'm game for whatever," Peter said, hands in his hoodie pocket, bouncing on his heels a little.

He meant it—he would've soldered wires for an hour or programmed a talking toaster if Harley wanted. Just having him here, just being back in the lab together, was more than enough.

Harley snorted and Peter felt a ridiculous surge of pride for getting him to almost laugh.

"I haven't made a fizzy volcano since I was six," Harley muttered, shaking his head with a small smile.

But then he went quiet, eyes going a little distant, like the memory had caught him off guard. His hands stilled where they'd been tugging at the cuff of his sleeve.

After a beat, Peter gently nudged, "We could always play a game of Will It React? using the unmarked stock solutions I found under the fume hood last week."

Harley raised an eyebrow. "Tempting. How do you win?"

"Ten points for every correctly predicted violent exothermic reaction."

The fume hood's safety shield hissed down with a soft click, and FRIDAY's voice chimed overhead. "Lab explosions are strictly prohibited when the Baby Engineer in the Playpen Protocol is active."

They both groaned in disappointment.

"Tony just doesn't like missing out on all the fun," Harley muttered before turning to Peter. "What about that robotic arm of yours?"

Peter grinned and practically bounced toward his workbench. "Come check it out."

On the table sat a mid-sized hydraulic robotic arm—about the length of Peter's forearm. Simple design, solid frame. At the base was a loose metal panel.

Peter took a screwdriver and popped the panel off.

The robot twitched—and then reached down, picked up the panel, and carefully screwed it back into place.

Harley stared, a smile slowly spreading on his face.

"It's a self-repair module," Peter explained. "Right now it only recognizes damage to that panel, but eventually it'll be able to fix multiple systems."

He unscrewed the panel again. The arm retrieved it and began fixing itself.

"Endlessly entertaining," Peter said proudly.

Harley dropped into the seat beside him with a grin. "Gimme the code."

They spent the next hour fine-tuning the arm's parameters. Harley added a subroutine that made it defend its panel—now, when Peter reached for it, the arm took a swipe at him.

"Hey!" Peter laughed, jerking his hand back. He tried again, and the arm jabbed at him with even more determination.

And Harley actually started laughing. A real laugh. His shoulders shook with it, his head tipped forward as he covered his face with one hand, and the sound bounced happily around the lab, bright and long-overdue.

Peter just stared for a second, smile growing. He let the robot land a few successful swats just to keep the laughter going.

Harley tweaked the code again, making the arm a little more defensive. They took turns seeing who could reach the panel without getting smacked.

The arm was a little more wary, now, keeping itself raised up defensively in anticipation. Harley made a quick grab for the panel and the arm almost slapped him.

Peter grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back, laughing. "Careful. Don't let it hit you in the face."

Harley smirked. "It'll have to get in line."

Peter blinked, momentarily stunned.

Harley grinned at his expression. "What? Too soon?"

"Yes, one day is too soon. What the hell, man?" Peter shoved him on the shoulder.

Harley winced dramatically, clutching his arm. "Ow! What did I just say about getting in line?"

Peter rolled his eyes and nudged him again.

They were still laughing, still trying to outmaneuver the arm, when the doors whispered open. Peter barely registered the sound—too busy giggling absurdly with Harley—but after a few moments, someone cleared their throat.

Peter turned to see Tony leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them with the warmest smile Peter had seen on his face in days.


They spent a couple hours with Tony, playing with the nanites in the lab before they all headed back to the penthouse. Peter thought Tony might join them for a movie but he was mysteriously busy again.

He pulled Harley aside for a minute and Peter tried not to overhear, but it wasn't anything sensitive. Tony squeezed the back of Harley's neck, and gave him a reassuring pat before asking Harley if he needed anything. And then reminded him they would talk tomorrow.

He came over to Peter, ruffled his hair gently and told him not to stay up too late, and that they would also talk soon. Then he vanished into his office again, this time with both his phone and tablet. The room again filled with interference and Peter wondered what Tony was up to. But he trusted it had something to do with Harley, and that Tony was fixing the problems behind the scenes.

With the living room suddenly feeling too big and too quiet, Peter turned to Harley.

"Movie night in my room?"

Harley didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Okay."

Fully expecting Harley to crash in his room like the last time, Peter headed to the guest room and dragged the mattress out. It slid easily across the floor and he barely broke stride, positioning it in the middle of his room.

Harley stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching. "Does that thing weigh anything at all to you?"

Peter just shrugged. "Not really."

The lights were low, curtains drawn. The room felt cocooned, safe. Peter yawned. He was bone-tired, but there was no way he was going to sleep if Harley was awake and alone.

The movie was already queued up, previews flickering quietly across the screen.

Harley left to brush his teeth in the guest bathroom while Peter made the bed on the floor. Then Peter rummaged through his drawers for a pair of clean sweatpants and an old soft T-shirt.

The guestroom door was open so he went in and tossed the clothes to Harley.

"Take these."

Harley nodded, taking the clothes with a quiet thanks.

On his way out, Peter scooped up Harley's discarded clothes from that morning to toss in the washer. His breath caught a little when he noticed dried blood on the collar and sleeves. His chest tightened faintly. He tossed the clothes in the washer drum then went back to his room.

On instinct, he grabbed Tony's old MIT hoodie—the one he'd kept in his drawer for weeks. It probably needed a wash, too. He tossed it in with Harley's stuff. He needed it more than Peter did, anyway.

When Harley returned, the bed on the floor was made, blanket laid out, pillows fluffed.

He blinked. "Did you just… do my laundry?"

Peter glanced over at him. "Yeah. So you'd have something to wear tomorrow."

Harley stared at him.

Peter tossed him another blanket. Harley caught it, looked at the mattress, then back at him. "What's gotten into you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Stop being weird."

"I'm not being weird. Do you want anything to eat? Or should I just start the movie?"

"I don't need anything."

"Okay."

A pause. Then, quieter—

"Like, really. I don't need all this. The sandwiches. Picking up my dishes. Doing my laundry. Making my bed…"

Peter tilted his head, watching him more closely now. Harley didn't sound annoyed, just… unsettled. Like being looked after made him uncomfortable.

"Okay," Peter said gently. "I hear you."

Harley frowned a little, his eyes narrowing in suspicion like he didn't quite believe that. But he didn't say anything.

Peter started the movie and then glanced over at Harley. "Volume good? Too loud? Too quiet?"

Harley sighed. "For Christ's sake."

Peter bit back a smile. He didn't say anything else. Just curled up on his bed and let the movie fill the space.

Eventually, Peter drifted off, one arm curled under his head.


When he woke a short time after, the screen had gone dark. The only light in the room came from the faint city glow through the curtains.

Peter shifted slightly and blinked toward the floor.

Harley looked asleep—curled tight beneath the blanket, facing the wall.

Then Peter heard it. A hushed, ragged breath. A faint sniff.

Not loud. Not broken. Just careful, controlled crying—the kind someone did when they didn't want to be heard. When they didn't want anyone to know.

Peter's chest ached.

He didn't move.

His first instinct was to say something. To offer comfort. Reach a hand down. Let Harley know he wasn't alone.

But Harley had been trying so hard to be quiet. Like he wanted space. And just a few hours ago, he'd asked Peter not to fuss so much. Told him he didn't need all of it.

So Peter stayed still.

He stayed quiet.

He lay in the dark and listened, heart heavy, unsure if giving space was kindness or a failure.


Tony stepped out onto the quiet roof and took a breath of cool air, phone pressed to his ear. It was late, but he had a hunch…

After four earlier failed attempts and two voicemails, she finally picked up.

A tired voice came through the line.

"Mr. Stark." Her voice was hoarse, faintly slurred with fatigue. "What can I do for you?"

Like she didn't realize it was one in the morning. Like it wasn't strange at all for Tony Stark to be calling at this hour.

Tony's jaw tightened. He kept his tone calm. "Mrs. Keener. Harley's here at the Tower. I just wanted to make sure you knew where he was."

A pause. Then, with all the urgency of checking the mail:
"So that's where he went off to."

Tony's brows lifted. "You didn't know?"

"I told him to go cool off at a friend's house."

Cool off?

The terrified kid who could barely find his voice to ask for help over the phone? The kid who cried when Tony cleaned up his still-bloody face, hours after he'd been hit?

That kid was told to cool off?

Tony summoned inhuman strength and bit back a reaction.

"Right. Well. He ended up here."

She sighed, long and thin. "It's been a rough few weeks."

Tony didn't argue. He just asked as casually as possible, "Would you be alright with him staying here for a while? I was thinking of offering him a student internship. Stark Industries would cover everything. He'd be provided boarding at the tower, and he could attend any of the surrounding schools. We have some really good STEM-based schools nearby. He'd have a lot of opportunities."

Another pause. Long enough Tony thought the call had dropped.

Then, flatly: "If that's what he wants."

Tony nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Yeah. That's what he wants."

"Then it's fine by me."

He waited. But there was no concern. No ask to speak to Harley. Not even a tell him I said hi.

Tony took a breath. Kept his tone steady. "I'll have someone from the office bring by the paperwork. If he's going to stay, it's best to have a temporary guardianship on file—for school, medical stuff, that kind of thing."

He braced for pushback. Or negotiation. Or worse: agreement that came with a price.

But instead—

"Yeah," she said, voice softening. "That'd be really good, actually. Thank you for this opportunity. He's a smart kid. He deserves it."

Tony closed his eyes for a second, letting out a slow breath.

"Yeah," he murmured. "He does."

Tony would've paid any amount to get Harley out of that house. But he was grateful he didn't have to find out if she would've sold him.

He ended the call. Stood there a moment longer, phone still in hand.

Then he slid it into his pocket, turned, and went back inside.


The next morning Peter was already seated at the counter, hunched over a bowl of cereal when Tony stepped into the kitchen. He ruffled the kid's hair in silent greeting and made a beeline for the coffee.

He'd been trying to cut back on caffeine—make healthier choices, live longer, be responsible.

But this was just not the week for it. And as responsibility went, at least it wasn't scotch.

Yesterday had been a long stretch of worrying, driving, worrying some more, and making a record number of phone calls. Today would hold its own challenges. He needed to talk to Harley, and he wasn't sure how that was going to go.

He glanced at Peter, who tipped his head—not toward Tony, but toward the hallway.

Specifically, toward the guest room.

Tony sighed.

"Yeah," he said quietly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Give us a few minutes?"

Peter gave a small nod. "I'll head to the gym. Nat'll be mad if I fall out of condition."

"Thanks, kiddo."

Peter's super ears were next on the list of conversations Tony needed to have. He wasn't even sure where to start on that one. But—one thing at a time.

Tony refilled his mug and turned toward the hallway.

Time to have the talk.


Tony tapped gently on the doorframe.

Harley's hair was rumpled, and he looked soft around the edges, like sleep hadn't fully let go yet. He was tugging the hem of Tony's old MIT hoodie down over his torso.

Tony briefly wondered if he'd ever see that hoodie again. Odds were probably higher it'd end up with Happy before it ever found its way back to his closet.

"Hey, bud. Got a minute?"

Harley nodded, slow and wary. His expression was guarded—he clearly didn't want to talk, but he looked tired enough not to fight it either.

Tony stepped inside and paused mid-step. No mattress. No bedding.

"You bunk with Pete?"

Harley nodded again. "Yeah."

His voice was hoarse. His eyes—red-rimmed and heavy-lidded—told Tony enough.

Tony's arms twitched at his side, itching to pull the kid into a hug. He didn't know when he'd become this version of himself—suddenly okay with all this contact and comfort—but here they were. It had started with Peter. Now it was Harley, too.

Not that he minded. He just wished he was better at knowing when it was welcome.

Tony wished he could just hug them whenever the idea took him, but he wasn't sure if they wanted that. Peter was only just beginning to stop being so jumpy and flinchy. And before yesterday, Harley had never seemed like he wanted or needed a hug. Not that that meant much.

Tony was internally kicking himself for how much he missed when it came to Harley. For all he knew, the kid had needed a hug every time he saw him.

"Did you sleep okay?"

Harley shrugged, looking at his feet. "We stayed up pretty late watching movies."

Tony gave a small, quiet nod. "Pepper is on her way back early. She can't wait to see you."

That earned him a glance. Pepper had always had a soft spot for Harley.

She'd been furious about the kid's injuries, of course, and didn't bat an eye at him moving another kid into the penthouse. She immediately got off the phone to have a chat with the lawyers and planned to figure out the custody situation surrounding Mr. Keener, whom they had yet to speak to. She was already mobilized. And when Pepper was mobilized, things got done.

Harley was going to live with them. Permanently. Tony thought about Peter's words the day before. You should tell him that. So he doesn't wonder.

"Take a seat, buddy."

Harley sat on the small guestroom couch and Tony followed him.

"You're staying here, Harley. With us.

Harley shifted his weight, expression flickering. "Thanks, Tony. I'll try to figure something out soon. I've been looking into a few freelance programming projects. But I think if I can get back to my garage, I can sell some gear and—"

"Wait." Tony blinked. "Hold on."

He moved closer and gently laid a hand on Harley's shoulder.

"You're staying," Tony said quietly. "You're going to live here. Not just crash here."

Harley's eyes widened. "But that's…" His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. "That's a lot."

Tony held his gaze. "Yesterday, I didn't know what was going on. I only knew you called me, told me you couldn't stay home anymore. Then I saw you—saw the bruises. And you told me your mom said it was best if you left."

Tony's hand tightened slightly. "Even if that was all I had, I knew I was bringing you home. For good."

Harley opened his mouth, but no words came.

Tony continued gently, "Then I did some digging."

Harley winced. "Tony, there was no need—"

"There was," Tony said evenly. "You weren't telling me anything. I had to know enough to help."

His voice softened. "I needed to know who's been around your house. FRIDAY says a guy named Kyle Lassak used your mailing address as recently as last year. Ring a bell?"

Harley didn't answer, but the way he froze was answer enough.

"I looked him up. This guy's a walking red flag. Assaults. Substance use and possession. Resisting arrest. Charming resume." Tony's tone was dry.

"Is he your mom's ex?"

Still no answer. Not even a shrug.

"FRIDAY checked phone records."

Harley scoffed. "Geez, Tony. Are we making a documentary?"

"He's called you. Multiple times. Why would he need to do that?"

"I don't know. I don't answer. This doesn't even matter, you big snoop." Harley looked away, jaw tight. There wasn't a ton of room for deflection but he was apparently going to still try.

"I had FRIDAY check security cameras."

Harley visibly tensed.

This was one of the more frustrating pieces. The garage was Fort Knox. And the perimeter of the property had a good deal of sensors. But the house…

It didn't matter how many times Tony had tried to add security to the house. Cameras were always removed. Sensors disabled. It had never been a big deal. It was their space, they could do whatever they wanted with it. He couldn't force them to have cameras up everywhere.

Tony felt reassured enough that Nat had given the all-clear, and that FRIDAY kept an eye out at the periphery.

But now he wondered.

"Kid, I wish you didn't keep tearing down the cameras. Then I wouldn't have to play detective. But even without them, it's pretty damn clear. FRIDAY says this guy's truck pulled in Wednesday morning and hasn't left since. He was there Thursday night when you got hurt."

Anger flashed across Harley's face, chasing back rising panic.

His voice spiked. "Why are we even talking about this if you already know the answers?"

Tony didn't flinch. He just let a slow breath. He'd been expecting this and he wasn't going to let Harley push him away.

"Because I don't want the data, kid. I want you to talk to me."

Harley looked away sharply, chest heaving.

"I know what FRIDAY found. I know what the cameras showed. But that's just noise unless I hear it from you." Tony shifted closer. "I want to hear it because it happened to you. Because you deserve to be heard."

Silence.

"I wish you'd talk to me," Tony added gently. "But even if you don't—I've got enough to know you're staying here. And I'm going to start keeping you safe."

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a sleek, slim phone. Brand new. Hadn't even been released in stores, actually.

He held it out.

"This one holds a charge longer. Lassak is blocked. Permanently. FRIDAY's watching the account, but she won't touch your messages. I'm not here to take your privacy. I just want to make sure this guy can't bother you again."

Harley stared at it for a moment and Tony was worried he would refuse it. But then he reached out slowly and took it.

"You deserve to feel safe here. And I'm going to make sure you are."

Harley stared at the phone, blinking fast.

Tony gave him a moment to gather himself and then asked, "Do you feel safe here?"

There was no hesitation. Harley's voice cracked as he answered, "Yes."

Tony exhaled. "Do you trust me?"

Harley nodded. "Of course I do."

"Do you think you can tell me what happened?"

Harley didn't answer right away. The silence stretched. He looked down, jaw clenched. His fingers gripped the fabric of the hoodie tightly in his lap.

Then, finally, he looked up.

"What happens after I tell you?"

Tony stilled. He recognized that question. Understood what it was really asking.

"You want to know what I'm going to do to the guy."

Harley gave the smallest of nods.

"That's up to you," Tony said quietly. "I'd love nothing more than to bury him. But this… this is your call."

Harley's voice was quiet. "We don't have to get the police involved, right?"

Tony's chest twisted. He threaded the fine line between being honest and letting Harley feel like he some choice in that matter.. "No. Not right this second."

Harley nodded, relief flickering over his face. But Tony wasn't done.

"But I want to be honest with you, bud."

Harley looked up, wary.

"I'm not going to let this go. Someone hurt you. And if I know that, I can't just pretend it didn't happen. That's not how I work."

Harley nodded slowly.

"So yeah, you get a say. You'll be part of every step. I won't move without you. But eventually…" Tony softened his voice. "We'll have to talk about what comes next. Because what happened matters. And you shouldn't carry it alone."

Harley put his head in his hands and groaned. "This is such a mess. I'm such an idiot."

Tony leaned in. "No. You're a kid who got hurt, and I'm not going to let that slide. But we'll handle it together. You'll never be alone in it."

A pause. Then, finally, Harley nodded. "Okay."

And Tony thought he might actually continue, might actually talk to him, but then Harley changed course. "Are you really sure that it's alright for me to stay?"

Tony bit back a disappointed sigh. If Harley needed to steer the conversation away for now, then fine.

"Yes, bud. Pepper and I both want you to stay. We want you to go to school here. We want to set up a room for you, have dinner every night with you. We want to take care of you."

Harley turned away abruptly and wiped at his eyes.

Tony continued. "And Peter will be really happy to have you here, too. He'd already decided you were staying before I could even talk to him about it."

That coaxed a small smile.

Tony hesitated. "I do want to ask about your dad, though."

Harley stilled.

"Because if you'd rather talk to him first, or if you need me to get a hold of him and see if he'd like to extend the same offer…"

"What are you talking about?"

"If your dad would like you to move in with him instead…"

"What dad?"

Tony paused, confused. "Mark Keener, your father."

Harley laughed. Bitter. Flat. "Mark's not my dad, Tony. And he already decided a long time ago that his real kid was the only one who mattered."

Tony blinked. Then he frowned.

And then he pulled Harley into a hug.

"His loss," he said softly.