Chapter 2
Four years had passed since that fateful mission in Tennessee, a mission that left Peter with more questions than answers about Hydra, about his purpose, and about himself. Now, his life looked very different.
“Harley… Harley!” a voice called, dragging him out of his sleep. “Get up!”
Groggily, Harley blinked awake, trying to focus. The voice, now familiar, pulled him from his dreamlike haze.
“Jeez, what time is it?” he mumbled, squinting against the morning light filtering through the blinds.
“Time for you to get your lazy butt to school,” Tony replied, smirking down at him. “If you move any slower, you’ll be late.”
Harley groaned, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright, old man, I’m up,” he replied, stretching and yawning before finally swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
With a muttered thanks, Harley pulled himself together, grabbed his school bag, and raced down the hall, knowing a new day with his friends awaited.
At school, Harley met up with his close-knit group. They gathered near the back of the school library—a quiet spot they’d claimed as their own over the years. There was Ned, a tech whiz who seemed to have a knack for hacking just about anything; MJ, sarcastically nicknamed “Mini Nat” for her resemblance to a young Natasha Romanoff; Miles, who always seemed to blend into the background; and, of course, Peter.
Peter was… well, Peter. Harley couldn’t help his slight infatuation with him, not that he would ever admit it. Peter was different, with an intensity and kindness that made him seem both mysterious and approachable at once.
“Hey, guys,” Harley greeted, trying to play it cool as he walked up to them. “How was everyone’s weekend?”
“Tiring,” Peter replied, running a hand through his hair. “Worked a few too many hours.”
Ned raised an eyebrow. “At the orphanage? Sister Mary’s? Or something?”
MJ, ever observant, interjected, “Sister Margaret’s Home for Wayward Children.” She sounded matter-of-fact, but Harley caught the hint of suspicion in her tone, like she’d noticed something off about Peter. Then again, MJ was always suspicious of something or someone; it was practically her default setting.
Harley looked over at Peter, who gave a slight shrug. “Yeah, Sister Margaret’s. It’s been… busy.” His voice trailed off, and Harley felt a twinge of concern. Sometimes, Peter carried a weight none of them could quite understand, a burden that made him quiet and distant.
Harley wanted to ask more, but he decided against it. Peter wasn’t one to open up easily, and Harley had learned not to press when Peter was in one of his more reserved moods.
Instead, he tried to lighten the conversation, glancing at Miles. “What about you, Miles? Do anything wild?”
Miles grinned, shrugging. “Just the usual.”
The question went unanswered, just like it always did. Harley sometimes wondered if all of them had secrets, things they chose to keep hidden even from each other. In that way, they were alike, each carrying private mysteries.
After school, Harley headed back to the tower. “Heading home” was anything but ordinary for him. Living at Stark Tower was a constant reminder of how far he’d come—high-tech security, sleek hallways, the steady hum of AI assistants. It was equal parts surreal and thrilling.
Dropping his bag on his floor, Harley moved over to his workbench. There lay his pride and joy: his Iron Lad suit. Sure, the name felt a bit on the nose, but he had to admit it had a certain charm. Tony had suggested it as a joke, but the more Harley worked on the suit, the more the name started to feel like a piece of his identity.
Each piece of the suit represented something he’d learned from Tony, a testament to all the knowledge he’d gained in the years since Tony took him under his wing. Harley’s suit was sleek, with a darker color scheme than Tony’s iconic red and gold. He wanted it to feel like his own—a nod to Tony’s style, but something distinct.
As much as he hated to admit it, he got a thrill every time he worked on it, imagining himself standing beside the Avengers, fighting alongside them with his own suit. He had to admit, though, he wanted a name as epic as Wiccan or Speed. “Iron Lad” was cool, sure, but maybe something more intense would fit him better. Not that he’d tell Tony that.
Lost in thought, Harley didn’t notice Tony approaching until he felt a tap on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up to see Tony inspecting the suit pieces with a thoughtful expression.
“Not bad, kid. You’ve come a long way from fixing lawnmowers,” Tony said, nodding approvingly.
Harley smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, guess that’s the advantage of living with an old man who happens to know his stuff.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Old man, huh? Just remember, you don’t have to be exactly like anyone else. The suit is yours. The name too, for that matter. Doesn’t have to be Iron Lad if it doesn’t feel right.”
Harley nodded, taking that to heart. Sure, he was Stark’s protégé, but he was also his own person, someone who’d gone through his own experiences that shaped him. Maybe someday, he’d figure out a name that felt like his own. For now, he’d focus on perfecting the suit, one piece at a time.
As he continued working, a faint sense of purpose filled him. He thought about Peter, Miles, MJ, Ned—their friendship, their unspoken bonds, and the secrets they all seemed to keep close. They might not understand each other completely, but they were a team in their own way, a patchwork family made up of shared experiences and hidden histories.
And though he still had so much to figure out, Harley felt hopeful. Whatever the future held, he knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t alone. And with friends like his, and an old man who believed in him, he was ready to face whatever came next.